by Ines Johnson
The Dragon's Ambivalent Sacrifice
The Last Dragons Book 2
Ines Johnson
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
Chapter 26
Epilogue
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Also by Ines Johnson
Copyright © 2019, 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
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2019
Chapter One
Snap. Crackle. Pop.
The crown of Beryl's head crashed back, nearly touching the space between his shoulder blades. His Adam's apple stretched the inside of his neck as though it would break the skin there. The force of his head flinging back caused his upper lip to catch his incisors. A grunt tore from his throat.
The sound wasn't one of pain. He licked the blood of his split lip. A smile curled at his mouth, making the cut spread wider and the pain sting more.
He swaggered back to his opponent. The beast of a man was the same height as Beryl and just as broad. Leander’s barreled chest was covered in a blond mat of fuzz that curled as salty beads of sweat trickled down into the tendrils. His massive paws were nearly the size of Beryl's head. The weapons ended in claws.
That was fine. Beryl had claws of his own, and they were just as sharp. Golden fur met green scales as lion and dragon clashed in the ring.
Beryl shoved the lion shifter into the corner. He had him on the ropes. The gathered crowd cheered. Beryl turned, raising his hands into the air to accept the praise.
Berylmania was ripe in the crowd tonight. If he had a yellow shirt on, he’d tear it from his chest. But yellow wasn’t his true color. Up in the crowd, there were a few emerald green bandanas with the golden letters of his name written across. The fae pumped their fists in the air and shouted his name and his title.
Beryl, the Heavyweight Champion of the Veil.
In his corner, his brother Ilia shouted instructions like, “Go for his knee,” or “Don’t turn your back,” or “Pay attention, and don’t get cocky.” All of which Beryl didn’t listen to. He was the champion, not Ilia who hadn’t won his match earlier against a wolf shifter.
From behind, Beryl felt a slash at his shoulder blades. And then a blow was delivered to his side. He doubled over and received a swift kick to his face.
He saw red, then stars, then black.
Blinking his eyes rapidly, Beryl scrambled to his feet. There were two Ilia’s shaking his head in the corner. There were two Leanders coming at him from the opposite corner. Blinking again, the two lions merged into one fierce predator intent on his prey.
Silly cub. Didn’t he know? Dragons were at the top of the food chain in this land beyond the Veil. And Beryl was the biggest, baddest, fiercest dragon of his clan. The best fighter in all the Veil. It said so on his flashy title belt.
Not taking his eyes off his opponent this time, Beryl crouched. Digging down on his haunches, he waited for the attack. He wasn’t known for his patience or his cunning, just his brute force. When it came to fighting, strategy simply came naturally to his big blockhead.
When Leander was just two steps away, Beryl unfolded his wings from his back and launched himself into the air. The lion’s perfectly curled hair lifted, getting mussed as Beryl’s powerful wings carried him over the male and to his back. Beryl gave one swift kick to Leander’s sacrum. The lion roared as he went to his knees. With lizard fast speed, Beryl grabbed Leander around his neck and put him in a submission hold. Apex predators did not like to be cowed. Survival of the fittest was a moniker that began with shifters, not mankind.
The fairies, trolls, and other shifters gathered in the bowels of God’s Teet roared their approval. Up in a special section, sat the Valkyrie. Dragons might be at the top of the food chain, but the Valkyries had that chain wrapped around their manicured fists. The leather-clad women were the keepers of the peace of this ragtag bunch of unnaturals. Unnatural because all the beings in this realm were engineered and not evolved like the plants and animals in the human world.
Once again, with Beryl’s attention diverted, Leander got out of the hold. The lion tucked his chin and rolled into the crook of Beryl’s elbow as they’d seen Hulk Hogan do with Andre the Giant. Beryl knew Leander’s favorite wrestler of all time was the massive giant. They’d both spent enough time in Beryl’s man cave watching the Wrestlemania III match. But didn’t the lion know how that match ended? If not, he was about to get a fresh reminder.
“Now, we face each other as God intended; sportsmanlike. No tricks. No weapons. Skill against skill alone.”
Beryl rolled his eyes as Leander quoted his favorite film. The giant of a lion’s paw struck out, catching Beryl in the eye. Beryl’s dragon was elated. The beast couldn't wait to see the new marks. It liked the blood, it needed the violence. It was the only thing that soothed his inner beast. Not the only thing that could. Just the only means available to him.
Beryl fought his brothers on a daily basis. It was required for their dragons who day by day were becoming more beasts than men. Fighting kept them in some semblance of balance. But the scales were tilted against them. And not just the dragons. The balance was out of whack for all male shifters in the realm.
Beryl was done playing with the lion. He danced around his frenemy, light on his toes, moving his feet quickly. He was always pretty when he fought. He liked to put on a show for all watching.
The female fairies in the audience sighed audibly over the crunch of bone and mashing of flesh. The air was permeated with their honeyed scent of arousal. Looking up, Beryl saw the fae gazing at him. The flower creatures were all easily bendable with their vine-like limbs. He could have his pick of flowers tonight, but his gaze kept slipping to the Valkyrie. The bloodthirsty huntresses were more interested in their ale than the fight. Valkyries bowed to no one. But they did have one weakness.
"You done flirting?" said Leander. “Or should I leave the ring so you can go toe to toe with those flowers?”
“You’ve got other things to worry about, brother,” said Beryl. “Whatcha gonna do when Berylmania comes for you?”
Leander rolled his eyes and charged. He leaped into the air on two feet as a man and landed on four as a massive lion. Powerful paws drummed into the floor of the ring, making the whole place shudder with his ferocity. He opened his mouth, incisors dripping, and roared. The air around stirred like the beginnings of a storm.
The dragon had been pushing against Beryl’s skin all night. Finally, Beryl let the beast have h
is body. It was the only way he would have satisfaction tonight. Besides, it wasn't as though he could control his shifts much anymore. If the dragon wanted to get out, it would.
Beryl’s claws scraped against the floor as he landed. The two beasts clashed at the center of the ring. Leander got in a few more good jabs until Beryl got his claws around Leander’s body. He lifted the massive lion into the air and body-slammed him just as his hero Hulk Hogan had done to Andre the Giant in their final match.
The impact shook the establishment. A wave of beings bounced out of their seats and then jumped to their feet, roaring their approval. With Leander on his back, Beryl was able to get him into another submission hold. This hold stuck because, unlike the man who could be easily distracted, the dragon had a singular focus.
Pain.
Inflicting pain was the only thing that brought the beast to heel. And so he tightened the screws around Leander’s mane.
The lion’s head was too big. He couldn’t tuck his chin and duck out this time. Leander’s only option was to tap out. After long moments trapped in the dragon’s clutches, Beryl felt Leander’s claws tapping on his arm.
He’d done it. He’d protected his title. The fight was over. So why was Ilia still shouting instructions from the corner?
Beryl ignored his brother and reveled in his victory. Many of the male shifters had been fighting in these cage matches for weeks now. Not one had bested Beryl. Not the bears or the wolves. Not his brother. And now, the mighty Leander, King of the Beasts, had fallen.
Beryl looked down at Leander. His lips were blue. His eyes were bugging out of their sockets.
Oh, crap. He still had him in a chokehold. He needed to let go. Only, his dragon didn't relent.
Beryl tried to loosen the beast’s hold, but the dragon was too powerful. It wanted the lion’s blood.
Beryl looked into the lion's eyes as the life was slowly seeping out of them. There was recognition there. This was Leander. His friend. They play fought when the two of them were just fledglings. They shared a love of weightlifting and working out, seeing who could grow their muscles the biggest.
Leander’s muscles were straining now as the breath left his body. The lion hadn’t even wanted this fight. Beryl had goaded him into it the only way he knew how. Leander had a secret, one he’d only told Beryl. And Beryl had threatened to reveal it to the whole realm if Leander didn’t join him in the ring.
Inside himself, Beryl was fighting a losing war. His dragon tasted blood in the air, and it wanted more. Was this it? Was this his last moment as a man as the dragon took complete control over his body like his brother Rhoyl’s had done?
Maybe so because somehow, Beryl was flying through the air without ever remembering launching.
Beryl’s wings unfurled and caught the current before he landed. His dragon turned, ready to face the next foe. And stopped right in its tracks.
A blonde woman, smaller than the lion but with a fierce glare, squared off before him. She stood over the unconscious lion shifter. Though she was the official of the match, her round face and strong cheekbones belied her connection to the limp male on the mat.
Instantly, Beryl’s beast gave way to man. He stood at the center of the ring stark naked, his beast having ripped his clothes off in the change. Beryl bowed his head in shame, not meeting the woman's gaze.
"My apologies, lioness."
"Control your beast,” growled Leona, “or you won't be invited over for playtime with my boys anymore."
"Yes, ma'am."
The matches had been Leona’s idea. She had been the one to approach Beryl. He hadn’t questioned why the mother of six male lions had organized the matches. It had been obvious; she was the mother of six male lions. She needed some way to get their aggression out that wouldn’t add more damage to her den.
Leona turned to her son. She didn’t check his wounds or even help him up like a normal mother would. Because she was a lioness. When she saw that her eldest was still breathing, she turned back to the crowd and announced Beryl the winner.
The crowd chanted his name. With his past fights, this had been the highlight of the match, hearing cheers for what felt natural to him. But with this match, he felt like he'd lost the contest.
He had lost something. He'd lost himself. He had no grip on his animal. If Leona hadn't intervened, Beryl wasn't sure he'd have regained control. He could've killed Leander. And Beryl actually liked the big, hairy, pretty boy. Better than he liked his own brother.
“That was bad sportsmanship,” said Ilia as Beryl climbed out of the ring. “You should’ve gone for his knees instead—”
“Shut it.” Beryl gave his brother a shove.
Ilia, who was a foot shorter and a stone lighter than Beryl, fell back into a throng of fairies. The flowers caught him in their veiny clutches. Ilia’s brown eyes flashed jade, his dragon surfacing in response to Beryl’s assault.
Beryl felt a twinge of remorse, but he quickly tamped it down. Ilia was used to this treatment being born the runt of the litter. And Beryl didn’t have time to apologize. He had more important things to attend to.
He made his way through the cheering crowd. Not bothering to cover his manhood as he did.
"Let me heal those wounds," said a fae. Dahlia was her name.
He'd had her several times. Her sweet scent usually called to him, but it was bitter tonight. He hadn't indulged in fairies for a while now, not since he knew there was a chance.
Beryl side stepped Dahlia and made his way to the Valkyries who were leaving.
“Siggy? Hilda? Any news back from beyond the Veil?”
Hilda turned to him, braids whipping as she turned. Her sword raised and arced at his throat. Beryl swallowed. Her blade caught the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“What do I look like?” Hilda’s lip curled as she regarded him. “The Nightly News?”
Beryl held up his hands in a placating fashion. “My apologies. I was only asking if you’ve had any word from Morrigan?”
“Morri isn’t back from her hunt,” said Siggy. Her gaze was unabashedly on Beryl’s package.
A few weeks ago, Beryl’s brother Corun had made a deal with the Valkyries to bring back female sacrifices for them in exchange for gems. Beryl had pulled Morrigan aside and offered her her weight in emeralds if she brought him the first catch. But he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the Valkyrie since then.
“I’ll double the fee if you join her hunt.” Beryl let the dragon rise to the surface. His eyes glowed emerald green.
The Valkyrie’s gazes flashed golden with desire. This was the fierce warriors’ only weakness. They loved gems. They loved most things sparkly. Dragons mined gems and were notoriously covetous of their treasures. But dragons treasured having a sacrifice more than the gems in their mountain.
"We don't work for you,” said Hilda, but the bite had gone out of her tone. “We are not here to manifest your private booty call."
It wasn't a booty call. It was a lifesaver. A sacrifice, a woman of his own to protect, provide for, and pleasure was the only thing that would permanently soothe his beast and keep it on a leash. If Beryl didn't get a sacrifice soon, his dragon would take over the body they shared, and the man would be trapped inside. Otherwise, he’d have to continue to fight in these cage matches to keep a semblance of control. If tonight proved anything it showed, that with his control waining, in the next fight someone might die.
Chapter Two
“Are you tired of your humdrum everyday existence?”
Poppy Maddow looked up from the ironing board. On the square television screen, a blonde woman with a perky smile raised one of her eyebrows in a conspiratorial gaze. The woman peered at Poppy in standard definition from the twelve-inch screen, but Poppy felt she saw straight into her heart’s desire.
“We live on a beautiful planet filled with stunning landscapes, breathtaking views, and tropical paradises.”
Poppy glanced out the window of the single-wide trailer. There wasn’
t much to see. Except for barren trees, rusted cars up on blocks, overflowing trash heaps, and a garbage dump that had once been a muddy pond.
“Then come with me and escape into a world of picturesque mountains, emerald waters, and medieval towns.”
On the twelve-inch screen, the camera displayed a flyover of green waters but not like the sewage green of her backyard. She could see into the depths of the waters on television. Unlike the barren forest outback, lush green leaves topped each tree. The brown covering the landscape on the show was sand and not the dirt and grime of poverty.
Poppy leaned forward, eyes wide, heart thudding, feet aching to run away to this marvel.
“Where the fuck are my pants?”
Poppy didn’t jump at the gruff bellow. She’d been yelled at all her life. Bruce’s raised voice was normal for her.
She opened her mouth to let him know that she was ironing the pants he was looking for. Instead, she choked, no words escaped her mouth. Looking down, she saw that there was a dark spot on the right pant leg. While she’d been entranced with the exotic getaway, she’d forgotten about the iron, and it had scorched a spot on Bruce’s best pants.
Shit. She was in for it.
Poppy scrambled to hide the evidence. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much space in the trailer. Every room did double duty. The kitchen was also the dining area. Each cupboard was filled to the max with glass pots, pans, tubes, and other tools and utensils to make the soul-stealing drug that kept this tin roof over their heads. So, she couldn’t stuff the pants there.
