Fire Bride

by Ava Sinclair

  He’d ordered me to grab the post of his large bed.

  “Hold on,” he growled, and I felt his cock like a snake, moving, curling, stroking over the curve of my ass. I looked back and moaned. He was holding the post as well, his hands above mine, his eyes also on his huge cock. The length of it followed the head, moving down the crack of my ass like a snake seeking its prey. And then it parted my outer labia, caressing the swollen folds of my womanhood with the dexterity of a finger, lubricating itself. I moaned and sunk down, spreading myself, inviting it in. Drorgros chuckled, and called me a greedy little wench. The head of his cock tapped at my clit, teasing until I wriggled in frustration.

  “Beg.” His breath was hot in my ear, and I wanted to tell him I would not beg. But my pussy was clenching with the need to be filled. “I want to hear you,” he said, and I knew the eldest Lord of Fra’hir wasn’t content with my body’s silent plea.

  I looked back at him, unable to wait a moment longer. “Fuck me, my Lord Drorgros. Please fuck me.”

  He rewarded my weakness with a powerful thrust, his huge hands moving to my wrists, restraining me. He’d pounded me, hard, his steady strokes driving me up against the bedpost.

  “Ah!” I’d cried. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” My pussy quivered a little more with each thrust, and I could feel passion build like a spring winding tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock. I threw my head back as Drorgros’ lips blazed a hot line of kisses down the slender column of my throat. He took me hard — hard and rough. I knew I’d be sore afterwards. I wanted to be sore. I love waking up, love-bruised and spent from lovemaking. My passion, like a mother’s milk, is supplied according to need. I have enough for him and his brothers.

  We came together, and afterwards, I leaned into the post, sighing as Drorgros’ cock rippled and flexed, expelling the last of his seed.

  Afterwards, he pulled me tenderly down to the mattress, and while my body was tired, my mind had not been ready for sleep. My gaze had moved to the table by the window, to the books.

  I take books from the castle library to all my mates’ bedchambers now. Well, save for Imryth. I don’t have to take them there. Imryth practically has a library of his own. He is happy to have me read after we couple; often he will read with me. Drorgros and Zelki just fall asleep. Tythos? I’m lucky if he isn’t still fucking me at dawn’s first light.

  But this evening I wriggle away from my softly snoring hot-skinned mate and curl up in a chair to continue my education on Drakoryan history. It is a history linked to mine now. One day I will bear children to these men. I want to be able to tell our offspring where they come from. But not yet. We have time to plan, for the seed of my mates will not quicken for at least a full sun cycle. This is by design. In Drakoryan culture, the males spend a year bonding with their women before bringing children into the union. This is not by their choice, but mandated by the Wyrd — the witches whose scrying also decides which lords will be rewarded with a mate on Claiming Day, and who that mate will be.

  It is part of their wisdom that they delay breeding, Drorgros told me. He said the blending of personalities is like the blending of metals to make a fine sword. In their wisdom, the witches who brought us together have dictated that our relationship be molded in passion’s fire, hammered by trials, tempered by reality. Only then will it be strong enough to welcome offspring.

  I have been reading of King Eknor and his sons, and am grateful that the God and Goddess took pity on them, that in their wisdom they thought to grant the Drakoryans the protection of the witches. It was the witches who hid Arok, Dax, and Yrn deep inside the cave of the Mystic Mountain, counseling and consoling them when they shifted back to man form. They helped them accept their fate, encouraged them to document all they experienced so there would be a record for their progeny. Who knew that one day the Drakoryans would protect the Wyrd as the Wyrd once protected them? Today the Mystic Mountain, which holds the cave where King Eknor and his sons encountered the God and Goddess, is home to the witches, and under the constant guard of the Drakoryans.

  I run my fingers across the words in the ancient book I’ve opened. Some are human script, but others are in the timeless language of the dragons I have yet to learn. It would be many years before the first Drakoryans encountered true dragons. This happened long after they had subjugated man. The breed of dragon they encountered, the ShadowFell, was fiercer than any human. But ironically, it was the humanity of the Drakoryan that made them stronger in battle. Over millennia, the ShadowFell have driven all dragons to the other side of the world save the Drakoryan, whom they’ve been unable to defeat.

  I close the book and place it on the table. Outside, the moon hangs large and bright in the sky. A gentle breeze flows through the open window. I really should go back to sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me. The Council is coming to House Fra’hir, and although Drorgros has told me it is nothing for me to worry over, I have sensed small things that make me wonder whether there is more to this meeting than he is willing to admit.

  After Drorgros brought me here, after I’d been claimed by him and his brothers, came the Deepening — an ancient ritual in which I became mentally bonded to my Drakoryan mates. It allows us to communicate telepathically when we are apart. On occasion, we can even read each other’s minds, but such experiences are brief, and come across as flashes of feelings or impressions rather than thoughts.

  I don’t have to read the thoughts of my mates to know something is wrong. There are other signs I can read. I notice small things they think I miss — the furrowed brows and lowered voices when they huddle together, the way Drorgros spends more time in the watchtower, scanning the skies. On one of my walks through the castle grounds I followed the sound of clanging to the ironworks, where Tythos was overseeing the forging of fresh blades. Zelki and Imryth take to the skies in dragon form and stay away a day or more at times. In Imryth’s chamber, there are freshly rendered maps, the routes marked with arrows and other strange symbols.

  I am waiting for them to tell me why they scurry and fret so. Instead, they tell me as lady of this house I must ready the castle for the arrival of other lords and their families. They know this will keep me busy. I must supervise the menus. I must make sure the servants have prepared all the guest chambers with clean linens. I must see that bowls of fresh fruits are in ready supply in the Crystal Cavern, where I will entertain the other Fire Brides – Drakoryan mates all captured and claimed as I was. I confess to eagerly anticipating the latter, to being reunited with my friend Enid and the other women. Perhaps they will know the real reason behind this Council meeting.

  “Lyla.” I look up to see Drorgros staring at me with drowsy eyes. “Why do you leave my bed?”

  “I was reading.”

  He rolls onto his back. “And why is my lady reading?”

  “To learn, my Lord Drorgros.”

  He smiles, his white teeth gleaming in his bearded face. “Come, little one. If it’s knowledge you seek in this chamber, it should only be of a carnal kind.”

  A dragon’s appetite is never satisfied. I go to his bed, and the eldest son of Rymoth of Fra’hir teaches me a new way to make him moan. Afterwards, as he falls asleep, I search the channels of his mind, hoping to capture some image or thought that will give me a clue as to what secrets he keeps. But whatever he’s hiding remains hidden. I catch only a fleeting image — a field of fire as far as the eye can see.

  Did it come from his mind? Or was it a suppressed memory from my childhood, from a time when I was too innocent to realize the beasts I feared would claim me for their mate?

  I turn on my side, nestling into the muscular curve of my mate’s strong body. I tell myself I will not have answers tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps. Finally, I sleep.

  Chapter 2

  ZELKI

  Where were you? I was calling.

  I know, brother. I heard.

  I’m flying through the thinning clouds. As they break, I drop down and fold my wings, aiming for the mouth o
f the cave. I can still hear Imryth’s rebuke in my head, reminding me that we have agreed to keep our mind channels open for communication, reminding me that we are supposed to travel in pairs.

  As I shoot through the entrance of the cave, I pass Skryll and several other Drakoryans lounging in dragon form on ledges above the inland sea. I’m aiming for the large flat stone where my older brother is pacing, hands on his hips. I should open my wings and brake to land softly. Instead, I shoot upwards and then drop straight. Imryth looks uncertain, and even though I’ve closed my mind to him, I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking I’m crazy, that surely, I will slow down.

  But I don’t. I open my wings at the last moment, extending my mighty claws like a hawk extends its talons before landing on its prey. My left foot misses Imryth by less than five yards as I hit the slab, the force of my landing knocking him to the ground.

  I immediately burst into flame, sending my astonished brother crab walking backwards to escape the heat. I can shift faster than my brothers, and before Imryth can scramble to his feet, I’m back in human form, extending my hand to help him up. He doesn’t accept it immediately, but sits there, glaring.

  “That wasn’t funny, Zelki.”

  “It was to me.” I start to laugh. “Your face…!”

  “Why must you do such things?” He finally takes my hand, shaking his head in disapproval as I lift him to standing. “You may be bigger than the rest of us, Zelki, but you still act a child. No wonder Drorgros is reluctant to make you a regiment commander.”

  Anger replaces my mirth. Imryth doesn’t intend to be spiteful; he’s the most peaceful of all of us. And I know he speaks the truth. Perhaps this is what bothers me the most, that the respect of my brothers continues to elude me.

  “You were expected back an hour ago, Zelki. Where were you?”

  The image of my travels comes so strongly to my mind that I don’t even have to tell my brother. I know he has caught a vision of what I saw. He sighs, and struggles to keep the irritation from his voice. “We agreed, Zelki. Six villages a day—all planned patrols following the grid I drew on the map. Lyla’s village was not part of today’s route.”

  “No, Imryth. We did not agree. You agreed —you and Drorgros and Tythos. I wanted to check our mate’s village daily, but as usual, I was overruled.” My mood has turned foul. I do not want to argue, nor do I want to explain myself. I make for the tunnel that leads into the castle, my older brother walking quickly apace. I know he’s not going to let this go. “She’s our mate, Imryth. What’s wrong with checking on her village?”

  He grasps my arm and stops me. “Yes, she’s our mate. But her village is but one of dozens, and we should not show favor based on that.” He pauses. “And what will you do now? Go tell her that her village is safe? Win her favor by sharing information we have sworn to keep until the right time? You’ve already tried that once, before the Deepening.”

  I know what he’s referring to. The first night I claimed Lyla as my mate, she asked me to show her a dragon — a revelation we’d agreed to withhold after we’d all mated. I’d done as she’d asked, incurring the wrath of my brothers. But Imryth is hardly without fault.

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” I snap. “Who defied Drorgros to go on patrol last time, my sanctimonious brother? And who actually turned in front of our mate?”

  Imryth flushes with guilt. “I suppose I deserve that.” He glances up and down the tunnel as if fearing we’ll be overheard. “But this is different. If you tell her you are patrolling her village, it will beg the question of why we are patrolling. We don’t want to worry her. It’s why we’re…”

  “Hiding this? Yes, I know. It’s rather ironic, don’t you think? You flatter her intellect, but when Tythos and Drorgros suggest keeping information from Lyla you fall right in line.” I scowl. “And yet I’m unfit to lead? You’re more sheep than dragon, brother.” I turn away in disgust.

  “I deserve that, too, I suppose,” Imryth concedes. “But you know there are very good reasons to wait for the right time to tell Lyla about the ShadowFell. We must meet with the Council, discuss a plan. Olin warned us to respect her intellect, but he also warned us not to let her divide our attentions, or us. If we divulge this too soon, you know as well as I do what will happen.”

  “Yes. We’ll be too busy keeping her calm to properly plan with the council.”

  “Exactly.” Imryth pauses. “Look, I don’t like it any more than you, Zelki. And I’m sorry for what I said to you in the cave.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I almost stepped on you.”

  “Liar.” My brother laughs, and slaps me on the arm, smiling. Imryth the peacemaker. Had I done the same to Drorgros or Tythos, they’d have fumed for a fortnight.

  We continue through the tunnel. Our castle, like the castles of other dragon lords, is built into the mountain itself. In our dragon form, we enter through the mouth of the cave and head over the inland sea to the landing platform. From there, we can travel through a number of tunnels that spiral up into the keep. On any other day, I may have tried slipping in undetected, taking the fork in the tunnel that led up to Lyla’s chamber. I imagine how I might have found her, exhausted, perhaps, after a day of managing our house. Although she chooses which of us will have her for the night, there is no rule against coupling with our mate during the day. And our passionate little human has surprised me on more than one occasion when I entered her chambers and wordlessly bent her over, my cock made harder by the little half smile she shot me as she looked back to watch me raise the hem of her gown. Has she welcomed my brothers in a similarly wanton fashion when the sun was still high? I know she has, but I pretend I am the only one.

  Today, I will not get to find my relief with her body. As I flew in, I could see other dragons arriving from the east and west, coming from all over the Drakoryan Empire to converge on Castle Fra’hir. It occurs to me that my thoughts were so occupied with Lyla, I’d not stopped to wonder why Imryth felt the need to meet me on the platform.

  “Has something happened?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He nods and lowers his voice as a maid passes. “Another village was attacked. Drorgros told them about Kenrick, and now everyone is in an uproar.”

  I can hear the raised voices before we even reach the Council Hall. As we enter the hall, we see the other lords of the empire on their feet, punctuating their shouts with raised fists. On the dais, Drorgros is holding up his hands, appealing for quiet. Beside him stands Tythos, his arms crossed across his massive chest, his expression grim.

  “You knew?” I can’t see Lord Groxyl at the front of the room, but I recognize his deep, gravelly voice. “You knew during the Claiming Day celebrations that a village had been attacked and said nothing? Had you told us, we could have done something before another village was destroyed!”

  “And what would you have done?” Drorgros raises his voice in response. “We’ve all been to Claiming Day celebrations! Food? Good wine? Do I need to remind you what effect strong drink has on a Drakoryan when he changes? We become as rash as we are powerful! We do not think as clearly. It is why all the kingdom’s wine cellars are locked and guarded during times of conflict.”

  As shouts subside to grumbles, Imryth and I take advantage of the relative calm to shoulder our way through the crowd and join our brothers on the platform. Our reclusive king, Vukurcis, prefers the lords handle threats unless they are severe. When that happens, we journey to his castle, where he presides over a War Council. At such gatherings, there would be no raised voices. The old king can say more with a glance than most Drakoryans can with a shout. He is respected, and still grieves for our father, Rymoth, who gave his life to save the king’s in the last battle with the ShadowFell.

  “Is it possible that it’s not the old enemy?” a hopeful voice asks.

  “It is the old enemy.” Drorgros tone is certain. “We have been told, through our Oracle. Directly from the witches.”

  The room erupts once more, but Drorgros’
voice rises above theirs.

  “That,” he shouts, “is why I called you back so soon after the Claiming Day. Olin, our Oracle, conveyed a message to me and my brothers. The ShadowFell have awakened…”

  “Why you?” an angry voice calls.

  “I don’t know,” Drorgros says, and I exchange a glance with Imryth. The Oracle also had another message, foretelling a yet-to-be-revealed role Lyla would play in all this. But our brother does not mention it. “It does not matter who receives the Wyrd’s message, only that we heed it. The witches said our enemy will come with terrible and powerful intent.”

  “What are we to do?” Skryll asks. A close ally of our house, he and his brothers have moved to the front of the room.

  Tythos steps forward now.

  “From what we saw of Kenrick, it looked to be the work of one dragon.” He holds up a single finger. “Just one. That is encouraging, because we know that the ShadowFell awake not together, but one by one, and slowly.”

  “But that gives us time to plan,” Imryth says, “to form our own strategy.”

  “But what of the attack on Branlock?” another lord asks, referring to the second village. “It is unlike the ShadowFell to burn villages. They consider other dragons their enemies, and have never bothered with humans save on the battlefield when they fight the ones who serve us.”