The Dragon Mistress: Book 1 (The Eburosi Chronicles 8)
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The Dragon Mistress: Book 1
By R. A. Steffan
Copyright 2018 by R. A. Steffan
Cover art by NUN
Cover branding by Deranged Doctor Design
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1: Stranger in a Strange Land
Chapter 2: When in Utrea
Chapter 3: Safaad
Chapter 4: A Royal Audience
Chapter 5: The Women’s Quarters
Chapter 6: Chosen
Chapter 7: A Rock and a Hard Place
Chapter 8: The Purple Cloak
Chapter 9: Haven
Chapter 10: Decisions
Chapter 11: Night Flight
Chapter 12: Reunion
Chapter 13: Revelation
Chapter 14: Explanation
Chapter 15: The Weyr
Chapter 16: Interlude
Chapter 17: The Morning After
Introduction
This book is the first installment a medium-burn reverse harem/poly romance series. Cliffhanger haters beware—it is not intended as a standalone read. The story contains descriptions of violence and graphic sex. The sex will not always be vanilla. Some of the subject matter in the characters’ pasts is dark.
The Dragon Mistress series takes place eighteen years after the events of The Horse Mistress and twelve years after the events of The Lion Mistress. It is not necessary to have read The Horse Mistress or The Lion Mistress series arcs first.
Chapter 1: Stranger in a Strange Land
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THOSE bastards stole my horse. Damn it, I liked that horse.”
The sun blazed above me, unmoved by my lament. I knew, deep down, that my lost horse should not have been my first concern. Lying bruised and beaten by the side of the road as I was—with no food, no water, and punishing heat beating down on my aching head—the loss of the weedy little chestnut mare I’d purchased in the port town of Adumine was the least of my worries.
Stop whining, Frella. It could have been worse, I tried to tell myself.
I’d done my best to fight off the bandits when they rode up and surrounded us, but there were four of them, and the pair of no-good cheats I’d been traveling with had obviously been in on the whole thing from the start—leading me straight into a trap.
I only had two throwing knives on me. One had stuck in a bandit’s leather chest armor, failing to penetrate the flesh beneath. The other knife found the meat of a second man’s thigh, but he’d only yanked it out, cursing, and charged at me on horseback, knocking me from Laduna’s saddle.
The fall stunned me, and I was easy prey after that. The one with the leather armor grabbed me and held me against his broad chest. A meaty hand covered my mouth as I kicked and struggled fruitlessly, trying without success to get any kind of leverage to use against him. He was wearing sturdy half-gloves, so I couldn’t even bite him. His tall, heavy boots meant my attempts to kick his shins or stomp on his toes only made him twist one of my arms painfully behind my back.
“Check her saddlebags,” my captor snapped in Utrean. “She’s foreign, but she’s got money—that’s clear enough.”
The man and woman who’d been riding with me went to catch Laduna, while the other three bandits loitered nearby, leering at me. I could feel my temper rising. That was a bad sign, I knew. Ithric and Keenan had spent years trying to teach me to stay calm during a fight rather than let my emotions carry me away. The lessons never stuck, unfortunately—and I knew full well why that was, even if I’d never told them in so many words.
I got angry because anger was better than fear.
That was why I started flailing like a madwoman in the leader’s grip—shrieking against the hand muffling my face as the man I’d injured came limping up and grabbed my breast in one blood-soaked paw.
“I’ll teach you a lesson, bitch,” he said, easily dodging my feet as I kicked out. His hand squeezed painfully, and I wrenched against the grip on my arm that threatened to tear something in my shoulder if I continued to struggle.
“We can take turns with her,” said another of the onlookers, his voice high-pitched and sniveling. “I ain’t never seen hair that color before. It’s almost like gold. You think it’s the same color down below?”
The fingers that had been digging into my breast moved to squeeze roughly between my legs, and I screamed again—in rage, I assured myself. A roar of rage—the sound mostly muffled by the hand covering my mouth. My heart pounded against my ribs—also in rage, godsdamnit. I bucked, trying to dislodge the hands even if I dislocated my shoulder in the process.
“Sounds like you’re about to regret throwing those knives in a very big way, little peach,” the man holding me said, not even sounding out of breath from containing my struggles. Smug bastard.
My tunic was made of the light, flowing material favored for travel in the arid uplands east of the coastal port. I regretted that fact as Grabby Hands took hold of the collar and tore it open, ripping it nearly to my navel. Still, the distraction was enough for one of my flailing feet to catch him sharply in the knee, on the same leg I’d pierced earlier with the blade.
He grunted, and the answering fist to my stomach would have doubled me over if Leather Armor hadn’t been holding me upright. I fought the urge to empty my stomach contents. Not only would doing so hurt my aching gut even more—it would also be really, really disgusting, considering Leather Armor’s left hand was still clapped over my mouth.
“Oy!” called one of the two-timing bastards who’d gone after my horse. “Look over there!”
Everyone turned to look in the direction I’d come from. Unfortunately, Leather Armor’s tight hold on me—not to mention the tears of pain in my eyes—meant that I couldn’t see whatever had caused the commotion.
“Son of a poxy whore,” Sniveling Voice cursed. “What’re the odds? Anything good in those saddlebags, Midhan?”
“Yes, there’s food and money,” the woman said. “Some fancy clothing that might fetch a bit, too.”
I tried to crane around and glare at her. What kind of woman stood by while another woman was assaulted by a gang of men? The criminal kind, I supposed, and mentally kicked myself for trusting her and her crooked partner.
“Shit. Stupid bitch!” Grabby Hands snarled. “No time for fun. Let’s just kill her, and fucking go.” He smacked my exposed breast hard, startling a muffled yelp from me.
An angry yelp. Not a girly one. The yelp of someone who was really, really pissed off, and not scared out of her wits in the least.
Leather Armor’s hand fell away from my mouth, in favor of patting me down roughly. In moments, he found the small but heavy coin purse hanging from my belt and yanked it free.
“Nah,” he said. “Just leave her. What’s she gonna do with no food, water, or money? It’s bad luck to kill a woman.”
He gave me a shove and I staggered free, whirling to face him, my mouth hanging open in outrage. “Wait. You were all ready to gang rape me, but killing me would be bad luck? Seriously—what the actual fuck?”
I did mention about my temper, didn’t I?
The gloved fist that flashed toward my face an instant before pain exploded in my right cheekbone probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But—not gonna lie, here—the impact as I slammed face-first into the rocky ground, head reeling… well. It was kind of surprising. I was only vaguely aware of the others mounting up and leaving with Laduna in tow, as my consciousness wavered in and out.
And that’s how I found myself lying bruised and battered by the side of the road with no food, no water, no transportation, and my expos
ed tits slowly turning red under the unforgiving rays of the desert sun. So… yeah. Laduna’s theft maybe shouldn’t have been my biggest concern at that particular point in time.
It also wasn’t the best time to realize that, finally, after almost a dozen years of trying, I’d had a real adventure. And, so far? Adventure sucked donkey cock.
That was certainly disappointing.
I sighed. Assuming I didn’t die of heat stroke right here in the middle of the Utrean desert, I was never breathing a single word of this to Keenan, Ithric, my brother, my guardians back in Draebard, or anyone else. The sky spun in slow circles above me, making me queasy. I closed my eyes against the sight.
Just for a moment, I promised. I’ll just rest here for a moment, until I get my breath back, that’s all. My last thought, before darkness snuck across my mind with stealthy cat’s feet, was to wonder what the men had seen in the distance earlier to make them leave.
* * *
I blinked, my eyes feeling as gritty as the sand that surrounded me. The hazy blob hovering above me solidified into a face. Large. Male. Heavy-featured. What I’d taken for shadows from being backlit was actually skin so dark it looked like polished ebony. Huh. That was strange. Not to mention quite strikingly attractive. I’d never see anyone with skin so dark before. I blinked.
Wait. Big, male, and looming over me?
My heart kicked into life, pounding hard against the walls of my chest. Everything hurt, but I still clenched a fist and swung it toward the man’s throat, hoping for a quick takedown.
Surprise flared in eyes so black I couldn’t see where the pupil ended and the iris began. He jerked a shoulder up to block me, damn him—the movement so fast that my blow rolled off hard muscle instead of bruising a soft windpipe.
“Whoa!” he said, but I was already scrabbling backward, trying to gain enough space to roll to my feet; hoping dizziness wouldn’t send me right back down again.
To my surprise, rather than press his advantage, the man stepped back with his hands raised in a gesture of peace that was almost comical, given his height and massive, muscular frame. A male laugh from somewhere nearby drew my attention, though my balance threatened to desert me when I started to turn. I staggered, but kept my feet.
The laugh was light and clear, nothing like the cruel amusement of the bandits. “Eldris, my friend,” said the laugh’s owner. “You look like you went to stroke a sweet little pussy in the granary and discovered a crouched panther instead!”
I had a confused impression of gray eyes the color of a finely honed steel blade, and long, mahogany-colored hair with a single streak of white running through it. Then my attention was jerked back to the dark-skinned man in front of me, who harrumphed.
“No one wants to hurt you, all right?” he said, still holding his hands palm-out. “I was just checking to see how bad you were injured, that’s all.”
At that point, I realized several things in quick succession. First, my tongue felt like it had swollen until there was hardly enough room for it in my mouth. Second, there were four people arrayed around me, not just two. In addition to the dark man and the one on horseback who had laughed at me, a woman and another man were mounted nearby. The other man held two additional horses—one saddled for riding and the other carrying loaded panniers.
The next thing I realized—and perhaps the most important thing so far—was that my ripped tunic still gaped open, leaving one of my breasts half-covered and the other one hanging out for everyone to see. Charming. I fumbled for the light material, pulling it together as best I could.
“Water?” I rasped, fighting my swollen tongue. Swallowing my pride would have been a whole lot easier if my throat weren’t so dry.
The woman had been watching, wide-eyed, from the back of her petite gray horse. She was straight-backed and willowy—effortlessly elegant in a way I never had been and never would be. She had the thick black hair, brown eyes and olive-tinted skin common amongst her countrymen. She was dressed very finely and had an air of delicacy about her that made me think she was from a rich family. Perhaps even nobility.
Now, concern appeared to break her free of her earlier paralysis. “Of course! I’m so terribly sorry for staring,” she said in a sweet, lilting voice. “Aristede, please be so good as to get this poor young woman a drink.”
“Just try to stay out of punching range while you do it,” said the third man—the one holding the horses. His tone was as dry as the desert landscape around us.
The man with the white streak in his long, brown hair—Aristede by name, apparently—snorted in amusement and dismounted, unhooking a waterskin from his saddle. The pull of water was like a lodestone drawing me toward him. He smiled and held out the skin. It was a nice smile, and one I might have been able to appreciate more if I could have torn my eyes away from the water.
“There you go,” he said, as I took the water. “Help yourself. We’re well-provisioned, and we’re only a day or so out from Safaad.”
The water was stale, lukewarm, and quite possibly the best thing I had ever tasted. When my thirst was slaked, I resisted the urge to pour some of the remaining contents over my head and arms. That might have been acceptable back home on the island of Eburos, but I’d seen enough to know that water was precious in the Utrean uplands.
“Thank you,” I managed, sounding more like myself. I was still bruised and aching, but the dizziness was receding and my vision no longer wavered.
“What on earth happened to you, you poor thing?” the woman asked. “We saw the plume of dust from several riders, but we were too far away to make out any details.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and corked the waterskin before reluctantly handing it back. “I was set upon by bandits. They stole my horse and all my belongings.” Just saying the words made the anger flare in my belly once more.
The dark-skinned giant—Eldris—gave my torn tunic a pointed look. “Seems like they were after more than your horse and your supplies.” His expression was stony.
The woman made a noise of dismay. I gritted my teeth, not having any particular desire to discuss it.
“Yeah. Well, you said you saw the dust rising from their horses’ hooves. I guess they saw the dust rising from yours, too. I think that’s what convinced them to leave.”
“Thank goodness for that,” said the woman. “But still—how horrible for you to have gone through such a thing! You must allow us to escort you the rest of the way to Safaad. It’s far too difficult a journey on foot.”
I wasn’t about to pass up that offer. “Thank you,” I said, with unfeigned relief. “I think you four may have just saved my life.”
“Don’t give it a second thought,” my sweet-natured savior insisted. “I’m only sorry we didn’t arrive sooner. Now, forgive my manners. My name is Gladya. This is Eldris, and Aristede.” She gestured to the dark-skinned man and the man who’d given me the water, confirming the names I’d already mentally applied to them. “And this is Rayth.” She waved toward the man who was still mounted. Rayth dipped his chin a fraction, but said nothing.
“I’m Frella of Draebard,” I told them. “To say that I’m pleased to make your acquaintance is an understatement, believe me.”
They all smiled except for Rayth.
Aristede cocked his head. “Draebard, eh? I’ve not heard of it. Is that up north somewhere?”
“Way up north,” I told him. “On the Isle of Eburos.”
“Ah,” he said. “That’s quite a journey from here. And it would explain your…” He trailed off, gesturing at his hair in a way that indicated my fair coloring.
“Interesting,” Eldris said. “Are there lots of people with blue eyes and honey-colored hair in the northern lands? I’ve never seen hair that light before.”
We studied each other shamelessly for a moment. “It’s not uncommon,” I said. “Don’t feel bad, though. I’ve never seen someone with ebony skin before. Where are you from?”
“Kulawi,” he sai
d. “It’s also quite a way from here. Right across the Great Southern Desert.”
“Sorry, never heard of it,” I admitted.
The flash of white teeth he gave me had a guarded edge to it. “Maybe just as well,” he said. “Most people are scared when I tell them that.”
“Oh?” I asked.
“The Kulawi people have a reputation for ferocity,” Aristede offered.
“For being brutes, you mean,” Eldris said, and there was a hint of long-buried bitterness lurking behind the words. “People ‘round here consider us savages.”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Eldris’ eyes narrowed, but I just shook my head. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just that a lot of people on the continent consider the Eburosi to be barbarians.” I stepped forward and stretched a hand out. “As one barbarian savage to another, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Apologies for the attempted throat-punching thing, by the way.”
His hard expression melted into a smile that transformed his whole face. He clasped me forearm to forearm, his grip firm but not punishing. “Barbarian, eh? I like that. Pleased to meet you, too.” He let go, and made a vague gesture toward my torso. “And, uh, your tits are hanging out again. Thought you might want to know.”
“Crap.” I clutched at the torn tunic, feeling my traitorous northern skin flush with embarrassed heat. At least the sunburn would keep it from being as noticeable to the others. Probably.
Gladya dismounted and led her gray over to the packhorse, where she rummaged through one of the panniers. “Let me get you something to wear. I’m afraid what you’re wearing now is a bit beyond help.”
She pulled out a silky length of ivory-colored cloth and handed it to me with a hesitant smile.
“Thank you,” I said with feeling. Modesty seemed a bit ridiculous since I’d already flashed all of them more than once, so I just turned my back and quickly stripped off the ruined tunic, replacing it with the borrowed one.
It was too snug in places—Gladya was a tall, slender woman, and I was all short, plump curves that never seemed to diminish no matter how hard or strong the muscles underneath grew. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though, unless I wanted to try to borrow a shirt from one of the men.