War Bride

by Ava Sinclair

  “To kill a dragon?” I throw my hands in the air and turn away.

  “Look past her request, to the heart of the matter.” Turin stands and follows me. “She wants to feel safe from the ShadowFell.”

  I whirl on him. “Making her feel safe is our job!”

  “I told her that.” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “I told her we would always protect her. But she wants to be able to protect herself.”

  “No maiden can kill a dragon,” I say. “No single man can for that matter. It’s not been done.”

  “Just because something hasn’t been done doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” Turin points to the scar running across my chest. “Remember when you got that?”

  “It’s a battle scar, and I’m not the first dragon to get a scar that didn’t heal.”

  “True,” Turin says. “But remember what your father said?”

  I do. Our troops had been positioning the catapult that would hurl a huge spear at an approaching ShadowFell. I was chasing the enemy into position when it had rounded on me with surprising swiftness, sending me hurtling downward. Our soldiers had let fly with the huge spear. It had caught me diagonally across my chest. The wound was deep, and later my father told me that had it entered at an upward trajectory between the two largest scales under the edge of my wings, it would have punctured the air sacs that dragons need to survive.

  There are other spots, too, that we must protect. When we open our giant mouths, the venom glands are revealed. Should they be punctured we could choke on our own fire venom.

  In training our human troops, we teach defensive moves, such as ducking and covering with dragon-scale shields to protect them from fire, or the use of large weaponry to fire spears at a flying or netted ShadowFell. We have never told even them that a man with a sword could run it between those scales to bring a dragon down. It is not the kind of information we want our subjects to have.

  Turin is right, though. It is not impossible to kill a dragon. Still, the promise he made to Isla is fanciful.

  “A maiden is not a man, Turin.” I pour myself a goblet of wine.

  “Then what can it hurt if I teach her sword play, or tell her where a dragon is weakest? It will avail her little other than to feel more secure. Can we deny her that?”

  I take a sip of my wine. “Zyvis won’t like it.”

  “I’d think you of all people would care the least about what Zyvis thinks.” Turin pours himself a glass of wine as well. “Where is our brother, anyway?”

  “Gone to help with the harvest. Mother sent him.”

  “Do you plan to confront him?” Turin stares at me over the rim of his cup.

  “I don’t know. He tried to kill me.”

  “Maybe Isla can slay him for you.” Turin winks at me.

  “That’s not funny, brother,” I say, but I can’t stop the laugh that follows.

  Turin joins me, and for the moment, all tension is forgotten. We are a third of the way to claiming our mate if we can just keep our bond while finding a way to fulfill our mate’s growing passion and her desperate need to feel safe again.

  Chapter 10

  ISLA

  I awake to savory and sweet aromas. Turin has had Sal lay my fireside table with such a bounty that I ask if he intends to dine with me.

  “I dined with Jayx while you slept,” he tells me. “But my brother’s appetite is not for food.”

  I feel my face flood with heat at the reminder that I will soon feel the touch of a second man. Once again, I think of my mother, a meek and moral woman who taught me and my sister Zara that we should marry and live faithfully with one man.

  One.

  What would she say if she saw me now, if she knew that within a span of days I’d be expected to spread my thighs for not a single man but three? Only the witches took lovers. We were good girls, she said. We were not witches who lived a different morality. She expected us to honor what lessons she’d taught.

  “You’re lost in thought.” Turin’s words bring me back to myself. “What furrows that pretty brow?”

  He puts a plate in front of me. On it are two roasted quail drizzled with rosemary gravy, golden carrots and a hunk of soft bread. Beside the plate sits a bowl of brandied pears. The dinner is served with a goblet of sweet wine.

  I tear a piece off the bread as I ponder my reply. “Just that I wish my mother had taught me more of what I would need to survive life’s unpredictable path. She intended for me to have a single husband.”

  Turin leans back in his chair. “I’m sure if she’d known, she’d have prepared you for this, too.”

  Something occurs to me then. “The dragons that took my sister. Do they turn into men, too? Will they…”

  “Isla…”

  “Tell me.”

  I can see that he is hesitant to answer. “No,” he says. “But according to the oracle, they seek humanity. It is why they took the maidens. They want ready mates when it is time.”

  “How would they gain humanity?”

  “You are too curious.”

  “Tell me.” I fix him with a challenging stare.

  “The same way the Drakoryan did. Witch magic. Ages ago, the God and Goddess of the Wyld punished a king of men for his cruelty by turning his three sons into the first dragon men. Since then, our kind have had to balance our human side with our dragon nature. The ShadowFell seek the same magic, only to turn from dragon to human.”

  “Why, when dragons are more powerful?”

  He smiles at this. “Because in battle, our humanity gives us advantage. They have driven all other dragons to the other side of the world, save us. They would become like the Drakoryans, but that must not happen. They would be the cruelest of masters.”

  “Where do they live?” I ask.

  “Deep in the shadows of the mountains. Where, we do not know.”

  I think on this, think on Zara sitting somewhere in the dark, chained to a wall, afraid as dragons rumble in the dark. A tear trails down my face.

  “How can something inhuman tend to my sister and the others?” I ask miserably.

  Turin takes my hand. “While dragons may not be humans, they are not stupid. Especially not the ShadowFell. They stole your sister and the others away. They will keep them alive. We must rescue those maidens before they fulfill their part of the enemy’s dark plan.”

  Cruel masters. Now I think of Zara lying under some huge, dark-haired man who would take her with a primal roughness. I am wracked with guilt. I should not have hidden in that well. I should have let myself be captured so I could protect her.

  Turin rises from his chair. “Eat,” he says.

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  He crosses his broad arms across his chest. “Eat,” he repeats. “If you don’t, you won’t have strength for your first lesson in swordsmanship.”

  I look up at him. “Are you teasing me?”

  “No. But eat. Or you’ll have to wait.”

  Turin leaves the room and I start to eat. Outside, the sun peeks through clouds. How long have I been asleep? Before I laid down, Turin told me that he would soon go help with the harvest and leave me with Jayx.

  In the distance I see the shadow of a dragon returning from the fields across the mountain, a huge cage filled with men clutched in each clawed foot. I think of the golden wheat that grew so tall my sister and I would play hide-and-seek in it as children. We’d jump up, laughing as we caught sight of our cottages over the grain-laden heads. I think of those cottages now, burned to timbers, the carrion birds feeding on the charred remains of the slaughtered. I start on the quail, committed now to finishing my meal, eager for my first lesson.

  I’m just finishing the last of my bread when Turin returns. My heart drops in disappointment when I see what he’s holding.

  “That’s not a real sword.” I rise and walk over to him, eyeing what looks like a child’s toy.

  “No, it’s not.” He holds out the wooden sword. “However, it was my first, and today I
wield a sword better than my father ever did thanks to my early training with this one.” He holds it out to me. “Master a wooden sword and I’ll see a proper one forged just for you.”

  “A sharp one?” I take hold of the wooden sword. “Sharp enough to kill a dragon?”

  “Sharp enough to make you feel safe.”

  It’s a good enough answer.

  Turin moves behind me, lifting my arm. I look down the wooden blade, imagining it is real.

  “Let us begin the lesson,” he says.

  Chapter 11

  JAYX

  Is this the same woman I spoke to in the fog the day before the fight? That woman seemed lost and afraid. When I walk into her bedchamber I see a different woman. Her back is to me, the bottom of her velvet green gown swishing gracefully as she moves left and right. Through the sleeves I can see the curve of her muscles as she holds up the training sword I recognize as the one Lord Egir made for Turin when he was a child not much smaller than she is now. Isla wields the weapon with as much enthusiasm as my brother ever did.

  He’s taught her how to hold it, to swing it with two hands. Her arms sweep to the left and then the right once, and then twice. On the third swing, she hits the side of a chair.

  “God’s bones!” Isla mutters.

  “That’s language more suited to a common muckspout, not a lady.”

  She startles at the sound of my voice.

  “Lord Jayx.”

  “I see Lord Turin has begun your lesson.” I incline my head towards her weapon. I wait for her to put it down.

  “He told you, then? What I willed from him.”

  I shut the door and turn back to her. “What will you from me?” I walk over to Isla. She stands her ground but does not lower the sword.

  “Are you mocking me?” she asks.

  “Does my brother mock you?”

  “No. He knows I will not be mocked, even if I am but a village girl.”

  I try not to smile. Turin is right. Our mate has grown fierce. I prefer fierce to fading. I like this version of Isla much better than the one I spoke to on the misty wall.

  “Lower your sword, Isla of Branlock. I’ve come to fuck, not to fight.”

  Her face colors prettily, and I notice her nipples, hard as spear points, are straining against the fabric of her bodice.

  “I will not fuck until I have your vow.”

  I feel my cock rising against my skirt. Her brashness is exciting me in ways compliance never could. I want to push myself inside her, to embed my cock in her heat. I am already agitated by my wait, and her boldness is like a taunt.

  “Tis a dangerous game you play, little flame.”

  Her eyes flash with a moment of fear, yet she holds her ground in spite of it. “My circumstance is no game, Lord Jayx.”

  “No. No, it’s not.” Her words sober me. I reach out and put my hand on her sword tip, pushing it down. “What will you, from me?” I ask once more.

  The tip of the wooden sword is on the floor now. She looks up at me. She’s so incredibly beautiful with her wild tangle of red hair and green eyes.

  “What other ways are there to fight? Besides with swords, I mean?”

  I consider her question. “Well, there are bows. Zyvis is a better archer.”

  “What do you excel in?”

  “Swordplay,” I tell her.

  “I have Turin for that. What else.”

  Imp, I think. I should thrash her. Instead, I smile.

  “Sometimes if you cross blades your opponent disarms you. What then? Raise your sword.”

  She complies, and I knock it from her hand. She cries out in surprise and before she can even react, I grab her wrists. She begins to thrash and kick wildly.

  “Helpless as a wee bird,” I say as she struggles. Her face is flaming with rage. “Anger won’t do you any good. So, think.” I let her go. “When I grabbed your arms, you kicked. That’s because I disabled the weapons of your hands and you used the only other weapons you had – your feet. A true warrior is trained to reach for another weapon as soon as his sword leaves his hand. It could be a sword on his back. It could be a knife at his side. But reach he does. He does not let the foe distract.”

  I stand beside her and pantomime the movement. My hand flies back as if I’ve been disarmed. I instantly reach over my shoulder to draw a pretend sword. I swing my arm back in an arc that flows into an imaginary uppercut. Beside me, Isla’s eyes widen in admiration.

  “Teach me,” she says.

  “I will,” I tell her. “But as I said, I’ve another lesson for you tonight.”

  “And another weapon to grip?” She arches a brow.

  “One night with my brother and you already adopt the manner of a doxy?”

  Her face falls. “Is it wrong, then, for a woman to allow herself to be eager as a man.”

  I instantly regret my words. “No. I beg forgiveness, Isla of Branlock. Your curiosity is refreshing.” I pause. “And how did you find your first time with a man?”

  She considers my question before answering. “In the village I heard the wives speak of bed sport. Yet, they did not describe the pleasure I felt. I think…” She bites her lip before continuing. “The way your brother made me feel. Is it like that for dragons when they fly, rising and falling? Blissful? Never had I thought to find such sensation while still on the ground.”

  I feel a sudden envy that Turin opened her eyes to the pleasure of sex, then push that envy away. I’ve bedded more women than he, and plan to build on the foundation he started. I think of how to best do it, of how to make Isla’s experience with me just as potent, just as memorable.

  “Did my brother tell you where a dragon is weak?”

  “Yes.” She points to a spot directly in front of my armpit and her eyes fall on my scar. I wait for her to ask how I got it, but she doesn’t. “This spot, on a dragon. To pierce the sacs of air.”

  “Yes. And did he show you where a man is weak?” I move her hand over my heart. “Here.” I press her palm to my hot chest. “Win this and he will be your slave.”

  “Not every man,” she says, and I know she is right.

  “I’m not speaking of every man now, just me. It’s the two of us now, Isla. Would you let me plunge my sword into your sweet sheath? It’s as hard as steel, and as eager to conquer you on a softer battlefield than the one you long for.”

  I lift her by the waist. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  She obeys. Her chest is pressed against mine. I can feel the mounds of her breasts, the hard nubs of her nipples, against my skin. Her body is so close. Only a barrier of fabric separates us. I am mad with need for her. I must have her. I can wait no longer.

  I take her to the bed and toss her onto the mattress, falling roughly onto her. She gasps, her eyes wide. The pupils expand, leaving only a rim of emerald. Her pink lips are parted. I feel her hot breath against my face. Her dress is up around her waist. I can smell her arousal. She is excited.

  “In battle, a conquering warrior earns respect.” I reach for the neckline of her gown and pull. The fabric rips away so easily. I must be careful of my strength. I search her eyes for fear but see only a challenge. She slaps me hard across the face and I fist her hair, holding her head still as my mouth plunders hers.

  Her skin is bare beneath mine. The feel of her squirming body sends jolts of excitement through me. She bites at my shoulder, demanding a response. I rise up, pulling her with me. She hangs backwards over my arm as I latch on to a nipple, sucking hard, then harder, suckling until she screams and pulls my hair.

  I dip my hand between her thighs. She’s wet. She’s more than wet. Her thighs are slick, and even as she struggles her hips arch towards my hand.

  Little minx. She is pushing me to dominate her. Her struggle is not opposition. It’s a challenge. I lower her down, my teeth leaving little marks on her skin as I nip my way down the curve of her waist. When I grip her ass and plant my face between her thighs, she cries out a genuine objection.

&nbs
p; “No!” Her tone is scandalized. “You can’t…what…oooooohhhhh…”

  But her surprised protest dies a fiery death in her wave of heated passion. The hands that frantically tried to push my head away are now twined in my hair, pulling me towards her as my tongue lathes the silken petal of her inner flower. Her reaction tells me my brother did not ply this particular skill with her, and I am committed to pushing her to the limit. My tongue is the sword tip now, darting and stabbing at her clit until she surrenders in a hail of moans.

  I am glad now that Isla is not a virgin. Having been opened, she accepts first one finger, and then two, into her tight velvety warmth. I move them in and out as my mouth latches onto her clit. Her moans become cries. I can feel her pussy clench rhythmically around my fingers, drenching them. My cock is impossibly hard, impossibly eager to replace them.

  As the waves rocking her body slowly abate, I withdraw my fingers and slide my body over hers. Isla’s eyes are hooded with lust. Her fair skin is flushed and glows with a sheen of sweat.

  “Will you accept my sword as you did my brother’s?” I’m positioned between her legs, the tip of my throbbing cock pressed against her clit. It’s an exercise of restraint, but I want to give her this final gift – of power over even me.

  “By the gods, yes.” She speaks the words with certainty, and I sheathe myself in the tight scabbard of her pussy, emitting a primal cry at the slick, heated constriction that envelops my cock.

  It is bliss, being inside her, and I’m so lost that I nearly forget to show her my own particular carnal magic. But I do, raising a ridge along my cock that stimulates a hidden internal seat of pleasure Isla didn’t even know she had.

  “Hold me down,” she says through gritted teeth, and I grip her hands and hold them above her head. Isla strains against me as I fuck her. I can feel her excitement rising, and I know why. She is discovering her own strength and seeks to feel mine as well—strength that is now at her disposal.

  I am happy to show her. I press her hands into the mattress. I fuck her hard as her eyes lock on mine. I will leave her sore; I believe she will like that, too.