by G. A. Aiken
Rhona groaned when Vigholf’s tongue slid inside her, licking her out, and only stopping to tease her clit with the tip. He did it over and over, making Rhona’s body writhe beneath his, her hands gripping the back of his head.
Vigholf took hold of her legs, pushing them back and spreading them wide. He held them down while he feasted on her. Rhona’s eyes closed, and she bit her bottom lip. When her body began to shake, he latched his lips around her clit and suckled.
Rhona barely held back her scream by shoving her fist against her mouth and biting down on her knuckles. As the first orgasm swept through her, Vigholf continued sucking her clit while he pushed first one, then a second finger inside her. He stroked those fingers in and out and tugged on her clit until she came again, her body nearly twisting out of his arms.
Groaning, tears in her eyes, Rhona realized Vigholf had moved away from her, but just as quickly he was back, only now he was completely naked. Still dazed, she let the Northlander lift her up and turn her away from him. He pulled her onto his lap and pressed his hand against her back until her upper body was stretched out, facedown on her bedroll. He pulled her back a bit more and she felt his cock nudge against her.
Rhona took hold of the bedroll, biting down on it, seconds before Vigholf rammed himself inside her.
She choked on a sob, his big cock filling her, taking her. He held her tight with his hands while he rocked her back and forth. He moved over her, his tongue gliding up her spine, teasing the back of her neck and all while he was still inside her. He kissed her cheek, her throat, until his lips pressed against her ear. He was panting hard, but she knew he was saying something. She tried to focus away from the next orgasm working its way up her spine to hear him. To hear what he was trying to say to her.
“Everything, Rhona. You are everything to me.”
And that’s when that next orgasm hit, ripping in and through her, leaving Rhona lying there covered in sweat, exhausted and unable to move.
Vigholf grasped her hands in his, held them as he came hard, his whole body tight around hers until he collapsed against her back.
Vigholf forced himself to roll off Rhona before he crushed her. Her arm reached out, stretching over his chest. He pulled her close until she lay on top, her head resting against him.
They stayed like that for a long time, Vigholf’s hands stroking up and down her sweat-soaked back, his eyes locked on the cave ceiling.
“You know,” he said into the quiet, “at some point we really must do this while we’re dragon.” He grinned. “I’d love to see what you can do with that delicious tail of yours.”
When Rhona didn’t answer, Vigholf assumed she was asleep. But she moved up until she could rest her arms around his shoulders and bury her face against his neck. Her head lifted a bit, and she said, “I’ve grown ridiculously fond of you, and I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for that.” Then she pressed her hand to his cheeks. “And you’ve become everything to me, too.”
Closing his eyes, Vigholf immediately wrapped his arms around Rhona, holding her close.
He finally had what he wanted, but now he’d have to find a way to keep them both alive in order to have even a hope of enjoying it.
Chapter 30
Rhona brushed his hair off his face and Vigholf opened his eyes. Even though they were deep underground, he knew it was morning and Rhona was already dressed and ready for what they had to do.
“It’s time,” she said.
Vigholf nodded and sat up. “Do we have a plan?”
Rhona sighed and headed out of the cavern. “We have something.”
Vigholf didn’t like the sound of that.
They dressed in cloaks provided by the Rebel King’s men that would help them blend better. Since Brannie would be the one retrieving the king’s sister, he gave her a necklace and a small vial of liquid. “Show the necklace to my sister. If she sees this, she’ll know I sent you. Then get her to drink what’s in the vial.”
“What’s it do?” Rhona asked.
“You need my sister awake and alert to help you get out of there. The effects won’t last long, so you’ll need to move. But once she drinks this, she’ll be strong enough to help you help her.”
“A squad of my men and I will show you the way to the city gates,” General Varro said. “But you’ll be walking in alone. Avoid the city guards. They have a tendency to question suspicious-looking outsiders.”
“And you five look very suspicious,” the king muttered.
“If you are stopped, let the Northlander do the talking. They’re more accustomed to seeing your kind and more likely to let you go. But a Southlander of any kind—you’re in trouble.” He glanced at the king. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.”
Annwyl walked up to the king. One monarch talking to another. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I hope you’re right.”
As promised, General Varro and some of his men escorted them about ten miles from the main gate. With surprising ease, they slipped into the sea of travelers flowing into the city. As the king had also promised, with so many coming and going at that time of the day, especially with the monthlong games in progress, it was incredibly easy for them to pass the guards and soldiers without being questioned. Although they did have their stories ready should they be stopped.
Once in, they followed the crowds to the stadium, a large, circular building filled with stands that looked down over a fight-ready arena and was connected to the royal palace.
Instead of the front entrance that paying customers were going into, however, the five of them went to the side entrance that led into the dungeons, and got into the long line.
While they waited, Rhona turned to her cousins. “Are you ready for this?” And when Izzy didn’t answer right away, Rhona snapped her fingers in her face.
“Huh?”
Good gods. “I said are you ready for this?”
Izzy frowned. “Ready for what?”
Rhona curled her hands into fists.
“Oh! You mean . . . oh, yeah. Yeah. I’m ready.”
Unable to help herself, Rhona felt the inherent need to lecture the girl. “You have to pay attention, Izzy. You can’t be daydreaming or thinking about your next meal. You have to be here. In this moment. Understand?”
The girl nodded. “Aye. I understand. I’m here. I’m ready.”
“Good.” Rhona focused on Brannie. “And you?”
“I’m ready.”
Finally, their group reached the entrance and the table where masters and sponsors offered up the services of their fighters. Here, men would check in those willing to fight to the death for money. If the fighter won, glory and riches could be theirs. If they lost, their bodies were dumped in a trash heap and burned at the end of every month. Amazing to Rhona how many of them thought it was worth it, even though they would be fighting against the empire’s greatest pit fighters.
Rhona waited behind Vigholf as he stood at the table. An Iron in human form took one look at him and shook his head. “No dragons today. Only humans.”
“I got humans. Me own private stock.”
Vigholf grabbed Annwyl and Izzy and pulled them forward. He yanked the hoods of their cloaks off their heads. “Pretty, yeah? And big tits on this one,” he said about Annwyl.
Brannie abruptly looked down at her feet, her shoulders shaking. But Rhona didn’t see what was so damn funny.
The Iron looked up, eyes narrowing in calculation. “Women?” He sniffed a little. “Not worth much if they die quick. Need someone with actual skills, actual tal—”
Vigholf clicked his tongue against his teeth and Annwyl caught hold of the guard closest to her. She yanked him down and snapped his neck by twisting her hands once. When he fell, his comrade rushed forward. Izzy broke his leg with her shield and, while he was on the ground, Annwyl finished him with a dagger from her boot.
The Iron grinned, feeling absolutely no loss at the human guards. “Yeah
. All right. We’ll take ’em.”
And with that—the game had begun.
Chapter 31
The tunnels were filled with fighters and the ones who controlled or owned them. Annwyl and Iseabail were quickly noticed, the idea of women fighting getting everyone’s instantaneous attention. They were given the standard short sword used by all the soldiers and the short, dark red tunic to wear. On top of that a fancy but rather weak—in Rhona’s estimation—breastplate made of strips of steel and brass fittings that tied in the front, was also added, along with a sword belt, and army sandals. They were also allowed a second small weapon of their choosing. Izzy chose her dagger and Annwyl a small useless-looking steel stick. The guards laughed at her over her choice, but stopped when she glared. Not that Rhona blamed them. After all that, the pair were allowed no helmets and they were told to wear their hair down. In other words, the ones running the fights wanted the audience to see that Izzy and Annwyl were women.
By late afternoon, they were up. The guards who managed these fights yanked Annwyl and Izzy away from Vigholf. When he tried to follow, he was shoved back, and stared down by an Iron in human form.
Vigholf held his hands up. “Yeah. All right. But I better get something if the bitches die. They weren’t easy to find.”
The Iron sneered at him as only an Iron could and walked away. As soon as the announcement was made that females were to fight, the crowd’s roar escalated tenfold, and Vigholf, using the hand he held behind his back, motioned for Rhona and Brannie to go.
It really wasn’t hard to slip away; as the king had said, all attention was on the two women entering the arena.
With a last look at Vigholf, his eyes on her as she moved through the crowd of men and dragons trying to see out the steel grates, Rhona took her cousin and did one of the stupidest things she’d done in a long while.
Izzy and Annwyl were seconds from stepping out into the arena when someone grabbed their arms and steel manacles were placed on Izzy’s right wrist and Annwyl’s left. The manacles were locked, a thick, three-foot steel chain stretched between them.
Annwyl snarled, “You son of a—”
“Enjoy, ladies!” The guard laughed and shoved them out into the arena, slamming the gate behind them, trapping them.
They stumbled, their eyes trying to adjust to the bright sunlight they hadn’t seen since they’d entered the tunnels, their ears trying to handle the screams and cheers of the crowd.
“You all right, Iz?” Annwyl asked her.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”
They walked out into the middle of the arena, Annwyl looking up into the crowd.
“There,” Izzy murmured. “Over there.”
Izzy motioned at what had to be the royal seats. They were high above the ground, but without anything blocking the view of the carnage below. The seats were upholstered in velvet and silk, servants hovered nearby, and everyone had fresh fruit, wine, or both.
“I bet that’s her,” Annwyl said. “I bet that’s Vateria.”
It could be. Izzy really didn’t know. Although she was certain the female was a She-dragon in human form. She wore a tunic of the finest silk draped around her in the fashion of the Provinces, gold and silver flowers entwined throughout her perfectly sculpted silver-colored hair. But still . . . she could be just any royal, couldn’t she?
“Don’t assume, Annwyl. Please.”
The queen laughed, not making Izzy feel any better. But she abruptly stopped, both of them realizing at the same time that not only was the crowd cheering louder, but there was something standing behind them—breathing.
They looked over their shoulders, and up, Izzy forced to squint because of the suns.
“Oh,” she said on a breath. “An ogre.”
Annwyl quickly counted. “Eight of them, actually.”
“Well, you fought Minotaurs before—and won.”
“True. But I was a bit more . . . angry then.”
“Then perhaps you should get angry now.”
“Nor was I chained to you.”
“What does that mean? What’s wrong with being chained to me?”
“Nothing. I’m just—”Annwyl shoved her back, the spiked club the ogre swung over its head slamming into the ground where Izzy had stood. But the power of the swing broke the chain that bound them.
“Nice,” Izzy teased.
Annwyl grinned, winked. “Now,” her queen said, pulling the short sword, “start running for your life.”
While her guests clapped and cheered in excitement at the sight of female combatants, Vateria studied the women closely. After a moment, she looked at Junius, who sat several seats over and a row back as protocol dictated.
“Junius? Is that . . . ?”
“I believe it is, my lady.”
“Oh,” she gasped, clapping her hands together and returning her focus to the arena. “She will be quite the entertainment in my dungeons.”
“For safety, my lady, you may want to send guards down to the dungeons in case she’s up to something else as well.”
“Very good idea,” she said, motioning to one of the guards.
“And do you want me to stop the ogres, my lady?” Junius asked.
“No, no. Not yet. Let them have some fun. Then, when they’re nearly done”—Vateria grinned—“I’ll have some fun.”
Rhona slipped down the stairs and around another corner. General Varro had given her exact directions. He, like Gaius, had grown up in this palace before they’d raised an army in an attempt to overthrow Thracius’s Empire.
She really didn’t know if retrieving the Rebel King’s sister would actually change anything, but they’d come this far....
They reached the end of the hallway Varro had directed them to. According to what she’d been told, she should turn left and go straight until she reached the last dungeon alcove that had several caged chambers.
Pressed against the wall, Rhona motioned to her cousin. Brannie crouched low, and leaned over, trying to see around the blind corner. After a moment, she leaned back. Held up all of her fingers. Ten? Ten guards for one royal’s sister? Then Brannie made a fist and again flashed ten fingers.
Twenty? she mouthed to her cousin.
Brannie nodded.
Wonderful. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now.
Rhona shrugged. You ready? she silently asked.
Brannie nodded again. But in mid-nod, her gaze slowly moved to a spot behind Rhona.
“They’re more behind us, aren’t there?” Rhona asked, out loud this time.
Her cousin winced. “Uh-huh.”
Rhona let out a breath, her head dropping forward. This day was getting more and more difficult.
Vigholf hauled several human males out of his way so he could watch Annwyl and Izzy through the steel-barred windows.
“Ogres?” He looked at the man standing next to him. “They’re making them fight ogres?”
“Yeah, well . . . ogres really like the girls.” The man at least had the grace to grimace a little. “You know. They don’t usually kill them right off.”
Vigholf took a deep breath and focused on the powerfully built, ten-foot-tall monsters towering over his friends. “Wonderful.”
He stepped back, examining the hallway he was in. He wondered if he could destroy all this if he shifted. But with just one glance, he knew that a building built by or under the direction of dragons would ensure that foreign dragons couldn’t destroy it all at their whim.
The crowd roared and Vigholf rushed back to the grate. Annwyl was on her back, the sword kicked from her hand, one of the ogres over her, a club raised. Izzy was running from three of them, two of them were wandering around and drooling, and two were trying to escape by digging through the wall.
And just when Vigholf didn’t think it could get any worse, he saw guards at the end of the tunnel run by and head off in the direction Rhona and Brannie had gone in.
His instincts, of course, were to find Rhona
and protect her. Gods! It was to protect all of them, but especially Rhona. Yet he couldn’t, could he? As difficult as it was for him, they were soldiers on a mission. He couldn’t suddenly treat Rhona or the others as weak females who couldn’t take care of themselves.
So he returned his focus to the pit fight and the ogre slamming its club down again and again, trying to hit a rolling-and-dodging Annwyl.
“Your girl,” the man next to him said, “she’s not doing too good.”
“She just has to . . . get her bearings.” He hoped.
Rhona impaled another throat and slashed another chest. “Brannie, move!”
As it was on the battlefield when fighting the Irons, the soldiers just kept coming, backing Rhona and Brannie into the hallway. Rhona pushed her cousin by the shoulder, then used the butt of her weapon to fend off another advancing soldier, and unleashed her flame.
The human soldiers screamed and tried to put the flames out, running off or dropping and rolling on the ground. But the ones who weren’t human, she faced herself.
“Get her, Brannie. Go.”
Rhona let her weapon extend a few more feet and faced the soldiers. “Come on, lads,” she told the dragons. “Let’s get this over with.”
Knowing her cousin was holding the line, Brannie charged down the hallway toward the last alcove, striking the guards who stood right outside the steel gates. She cut the arms off one and the head off the other. The one without the head had the keys, so she snatched it off his belt and quickly unlocked the door. She stepped inside but instead of finding multiple chambers, she found only one. One big chamber with only one captive. The She-dragon was in her human form, naked, a gold collar around her throat, long silver hair framing her face and covering her shoulders and breasts. She’d been chained to the wall, and cuts, sores, and burns—old and new—littered her human flesh, both eyes swollen shut, nose broken.
Remembering what Annwyl had said to the Rebel King, Brannie now knew her queen to have been right. Vateria had made this dragoness her plaything. Her toy. A fellow dragon. In fact, now that Brannie thought of it—her cousin! How could Vateria do this to her own cousin?