The Dragon's Rebellious Sacrifice: a Dragon Shifter Romance (The Last Dragons Book 4)

by Ines Johnson

  The Dragons Rebellious Sacrifice

  The Last Dragons Book 4

  Ines Johnson

  Those Johnson Girls

  Copyright © 2021, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.

  Edited by Alyssa Breck

  Cover design by Jacqueline Sweet Designs

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition July 2021

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Also by Ines Johnson

  Chapter One

  For a dragon who had come into the world with two siblings, Ilia did not enjoy his solitude. He sat at the end of the bar. The seat to his right empty. The seat to his left had clattered down onto the floor sometime ago when its last occupant had vacated it. True, the troll who had been sitting there when Ilia had arrived had taken one look at Ilia’s sharp-toothed snarl and fled. But that was beside the point.

  Ilia did not want to be alone.

  “Is this seat taken?” purred a high-pitched voice.

  The enticing scent coming off the pink-skinned fairy tugged at Ilia’s nostrils. He hunched over his drink instead, breathing in and letting the fiery alcohol burn the perfume from his nose hairs.

  “You want some company tonight, Ilia?” The fairy moved the standing barstool out of the way and aimed her pert ass for Ilia’s lap. “Clove and I would be happy to keep you up all night and into the morning.”

  Clove, the mint green fairy, came up behind Ilia. Her earthy scent clashed with the saccharine scent of the lavender of Honeysuckle. Their hands wrapped around Ilia’s biceps like vines twining around a tree’s trunk.

  A few weeks ago, Ilia would’ve welcomed the distraction of two fairies’ attentions. Hell, he’d have walked naked through a whole garden of the beauties and fertilized them all. Now, the feel of these two made his skin crawl. The smell of them made his stomach turn. Because neither of them was her.

  “Not tonight,” Ilia said, shrugging them off gently. Or at least as gently as he could.

  He was a large dragon, known more for his strength and prowess than his tender touch. Most fairies, with their flexible limbs, liked it a little rough.

  “Why not?” said Clove. “You think we’re not enough for you? You can have us both at the same-“

  “I said no.”

  Fire huffed out of Ilia’s nose. The two fairies backed off immediately, knocking the chair to his right over to join the left in their haste to move away from him.

  Ilia knew he should apologize. It was very bad manners to scare off defenseless females. It was not chivalrous behavior. Nothing like his idol Arnold “The Terminator” Schwarzenegger, who would’ve dipped his sunshades and told them he’d be back.

  But he didn’t go back for the two fairies. He didn’t want to be their hero. He wanted to be her hero. But she wasn’t here.

  Ilia picked up his drink and threw the contents down his throat. The fiery liquid burned going down. Literally. There were flames coming out of the mug. But for a fire-breathing dragon, it was just a tickle as it slid down and into his belly. What really bothered Ilia was being alone.

  In a world where dragons were born in pairs, Ilia had been the third in a set of triplets. He’d been born the runt of the litter. He’d come out last; too small, too weak to live. And yet, he had survived.

  “What’s wrong? Not hot enough for you, big guy?”

  Ilia took a deep breath, ready to breathe fire at the new interruption into his pity party. When he lifted his head, there was no eager fairy standing to his right or his left. This fairy was standing behind the bar, looking at him with a quizzical brow raised.

  “I’m not in the mood, Mari,” Ilia said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the still retreating fairies.

  “I didn’t mean the pansy twins. I meant the drink.” Mari pointed at the empty mug on the bar.

  Ilia stared into the bottom of the glass. It was vacant of any drops of liquid. And also of any licks of flame.

  Mari swiped the mug from him and turned to refill it. Amber liquid poured into the mug. The color of a bright flame waiting to be ignited.

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asked. “You’re usually in the back corner of the bar with a couple of fairies wrapped around your waist.”

  “That’s not me. Not anymore.”

  “That’s all dragons,” Mari snorted. “And lions, and bears, and wolves. All you beasts think fairies are your own personal harem.”

  With a flick of her delicate wrists, Mari struck a match and lit the drink. Flames ignited, flowing over the rim of the cup. She shoved the mug to him and stepped back as the fire lifted.

  Mari’s lips curled in a grimace of distaste. Fairies liked warmth, but not fire, which could singe their cellulose skin. Mari’s skin was completely covered by a formless sack of brown that did nothing for her indigo complexion. It didn’t matter. She was still breathtaking. Fairies were beautiful no matter if they smiled or frowned, were naked or covered in mud. Just like the flowers they evolved from, it was in their nature to draw the eye of any man or beast that came near.

  Ilia had never come near Mari. Not in that way. She was his friend. Heroes didn’t fuck their friends. They practiced on nameless wenches while they waited for their true love to call out for them to rescue her.

  Ilia closed his eyes and listened closely. All he heard was the chatter of fairies, trolls, and a couple of beasts. She wasn’t here in this bar. She wasn’t here in this realm.

  “You look like death,” Mari was saying. “And your nails are dirty. Is that blood?”

  Ilia nodded as he lifted the mug and took a sniff. A flame scorched the tip of his nose. “I killed my father earlier.”

  The sound of his father’s bones crunching under the weight of Ilia’s claws sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine. The sound of bones cracking and breaking was all too familiar to Ilia’s ears. After all, his father had broken his bones repeatedly when he was just a fledgling. Left him broken, battered, and bruised. Left him for dead.

  But Ilia, the stubborn dragon that he was, kept healing. He kept breathing. He kept living.

  Mari’s sky blue gaze met his. Ilia knew that wasn’t fear in her eyes, at least not fear of him. She’d seen him during those times as a defenseless whelp. She and his brothers had tended to Ilia… the few times he’d let them.

  “So the old dragon is truly dead?” Mari asked.

  In answer, Ilia took a swig of his drink. Mari had increased the flame. It scalded his throat and took him a minute before he could speak.

  Mari l
eaned over the bar and bent her head close to Ilia’s. Her scent was more spicy than sweet. “Good riddance.”

  Fairies didn’t have blood lust. Likely because they didn’t have any blood. They were all sap inside.

  Not Mari.

  There was a touch of ice in her. Too bad she wasn’t his mate. It would’ve made Ilia’s life simpler. But fae and dragons were not compatible. They could never procreate. Since Mari couldn’t give him any whelps of his own, his dragon would always reject her. The beast wanted a human female. But those were rare creatures in this part of the world.

  In the last ten years, only three human women had come from beyond the Veil. Poppy had come to this side of the Veil a few weeks ago. But Ilia’s brother Beryl had claimed her after a battle where Beryl had fought dirty. Ilia was still pissed at the low blow his brother had dealt him in that clash.

  A few weeks before that, Chryssie had been placed in his older brother Corun’s lap. Corun had said he didn’t want the fiery redhead. But the moment Ilia declared his intentions, Corun had taken back his word and snatched Chryssie up.

  It was bad form in heroic combat, and Ilia had told his brother so. But Corun didn’t care. He was too busy wrapping Chryssie’s legs around his waist.

  Years before that, Cardi had been dropped on their doorstep. She’d been an unripe kid back then. Kimber, their eldest brother, had won her after battling their father. But Kimber hadn’t touched Cardi all these years. Until their father came back to call dibs on the now-grown woman.

  “I was the hero today,” Ilia said. “I vanquished the villain. But I still didn’t manage to get the damsel. How is that fair?”

  “You mean when you saved Cardi from your father?” asked Mari. “Wait? You’re in love with Cardi?”

  “No, I’m not in love with Cardi. She’s practically my sister, like you. But I did save her. And do I get any thanks?”

  “I’m guessing no.”

  Mari guessed correctly. Ilia had saved Cardi from a fate worse than death. And what thanks did he get from her? A door slammed in his face.

  “She didn’t even want a sleepover. She’s in bed with Kimber now. And, trust me, they’re not sleeping.”

  “There’s plenty of females who would love a sleepover with you. And none of them would want to sleep.”

  “It’s not the same with a fairy. No offense.”

  Mari held up her hands, showing that she was neither open to offense or sleeping with Ilia.

  “She should be here by now.” Ilia turned, looking at the closed door of the bar.

  “Who?”

  “My mate. What if she’s not here because she’s in danger? I should go to her. The Terminator went after Sarah Connor. He broke the time barrier to do it.”

  “Didn’t the Terminator go through time to kill Sarah Connor?”

  Ilia thrummed his fingers on the empty mug. It was still warm. “What if Reese was there now, telling her lies about me?”

  “You do know that Kyle Reese was the hero of that film and not the Terminator.”

  Ilia stood, shoving the barstool to the ground. It landed with a thud next to the other two. “I need to go find her.”

  “You can’t go beyond the Veil, Ilia.”

  “The Valkyries opened the Veil. So there’s nothing stopping me. I could go and find her for myself. How hard can it be?”

  “You know there are millions of humans out there.”

  “There’s also the Book of Yellow Pages. That’s how Arnold found Sarah Connor. I swear, did you even watch the movie?”

  “Did you?”

  Of course, he did. It was his favorite film of all time. With T2 being a close second when Arnold comes back for the heroine he’d lost in the first film. Talk about a romantic movie.

  “I think maybe you should wait for Morrigan,” Mari was saying.

  “Heroes don’t wait. They act.” He took a step toward the door but then turned back, not willing to miss this cinematic opportunity. “I’ll be back.”

  Chapter Two

  “Give us a twirl, honey.”

  Rose Bishop grit her teeth at the gravelly voice. The casting director sounded as though he chewed day-old cigarettes instead of smoked them. He smelled like it too. The funk of burnt and mildewed tobacco made her empty stomach churn.

  She wanted to say no but knew she couldn’t. Her stomach was empty, and she needed the money from this photo shoot. Not to fill her stomach. To fill her prescription so that she could keep food down.

  And so, Rose grounded her heel as she pivoted for his perverted gaze. In her mind, she imagined with relish that it was his twig of a dick that she was stomping and grinding as she turned to show the goods she had for sale.

  Because that’s what being a model was; putting your body, your looks on sale for others to either drape with clothing, cover with makeup, or strip you bare and display those same assets.

  “Slow down,” said Roy Gates, one such casting director that preferred the stripped bared assets of models.

  Rose clenched her fists. She bit her tongue. Then she slowed her rotation so that Jail Bait Gates could get a good look at her ass. She didn’t expect him to look too long since she’d stopped being jail bait nearly two years ago. And that’s when the gigs had dried up for her and her sister.

  “Hmmm,” came the man’s voice. There was no praise in it. Only disappointment.

  Rose rolled her eyes all the way to the back of her head. She could do that now as she was still giving him the dark side of the moon. The joke was on him because all he got was a view of the long hem of her skirt. And by long, she meant that it fell to the midway part of her upper thigh.

  “I don’t know why she would come to casting dressed in that.” The feminine voice was just as gravely and mildewed as Gates’s but high pitched. It belonged to Park Palmer, the assistant casting director of Gateway Models.

  More than male casting directors, Rose hated when women held the job. Park wrapped her thin lips around a vape and pulled. The gurgling sound brought to mind a cooing baby. Park Palmer was the furthest thing from maternal that a woman could get. She’d likely pimp out her own kid if the skinny twig of a woman could even muster the strength to carry a child.

  Park put the vape down and rounded the table. Without permission or consent, she reached for the edge of Rose’s skirt and hiked it up. Her acrylic nails scratched against Rose’s skin as she folded the hem up twice, and then a third time until the new crease just touched Rose’s butt cheek.

  Rose clenched her fingers and pursed her lips. There was nothing she could say or do to keep her modesty and also get this job. Looked like the price of the job would be a bit of a moon.

  Too bad the assistant wasn’t done there. Next, Park reached for the straps of Rose’s sensible top and pulled them down and around her shoulder caps. Thankfully, no nipples were revealed in the slutting up of her outfit.

  “Better,” drawled Gates. “But I’m still not seeing it.”

  Not seeing it? What more did he need? A nip slip? Proof of a thigh gap?

  Oh, how Rose hated her career. But it wasn’t like she had any other talents than her pretty face and a body that couldn’t hold food down without medication. It was the need for that medication that brought her here today, readying to put her sick body on display.

  Rose looked over at the couch in the corner, the casting couch. Part of her wanted to walk over and lay down. For a rest, not a fuck. She was so weary that she probably wouldn’t notice if Jail Bait tried to mount her.

  But if she let him have his way with her, she wouldn’t be able to get the medication to keep her food down. And she needed the food in order to keep her body going. So she gave herself a shake and put on her prettiest smile.

  “Nope.” Gates gave a decisive shake of his head.

  Models heard no on a daily basis in this business. So, the response wasn’t a shock. What was were Gates’ next words.

  “She’s pretty, but she looks nothing like her.”

  Ros
e glanced at the woman standing beside her. She could’ve been looking into a mirror. Same fiery red hair. Same honey-golden skin. Only the other woman’s skirt was higher up her thighs. Her cleavage was more on display. But her gaze was vacant as she wore the plastic smile the two of them had developed when they were just twelve years old and being sent on their first casting call.

  “How can they not look the same?” said Park. “They’re twins.”

  Gates looked between Rose and her sister Lily. Rose gritted her teeth to try and affect Lily’s smile. But she could never get it right. Though they were identical, it was the one way their mother could always tell them apart. Mom always said Lily came out of the womb agreeable, never complaining. Whereas Rose wailed right after she took her first breath.

  “They developed different,” said Gates. “That one has bigger tits.”

  Gates pointed to Lily. Lily continued to look straight ahead. Staring at the wall. Placid smile still firmly in place.

  Using her index finger, Park tugged at Lily’s top and peered down. Then she turned to Rose, finger outstretched.

  Rose glared at the offensive digit. Before she could tell the woman exactly where she could put that finger, Rose heard a growl.

  It wasn’t her belly. It was Lily’s. Neither of them had been able to hold anything down for nearly a week. Not since their last dose of their medication. And even that, they’d cut in half and shared.

  Food was cheap. Their medication for gastroparesis was not. The rare disease caused the nerves in their stomach to become overly sensitive. That sensitivity slowed their digestion. Often making them feel full when they weren’t. At other times, vomiting what little food they were able to consume and trying to keep down.