Dragon's Blood: a Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy Book 2)

by Jasmine Walt

  “That was…nice…” she murmured, sinking against Lucyan’s body. “Really…nice…”

  “Under other circumstances, we might be offended,” Alistair said, sounding amused. He slid his arms beneath her and lifted her out of the water. “Come,” he said, wading to the edge of the pool. “Let’s dry you off and get you to bed.”

  Dareena nodded, snuggling against Alistair’s chest. She didn’t see where they were going, but the next thing she knew, Alistair was settling her atop what felt like a warm fur. Blearily, she noted that they were in a cave, and briefly wondered how they’d managed to find it. But when Lucyan and Alistair curled their bodies around her, sandwiching Dareena between them, she found she didn’t much care. Happily, she sank into their embrace and let their combined warmth and scents lull her to sleep.

  31

  Another day passed with no sign of the warlock resurfacing from unconsciousness. Drystan worried that Taldren had permanently damaged him, but after a thorough inspection from the healers, the oracle imposter was pronounced healthy.

  “He simply needs to sleep off the effects of the sleeping draught,” the healer said in a placating tone. “Giving him a double dose was not the wisest course of action, but warlocks have hardier constitutions than humans. He will survive this.”

  “He’d better,” Drystan muttered, leveling a death glare at Taldren, who was sitting in one of the visitor chairs in Drystan’s office. His cousin suddenly found the dirt under his fingernails to be of supreme interest. Drystan was tempted to strangle him—instead, he drew in a deep breath, counted to ten, then let it out.

  “Thank you,” he said to the healer. “You are dismissed.”

  The healer bowed. He opened the door, but before he could leave, the steward came in. “Your Highness,” he said, an uneasy note in his voice. “There is a messenger from Elvenhame here to see you.”

  Drystan stiffened. “Bring him in.”

  Tarius motioned with his hand, and an elven male with black hair entered the room. He stopped in front of Drystan’s desk, then turned to face him, his posture ramrod straight. Drystan narrowed his eyes as he noted the wooden chest the elf was carrying—there was a strong scent of blood and rot coming from it.

  “A gift, compliments of Prince Arolas,” the elf said, placing the chest on Drystan’s desk. His face betrayed no hint of emotion.

  Taldren was instantly at Drystan’s side. “Perhaps I should open that—”

  “No.” Drystan knocked his cousin’s hand away, his gaze fixated on the small chest. An awful feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, telling him to leave the chest be, to look away. Steeling himself, he lifted the latch, then opened it.

  “Oh gods,” the healer choked, his face growing pale. Rage and disgust built in Drystan’s chest as he stared at the severed arm, lying neatly in the wooden chest on a blood-stained pillow. The skin had taken on a greenish hue, and had burst open in several places, oozing rot and maggots. The stench was overpowering, but beneath it, Drystan could still discern the scent of the man this arm belonged to.

  “The prince has instructed me to inform you that he will be sending more pieces of your brother back every week you delay paying the ransom,” the elf said in that same emotionless tone while Tarius retched behind him. “And if that is not enough of an incentive, he—”

  Drystan didn’t let him finish the sentence. He opened his mouth, unleashing a torrent of fire. The elf was incinerated in seconds, reduced to a pile of ash, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Drystan’s entire body trembled with effort as he locked down his jaw to keep from torching the room and everyone in it. He wanted to give himself over to the beast, to become a dragon and rage across the lands, raining hellfire down upon anyone who might oppose him.

  But the horrified expressions of the others stayed him. He recognized the look on Taldren’s pale face—it was the same look he’d seen many courtiers give his father when he’d given in to one of his fits of rage.

  You are not your father. You are NOT. Your. Father.

  “I’m sorry,” Drystan said, exhaling sharply. “I should not have destroyed the elf.”

  “Like hell you shouldn’t have,” Tarius said. True, his voice sounded a bit shaky, but the conviction blazing in his eyes seemed very real. “The elves promised our prince and Dragon’s Gift protection, and this is how they repay us? For all we know, they’ve cut Prince Alistair to pieces already!”

  Drystan snarled at the horrific image that statement conjured. “We cannot allow such an insult to stand,” he said. “Tarius, bring my sisters here at once.”

  The steward bowed, then hurried out of the room. “What are you going to do?” Taldren demanded. “You said that you found Dragomir’s lair yesterday—are we going after the treasure?”

  “No,” Drystan said in a clipped voice. “The elves have broken their word. I shall not give them what they ask for just so they can stab us in the back again.”

  A few minutes later, the door burst open, and Tariana and Catriona rushed in. “What is that gods-awful smell?” Tariana exclaimed. She’d just come back that morning from the elven lands after checking in on the troops. His eldest sister’s amber eyes latched onto the open chest, and the blood drained out of her face. “Is that…”

  “An arm?” Catriona finished, sounding faint. Neither of them were the kind of women who had fits, but at that moment, Drystan was certain he could have knocked either sister over with a feather.

  “Not just any arm,” Taldren said grimly. “Alistair’s arm.”

  Dead silence descended upon the room.

  “What does this mean?” Tariana finally asked, meeting Drystan’s eyes.

  “It means,” Drystan said, his voice vibrating with anger, “no more stalling. No more waiting around for help or miracles. No more negotiating. I want you two to gather the Dragon Force and make them ready to march on Elvenhame. Tonight, we get our brothers and my mate back, no matter the cost.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His sisters saluted, and under different circumstances, Drystan might have been taken aback, as it was the first time they had done so. But he was almost too angry to care.

  “It will not be easy to attack in dragon form,” Tariana said, “not with all that anti-dragon magic and those horrible bracelets. But you are right—the time to act like sniveling cowards has passed. We must stand and fight.”

  “Exactly.” Drystan rose from his seat. “Tariana, contact your lieutenants and get this in motion immediately. Catriona, Taldren—with me.”

  He stalked out of his office, the others following. Seething, Drystan stormed down to the dungeons and headed straight for the private, closely guarded cell where the warlock was being held.

  “Let me through,” Drystan ordered the guards. They opened the cell, then stepped aside to let him in. Smoke puffed out of Drystan’s nostrils as he beheld the imposter, who lay on the hard bench with his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach. If not for the enchanted manacles around his wrist, the warlock might have resembled some sleeping princess waiting to be awoken by her long-lost love.

  Well, Drystan would awaken him all right. Just not in the manner of his choosing.

  “You miserable wretch,” he snarled, grabbing the warlock’s robe. He hefted the man, and when he merely hung limply from Drystan’s arm, Drystan slammed him into the stone wall. “I know you are faking it, old man. Wake up now, or I will burn you to ashes!”

  The warlock’s head lolled forward in response, almost as if he were mocking Drystan. Smirking, Drystan pushed the man’s head back up, then leaned in and oh-so-gently blew a stream of fire directly onto his shiny, bald head.

  “AAAAIIEEEEEEEEE!” the warlock screeched, his eyes flying open. He smacked at his head with his sleeves, thrashing against Drystan’s iron grip. “What in Xaldor’s name is wrong with you?”

  “Ah, so you are awake.” Drystan looked over his shoulder at Catriona and Taldren. His sister’s expression was an interesting meld of amusement a
nd shock, while Taldren merely looked relieved that the warlock was no longer unconscious. “I knew you were faking it.”

  “You can hardly blame me for trying,” the warlock whined. “These manacles may prevent me from using my powers on you, but I am perfectly capable of using them on myself to affect sleep.”

  “So I surmised,” Drystan spat. He threw the warlock at the bench, and the man cried out in pain as he smashed against the wall. “You are going to tell me who you really are, and what you’re doing here, or I am going to slow-roast your testicles and feed them to the dogs.”

  “A-all right!” the warlock stammered, holding up his manacled hands to fend off Drystan. He trembled as Drystan opened his mouth, letting a cloud of smoke waft over the imposter. “My name is Mathias Black. I was sent here by King Wularian to spy on the dragon court!”

  “To what purpose?” Catriona demanded. She and Taldren had moved in, flanking Drystan on either side. Mathias clenched his jaw, and Drystan opened his mouth wide, giving him a glimpse of the dragon fire lurking just down his throat.

  “Fine, fine!” Sweat broke out across the warlock’s forehead. “To weaken the kingdom and prepare it for an eventual takeover. My king had already heard about King Dragomir—he’s been using magical mirrors to spy on the goings-on in Dragon’s Keep and saw your father showed signs of dragon sickness. We needed to speed up the progression of the illness, so he sent me in to get rid of his Dragon’s Gift and to sow doubt and mistrust in his mind.”

  As the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place, a red haze descended over Drystan’s vision. Roaring, he grabbed the warlock by the throat and slammed him into the wall again, squeezing hard.

  “You…killed…my…mother,” he ground out between clenched teeth. The fire raged in his chest, demanding retribution.

  “P-please!” Mathias choked, his eyes bulging. “I-I-I…can help…you!”

  “Drystan,” Taldren said gently from behind him. “We came down here because we needed information. If you kill him now, we may not find out what we need to know.”

  Disgusted, Drystan released his hold and let the warlock collapse on the bench. Letting out another roar, he punched the wall just above Mathias’s head. Spiderweb cracks raced across the stone as the room trembled, and the warlock whimpered. He still wore the oracle’s guise, but he was a far cry from the smug, self-righteous arsehole he’d been portraying.

  “You are going to tell me how to circumvent the anti-dragon spell that has been laid over Elvenhame,” Drystan said in a too-soft voice. “And you are going to tell me how the elves are bringing down my dragons and forcing them to change back into human form.”

  “T-there is no way to circumvent the anti-dragon spell!” the warlock stammered, holding up his manacled hands to fend off Drystan. Drystan bared his teeth, puffing a cloud of smoke at the warlock that caused him to lose control of his bladder and fill the room with the stench of piss. “Not unless I crafted warlock amulets for every member in your army, and that would take months!”

  “We don’t have months,” Drystan snapped. “The elves have mutilated my brother and threatened further harm to him—we are marching on them now. Give me something to use against them, or so help me, I will tie you to a spit and let one of my sisters slow-roast you to death.”

  “The bracelets!” the warlock whined, his voice cracking. “The secret is the bracelets.”

  Catriona sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

  “We crafted special brass bracelets that force dragons to shift back to human form and prevent them from breathing fire,” Mathias croaked. “That is how Arolas was able to turn the tide so quickly against you.”

  “Is there a way to combat the effects?” Drystan demanded.

  “As I said, warding amulets,” Mathias panted. “But again, it would take me months to craft enough for all of you.”

  “That’s insane,” Taldren snapped. “Lucyan has a warding amulet—he’s using it right now. If he was able to get his hands on one, that means they are for sale.”

  Mathias laughed harshly. “Indeed, in Shadowhaven. Good luck making it to any of the market stalls there, or getting them to take a large order. It is foolish to attack the elves now. We have armed them against you. The plan was to get the two of you to weaken each other, and it has gone splendidly so far. Once the elves finish you all off, Shadowhaven can move in and annihilate what is left of Elvenhame’s army. Both of your peoples will be ground into the dust, and we shall reclaim our homeland and return it to its former glory.” His eyes shone with a fanatical light. “Terragaard will thrive once it is free from the influence of elves and dragons.”

  Drystan clenched his hand into a fist. He wanted to grind Mathias’s face into the dust, or at least give him a few good punches. Neither of them were even close to what his mother’s murderer deserved, but…

  “Leave him, Drystan,” Catriona said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “This scum isn’t worth bloodying your knuckles over. Besides, we will need his testimony for the council.”

  Drystan exhaled. “You are right,” he said, gathering his composure. He stalked out of the cell and ordered the guards to lock it up behind him. “Let us call a meeting now. It is time to drag those useless bastards’ heads from the sand and make them confront the real enemy.”

  32

  Dareena woke the next morning to bright light streaming in from the cave entrance and two hard, warm male bodies pressed up against her. Smiling, she ran a hand down Alistair’s muscular arm, marveling at the way it had perfectly healed. There was no scar, not even the faintest trace of a line to indicate that Arolas had severed it. Her dragon prince was good as new again.

  Alistair made a pleased sound in his throat, emboldening Dareena. She slid her hand down a little farther, over his hip, to grip his hardening cock. Gently, she stroked him, savoring the feel of his hot, velvety skin sliding against the palm of her hand. His member flexed in her fist, and as Alistair moaned, Lucyan moved in closer, his lips trailing along the back of Dareena’s neck.

  “I must say, this is a nice way to wake up,” he said, nudging his cock between her legs. Dareena gasped as he entered her from behind, her back arching, and she instinctively tightened her grip around Alistair’s cock. The three of them moaned in unison, and Dareena quickened her strokes as Lucyan moved inside her.

  The three of them made love, then washed off in the hot springs, where they made love again. Dareena’s cheeks ached from smiling so much, and yet, there was an ache deep in her heart for Drystan. Their merry band wasn’t complete without him. He was back at Dragon’s Keep, probably worried sick about them all, dealing with the crushing burden of running the kingdom without any of them to help.

  Alistair and Lucyan mirrored Dareena’s sentiments—they did not linger after finishing their bath, but shifted back into dragons while Dareena donned her maid uniform. She climbed on Alistair’s back this time, and the three of them took to the skies, determined to get home and reunite with their family.

  Alistair could still hardly believe he was flying. The wind whipped past him, clouds brushed the tips of his wings, and below, the landscape rushed by, far faster than he could ever travel on foot or even horseback. He’d thought it would take him longer to get used to flying, but he’d taken to it like a duck to water, executing flips and turns mid-air, loving the way his muscles sang as they propelled him through the sky.

  He also loved the feel of his mate sitting between his shoulder blades, her curvy body pressed against his hide. Her sweet scent wafted around him, warming his blood, filling his heart with contentment. No longer was he a useless wretch stuck in bed while she took on the burden of caring for him. He was a fearsome, fire-breathing dragon, capable of protecting what was his.

  And he was whole again.

  Lucyan and Alistair carefully stuck to the clouds. Even though they were back in their homeland, spies were everywhere. There was no need to tip off their enemies that all three of them could shift, an
d lose the element of surprise. But as Alistair scanned the landscape through the cloud cover, he noticed something odd.

  Lucyan, he said slowly, using mind speech to get his brother’s attention. Do you see those men down there?

  Lucyan turned his head to where Alistair was looking. A nobleman, traveling with mercenaries. All heavily armed. What are they doing with all those mules?

  Alistair dropped lower to get a better look. Five mules all carrying empty sacks. My guess is that he’s here to collect something, he said warily.

  “Is…is that Count Kianor?” Dareena asked. Alistair twisted his head to see her looking over his shoulder, her green eyes wide. “I was told he was on his way back to Shadowhaven!”

  Count Kianor? Lucyan asked.

  He was a warlock envoy at Elvenhame’s court, Alistair explained. I don’t see how he has any legitimate business in our realm. That a warlock was moving freely through Dragonfell was not a good sign. They must have used magic to sneak past the border guards.

  Lucyan growled. Let’s follow him and find out what it is he’s after.

  The two of them stuck close, staying out of sight while making sure not to lose track of the warlocks. As expected, the party did not head for Paxhall, but instead headed north. The count seemed to be following directions—he had some shiny device in his hand, perhaps a sort of magical compass, and glanced at it frequently.

  I believe we’re headed for the Black Mountains, Alistair finally said. The mountain range loomed close, only an hour away by horseback. Either the mountains were their destination, or something that lay beyond. But what?