by Jana Downs
The space blurred past his line of vision, and the scenery rapidly changed from the stark white void to a room full of loud voices. The sudden shift in the environment caused him to become dazed and confused as he looked down just in time to see the floor rising up to meet him. Devon covered his face in anticipation of the impact, but was surprised when he was greeted by two strong arms instead.
The cessation of movement left his stomach churning and a high-pitched ringing in his ears. The effects from the fall didn’t last long though and quickly faded as the new environment came into focus. It was all Devon could do to stare up into the unfamiliar faces that had gathered around him as he clung to his savior. The first thing Devon noticed was him—the man that had caught him and saved Devon from breaking every bone in his body. He was gorgeous, with biceps as big as Devon’s thigh and dark chestnut-brown hair that hung in front of the prettiest set of emerald-colored eyes he’d ever seen.
“Easy there.” The stranger’s calm and soothing demeanor didn’t really help the overwhelming sense of panic Devon felt rising inside him.
What the hell is this place? Devon looked around the spacious room frantically, his eyes shifting from each indiscernible face to the next.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” A feminine voice questioned, and Devon turned to look at her. She was dressed in a white Renaissance-style dress, and her long blonde curls cascaded down to her midback. She looked like a young maiden out of a medieval story upon first glance, but Devon could see her age starting to show in the creases around her eyes as she looked down at him with concern.
“He’s fine, just a little shaken up, that’s all,” the man holding him replied. “I’m going to set you down now, okay?” The stranger said the words slowly, pronouncing each syllable as he looked into Devon’s eyes for any sign of acknowledgment that he understood what he was saying.
Devon nodded dumbly as he tried to compose himself.
Words would be good right now.
The strong man helped Devon to his feet as he braced himself against the stranger’s broad bare shoulders for support. Devon couldn’t help but notice how tan his skin was compared to his own, and he wasn’t even that pale given the fact that he’d spent the past month under the hot desert sun.
His feet were a little shaky, but he managed. He glanced around the room, taking in the grandeur of the place. The space was massive–almost the size of a football stadium. The walls had been decorated in varying shades of light blue with gold trim which reminded Devon of some of the palaces back home. But, it was the vaulted ceiling structure and details in the art that held Devon captivated as he resisted the urge to start touching everything he could reach. It was all reminiscent of the temple room Devon had just finished mapping back at the excavation site. Laughter erupted from his catcher interrupting Devon’s thoughts as he turned his attention back to the man that had saved him.
“Where am I?” Devon asked bluntly, finally finding his voice as the surprise eased a bit.
“You are in Draconia.” A raspy voice answered his question, and Devon turned to see who had spoken. Sitting on the throne in the middle of the room was a fragile, older-looking man, slumped over, staring fixedly at him. Devon hadn’t noticed the man before, but there was something in the way he was staring at Devon that made him feel a bit uneasy.
“Draconia?” Devon questioned with hesitation. It was more in disbelief than confusion. Devon was very familiar with the legends and stories of Draconia, but that was all he’d thought they were—just stories.
“It’s the land of the Draconians, the mighty dragon race that rules most of the known world,” the stranger who’d caught Devon stated with pride.
So the stories my father told me are true. As an archeologist, Devon had spent his whole life studying ancient civilizations’ ways of life. Now was his chance to actually experience it all firsthand. Excitement and enthusiasm overwhelmed him as he looked eagerly from each of the people in the room.
“Like real dragons?” he asked, turning to look at his savior with wide eyes. The man’s laughter was deep as he shook his head in amusement.
“Yes. Real dragons. I’m Druis by the way.” He extended his hand for Devon to take.
“Devon. Nice to meet you,” Devon said as he took Druis’s massive hand. “How the hell did I end up here?”
Druis ran his hand through his shaggy hair and shrugged. “I think King Adonis would be better at answering that question.” His eyes shifted in the direction of the older man sitting on the throne. “My lord?”
Devon looked up at the man perched atop the throne with apprehension. He’d never met a real king before. What was the proper etiquette for this sort of thing? Did he bow? Should he avoid eye contact? Unsure of what to say or do, Devon stood there awkwardly, waiting for the king’s response.
The king motioned to the woman in the white dress, and she handed him a glass of water. He took it with a shaky hand, and it was in that moment that Devon could see the king’s pale, worn-out features. He was very much a sick man, if not on his death bed.
“I have summoned you…” the king began at last with a wheezing in his tone.
So it wasn’t just a random coincidence.
“I chose you to come here to decide who shall rule my kingdom after I am gone.” The king’s voice cracked as he spoke, and Devon had to strain just to hear him.
“What? What do you mean I’m supposed to choose who is going to rule your kingdom? This is some kind of joke, right?” He looked up at Druis for some kind of explanation as to why their king would summon a complete stranger to decide the fate of the kingdom.
The king struggled to provide Devon with the answers he sought as a coughing fit overcame him. He reached for the cloth the older woman was holding out for him and waved a hand in Druis’s direction.
“The Dragon God Ryujin has ordained the practice of summoning an outsider since the beginning of time. It is tradition that the outsider determines who shall be the next ruler. Even though you have no knowledge of our histories or our people, my king has hope that you will have an unbiased point of view in choosing the future king.” Druis’s explanation did little to alleviate the heart attack Devon was sure would strike at any moment.
“Besides, it’s not like you’ll have to choose a random person off the streets. The only eligible candidates are the clan heirs, and you’ll have plenty of time to make your decision since the spell the king cast to summon you here will bind you to our world for the next two months. He has the utmost confidence that you will make a wise decision.”
That was easier said than done. How the hell was he supposed to choose the next king of Draconia? And two months? He couldn’t be gone that long. He had meetings and press conferences. The archeological team was counting on him and what would his brother think? I bet Brandon’s probably worried sick by now.
He looked up to the king.
“You’ve made a mistake. I can’t do this. I can’t be gone for two months,” he pleaded, hoping that it wasn’t too late for the king to change his mind. “My brother will be worried about me, and my team needs me. If I’m not back by next week, the museum will stop my funding. I’ll lose all my credibility, and my career will be over!” Devon was hyperventilating now as he realized just what the consequences of his curious nature were.
Calm down, Devon. You can handle this. Besides, when are you ever going to get an opportunity to explore not only a new race but a whole new world? Logic would dictate that he should be thrilled by the prospect that all his dreams were real, but the thought of losing his job and causing his brother unnecessary grief made Devon slightly nauseous. His curiosity was not enough to convince him that his impulsive decision had been the right one. In the end, none of this would matter anyways because when he returned home what proof would he have to show for his trip down the rabbit hole?
“I’m sorry.” The king’s brows drew together with empathy. “When I had cast the spell, I had searched for a wandering soul seek
ing out our lands. I had thought you were a good candidate.”
“Well,” Devon said with hesitation as he looked around the room at all the tapestries and gems. Was he really sure he wanted to go home so soon? “How about if we shorten the time frame? What about if I just stay a couple of days?”
He could explain a few days to his funders.
The king’s thin lips pursed. “I’m afraid…I can’t…do that.” His breathing was getting noticeably worse.
“Once a spell of this magnitude is cast, it can’t be undone,” Druis offered.
Devon sighed with frustration. It didn’t look like he was going to get an option in this endeavor. The king’s fragile look broke his heart into a million pieces.
“I truly am sorry,” the king stated as he struggled for breath.
Devon couldn’t take the disappointment he saw on the old man’s face.
“I’ll do it,” he offered, unsure if he was making the biggest mistake of his life. “I know I don’t really have a choice, but if nothing can be done then I’ll do it and I swear to you, I will try my best to make the right decision, but I have one request.”
The king raised his eyebrows as he waited to hear Devon’s demands.
“I would like to study the Draconians and their history. I’ve been curious about your people and legends since I was little. I would like the opportunity to learn everything I can.”
The king nodded his head in Druis’s direction, too weak to speak.
Devon watched as Druis placed his right hand over his chest and bowed, indicating that some hidden exchange had taken place between them.
“As you wish, my King,” Druis stated. “I will teach him what I know.”
Straightening up, Druis looked at Devon with a smile. “Consider it a deal.”
A small smile reached the frail King’s lips. “Good. It is done then. I can finally rest,” his wheezing voice was barely audible as he took a deep breath. “Druis, I trust you to guide Devon in his quest, and Devon, as a final token of my appreciation for the service you are doing for my people, I shall relinquish my powers unto you until the day of the Bonding Ceremony.”
“My lord, you can’t be serious?” The elder woman who had remained quiet throughout the duration of the conversation finally spoke in protest. “If you do this, then no one will be allowed to make changes to laws or govern the lands until Devon has made a decision. Are you sure you shouldn’t give your last bit of power to one of the clan heirs?”
The king held up a shaky hand to silence her.
“Maeva, my love, I am so very tired. Please…just help Devon with anything he needs…” The king slumped in his chair and closed his eyes. His breath came in short gasps as the color drained from his complexion. Devon looked around anxiously, wondering if anyone was going to help him, but it seemed as though everyone had come to accept that this might be the king’s last moments alive.
“I love you, Maeva.” The king struggled with his final words as his last breath echoed through the hall. A strange emotion of sadness filled Devon. Even though he hadn’t personally known the King of Draconia, he did know what it was like to lose someone very close to him.
The eerie stillness that filled the room didn’t last long. A loud burst sounded and strong winds emanated from the king, surrounding Devon with a mixture of blue and white hues. He could feel the power pulsating from the king’s lifeless form into him as every nerve ending inside his body came alive.
“The last remaining power of the white dragon race now dwells inside you. Use it wisely.” Adonis’s voice echoed inside his mind, and then as quickly as it had all happened, it was over.
When the commotion calmed, Devon looked back up at the throne. But the king was nowhere to be found. All that remained was a golden crown sitting in the place he’d once occupied. The elder woman knelt before the throne, taking the crown into her hands. Devon’s heart went out to her as he watched the woman’s slender form heave in rhythm with her sobs.
Devon glanced to Druis, unsure of what to do, but Druis was grieving in his own way. His jaw was hardened as the tears silently fell one right after the other. Devon wanted to reach out and comfort him, to tell him that it would be okay, but deep down inside, Devon knew there was a good chance that it wouldn’t be. King Adonis was dead, and the fate of Draconia rested entirely on his decision to choose the right heir.
* * * *
“I think it’s time you address the people and introduce Devon to the clan heirs,” the elder woman decreed as she stood, wiping the remnants of her tears. Druis nodded in her direction before turning and heading for the double doors.
“Come on, Devon. Follow me.” His tone was somber and distant as he walked through the doorway. He held it open for Devon, and Devon cast one last look over his shoulder at the grieving woman before he followed Druis into the next room.
The next room was filled with more unfamiliar faces. None of the strange men spoke as they entered, but their gazes shifted to Druis as though they were waiting for him to say something.
“It is done,” Druis stated, breaking the silence, and each bowed their head in acknowledgment.
“May he rest in peace.” The tallest of group spoke first. He was well over six foot with slick black hair and vibrant green eyes. Dressed in formal dark-green robes, he approached Devon and bent down, reaching for his hand. Devon took a step back, unsure of his intentions.
“May I?” he asked, looking him in the eyes. Devon couldn’t explain it, but something about this man’s demeanor gave him the creeps. Still, he didn’t want to be rude, so he extended his hand, obliging the stranger’s request. The man in green placed a wet kiss upon the top of his hand before greeting him with a sly smile.
“My name’s Cerilius. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He cocked his head to the side, grinning coyly as he waited for Devon to introduce himself.
“Devon Avalon,” he said, trying his best to sound hospitable.
“These are the clan heirs and leaders from which you will choose the future king,” Druis explained. “The clan leaders have already assumed the throne of their clan and the heirs are set to inherit the throne once the current leader passes away. It can get kind of confusing since the terms are often used interchangeably in our culture.” He raised an eyebrow and looked to Devon, unsure of how else to clarify the distinction before continuing with the introductions. “There are three leaders. Cerilius is one of them. He’s the leader of the Jade clan and he’s from the green dragon race like me.” Druis placed a reassuring hand on Devon’s shoulder and Devon was happy for the distraction as he withdrew his hand from Cerilius’s touch almost instantaneously.
“That’s Ezekiel.” Druis pointed toward the shorter, slimmer built man in the pale-yellow robes. He had shoulder-length blond hair that fell in front of his amber-colored eyes. His pale complexion accentuated his beautiful features, reminding Devon of the models he’d seen in the designer magazines back home.
“He’s the Saffron clan leader,” Druis continued. “His people are descendants from the golden dragon race, and that over there is Asher, leader of the Mercer clan.”
The dark redhead Druis pointed to flashed Devon a sideways grin. His crimson-red robes almost matched his spiky mess of a hair perfectly. He had multiple piercings on his face and ears. Hoops decorated his ear lobes and eyebrow, and the silver ball-studded labret piercing that jutted from the bottom of his lip blended nicely with his tan complexion. Devon had never really been one for piercings, but he couldn’t help but notice how they all seemed to suit the man.
“S’up,” Asher said smugly as he looked Devon up and down. He didn’t bother to hide the attraction reflected in his gaze, and Devon could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Apparently there must be something in the water because so far everyone Devon had been introduced to was a ten compared to the men back home.
“He’s from the—” Druis started to explain, but by now Devon had figured out the pattern.
“Let me gue
ss. He’s from the red dragon race?” Devon raised his eyebrows at Druis, and the twitch of Druis’s lips was all the confirmation he needed.
“And he must be from the black dragon race.” Devon pointed to the man in the farthest corner dressed in all black robes.
“All right, smart-ass,” Druis teased, seeming a bit more cheered than when they’d left the throne room. It made Devon feel a little better knowing that he’d at least given Druis a momentary reprieve from the sadness over the king’s death.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Devon asked with a wide grin across his face.
Druis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. That’s Abraxas, heir to the Night clan, and yes he is a black dragon.” The hooded man moved from his leaning position against one of the pillars toward the center of the group. As he approached Devon, he removed the hood that had shielded him from Devon’s line of vision.
When Devon’s eyes met the black dragon’s, his breath hitched. His aquamarine-colored eyes held his gaze as he ran a hand through his messy, short-cropped black hair. His sinfully beautiful lips curved into a half smile as Devon’s cheeks flooded with color. He had the rugged, bad boy look that sent a shiver of desire straight to Devon’s cock. Damn. Devon swallowed nervously, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He looks good enough to eat.
“Pleasure to meet you, Devon.” His name rolled off Abraxas’s tongue like warm velvet, leaving butterflies in Devon’s stomach. Devon had to look away from his gaze before he could find his voice.
What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m acting like I’m back in college, drooling over every gorgeous man that comes near me! He glanced down at his feet, too embarrassed by the way he must look standing next to all of them. He was in dire need of a hot shower and covered with mud and dirt. His torn tee shirt and tattered blue jeans only made him feel more self-conscious. He gnawed on the bottom of his lip as he brushed his short-cropped auburn hair out his line of sight, hoping to hide the fact that there was dirt and sand matted throughout most of it.
