The Fifth Moon’s Dragon

by Monica La Porta

  “On the contrary,” the High Lord said, regarding her with an intense stare that made her feel naked, although the vest and pants he had allowed her to wear preserved her modesty. “You’ll get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll resume our chat tomorrow.”

  16

  Dragon felt both Valerian and Lars stiffen behind him. Unfurling from his crouched position, he stood, towering over the assassin, and couldn’t help but smile at her shocked expression.

  “I’m sure you’ll find your accommodation to your liking,” he said before hauling her on his shoulder and walking straight to his bed where he deposited her on the firm mattress.

  Deftly, he untied her wrists only to raise them over her head and secure them to the headboard with leather bindings. Those soft restraints usually kept willing women entertained for hours, and surely none of his companions ever regarded him with fiery black eyes that burned with hatred.

  “No matter how hard you try, the leather won’t yield. You’ll only hurt yourself.” The words never failed to make the woman subjected to his ministrations squirm and giggle. Not this time. The assassin didn’t move a muscle, her eyes fixed on him. The white swirls on her exposed skin shone brightly under the blue illumination in the room. His gaze followed one of the fine curlicues disappearing under her leather vest.

  He repeated the operation with her lower extremities, freeing her legs before parting them and strapping her ankles tightly to each side of the footboard.

  The assassin’s nostrils flared as her face paled and her chest rose and fell fast.

  Her distress touched a chord deep inside Dragon, and he felt compelled to reassure her. “You won’t be touched.” That was a first. No woman had ever heard such words uttered in his bedroom. “I promised you.” Dragon brought his right fist to his chest; then he turned and headed toward the terrace, needing fresh air to clarify his thoughts.

  The sight of that proud woman tied to his bedposts, helpless and scared, provoked in him a surge of emotions he couldn’t understand. He felt protective of her when she was the one he needed protection from.

  His friends followed him outside into the terrace but waited until the sliding door closed to speak.

  “What are you doing?” Valerian’s voice was deceptively low and calm.

  “She wasn’t going to say anything useful. Neither fist nor caress can break a woman like that.” Dragon remembered her from a moment before, kneeling but as regal as a queen.

  “You admire her,” Lars said, turning his gaze to the assassin as well. “She’s plotting to kill you and us at this very moment, but you don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Inflicting pain upon her won’t give me the names of the people who hired the Academy.” It also didn’t please Dragon to see her hurt.

  “I cringe at the idea of using violence on a woman, but she is an assassin.” Lars sighed. “You can’t just wait for her to decide to talk.”

  Valerian stepped in front of Dragon. “I don’t like the idea of striking a prisoner either. The sensible solution would be to call the Fifth Moon Confederation and let them deal with her.”

  “You don’t want to consign her to the authorities, do you?” Lars asked Dragon. “What do you plan to do with her?”

  What Dragon wanted to do with her he wouldn’t confess to his friends.

  “I need her alive. If the Academy gets hold of her, we’ll never know who’s behind the attacks.” It was the truth, but beneath all his rational excuses, he was looking for reasons to spend more time with the assassin, and couldn’t bear the idea of what the Academy’s torturers would do to her. It was pure insanity that he wanted to give her pleasure, not pain—not that he liked to hurt people in the first place. But he couldn’t make sense of his wayward thoughts and strong, carnal impulses, and it exasperated and scared him.

  “It’s the Front Pro Humanity all over again,” Valerian said. “The Lupinian Revolution didn’t die with Balenus. The insurgence is widespread and reaching the far ends of the Fifth Moon System to involve the Outer Belts in their schemes. They want to eliminate immortals, shifters and vampires alike, and now they are after you.”

  “That’s what I think, but we need proof.” Dragon’s eyes lingered on the woman on his bed. She lay still, barely breathing.

  “We have cells in the basements to safely contain criminals like her,” Lars commented.

  “And the assassin sent to kill her expects her to be there. Plus, my quarters are the safest place in the entire palace, and you’ll direct ten of your best men to guard my bedroom and the terrace.” Again, Dragon spoke the truth, and yet, he stretched it to his advantage.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Valerian began pacing. “What happened to the Dragon I knew? I barely recognize you nowadays.”

  Dragon had planned to have this conversation later. From the look of it, it was happening now. The tension between them would only create a hostile environment when he needed clarity of mind to deal with his confusing emotions and the assassin. “Both of you have something to say to me. Go ahead, don’t mince words.”

  “Fine,” Valerian said, halting his nervous walk and training his dark eyes on Dragon. “You sent me away from Lupine when you needed me the most.”

  “You were needed here,” Dragon said. “I was perfectly safe at Valentine’s.”

  “You were safe—” Opening his arms to the side, Valerian gave him an incredulous look, his eyes narrowing. “Your good friend Lobo challenged you to a duel.”

  Dragon shrugged. “Yes, Valentine did, but at the moment, he had good reasons.”

  The memory of the night when Valentine burst into Dragon’s bedroom and found Mirella, his newly-wedded bride, lying with him would be forever etched in Dragon’s mind. Later, Valentine discovered that Mirella and Dragon were innocent, and that there was a plot to separate him and Mirella.

  “I would’ve done the same in his position.” Dragon turned to face Contessa, who was basking under the pink light of Coral while she kept a vigilant eye on Dragon’s prisoner, and at the same time, she checked on her master.

  “He could’ve killed you over a lie,” Valerian said.

  “But he didn’t.” As much as he tried, Dragon’s heart wasn’t in this conversation.

  “Because his wife stopped him!” Valerian shouted, surprising Dragon.

  “Valerian—” Lars’s eyes widened in surprise at their friend’s outburst.

  “It’s okay.” Dragon waved his hand, signaling for Valerian to calm down.

  It was a rare sight to witness the usually stoic Valerian lose his temper so many times in such a short period of time. But when Dragon thought better of it, he realized that the calm Valerian he remembered belonged to a time before he left Solaria to visit Valentine. The new Valerian he had met once back home was moody and prone to speak his mind at every turn.

  “Nothing happened,” Dragon said as Contessa raised her long neck and pushed her slender body up on her short legs.

  The fresh breeze of the afternoon thermals ruffled Dragon’s mane. After a year, his blond locks had reached shoulder length once again. During the ceremonial preparation for the duel with Valentine, he followed the Lupinian tradition that required shaving his head and branding his initials on his forearm, so that he would never forget.

  Closing his eyes and tilting his chin up, Dragon filled his lungs with the bouquet of the wild flowers growing on the impervious rocks below. In Dragon’s mind, those colorful buds represented the sweet scent of his homeland, and he had missed them. He had missed the little things.

  Contessa’s padded steps brought Dragon back to the present.

  “Why did you send me back here?” Valerian repeated his question. His voice was clipped.

  With a high whine, Contessa reached Valerian and lowered her head for her master to pat it.

  Dragon waited for the animal’s calming therapeutic effect to work on Valerian before answering. “You were needed here.”

  Valerian’s chest inflated and his expre
ssion hardened, but he didn’t stop petting his draglet. “There’s an interplanetary plot to kill shapeshifters, for Sol’s sake!”

  “The Front Pro Humanity’s aim is to eradicate our species, and the way to do it is to kill our brides. Without them, we can’t procreate. On Lupine, medicus have been exterminating Blessed Brides for centuries without anyone being the wiser. The princesses needed protection, and I sent you home to keep them safe. I couldn’t afford to make a mistake where my future brides were concerned. I trust you and Lars with my life and the lives of my children. Without Lauren and Gilda, there won’t be new dragon shifters, and our race will die with us,” Dragon said.

  Valerian brought his free hand to his jaw, then shook his head. “And you thought that being at the very center of that mess would help.”

  Dragon walked to the end of the jutting platform that formed the terrace. There, he lowered himself to the warm tiles and sat at the edge, his feet dangling into the void.

  He couldn’t help but compare Lupine’s architecture with Solaria’s. Whereas on Valentine’s planet buildings were closed entities, on Solaria constructions were open, blending with the landscape. Heavily influenced by the dragon shifters who first colonized the green planet, dwellings on Solaria accommodated for the needs of a once-airborne society. Even the locations of the cities attested to that necessity, perched on top of ridges overlooking luscious valleys, rivers, and lakes.

  “Exactly.” Dragon followed the flight of two wild draglets. “If I wanted to find anything useful about that plot, that was the place to be. And I would never leave a friend to fend for himself when I can lend a hand.” He stood. “Now, I need a shower and something to eat, because I have a blasted ball to attend.”

  17

  Dragon bathed and ate from the tray Lucio delivered to his antechamber. The delicious array of Solarian delicatessen his majordomo had chosen for his repast was devoured in the span of a minute, maybe less. He didn’t take the time to savor the food, but ate to stave off the hunger holding siege against his stomach. Not only had Dragon not eaten for more than a day, he also transformed twice to mend his wounded body, spending a considerable amount of energy.

  Replenished and clean, Dragon dressed in the ceremonial uniform the majordomo had efficiently arranged on the sofa, sorted by layer, from the white shirt embroidered in silver, to the black jacket, and matching black kilt and burgundy sash on the bottom. His ceremonial dagger lay on a velvet pillow alongside the black leather holster that would hang low against his kilt. He was fastening a silver, clockwork broach in the shape of a miniature dragon to his sash when Lars and Valerian entered the antechamber.

  They too sported the evening attire, wearing their black kilts with the silver sash denoting Dragon’s personal guards.

  “Ready?” Lars asked.

  Instead of answering, Dragon passed his palm flat against the fabric of his kilt, straightening the fringed edge to the side. “We don’t want to make the princesses wait.” He crossed the length of the antechamber, then paused at the door and gave his friends a pointed look, tilting his chin over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  During his return journey to Solaria, Dragon often thought about tonight’s inaugural ball, the first of several celebrations that would take place in the next three weeks and would culminate with the wedding ceremony, on Sol Day.

  He had known his betrotheds for a few years, but never truly spent any quality time with them, because he was usually too busy to visit King’s Ridge for more than an hour or two every other month. Then, he stayed an entire year on Lupine, making even those scarce occasions an impossibility. At the ball, he would finally dance with his wives-to-be and get to know them better, or at least exchange more than the customary pleasantries.

  Tonight, he could sample Lauren’s plump lips or make Gilda flush if he so wanted. It might have been exhaustion from the day’s events, but Dragon didn’t feel any excitement at stealing a moment or two with the two women he would soon wed. Not so long ago, the prospect of a premarital taste of the princesses had stirred his blood and sent him seeking the warm embrace of a courtesan.

  Valerian gave himself one last glance at the Chevalier mirror in the corner before strolling toward the exit, followed by Lars a step behind.

  “Nervous?” Valerian asked Dragon, his lips turned up in one of his mischievous smiles. “You know you can always count on me if you can’t handle the princesses.”

  It was his lieutenant’s long-standing joke that he would gladly help Dragon out if the conjugal duty proved too strenuous a feat for him. The thought made Dragon think of Gabriel Martelli, his vampire friend, who had kindly made the same offer.

  Dragon slapped Valerian’s shoulder with enough strength to shove his lieutenant forward, even though he had most assuredly expected Dragon’s reaction and braced his legs.

  Lars shook his head at Valerian. “One of these days, your mouth will finally get you in trouble.”

  “Until then—” Valerian shrugged, then waved his hand with nonchalance. “There’s so much fun to be had at our most esteemed High Lord’s expense.”

  “Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to keep you around.” Dragon tapped the head of the clockwork dragon, and the miniature stirred to life, puffing and extending its filigree wings.

  Valerian’s eyes darkened, and his mouth closed in a flat line. Dragon appreciated that his friend had thought better than to reopen the conversation about Lupine.

  “You two should make an effort tonight to find your mates,” Dragon said. That too was a recurring topic when the three of them got together. He gave Valerian a raised brow. “Your dark moods would dissipate with a stable companion at your side.” Next, he addressed Lars, “And you must stop chasing married women.”

  Lars had the good grace to lower his eyes. “I thought I was being careful.”

  Grinning, Valerian folded his strong arms across his chest. “Apparently not, if he got wind of your dalliances from Lupine.”

  Sol Palace resembled a microcosm where there were no true secrets, especially not for the High Lord who had eyes and ears everywhere. Dragon hadn’t set out with the aim of creating a web of spies, but people came to him with their tales, contacting him abroad to keep him informed on the latest palatial gossip. Lars’ indiscretions made the bulk of the well-detailed reports that reached Dragon on regular basis.

  “I suggest you take better care of your private life if you don’t want enraged husbands challenging you.” Dragon smiled at the servants pausing their tasks at his passage.

  As he progressed throughout the long hallway connecting his quarters to the Bridal Chambers, he tried to understand his growing uneasiness and why his thoughts kept reverting to the assassin tied to his bed. Tonight’s ball should have precedence. He would finally get to spend leisure time with his wives-to-be and it should have filled him with pleasure.

  At the Bridal Chambers’ entrance, Dragon didn’t hesitate and knocked on the delicate lattice framing, announcing his presence. Outside, he strived to project a semblance of control. Inside, he wanted to turn on his heels and run to his bedroom.

  One of the princesses’ lady’s maids opened the door. The girl, one of the many who came with the betrothal entourage, lowered her eyes and moved to the side, announcing him with the feeblest of squeals.

  Lauren materialized from behind a screen and glided toward him. “High Lord.” She raised her hand for him to kiss.

  “You are a vision.” Brushing her skin, Dragon said what was expected of him. The words came easily enough. Lauren was a beauty, and the evening dress Genevieve Lafrette had designed for her accentuated her stunning qualities, making her look like an ethereal vision in black.

  Dragon felt a pang of guilt at having snapped at Lauren earlier. He couldn’t fault her for being excited at the prospect of finally starting their married life after looking forward to it since she was a child.

  Gilda walked into the foyer, and Dragon smiled at the enchanting woman who looked a
t him from under long lashes, seeking his approval. She too wore a Lafrette. The Celestian fashion legend had designed for Gilda a free-flowing tunic in white and silver that framed the shy princess like a halo of light.

  “I am the luckiest man alive.” Again, Dragon easily found the right words to say. He brought his hand to his heart, then kissed Gilda’s proffered gloved hand and watched her worried face bloom into a beautiful smile.

  “You are too kind, High Lord,” Gilda whispered. The pink blush on her cheeks set off the green in her big eyes.

  Any warm-blooded man would be wondering by now about the pleasure of being this delicate creature’s first lover. But not Dragon. Instead, he contemplated why he couldn’t just enjoy what he had instead of hankering for something he couldn’t even define.

  Followed by Lars, Valerian, and the princesses’ entourage, he escorted Lauren and Gilda to the ballroom. One woman on each of his arms, he entered the chamber to a deafening applause that rattled the crystal chandeliers.

  The master of ceremony announced them, officially starting the night’s festivities. The orchestra played a piece created for the occasion by Havel, Solaria’s most famous composer. Dragon walked his betrotheds to the center of the room and led them through the complicated steps of a trio-waltz. His princesses moved across the polished marble with an elegance that spoke of years of lessons.

  The eyes of the court heavily weighed on Dragon’s shoulders. Men envied him, and women sighed. He caught Valerian’s dark gaze following their progress along the dance floor. Lars stood by a corner, nursing a goblet of red Laurum, courtesy of House Martelli. His face wore an emotionless mask as he sipped the rare vintage.

  Dragon tried to focus on the two women moving with the grace of angels, and his treacherous mind brought him back to another dance, the night when Valentine Lobo escorted his newlywed bride into a similar room. Dragon remembered the look in the werewolf’s eyes. The mere presence of Mirella enthralled Lobo as if his life depended on her next breath.