by Tessa Dawn
Mina gulped.
Oh dear lords, he probably was using magic—literal magic.
She shivered beneath his tantalizing caress, and tried to grasp his wrists. “My prince!”
“My Ahavi,” he mimicked with a satirical smile, pushing her hands aside. “Don’t you see?” His voice lost all traces of satire, becoming all at once deep, resonant, and serious. “The Realm is bleeding.” He dipped down to taste her throat, swirling his tongue over the tiny punctures he had just made with his fangs. “Our enemies are attacking.” He lapped up the slight trickle of blood and groaned into her throat. “And my brothers are fighting alone.” He made a seal over the wound, healed it with cooling fire, and lavished her neck with a passion so intense it made her shudder. “Yet I am here with you. With you. Submit to me, Mina. We don’t have much time.”
She mumbled something incoherent, shivering beneath his expert ministrations, before trying again. “Your father would—”
“What?” he drawled lazily. “Scold me? Kill me? My father will never know.” He cupped her face in his hands and wedged his hips to hers, making it abundantly clear that he was more than ready to consummate their union.
“But Prince Damian, he would—”
“Damian must never know.” He tapped her lightly on the tip of the nose, making sure he had her attention, while roguishly stressing his point.
“But, won’t he be able to tell? I mean—”
“Not this early. Not if I mask my scent.” He drew a slow, tantalizing outline along her upper lip with his tongue before nipping her gently on the bottom lip and then following the love-bite with a beguiling kiss.
She sighed in pleasure, losing herself to his undeniable appeal, unable to restrain her involuntary reactions to his magnetic charm. And then the reality of what was about to happen if he continued—what she would be helpless to resist if he continued—finally got the best of her, and she shoved at his chest. “My prince…” Helpless tears escaped her eyes, and she struggled to hold them at bay. “Dante…please.”
In a moment of unexpected tenderness, Dante pulled away, and to Mina’s complete surprise, he shifted his weight to the side, sat up abruptly, and leaned back against a nearby tree. Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms, tugged her back against his chest, and sheltered her between his powerful thighs, nuzzling his chin in her hair. “Mina, my darling; you are trembling. You want this with every fiber of your being, yet you are utterly terrified.” He pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss against the crown of her head and sighed. “That is not what I want.”
Mina could not have been more stunned if he had slapped her. Who was this gentle dragon? This fearsome, all-powerful being who tempered passion with empathy and desire with…respect?
Despite the fact that the Sklavos Ahavi were considered special—sacred—they were still slaves, property of the Realm, and Prince Dante was free to take what he wanted, despite the dire repercussions. Realizing that her actions were also a blatant act of disobedience, she murmured an apology, and then she began to sob as all the pressure and angst of the past few days rose like a tide, surged to the surface, and spilled out in waves.
“Don’t be,” he whispered. “Just let me hold you.”
Mina swam in a sea of disbelief as her tears continued to fall, as this utterly unimaginable, wholly incomprehensible moment continued to play out. It was as if the world as she knew it was no longer on fire; the Realm was no longer under attack; and her terrifying obligation to the kingdom—and to Damian—was no longer looming larger than life. For one blessed, indescribable moment, Mina Louvet felt safe. She almost felt free. Dante Dragona, one of the most powerful creatures she had ever known, was holding her, protecting her, cherishing her as if she were actually precious in some intangible way—as if the two of them had all the time in the world to linger together, when she knew it wasn’t true.
Finally, when her tears were all spent, Mina cleared her throat and whispered, “My prince, I can’t…I don’t…” Her voice trailed off, and she tried again: “Why are you doing this…for me?”
Dante drew in a long, labored breath, and she felt the weight of the world shift upon his shoulders like golden coins upon a scale, being lifted, recounted, and then scrutinized again. “You and I are not so unalike,” he said softly, his sincerity taking her aback. “We are both beholden to our duty, creatures molded by our pasts, and equally determined to find some meaning, some honor, no matter how insignificant or small, in this perilous world we live in. Would it be so wrong if, just this once, we lived in the moment…for ourselves?”
Mina’s breath caught in her throat as she struggled to make sense of his words: How could Dante bedding Mina—and giving her a child to pass off as Damian’s—equate to a moment for themselves? True, she would have a son to cherish, but she would also have a volatile and explosive secret to carry to her grave. “And you possessing me…taking me…forcing me to submit…that would be a moment of our own?”
“No,” Dante said harshly, “that would be an abomination. But Mina…” He ran his fingers through her hair, weaving the pads in and out of the thick raven strands. “Has it not been your desire since the day we first met for me to simply treasure you, just once, to show you true affection?”
Her heart tightened in her chest, and she felt her tears return. “But you don’t love me, my prince, and that’s just it.”
Dante sighed in frustration. “Oh, sweet Mina.” He breathed softly, pausing for several interminable heartbeats. “I cannot afford to love. I hardly know what love is. As a child, I loved my father, and he beat it out of me. As a youth, I loved my mother, and she turned her back on me out of favor for Damian. As a brother, I loved my twin, and he hung that love in a tree because his heart belonged to a mortal woman. And through it all, I learned that love makes one weak. I learned to be strong, and I vowed not to love anyone…ever again.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and pulled her more tightly against him before wrapping his arms firmly around her chest. “You, with all your fire and passion and noble ideas, are only beginning to learn the lessons that I’ve learned. Your heart bleeds for Tatiana, for your sister, and now for the injustice of your fate, and yet, you still love.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck, deeply inhaling her scent. “Oh, sweet Mina, if I could’ve loved any, I would’ve chosen you: your fire, your beauty, your strength. And had my father given you to me—as I desired—I would’ve held you in high regard as much as any dragon can. I would’ve shown you pleasure and rewarded your obedience. I would’ve given you the Realm on a silver platter to make your obeisance easier. And yet, it would not have been enough, not for your sensitive soul. And now…now you have Damian, a terrible cross to bear, and what little I can offer you, I still wish to give: a child of your own, another soul to love that is worthy of your passion, and maybe, just maybe, you can give the babe what I no longer possess, a heart that isn’t dead.”
Mina closed her eyes, letting all she had heard sink in. “My prince,” she finally said, “to me, that is so very sad.”
He smiled, and she knew this because she felt his lips curl against her hair. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Do you know what I think is sad?”
She shook her head and waited.
“That you can’t see this rare, invaluable moment for what it truly is, for what it can be.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“A frozen moment in time. A chance—just one chance—for two souls who owe everything, yet control nothing, to have something to call their own: a memory they will never forget. A chance for two servants, who have never had a choice, to finally choose for themselves.”
Mina glanced over her shoulder to gaze into the prince’s eyes—she was desperate to read his expression—and when their eyes met, his were soft with compassion, uncharacteristically alive. They were filled with conviction, and he seemed to be searching her very soul with his gaze. Through quivering lips, she mouthed the words: What would we be choosing?
He smiled at her, and his features became resplendent. “Eyes the color of emeralds,” he said. “A heart that can still love. I would be choosing you, Mina Louvet, over my father, over my brother, over my duty…if only for a night, an hour, a frozen moment in time. I would be choosing you.”
Mina closed her eyes and basked in the warmth of Dante’s soothing words. She took them in and buried them deep in her heart, someplace sacred, private, and untouched, where she could find them—and retrieve them later—to be used as a balm for her troubled soul. His undivided attention was rejuvenating, like water flowing through a barren desert after years of an aching drought, and she couldn’t absorb enough. His strength surrounded her. His voice appeased her. And his certainty cast away all doubts…
Yet she knew she wanted more, needed so much more.
If only for a frozen moment in time.
So what if it didn’t last forever?
So what if it wasn’t true love?
What could be truer than this exquisite, candid moment? Then the fact that Dante had promised to save Raylea; that he had spoken honestly to Mina, from his heart; that he had offered to give her a child to love…
The ultimate defiance of Damian.
Rocking forward to break free from his embrace, Mina turned around and knelt between his legs. Biting her bottom lip in a cautious, nervous gesture, she, once again, sought his penetrating gaze. “I have to pretend I love you,” she whispered, her own eyes brimming with tears. “I have to.”
“Shh,” he whispered, placing two firm fingers against her quivering lips. “Then don’t pretend, sweet Mina. Don’t pretend.”
Her mouth fell open in surprise, and he claimed the offering with an ardent kiss. As his arms snaked around her waist, he pulled her to him, shimmied away from the tree, and reclined on the soft green grass, settling Mina on top of him.
“Dante.” She breathed the startled word into his mouth as he fisted his hand in her hair. Although she froze for a moment, she didn’t object, and he immediately deepened the kiss, caging her between his powerful, possessive arms.
She moaned in contentment, and he began to explore her body with his confident hands: first, her back, then her shoulders, then her arms; next, her waist, then her hips, and her thighs; finally, her buttocks, then her stomach…and her breasts. His exploration was both gentle and strong; his mouth was both hungry and sweet; his body was equal parts dominant and acquiescent—taking, giving, exchanging—until she found herself virtually groping at his masculine form, stunned by the strength of her need.
Sensing her growing desire, he growled in her ear, rolled them both over, and pinned her beneath him.
Mine. He mouthed the word, and Mina shuddered.
Tugging at the laces of her bodice, he at last freed her breasts and drew a taut pink areola deep into the cavern of his mouth, where he began to suckle, taste, and tease, tantalizing each and every nerve she possessed with the skill of a philanderer and the mastery of a god.
The heel of his hand found her heat, and he rotated it in maddening circles, causing her to cry out in astonishment, shock, and awe. She writhed beneath him and arched her back in offering: Sweet goddess of mercy, the dragon had set her on fire, and he’d yet to breathe a single flame.
“Oh, gods, Dante…” She let the cry of passion slip, and the entreaty called his beast. His eyes flamed red; his head fell back; and his manhood jerked against her stomach, growing massive and engorged. Before she could react to the strange sensation, he was bunching up her skirts, tugging at the ties of his breeches, and sliding out of his trousers.
She blinked three times, and her undergarments were being tossed to the ground, even as he rose above her and locked his gaze with hers. “Mine,” he growled again, sending her entire body up in flames. “I want to hear you say it.”
Mina gasped in fear and anticipation as he rocked forward, positioned his hips between her thighs, and nestled the head of his desire against her core. She panted, trying to keep from groaning, and her eyes latched onto his, like a moth to a flame.
“Say it.” He froze: waiting…watching…trembling with need.
“Yours,” she whispered softly, and from the very depths of her heart, she meant what she said.
A wisp of smoke wafted from his nostrils, and he looked positively magnificent in his raw, primal need, cloaked in pure, primordial hunger. And then to her stark surprise and wonder, a pair of pitch-black leathery wings punched through his back, enfolded her in a midnight embrace, a satin cocoon, and he thrust his powerful hips forward, making them one.
With patience and adept perception, Dante led her beyond the pain, taking her to new heights and sensations, until at last, they rose together to the Land of Enchantment, climbing greater and greater peaks until they hurtled over the edge—together—and slowly drifted back to the Dragons Realm.
Part Three:
Dragons Lair
“Unless a serpent devour a serpent it will not become a dragon. Unless one power absorb another, it will not become great.”
~ PROVERBS QUOTES
Chapter Twenty-two
It was around five AM when Mina thanked the trader-camp guards for their escort, ducked into the tent of Umbras, and quickly hurried to her bedchamber. It had been a simple and effortless feat for Dante to enter the traders’ minds, convince them that the Sklavos Ahavi from Umbras had been sleep-walking in the night, and compel them to return her safely—and quickly—to the tent of Umbras, where she would remain securely tucked away until the end of the battle. They had even traveled by horseback in order to make up for lost time.
A sly smile tugged at the corners of Mina’s mouth, and she pursed her lips to keep it from showing: While the story may have been implausible—in fact, it was a bit ludicrous to believe a sleeping woman could’ve traveled such a distance—mind control was an amazing thing. The three traders had bought Dante’s lie hook, line, and sinker; and in their conviction, they had convinced Damian’s guards of the same, using a very persuasive argument. It didn’t hurt matters at all that the Umbrasian guards were terrified of Damian. In fact, they had been so horrified upon learning that their mistress had slipped away into the night, so fearful of Prince Damian’s reprisal, that they were more than eager to settle the entire affair, swiftly, and in secrecy, without ever alerting their prince. Now, as Mina dismissed her maidservant and her pregnant sister, Anna, she truly only wanted one thing…
Sleep.
She was mentally exhausted and physically spent, completely overwhelmed by an inner cauldron of conflicting emotions, and totally drained by the gravity of what had transpired between her and Dante. She absently pressed her hand to her lower belly and shivered, heading toward her bed…toward Damian’s bed.
She shook her head to dismiss the morose thought.
She would think about that later.
Dimming the wick on the lantern atop the bedside table, she crawled beneath the covers, snuggled against the soft feather-stuffed pillow, and was just about to close her eyes when she saw something move in the shadows, a figure, crouched low, behind a heavy wooden trunk.
She gasped and sat up straight.
The guards knew better than to enter her chamber without first announcing their presence.
“Who’s there?” she called into the darkness, and just like before, the faint hooting of an owl echoed three times outside the apron of the tent, and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
Three owls.
Three appearances.
Three omens?
First, when she realized that Raylea was in Umbras; then, when Dante decided to give her a child; and now…what?
The lean, preadolescent figure of a young boy hastened forward, scurrying from behind the trunk like a startled mouse. “It’s just me, mistress. Thomas. Thomas the squire.”
Mina rubbed her eyes, reached for the lantern to turn up the wick, and strained to get a closer look. “Thomas?” She pulled the covers up to her chin. “Whatever are you doing he
re?”
The youngster sighed. “Apologies, mistress Ahavi. I…I have…news.”
Mina slid from beneath the sheets, tucked her toes into a pair of waiting slippers, and donned a nearby robe. She stood anxiously at the side of the bed. “What kind of news?”
Thomas averted his eyes. “It might be easier to just show you.” With that, he waved his hand toward the deepest pocket of shadows, a triangular cavity behind a heavy armoire, and a tall, familiar form stepped out.
Mina jolted. “Matthias!” At first, she could hardly believe her eyes, but after scrutinizing the male a half-dozen times—his wavy blond hair fastened in a leather thong; his lean but muscular frame, carried with informal confidence; his deep blue eyes sparkling in the lantern light—she knew without a doubt it was her dear friend and childhood playmate, Matthias Gentry.
But how?
“Dearest goddess of mercy,” she mumbled absently, “is it really you?” She brought her hand up to her mouth. “I thought you were dead. I thought the king…executed you.”
Matthias stepped further into the heart of the light and nodded his head. “He did,” he said in a calm, steady voice. “But…I didn’t stay dead.”
Mina shivered. She padded to the edge of the bed, wrapped her trembling arms around his shoulders, and hugged him with all of her might. And then, as a sudden wave of dizziness came over her, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and just stared blankly ahead, her mouth gaping open in shock.
Matthias smiled. “I assume, because you are a Sklavos Ahavi, you were taught everything of import at the Keep?” Mina nodded warily, and Matthias continued. “So you must know that when a dragon is born, his father awakens his powers through the exchange of saliva and blood—it is called the dragons’ kiss—and it is in that moment that he becomes an immortal being.”
Mina cocked her head to the side in confusion, much like a bewildered canine, and stared blankly at Matthias, waiting for his words to make sense.
