Mikhail: A Royal Dragon Romance (Brothers of Ash and Fire Book 2)

by Lauren Smith

  She opened the door farther and found it contained only one thing: a leather-bound sketchpad. She set it on the desk’s surface, ignoring the wave of dust it kicked up. Motes of dust caught and spun in the light streaming through the windows in a haunting dance. For a moment Piper thought she could see the ghostly form of a man pacing by the windows, but she blinked and the vision was gone, the dust drifting in gold waves as it settled.

  The initials JM were pressed deep into the leather cover. She opened it carefully to the first page. A gasp escaped her. It was a sketch of Mikhail. He sat in a chair by the fire, brooding. His dark hair was long and slightly wavy as it was now, but in the sketch he wore breeches and a waistcoat with a white shirt. Written beneath were the words, “Heavy weighs the soul of a dragon who has lost his honor.” Then another line of words below. “December 25, 1820, Mikhail Barinov as I remember him.”

  The drawings were full of emotion, as though the artist had been fascinated with his subject. She carefully turned the page. Next was a drawing of a beast, one she remembered only too well. It stalked a herd of sheep over a hill, its wings tucked back against its body as it tried to creep up on them. The artist had written another description. “Mikhail can’t resist Mr. Bailey’s sheep. One of these days the old farmer will realize who is eating them.” Piper could almost hear the laughter in the artist’s voice, as though he were in the room with her. It was an eerie but not unwelcome feeling.

  She turned another page. This picture was not of people, but a place. And it was painted with watercolors rather than drawn. It was a valley with trees in a hundred fiery shades. Nestled in the valley were three small structures with onion domes painted with bright colors. The sight was breathtaking.

  The artist had only written one word beneath this. “Home.” But it wasn’t the artist’s home. Perhaps it was Mikhail’s?

  Piper turned one more page, and her heart clenched. Three men stood facing each other, smiles lighting their eyes. The familial resemblance was unmistakable. A name was written beneath each. “Grigori, Mikhail, Rurik. Brothers reunited after three centuries.”

  A voice from the doorway behind her made her jump. “He was a very good artist.” She turned to see Mikhail watching her.

  “I’m sorry! The door was open, and I…” Great, she got caught. She could only hope he wasn’t upset.

  He only smiled. He wore only jeans as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Where did you find that? After James died, I searched for it everywhere.” He approached her, and she handed him the portfolio.

  “It was in a hidden drawer.” She showed him the compartment. “I opened it by pressing this button. I recognized this style of desk and thought it might have a hidden compartment.” She showed him how she’d triggered the release.

  “Clever man, James.” Mikhail moved to a couch and had her sit beside him. She shifted so she leaned back against him.

  “Who was he?” she asked.

  He curled an arm around her waist to set the portfolio between them. “An old friend. I was an outcast for a long time here in England, but he reminded me how good people could be. He took me into his home and offered me his friendship when I needed it most. He was my family in many ways, a brother of my heart but not by blood. Staying here with him was something I never regretted. And when he died, my dragon and I mourned him for decades.”

  She turned back to the picture of the three men to show him. “He met your brothers?”

  “Yes. There was a point in the midst of my exile when Grigori sent word to me that our parents were touring the world and would be gone for a year. Grigori begged me to return home. I knew I shouldn’t disobey my father’s orders, but I missed my home. And my family.” His voice was rough, and his hold on her tightened. Piper leaned into him, wanting to offer as much comfort as she could.

  “So they let you come home? Your brothers, I mean?”

  “They did. They never agreed with my exile, but I couldn’t disobey my father. Yet I did. I brought James with me as well. By then he knew what I was and was fascinated by us. My brothers and I swore him to secrecy, which he readily agreed to. He never breathed a word of what we were. Back then we would’ve been killed. Now…” He didn’t finish. But Piper had a sick feeling in her stomach.

  “Now they’d probably turn you into a lab rat and do experiments on you.”

  He nodded. “And it would reveal the other supernatural creatures that are living among them as well.”

  Piper stared at him. “Wait—what other creatures?”

  Mikhail’s lips hovered in a near smile. “Surely you didn’t think we were the only unusual creatures out there?”

  “Well, I mean, I thought you were…” Piper really hadn’t thought about the possibility of other creatures. She was still stuck on the fact that dragons were real. But she supposed if one mythical species was real, then why not others?

  “So…” She snuggled closer to him, loving that she could and he didn’t push her away. “What creatures are we talking about here?” She tried to play it off casually, like she wasn’t freaking out on the inside.

  “Oh, let’s see. Vampires and werewolves, phoenixes and other kinds of shifters, and then there are ghosts…” He ticked them off one by one on his hand.

  Piper stared at him. “Vampires and werewolves?” Holy shit.

  “Yes, but I assure you the stories you’ve heard of both have been greatly exaggerated, except perhaps the fact that they don’t get along too well. I’m actually friends with a few members of the London Blood Society. They can be a bit too brooding and melancholy for my tastes, but I like vampires well enough.”

  She ran over the rest of the species in her head. “What’s the difference between werewolves and shifters? I mean, are there wolf shifters or just werewolves?” She couldn’t believe she was having this discussion with him, but for the moment she was just trying to learn as much as she could.

  Mikhail twined his fingers in her hair and bent his head to nuzzle her cheek.

  “So many questions,” he purred against her ear. “I don’t think I’ve distracted you enough.”

  She lay lengthwise on the couch with him, her body on top of his, her back to his chest. He took full advantage of the position and set the portfolio on the ground. Then he parted the satin dressing gown and cupped one of her breasts. Her nipple pebbled in the cold, and he played with it until wet heat pooled between her thighs.

  “You’re the most wicked man I’ve ever met,” she moaned. He growled, and his erection hardened beneath her as she wriggled her hips.

  “Teasing wenches get bitten and then bedded roughly,” he warned in a dangerous voice, but it only heightened the building erotic charge in the air around them.

  “Wench?” She took his hand from her breast and slid it down between her thighs. She moaned as one of his fingers played with her, dipping into the wet heat. Mikhail knew just how to torture her to the brink of exploding.

  “Yes, wench.” He chuckled and bit her earlobe. A zing of pleasure shot straight to her clit. “You forget how old I am. I was born in an age where a man took a woman when he wanted her.”

  That shouldn’t have turned her on, dammit, but it did. His words, so delicious and forbidden, took her fantasies of dominant men to a whole new level. She wanted to pretend she was a medieval wench. Unable to resist, she leaped up from the couch, laughing as she spun to see a shocked expression on his face.

  “This wench needs to be caught, m’lord.” She blew a kiss at him and ran from the room. Even though she was playing a game, her body responded wildly to the chase. Her heart pounded against her ears, and she could already imagine how it would feel to be captured by him, to be drawn back into that dark, erotic world he created when it was just the two of them, bodies pressed against each other. He knew what she needed, that edge of domination, that hint of fear without actually being afraid. It heightened everything, made it all too intense, too overpowering, and utterly, devastatingly perfect.

  Her dressin
g gown flowed behind her as she rushed for the stairs. The sound of footsteps behind her warned that Mikhail was coming fast on her heels. She reached his room a few seconds ahead of him, but she couldn’t get the door shut because he shoved an arm through, catching the frame. She abandoned that plan and darted around the massive bed, keeping it between them. He stood on the other side, watching her with golden eyes. All trace of the bewitching green was gone. The honey-fired depths seemed to hypnotize her.

  “Nowhere to run, little dove.”

  12

  Dragonman,

  Dragonman,

  Between thee and thine,

  Share me that glimpse of love

  Greater than mine.

  —Anne McCaffrey

  A CROOKED SMILE curved Mikhail’s lips, and it made him that much sexier. He stood there in nothing but unbuttoned jeans, showing the dark trail of hair from his navel leading down to his waist. The indentions of his hips made her mouth run dry. She was thirsty for a taste of him.

  “Surrender and I won’t be too rough,” he said in a smug tone. A hint of the medieval badass he had been six hundred years ago crept through, which might have scared any other woman. But she wanted that rough edge in him. She didn’t care that she was still sore; her body wanted—needed—to be owned and possessed by him.

  She started to crawl over the bed, her eyes wide and soft as though she planned to give him what he wanted. He placed his hands on his hips and came closer. When he reached the bed, she leaped off and sprinted for the bathroom. But he moved too fast for her. She was grabbed from behind and lifted into the air, then tossed onto the bed. He grabbed one of her ankles and with a gentle tug flipped her over onto her stomach. Then he pulled her back toward the edge of the bed. Her legs fell off the side of the mattress, and cold air hit her backside as he pushed the dressing gown out of the way. She was completely exposed from behind and bent over the bed. Piper dug her nails in the bedding, her breath coming fast.

  “Naughty little wench.” Mikhail’s deep growl was more animal than human, and that dangerous undertone made her body flush with heat. Damn, this man could role-play like a god.

  “Guess you have to be rough then,” she said, hoping he would take the hint.

  He leaned over her. His jeans and hips pressed into her bare ass until she felt the bulge of his shaft. His fingers twisted into her hair, tugging just hard enough that a wisp of pain skated down her spine.

  “Like that?” he asked. He gave another tug, and she whimpered as her womb clenched and her thighs quivered. It was a good thing she was bent over the bed because her legs wouldn’t be able to hold her up much longer.

  Mikhail stroked a fingertip down her neck, then traced down the line of her spine and finally slipped that finger between the cleft of her ass, down to her slit. She buried her face in the bedding as he thrust his finger in. He soon found a spot inside her that made her whimper. Her hips gave an involuntarily jerk. He found it, instinctively, that spot some men swore didn’t even exist. And he was killing her with it.

  “Beg,” he commanded. Darkness edged his voice, but it was a darkness she craved and did not fear. If she needed him to, he would stop in a heartbeat. That’s what made this all so much better. He could give her what she needed.

  “Please…” The word barely escaped as he continued to rub that spot with the pad of his finger.

  “Please, what?” His tone was indulgent now, like a cat who’d allowed a captured mouse to get free, only to hold on to it by the tip of its tail. She bit her lip as he withdrew the finger and gave her ass a light slap.

  There weren’t words for how good that felt. The stinging subsided to a slow burn. He rubbed the spot with his palm, a possessive, affectionate gesture that sent fresh heat flooding through her. He traced her folds with his fingers. The way he owned her was intoxicating. There wasn’t anything outside this room, this breathless struggle between them to reach the heights of pleasure.

  “Such a hot, wet little wench. I wonder how you taste.” He dipped his finger into her again and withdrew it. She glanced over her shoulder and watched him slide his index finger into his mouth. Those gold eyes burned as they met hers, and he popped his finger out.

  “Like ambrosia.” He hissed low, as though he was picturing how it would be to eat her out. She swallowed hard. If he went down on her now, she’d die.

  “Please, Mikhail…” She wriggled her ass, trying to entice him.

  He was no longer smiling; there was only a serpentine hardness to his features as he unzipped his jeans and let them drop to the ground. His massive cock jutted out, and he ran one hand along its length and leaned over her, grasping her by the back of the neck. She buried her face in the bedding again, but her mind’s eye still pictured everything that was happening to her.

  The tip of his shaft rubbed along her slit, teasing her as he coated his cock with her arousal.

  “You belong to me.” That was the only warning she had. He thrust into her, hard, and she saw stars. He was too big, too full for her sore channel, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  “Oh God.” The words were muffled by the pillow as he shoved in deep, withdrew, and thrust in again.

  They were so deeply joined that she couldn’t remember what it felt like not to be a part of him and he a part of her. The flash of exhilaration made her vision hazy. She closed her eyes, panting as he fucked her the way she imagined a dragon would a mate. That was the only comparison that came to mind. This wasn’t just sex—it was a thousand times more intense than that. Her skin started to burn just beneath the surface.

  Suddenly she could feel the wind across her cheeks and the heavy condensation of clouds freezing along the tips of her wings as she climbed higher…higher. Then the sun was blazing above her, the air getting thinner…

  She came crashing back to the earth. The climax roared through her like a tornado, tearing down every wall she’d built, and something wonderful happened as it always seemed to when she lost control with him.

  Flashes of memory swam across her mind. Memories that weren’t hers. Darkened halls, flickering torchlight, the whispers of a long-dead queen, the stumbling heaviness of a body drugged with wine…and the darkness of a dungeon around her, suffocating her. No, not her…

  “Piper!” Mikhail’s voice was a shout, but it sounded so far away, as though through a distant tunnel. It bounced off the walls inside her head.

  “Stay with me!” he shouted. His voice verged on panic.

  Panic? She jolted, her eyes flying open. She was lying on her back on the bed. Mikhail held her in his arms, his hands cradling her face. His green eyes were wide in terror, his fear creating shifting silver glints in their depths.

  “Piper…you’re safe. You’re safe.” He crooned her name with tenderness as he stroked a fingertip over her lips. “Stay with me, little dove.” He lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers. The waves of soft, sweet emotions that filled her head made her want to curl up in his arms and forget the outside world.

  “What happened?” Her voice was hoarse. The memories this time had been too dark, too real. They had choked her with despair. Was that how he’d felt when Elizabeth had imprisoned him? Her heart ached for him, knowing now why his dragon had been driven half-mad all those centuries ago.

  “You fainted, I think,” he said. He moved his hand from her cheek and curled his arm around her waist, holding her close. “Your heart rate spiked and then plummeted, and it scared the hell out of me.”

  “I saw something from your memories.” Her eyes narrowed as she tried to remember what she’d seen. “A dark hall with torches. A redheaded woman in a cream-and-orange gown, and suffocating darkness.” Her body shivered at the terrifying final memory.

  Mikhail blew out a shaky breath. “That was the night Queen Elizabeth betrayed me. She drugged me. I told her where my jewels were, and the next thing I knew, I was imprisoned. For forty-four years I couldn’t shift, and it drove my dragon mad. That must have been what you w
ere experiencing.” He gave his head a little shake.

  “That was incredible…and honestly a little scary.” She closed her eyes, but the images were already beginning to fade, as though they’d never been in her mind.

  “I was afraid I was too rough—you shouldn’t have taunted me. I can’t be like that with you. You’re fragile, and I should be gentler with you.” His words were painted with sorrow and frustration. “This was a mistake.”

  Piper prickled with anger as she faced him. “Oh no you don’t. You can’t pull away from me. I want the real Mikhail. I need you to be yourself. The rough, fire-breathing animal that you are. I don’t regret a second of what we did. It was incredible. You were incredible.”

  She ignored the rising blush in her cheeks and the realization that she was completely naked. The old Piper would have been scrambling for a blanket to hide her curves under. But she was changed now. There was no going back to who she was, who she had been. She wanted to be this new version of herself, and she wasn’t about to let him pull back after what had happened.

  Mikhail pressed his forehead to hers, and they stayed close and quiet for a long while. Time seemed to be suspended. Even the sunlit motes of dust seemed to hang motionless in the air.

  Mikhail coiled a tendril of her hair around his fingers. Piper studied his face, the way a shadow of a beard had already formed across his strong jaw. She trailed her fingertips along this line, letting the faint stubble tickle her. There was nothing more perfect than this moment. She felt giddy, unable to resist asking the question that had sparked the explosive sex they’d just shared.

  “So what is the difference between werewolves and wolf shifters?” she asked.

  He laughed and kissed her. “Werewolves are bitten; shifters are born. It’s a little more complicated than that, though. Shifters are more like us, their ancient ancestors born from binding to the spirits of animals, while werewolves are creatures of dark magic binding, a corruption that manifested itself to where the ability to shift can be transferred by bites.”