Rebel Bride: A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy (Drakoryan Brides Book 4)

by Ava Sinclair

  The added authority further eases the tension between villagers and rulers. As it should be, anger now is directed outwards, over the mountains where somewhere lurks a danger waiting to come. What does it wait for? And why?

  We train. We plan. And each night my brothers and I return home to woo Thera with kindness and patience as we seek to convince her we are worthy of the devotion she once showed her lost love.

  Chapter 15

  THERA

  “It’s come to eat us up.” The little girl’s voice is flat as her finger traces the image of a dragon with her finger. “But first it will roast us with its fire.”

  Hers was one of the cottages set alight by the small dragons that attacked here days ago. Her mother sent for me. She’s hoping I can make a tonic to soothe the seven-year-old’s nerves. She says the child has not been the same since the incident. The happy child who used to help her mother cook now sits in a corner etching images of death into the dirt.

  “He’s not so scary.” I settle beside her and reach into my basket for a slice of dried fig. She looks at it, looks away. I try something else. “That’s a very pretty cat you’ve drawn.”

  “It’s not a cat. It’s a monster.”

  I cock my head. “Are you sure, Lia?” I put my finger to her drawing and begin to transform it. Horns become ears. Jowls become whiskered cheeks. Wings become the arched back of a kitten at play. The cottage underneath its now-padded feet becomes a ball of yarn. Lia is giggling. She draws another dragon. I quickly change it into another kitten. I make it a game. As fast as Lia can draw dragons, I make them kittens until she is making kittens, too. Her mother gives me a grateful look as she moves around the room, careful not to step on what Lia now calls “my kittens.”

  Once the child is smiling and drawing them on her own, I stand and walk over to her mother, who gives me a hug.

  “You’re a treasure, Thera. You’d be such a good mother.” She falls quiet. “Is it true what they are saying? That the lords who guard this village plan to take you to wife in their way?”

  I search her face for judgement. “Would it change how you see me?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. Alma is a kind woman, but honest. “No,” she says. “But not everyone feels the same. They believe Ceril deserved death. Your father and husband were well-loved. Some are bound to be jealous to think of you living apart from us in the castle one day while we scratch out a living in the valley below.”

  I turn to her. “Much of this is out of my hands,” I say. “Understand that I will continue to serve my people.” I pause then, thinking of the resentment I felt when the Drakoryan Brides brought food to the village. Will others feel the same towards me? I feel guilty now for encouraging rejection of the brides, who did not make the choice to leave their people and only sought to return with help. Perhaps, I think, this is the price I pay for my misguided hatred.

  Alma’s daughter needs no tonic. She’s happily playing when I leave, and I am pleased to be given leave to serve my people, even if I am to be married to the rulers. As I walk through the village, I think of them. Even in the cold, I fancy I can still feel the heat of their huge bodies as they surrounded me, hear the steel in those deep voices when they refused to release me from this fate. It was in those moments that I realized the power of the Drakoryans. I’d thought I’d seen it when they became dragons, but their true power lies within. There is a force in them that speaks to something deep inside me, something I’d buried along with the bloody shirt.

  They have given me leave to stay at my cottage at night, yet I know that will end. By day, one or the other is not far from me. Each evening now, we take our meager meals together, and when we do, I say little, having little to say. Instead, I listen, seeking to discern the nature of these men who have vowed to make me their mate.

  The Lords of Kri’byl speak of the needs of the village and worry over the continuing cold. They speak of asking the witches for permission to hunt the woods for meat. I continue to learn from their conversations. These strong Drakoryan males are deferential to the feminine power in the mountains. Magda, the healer who mentored me, told me that healers have a special connection with the divine. I think of how I can sense an illness before it is described to me, and of how easily the vision of my Bran came to me with a message. Perhaps there is magic in me, too? Perhaps, I think, there is magic in all women.

  Magic in women. But magic in men, too.

  Sometimes, my eyes fall on the lords, and I catch myself staring at their hard chests, their large hands, the corded ridged muscles of their forearms. I think of how it would feel, being pressed into furs beneath one of their powerful bodies, of parting my legs to be entered by a cock I’m sure would be more than sufficient to fill the aching need I try to deny. At those times, I doubt myself, and fear the image of Bran was nothing more than a manifestation of my own loneliness and physical need, just another misguided impulse, not unlike revenge.

  Yet sin or sign, I am drawn to the Lords of Kri’byl a little more each day. My nipples harden when they say my name. I feel the heat coming off their bodies as they pass and feel moisture seep from my throbbing pussy. The woman in me is stirring awake. Having felt passion, I know what I am missing, and when I walk from a cottage to find all five waiting for me with serious expressions, my heart leaps a little in my chest.

  “Can we have a word?” Lord Erdorin asks. I nod, looking at them from under the hood I’ve pulled up over my head.

  “We can wait no more, Thera. Drakoryans are not like other men. Once a mate is named, we burn and weaken if the wait is long.” He glances towards the mountain. “We cannot afford the luxury of weakness. Not now.”

  I swallow nervously as he continues.

  “It has always been the practice for us to battle for first rights, but you are no virgin.” He pauses. “We will have you, Thera; however, you will decide in what order.”

  “How?” I ask. “How do I choose?” My eyes travel from one to the other.

  Dark-eyed Erdorin, his jaw dark with stubble, wears his wavy hair at shoulder length. Gyrvig, with his russet hair and beard is different from the others. Jareo wears his long hair in a single braid. He is the sternest, the most serious.

  And then there are the twins, dark and bearded. I tell them apart now by their birthmarks. Tyri’s is on the left. Yrko’s is on the right.

  “Choose,” Gyrvig says. The heat coming from him is the strongest. Jareo hangs back, staring intently. He has a fighter’s eyes. The twins, so large, so fierce, wear the same expression of want. I look back at Erdorin and give him the answer that seems most fair.

  “Very well,” I say. “Oldest to youngest.”

  A fresh wave of heat comes off of Erdorin. His brothers’ disappointment is palpable.

  “We will sleep outside tonight,” Jareo says.

  “No…” I shake my head. “If I must…if we…let it be in my cottage, in my home. I will not be taken on the floor.”

  Erdorin smiles. “I have seen the bed in your cottage, little one. It is small like you. We will end up on the floor just the same.”

  I scowl. “Perhaps. But it is my floor. I would awake in my own house tomorrow.”

  “Very well.” He gives me a nod. “I will come to you at candle time.”

  He turns away then, and I realize I am trembling.

  The wait is over. Tonight I will be claimed by the first of five Drakoryan lords.

  Chapter 16

  ERDORIN

  We need no fire in our cottage. As the day draws to a close, my brothers and I enjoy a simple meal of bread, dried meat, and apples. We say little as we eat. Our thoughts are consumed with the promise of our mate. Heat comes off of us in waves.

  I think on the wisdom of the witches. Because Thera is not a virgin, we burn differently. The intensity is there, but it smolders rather than flames. The anger that ignites over first rites is absent among us.

  I barely feel the cold when I leave for Thera’s cottage. The only women I’ve fuck
ed have been serving wenches. The maids in Drakoryan castles are all too eager to lift their skirts for a lord, and unmarried ones enjoy sex with an amiable detachment. More than once I’ve caught them in gaggles, laughing as they compare notes of the unmated lords who bedded them at council time.

  Likewise, their men hold no value on virginity. They expect their wives to know how to please them when they marry. A soldier of their class once told me he liked his women like he liked his horses—fast and well-broken for the rider. Thera, too, has been with a man, but she has not been with a Drakoryan male. She does not know what awaits.

  A tendril of smoke threads into the sky from the chimney of her cottage. The moon is full, and I see the silhouette of a patrolling dragon pass before it. While the threat of another attack is never far from my mind, the end to unrest gives me some comfort.

  At Thera’s door, I take a deep breath and rap my knuckles against the wood. After a moment, it opens just a little. Through the sliver I see half her face. Her hair partially obscures one eye.

  “May I enter?”

  She steps back and the door creaks open. I walk in and look around, remembering my first time here, remembering how I’d injured myself for an excuse to see her, remembering the burning hatred in her eyes when she told me to leave.

  Her eyes no longer register hate. I see only something akin to shyness. I study her features—sharp nose, pointed chin, full lips. A flush colors her cheeks and she looks away. My cock rises and thickens under my skirt.

  “You look beautiful,” I say.

  Thera glances down. She is clad in a chemise. Her feet are bare. She wears a heather green shawl about her thin shoulders.

  “I have nothing better to wear.” She is apologetic. I reach out and cup her chin, raising it.

  “When this cursed war is done and over, you will have fine gowns in every color.”

  She smiles sadly. “Ah, you do not yet know me if you think I care about such things.”

  “Then tell me. What you do care about? Tell me what makes a beautiful healer smile.”

  She considers this. “The sky when it is the color of a robin’s egg. The rising wail of an infant when it goes from weak to strong. The way the cold water of a brook takes my breath away when I step into the current. The taste of summer berries.” She smiles, and I feel my heart twist in my chest. I did not think she could be more beautiful, but happiness makes her so. “Those are the things that make me glad.”

  “Come.” I take her hand. She allows it. I walk to the bench by her table and sit down. I guide her onto my lap. Tears fill her eyes as I do.

  “Bran used to hold me thus,” she says.

  “Would you rather I not?”

  She shakes her head and sniffs. “No, I don’t mind. It’s nice.”

  “I would make you smile, and often, healer.” I smooth a strand of hair from her face. “I would take you beyond the valley to a hidden glen where waters of the clearest, coldest brooks sing as they flow around moss-crowned rocks. I would lie down as a dragon so you could climb on my back and carry you to touch the robin’s egg sky. I would take you to meadows where berries the size of plums grow sheltered in the forest’s edge.” I pause. “I cannot replace Bran in your heart. None of us can. But a woman who treasures such pure and simple things surely has a heart so big to hold the love of more than one man.”

  “It seems I have no choice, my lord.”

  “You will mate with us. But love? That is always a choice. We will dedicate ourselves to birthing a new love from you, just as you birth new life from the mothers you tend.”

  “You have a poet’s tongue.” She colors again.

  “It would dance with yours, healer, if you would consent.”

  I move my mouth to hers, slowly, deliberately. I feel her breath before I feel her lips. It is sweet with mint. The tip of my tongue meets hers, and when it does, I fight to keep from squeezing her too suddenly and too tightly. I feel my cock rise like a sword, jutting into her bottom through the cover of my skirt. I feel her gasp into my mouth. Thera scrambles off my lap, and I silently curse my lust as she steps away.

  I stand, and her eyes are fixed on the front of my leather skirt. It’s lifted away by a cock stiff with need. She glances from my face to my skirt. I hold my breath, afraid. For a moment, it looks as if the healer may flee. Instead she speaks.

  “Remove your garment, Drakoryan.”

  These were not words I expected to hear. My hands move to my waist. I stand to undo the clasp and pull the sash over my shoulder, dropping it and the skirt to the floor.

  “By the gods…” Thera’s words are barely whispered. Her eyes are fixed on my cock. She looks up at me. “Are all of you the same?”

  I look down. “Big, you mean? Yes.” I can’t help but smile. “Yet each is different.”

  “Different?” She drags her gaze to my face. “How?”

  “Come here, and I’ll show you.”

  Thera worries her lip with her bottom teeth for a moment before taking a tentative step in my direction. I put my hand to the small of her back and guide her to her bed. It is, as I feared, too small. I can tell she realizes this now and looks wordlessly to the floor. Then I look to the table, which is larger and sturdy enough for the purpose.

  First, however, I would see her naked. I’ve seen her before, when she was unconscious, but I did not allow myself to touch her. This time, I do. I push the shawl and chemise over her shoulder, sliding my fingers down her arms. She’s soft, and pale as the winter moon. I move my hands around to her back and move them to the dip of her waist, enjoying the inward slope of her curves that flare into generous hips. Her breast, large and soft, fills my large hand to overflowing. The nipple hardens under my palm. I kneel, encircling that nipple with my mouth.

  “Ahhh…” Her cry of passion is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. Thera rises up on her toes, winding her fingers in my hair. The hot suction of my mouth overwhelms her to weakness; I catch her before she can fall and take her to the table, laying her on the surface.

  “A treat fit for a king,” I say, looking down at her. Her skin is alabaster in the firelight; her dark hair spreads like a fan around her. Since the burning of the harvest, I have secretly lamented the feasting we lords used to enjoy. But the bounty spread on the table in the form of this luscious body more than makes up for it. While I desire to fall upon her like a starving man, I tell myself this flesh is best savored.

  I brace my hands on either side of her, moving my mouth to the hollow of her neck. I growl into her skin, the dragon in me possessive. Thera responds not with fear, but with the arch of her back. She is pressing her white thighs tightly together, but cannot hide the truth of her passion. My keen sense of smell has caught the heady musk of her woman’s essence. I move my hand down to the apex of her thighs as my mouth once again finds her breasts, suckling first on one nipple then the other until her legs part to admit my questing fingers.

  There is no need to check for the strength of her maidenhood, no need to worry about the pained shock of that maiden thrust. But when I slip my finger into her pussy, I find it not only hot and slick, but also tight. A wave of need ripples through my body as I think how snugly she will grip me. I want to wait. I want to pleasure her before we couple, not take her like some eager, green lad. Yet that is what this woman, with her sweet curves and sweeter smell, has reduced me to.

  I stand and walk to the end of the table. Grasping her thighs, I pull her to me.

  Chapter 17

  THERA

  Am I a wanton, faithless woman that my husband is now so far from my mind? My body is an endless well of need, and I look down the length of it to the Drakoryan standing between legs he is spreading with his huge hands.

  His cock is at the ready, the smooth, flared head nudging against the nub of aching flesh at the apex of my cleft. My pussy is clenching, desperate to be filled. I turn my head to the side, closing my eyes in shame as I arch my hips upward, offering myself, desperate for the man I thou
ght my worst enemy to ease my carnal suffering.

  And when he does….oh!...

  His cock his huge and hot and thick. It stretches the inner boundaries of my pussy with a delicious burn. I moan like a doxy as he slides into me. While Bran was a big man, he was nothing like this. Lord Erdorin’s cock lodges inside me to an unmet depth. I quake with pleasure at the fullness.

  I wrap my legs around his slim waist. My thighs grip him, so soft and white against the lean, muscular lower torso. I am mesmerized, staring at his lower abdomen, at the “v” of muscles pointing like an arrow to where our bodies join.

  Only now that I am so filled do I remember how much I missed sex. And the discoveries of this night are not yet over. His handsome bearded face is smiling down at me.

  “Did I not tell you, healer, that we Drakoryans are different?”

  There is no time to question this statement before I feel Lord Erdorin’s cock flex. He begins to thrust, but there is more to the sensation. I am being stroked from the inside and look down as he pulls almost completely out to see that his manhood, glistening with my juices, has changed. The surface is now covered in ridged knobs that move independently when he pushes back into me. I feel pressure against that hidden pleasure center just inside my pubic bone and scream as I dig my nails into the wooden surface of the table. My pussy ripples along the length of him, and Erdorin responds by leaning over, gripping me tightly in his arms as he begins to slam into me, taking me rough and hard until I am crying out with each thrust like a mad woman. My hips move to meet his, desperate to find the rhythm he has set.