A Plague of Dragons (A Dragon Anthology)

by Jason LaVelle

  Mikhael felt frozen where he sat, and Skye leaned over toward him. Her gaze never left his as she drew nearer. With her face only inches from his own she reached a hand up and touched his face gently with soft fingers. He could smell earth and sweat on her, but also the powerful smell of - woman. It was an intoxicating scent, pheromones and body and desire. Mikhael couldn’t help it, he drew in a deep breath of her. She smiled as Mikhael did it, her soft, thin, pink lips slipping up over white teeth.

  “You can tell them I’m not so different from you,” she whispered. Then she pressed her mouth over his, and Mikhael melted against her.

  Her kiss was unlike anything he’d felt before. There was an energy behind it, a charge that passed between them and lit his body up brighter than the midday sun. A thought fluttered in his brain, that this was a ploy, a ruse to distract him, or to convince him to let her go. That thought bounced around within his head, but it was drowned out by the invisible energy passing between them. Skye hummed with pleasure as they kissed, and he knew she was feeling it too. This was no ploy, this was not just simple attraction. Somehow he knew, with this one kiss, that he and Skye were meant to be together.

  ***

  The tryst happened without her even trying. One moment they were kissing, and the next they were on the floor, clothes strewn about them. There was something very different about Mikhael; he was... special. From the moment he stayed Jenisia’s hand that morning, Skye had felt a connection to him. She had been afraid, yes, and hurt, but she knew this wasn’t just desperation. Mikhael was only human, but she was attracted to him as if he were made for her. And he certainly knew what to do with that large body of his.

  Skye straddled the big man, holding him captive with long legs that were toned from many morning runs on the beach. He lay bare beneath her, his hard body against the cold stone floor of his home. His hair was a mess of shaggy brown, his face was scrubby with a day’s old beard, and his eyes were warm, watching her, soaking in her every move.

  She rocked her body on top of him, smiling as he filled her, smiling more as the pleasure pushed away her pain from the last day. Already she was healing. Rest and food and strong coffee were waking the fire within her, and through its power her bones were mending and her flesh was being stitched together. Mikhael held her hips against him, squeezing them tight and pulling her down onto him as she rocked, forcing him deeper inside. It felt amazing. She had never been with a man who wasn’t a dragon, and though Mikhael was beastly in size, towering above her and all of the villagers here, he was much more gentle than her kind.

  His chest was thick with muscle and curly black hair that covered his pecs before trickling into a thin line down his stomach. Still he watched her. She couldn’t help but like him. Even before he was inside her, pushing the darkness away with each heave of his muscled hips, she knew she liked him. He was a kind man, and he was looking for something, she could see it in him, he was searching for his place, just like her. And maybe, like her, he wasn’t happy with his place in this world. With one arm, she pressed down on his chest, leaning onto him, and forcing her hips back quickly. That drew a shudder of approval from Mikhael and Skye smiled mischievously. She squeezed down on him, from the inside, and Mikhael grinned widely, then closed his eyes.

  “Why are you doing this to me, Skye?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Fucking me so good.”

  Skye chuckled, then let out a little burst of laughter. She slapped at his chest. She had never laughed during sex before. This was - it was just so different. He was both smooth and hard within her, just as his face was both strong and kind. Like a fever their pitch rose, and their tempo intensified, and Skye was soon lost within herself, happily trapped in that place of pleasure that she didn’t often reach. Mikhael was getting close beneath her. Each thrust of his hips became more needy, and those strong hands pulled her hard against him. Sweat began to roll down her chest and her back and a tense band squeezed her middle.

  Harder and faster they plunged together into the depths, until she was panting and Mikhael started to cry out. Like dancers they moved together, and in the final, glorious ending, Mikhael shook with excited release, shuddering deep within her. Skye let out a single cry and gasped for breath when her own peak claimed her, then collapsed on top of Mikhael, holding his chest with her arms and his hips tight between her legs. She would keep him here, like this. She would not release him, not now, maybe not ever.

  She breathed deep breaths, sucking in the manly smell of him, of his sweat and come and skin. His breaths were ragged in his chest and it pleased her. But something else came creeping over her too, a sadness of sorts, for the inevitability of all things.

  “Mikhael, I have to leave,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “Wh - why. Just stay here with me.”

  “No, I have to leave Mikhael.” She lifted herself off him with her good arm. The other was gaining strength, but she didn’t want to test it just yet. She looked down into his eyes. They looked a little hurt. “Come with me, Mikhael. Leave with me, right now.”

  Mikhael shook his head. “I will protect you, I’ll tell Jenisia-”

  “No, you don’t understand. My brother will come looking for me,” she paused, “and when he finds this place, he will kill everyone.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Is he dead?” Ren asked, looking down at the man who was mostly covered by snow. “He looks dead.”

  Scott brushed snow away from the man’s neck. The skin was chapped and rough. He jammed two fingers into the cold flesh. “Not dead,” Scott said. “He’s got a heartbeat.”

  Scott stood up and both he and Ren stared down at the heaping of snow and man. “Sure is a big fella.”

  “Yes sir. Where do you think he came from?”

  Scott shrugged. He secured his bow over one shoulder. “Come on, we better drag him in.”

  Ren didn’t look excited about the idea of dragging the man, but where he lay was only a hundred yards from the village ceiling. “Guess we’ll hunt tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Naw, we’ll drop him at the lodge and head out. Let the others deal with him. Hell, Jenisia will probably chop him up and we’ll have him for dinner later!” Scott laughed at his own joke. Ren snorted out some laughter as well.

  “She is one crazy bitch.”

  “Yeah. Reckon she’s gonna kill that lass. Too bad, she’s a pretty thing.”

  “You think she’s really what Jenisia said, a dragon?”

  Ren looked at him, then back to the frozen man. “Guess I really don’t know, but if she is, she’s better off dead for sure. Can’t have those fuckers knowing where we live, can we?”

  “I suppose not. All right, let’s drag this big bastard.”

  Jenisia was already at the lodge when they arrived and she strode up to Scott and Ren. “Which way did he come from?” she asked, before even looking at the man.

  “Can’t tell, too much snow covering everything. He was about a hundred yards off though, in the direction of the ridge. Could have come from anywhere. If it was snowing, there’d be no way to know which way to turn.”

  “You think he was looking for our camp?” she asked.

  Scott thought about it. “I suppose he’d have to be; can’t figure why the hell he’d be out there if he wasn’t. Damn near frozen though, poor bastard must have been wandering in the woods for days and days.”

  Jenisia bent down and brushed at the man’s face. Her mind was clearer now, and she applied some of the same deductive reasoning she had seen Mikhael use just that morning. “Not likely. This man has shaved recently, probably just yesterday.”

  Ren and Scott bent over the man too, touching the almost smooth skin of his cheeks.

  “Wherever he came from was close by.” She brushed more snow away, revealing his clothing. He wore a dark sweater knitted of black wool, and pants made of animal hide, maybe a pronger or some other thick-skinned beast. There were cracked streaks in the brown leather where the co
ld had split them open, and thickly muscled legs shown through. Though his clothing was obviously not made in the village here, it was not so different from what they wore. The attire looked normal to her, it looked… human.

  “You don’t think he’s another one of them dragons do you? Another changeling?”

  Jenisia thought hard, looking at the man’s pale, chapped skin. “I really don’t know, but it’s a mighty big coincidence him just showing up on our doorstep after I found the woman. Help me get him in the lodge. We’ll bind him, and then see if he survives. Though I wouldn’t say that’s likely.”

  Daytime was the only time a big fire was safe. At night, its light would be seen from the air above. They sat Darion in a chair in front of the fire and bound his arms and legs to it. It was hot in the lodge, but Jenisia sat near him. The fire would thaw him out soon enough, and if he survived, she wanted to be the first to speak with him. Though Jenisia was questioning a lot right then.

  As the day wore on, and she had a chance to get some hot food in her – a nice venison stew– she began to feel the weight of what she had done. It had stung when Mikhael admonished and rebuked her that morning, and in front of many of the village members. They respected him. Mikhael was a great hunter, a big man, and in truth, a very good person. He didn’t back away from hard jobs, and he put the lives of everyone in the community before his own. He was smart and funny, and… right.

  She had shot down a dragon, that much was clear fact to Jenisia. Whether or not anyone believed her didn’t matter, nothing could change the truth. The dragon was a shapeshifter. Yes, hard to believe, but also true, irrefutable in her mind. But in the search for answers, Jenisia had made some very bad choices when the dragon turned out to be a woman. All because she needed answers. Her actions were foolish and selfish. Walking the woman, dragon or not, all the way back to their village was a bad idea, they would have left impressions in the ground, and their scent all over the trees they passed. Plus, the dragon had bled like a pronger on its way out, all the way back to the village. Jenisia hadn’t bothered to bandage her further. Why? Partly because she didn’t care, and maybe a little because she wanted the creature to suffer, but in the end, she had left a blood trail right to their home.

  She didn’t know if Mikhael was right about the woman being someone important, that seemed to be stretching things a bit, but either way, the trail was there, and any moron would be able to follow it. The lodge was quiet except for the snapping and sizzling of the fire. The floor was hard earth, beaten down from years of use. There were no windows, it was closed up tight to keep in the heat, so the air inside became musty, and the only light was the rich orange glow of their fire. She watched smoke from the fire being sucked away up through the chimney, and then finally turned her attention back to the stranger.

  “Did you follow my trail?” she asked the frozen man. She knew he would not answer, but talking to him seemed better than silence. “Are you a scout? A rescue?” She scrutinized his wind-burned face for signs of consciousness at first, but couldn’t help but appreciate how masculine he appeared. So much like Mikhael with his chiseled jaw, though she guessed this stranger might be stronger still. She’d have to be careful with him once he woke. If he woke up. Even sitting next to the fire, he didn’t appear to be thawing out. On top of his head, dirty blonde hair had frozen into an unruly mess of sharp spikes.

  “Is she someone you love? Jenisia asked. She reached out and touched the man’s arm. Still cold, but not frozen. He had large muscles that stretched out the fabric of his tunic. She lifted one of his hands. It was enormous, heavy and thick. The skin was tough but also smooth. She looked down at her own hands, which were nicked and scraped and calloused. He wasn’t a hunter, nor a man of the woods, they didn’t have skin this nice or faces so pretty.

  “Who are you?” she murmured.

  The man gasped and shuddered in the chair. Jenisia startled so badly she nearly fell over. He’s awake! Her heart raced and a prickle of fear crawled through her.

  The man sucked in deep breaths and looked around, his head turning sharply before settling on Jenisia.

  “Where did you come from?” she asked.

  “I… I was lost,” the man rasped, wincing as the words left his throat.

  “Where did you come from?” she demanded.

  “I was heading west to the sea with my family, but we got separated in the snowstorm. Please, have you seen them?”

  Jenisia moved in front of him. The man tried to get out of the chair but the restraints held him in place.

  Confusion furrowed his brow. “Why am I tied up?”

  Jenisia looked into his eyes. Green and vibrant. Just like the girl’s. The man stared back at her, and Jenisia thought she saw his eyes widen just a little, like he recognized her somehow.

  “You’re tied up for your safety, and ours,” Jenisia replied.

  “But I’m only a traveler. I’m no harm to anyone. Please, I need to find my family. My mother, and my sister, have you seen them?”

  He was lying, and she knew it well. He was no traveler. His body had been beaten in the cold, but that was just from the last night, and he still looked like a freaking oak tree. By the time most travelers reached this place they were mostly starved and made of skin stretched too tight over their bones. His features were beyond perfection, from his stature to the tough lines of his face. Jenisia had always thought Mikhael to be the most handsome man she’d seen, but compared to this stranger, he was but a commoner. And that strange attraction made her angry. She didn’t like it, didn’t want to feel it. A physical response she didn’t need detracting her from her goal. What she wanted, was answers.

  “What’s your name?” Jenisia asked.

  “Darion.”

  “Okay, if Darion is your real name. Why are you lying to me?”

  Darion shifted in his chair a little, as if testing his restraints while trying not to be obvious about it. He glanced around the long room. It was only him and Jenisia in the room with the fire.

  “Why do you think I’m lying?”

  “Two reasons, Darion. One, no one knows there’s a sea to the west who hasn't been there.”

  Darion did his best to look nonplussed.

  “Second, I know damn well you haven’t been on the trail from back east for the two months it takes to get here. So, last chance, who are you and where did you come from?” She withdrew a long dagger from her belt and held it on her lap, a subtle threat paired with her cold stare, promising pain if he answered incorrectly.

  Darion eyed the blade nervously. No, not nervously. As she looked into his eyes, she saw that he wasn’t afraid at all, but he was trying to appear afraid. What the hell is going on here?

  Chapter Twelve

  This woman is dangerous, Darion thought. He watched her eyes. They were cold and blue, penetrating, searching him for anything hidden. She was perceptive too. He hadn’t thought of a clever backstory to tell, or put any real thought into subterfuge when he set out to find the human settlement. Darion’s plans were more smash, kill, fly, not much thinking required. But as he watched the woman analyzing him, he realized that she was a much more formidable opponent than he had expected. Her features, her voice, and her savagery was very… dragon-like.

  What came out of his mouth was unexpected.

  “You are a beautiful woman,” he said, and then his eyes widened, dumbfounded by his own words. He twisted uncomfortably against his bindings.

  The woman leaned back away from him, as stunned by his admission as Darion was. It was the truth, she was beautiful. Her long hair was a shot of night against the pale skin of her face. Unlike Naida’s soft, slightly rounded cheeks, Jenisia’s countenance was angular and severe, like a lean, hungry animal. She had long lashes over narrow blue eyes. She looked… wild, and the baser part of Darion couldn’t help but visualize that fierceness against his body, in his bed. Or hell, right here on the dirt floor of this primitive building.

  When the woman spoke again it w
as slow and clear. “I appreciate the compliment, but I need you to answer my questions.” She glanced down at her knife, then back into Darion’s eyes.

  He took a deep breath, trying to clear the mess in his brain. “I promise, I mean you no harm.”

  “That’s not good enough,” she said, the edge in her voice growing sharper.

  “Look…” he feigned looking around the room. “I come from a secret place, a place I cannot speak of, because I have sworn a sacred oath never to betray its location.”

  Darion waited for her response.

  “What were you doing out in the storm?”

  There was no way to gauge her response. The woman’s voice was flat, clinical.

  “I… I escaped. I was going to be forced into a life I didn’t want, so I ran, and I got caught in the storm. Then you found me, you saved me.”

  Darion had no idea if she was buying it or not. Her face was impassive, and Darion found his eyes traveling to her chest, imagining the swell of her breasts beneath her clothing.

  The woman patted her knife against her palm. Then she stood and untied her wool tunic. Darion watched, rapt, as she pulled the garment off her body and let it fall to the floor. She didn’t take her eyes off him as she did this, those cold blue eyes staring him down. Beneath the dark wool tunic, she wore a light, woven shirt. It was stuck to her breasts and stomach, either from static or perspiration. Darion could see the hard, dark nubs of her nipples through the fabric, and a bit of him groaned just a little. Then she sat back down, still with her dagger, and never taking her eyes off him.

  “I’m not dangerous at all,” Darion said, his eyes glued to the woman’s breasts.

  “But I am dangerous,” she said, and Darion thought he saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “And if you’re lying to me…” she pointed the knife toward him. “I will cut that pretty face right off your skull.”