Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition

by Michelle M. Pillow

Morrigan blushed. He ignored her outstretched hand and fed her himself. Taking the fruit, he rubbed the cream sauce over her lips.

  She held very still, watching his eyes as the fruit slid between her lips. His finger briefly followed, dipping beyond the edge of her teeth to pull out slowly. Morrigan chewed and smiled. “Delicious.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mmm,” she confirmed, her words muffled by the bite. She dipped her finger into the cream, about to taste it again. “Really good. You should try some.”

  It was all the invitation Ualan needed.

  It took Morrigan several seconds to realize what she’d implied. The realization dawned in her expression as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her cream covered finger pointed up, falling to the side so as not to land on him. Smoothly, he licked her lips of the cream, trailing his tongue over them with a painfully unhurried speed, all the time staring into her eyes to gauge her reaction.

  Her lids fluttered closed, and she inhaled deeply. After trailing the inside rim of her lips in the same fashion, he dipped forward to swipe a deeper taste. The exotic pleasure of the fruit came between them as he stole her breath. When he pulled away, his eyes sparkled with the primitive golden mischief that he didn’t bother to hide. “Delicious.”

  “Ah, um, well, yeah,” came tumbling incoherently out of her softly battered lips.

  Ualan, seeing that the hand frozen in air was beginning to drip, treated her finger with the same careful exploration. His thumb moved to test her pulse as he stroked his tongue to her flesh. Instantly, it jumped beneath her skin. She didn’t move. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Ualan?” she asked when he stopped kissing her hand.

  He waited, seeing what she would do if he didn’t prompt her. To his disappointment and further amazement, she shyly pulled her wet finger from his grasp.

  Looking over his shoulder, she mumbled, “Please.”

  “Please?” Ualan whispered back, sure she was going to ask for him to continue. He knew she wanted it.

  “Please, stop, I beg you. Don’t do this. If you do this to me again, it will destroy me.”

  “You have the power to end it,” he whispered. Neither one moved.

  * * *

  Morrigan took her time studying him. His strong hands were so precise and sure in their movements. His light brown hair held streaks of blond, as if burnt by the sunlight. It had fallen forward over his shoulders while he worked. His bronzed skin tightened and pulled naturally with each movement of his neck. Not for the first time she thought that this was a man who was built by physical exercise, not created by expensive body-enhancing machines. There was a definite difference in the way he carried himself—so primitive and sure. His was the kind of body that would follow each and every one of his orders to perfection.

  Morrigan was lost. He amazed her. This was a side of him that she would never have guessed at. She expected him to yell at her for messing up his dinner, not turn around and cook for her instead.

  Her hands pressed into the countertop, refusing to touch his silken hair that spilled temptingly over his shoulders. When had his kisses become so tender? When had his eyes begun looking at her in worship instead of dominance?

  You have the power to end it.

  Morrigan couldn’t ask him. She thought about begging him to make love to her, but to again say the words aloud would embarrass her. It would force her to accept that she wanted him. It would leave her open to his continued rejection. It was a chance she couldn’t take, even with the tentative truce between them.

  Picking her up, Ualan slowly put her on the floor, letting her feel the strength of him as he lowered her down. Sweeping her into his steady arms, he carried her to the couch before the dim fire.

  “Please,” Morrigan begged, too weak to jump up and fight. She didn’t know what she was asking of him. Please kiss me. Please stop. Please just let me go home. Please keep me prisoner forever.

  “I cannot give you that, slave.” Ualan lowered her onto the soft cushions that had been her bed since her arrival to his home, only to sit next to her with distance between their bodies. “Not until you are pardoned. It is impossible.”

  “You mean you don’t want to be my slave, don’t you?” she whispered, curling her feet under her thighs.

  “You’re right, I would not indenture myself to you like that,” he said. Their words were softly spoken, without their usual malice. “I would dishonor us both, and that I will not permit.”

  “You have to always be the master.” She managed a wry smile, but she didn’t feel pleasure. Sadness filled her.

  “Is that so bad?” Ualan asked, his Qurilixian accent thicker than usual. “Do you not wish for a husband who can make you proud? Men who are ruled too easily by women are not real men. Such a man could not protect you, provide for you and give you strong sons.”

  Her entire being trembled. He did not relent. His eyes glowed gold in the light, the liquid depths more than just a reflection of the fire.

  “Tell me, Rigan, would you be proud to have a weak man as husband? A man who would hide behind your skirts when danger struck? A man whose sword arm would quiver at the first sign of battle? Would such a man bring you honor? Would he make you proud?”

  Morrigan shook her head in denial.

  “Then why do you resist your destiny? Why do you resist us? Do you think I would dishonor you in such a way? Do you need me to prove my worth to you?”

  To Morrigan, it was a stupid question. “Ualan, I know your honor is not lacking and with the right woman I know you would make a dutiful—” His look narrowed. “No, let me say this. I know you would make a wonderful husband. But I don’t think this is my destiny. These last days should prove we are not meant to,” she paused, “I have a life…”

  How could she explain?

  “You mention this life and yet you do not live it. Why did you agree to be a bride?”

  Morrigan wasn’t sure how, but he had moved closer to her. She could feel his heat, smell his scent. It was as if he were in her head, making her answer truthfully.

  “I wasn’t…I didn’t…” Morrigan tried to pull away. “It’s not like that.”

  “What is this job you hold so dear?” He edged forward.

  “It’s…it’s freedom. How can you expect me to give that up to be your sla—?”

  “Wife,” he inserted firmly.

  “Either way, Ualan, you would want me molded to your will—cooking, cleaning. It will drive me insane to be a housewife. I need more than that. I need…”

  “Marriage is about compromise, Rigan. If you promise to try, I will promise to honor you as you are. A wife can enslave her husband in other ways. You do not need to be named my master.”

  He smiled, a devilishly handsome look. The idea had plenty of merit. She thought of strapping him to a bondage throne and making him plead for mercy like he’d done to her.

  The walls inside her heart might have had cracks in the mortar, but the bricks could still hold. “Will you let me go? If I truly wanted it, will you let me go?”

  “No.” He didn’t even take time to consider. “Never. We were chosen for each other.”

  Morrigan wondered how chosen they would be in a few years when he grew tired of her independent ways. How would he feel after she’d spent every second of a week on a writing binge, forgetting to eat and sleep? How about in forty years when her looks faded and her body parts sagged and he no longer could desire her? Or when she was thick with his sons, sore and bloated and emitting strange smells as she heard pregnant women often did? Where would his attentions be then? And what would she be left with?

  “Then I have no say?” she asked.

  “Not in this. Knowing or not, you bound yourself to me. It cannot be undone.”

  “Why did you torture me that night in the tent?” If she were to agree to his role for her, then she had to have this one question answered. She already knew that in the tub he could not return her pleasure. But what about the tent? If she allow
ed him to get close again, she had to know he wouldn’t keep hurting her.

  “Torture?” he asked, clearly perplexed by her choice of words.

  “I understand the other night in the bath,” she said. Instantly a blush heated her features, but she forced it back. “But why in the tent? Why was I being punished?”

  “I thought you wanted me to.” Ualan furrowed his brows in thought. “Amongst my people, when a woman is chosen, it is up to the man to prove himself. We aren’t allowed to use our words until the mask is lifted and we are deemed worthy of speaking, because—”

  “Actions speak louder than words,” she finished wryly, “and talk is cheap.”

  “Yes, precisely,” he nodded, obviously glad she understood. “And when you did not remove my mask and accept me, it was up to me to continue. If you would have taken my mask off right away, we could have talked through the night, ate, bathed, whatever you wished. Breeding is not allowed during the festival. It is a sign of bad luck if you do. It angers the gods and is bad for the marriage. Though we would join eventually, in essence we were still strangers until the crystal was broken.”

  “But I heard the others in their tents. I saw…” This time she did hide her face in the couch cushion as she remembered the couple before the throne. Had she really stood there and watched?

  “Certain discoveries are allowed.” Then, as if reading her memories, he said, “And married couples are not hampered by this rule. They can do whatever they wish on festival night.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled, wrinkling her nose.

  “You have no need for this embarrassment.” He stroked her hair back, trying to see her face. She kept it buried in the couch. “You can say anything to me, Rigan. You can ask me anything. I will always be honest with you.” When she made a sound that said she highly doubted it, he added, “That night was torture for me, too.”

  It was a good explanation and made sense. From what she knew about his culture, it fit. Her voice muffled into the couch, she said, “Fine.”

  Ualan tilted his head, and she felt him lean closer to hear.

  Morrigan turned to look at him. Drawing a deep breath, at how close he was, she said, “Fine. I’ll be your wife.”

  A grin spread over his features. Morrigan’s expression was more guarded. When the time came to leave, it would be hard. Since he would never let her go on his own, he left her no choice but to deceive him. He’d admitted as much and she had given him chance after chance to prove his words wrong. No, this man of duty and honor would not recant his word. The only way for her to get her freedom back was to take it, by any means necessary.

  “But I’m not promising—” Her words were cut off as he yanked her forward. He kissed her with a swift passion that left her weak and breathless. When she tried to further the embrace by touching his face, he pulled back.

  “We can’t,” Ualan said. “You need to be pardoned.”

  “How—?” she began, not sure her body could stand another moment of waiting. She stirred restlessly on the couch.

  “The royal celebration.” Ualan smiled. “It’s in a few days. I would be honored if you attended it with me.”

  Oh, but it was a gorgeous smile. Morrigan stared at the fire, doing her best to block her every emotion from him. It would not do for him to suspect her plan. She knew she could never stay, but the idea of leaving him was killing her too.

  Morrigan thought of her assignment. It would be the perfect time to take pictures of the royal couples and learn their stories. Her editor would be thrilled—four princes at the cost of one marriage of inconvenience. Gus might even forgive her for not checking in after the ceremony like she was supposed to. She inhaled a nervous breath.

  Did she really have a choice?

  Morrigan felt hollow on the inside. Her heart refused to beat as the guilt tried to choke the life from her constricting lungs. Quietly, she said, “Yes, husband, I would love to go to the celebration with you.”

  * * *

  Still in the haze of sleep, Ualan reached out across the mattress to feel for Morrigan. In his dreams, she had been there and closer. They were joined as one, no walls or barriers between them. It was a new sensation to him, to be able to feel someone so closely and purely as if they both drew the same breath.

  Groaning, he came to full wakefulness, his body tense and ready. Realizing his wife wasn’t by his side, his groan turned tortured. His body hated him for not claiming her as a husband should claim a wife, but he was comforted by the fact that soon he would be able to possess her completely. And she was willing. If only he had realized earlier the way into her heart was to attract her with soft words and kindness. She was such an aggravating vixen at times that he naturally rose to her challenge.

  Ualan stood and crossed over to the stairs as he had done almost every night to check on her. He let the dragon-shift come over his eyes to better see her in the dark. She moaned softly and stirred against the couch. A smile crossed her lips and she laughed. Whatever dream was in her head, it gave her much pleasure. It was only too bad he couldn’t get inside her mind with her. He’d give his sword arm to know what she fantasized about.

  Soon, he told himself, as he sneaked back to bed. He never imagined he could be so happy. Very soon.

  Chapter 20

  Morrigan grumbled sleepily as she felt something poke her in the ribs. Swatting, she turned her back to whatever it was and tried to burrow once more into her dreams. The images that cocooned her were so real. She could feel Ualan’s lips pressed into hers. His eyes were gentle as he looked at her, adoring and demanding at the same time. His arms protected her throughout the night. It was ecstasy. She did not want to leave his embrace.

  Hearing a chuckle and feeling another poke, Morrigan grunted. Lifting her arm from over her eyes, she glared. Ualan stood above her. He was handsomely dressed in a long tunic shirt of black wool, the blue insignia of the dragon in the center of his chest. The sun from the dome above haloed around his head like an angel.

  A damned fine warrior angel, Morrigan thought, trembling with the leftover influences of her dreams.

  Glancing down, she saw it was his hand that poked her. With a dark grumble, she muttered, “I already agreed. Go away before I punch you. This slave is on strike.”

  Ualan smirked. His prodding fingers turned soft, trailing over her loosened hair to her back. Splaying his hand over her collarbone, he leaned near and whispered, “When your slavery ends, I will have to work on waking you up in a way that is more pleasurable for both of us.”

  “Caveman,” she mumbled without thinking. She stiffened, but relaxed when he chuckled at the insult.

  Reaching down to nip the tip of her ear with his teeth, he whispered, “If that is what you wish…mmm.”

  This time Morrigan did hit him. Her aim was weak from her position on the couch and it only glanced off his shoulder. But he had won. She was awake.

  Lifting his hands in mock defeat, he backed away. Morrigan tried to glare through her tired yawn. He laughed again, his smile light and carefree. She waved her hand in his direction trying to wipe him out of her vision. Why was he in such a good mood this morning? She was sure she preferred him surly. At least that way he left her alone.

  “I hate this accursed planet,” she grumbled, though her voice lacked conviction. “I can’t even tell what time it is by the light.” Putting her hands in her hair, she rubbed her temples. “You need a food simulator, barbarian. I need to materialize some coffee.”

  “It is around midday,” he gauged, looking up at the dome. “What is coffee?”

  Morrigan studied him in disbelief. Shaking her head, she said, “Poor, poor, backward people.”

  Ualan didn’t even blink at her words. He grinned like a fool, like he was unable to contain it.

  “It’s a drink and it has a lot of caffeine in it and I don’t like to wake up without it,” she said. His overly happy expression struck a nerve and she hid her reaction by rubbing at her eyes. This man was really too hands
ome for his own good.

  “Ah, sloken. One moment.”

  “Sloken?” Morrigan mumbled as he strode to the kitchen. “Whatever.”

  But upon hearing noises coming from within, she couldn’t resist getting up. Her maid’s uniform was crumpled but she knew she would find another in the bathroom. She stumbled to lean against the doorframe.

  Ualan was taking a few ingredients out of the fridge and placing them absently on the counter. Morrigan had the wildest urge to go up to him and run her hand over his spine.

  “You are still a slave,” he warned.

  She glanced around, wondering how he knew what she was thinking. He must have seen her reflection somehow. “You’re still a caveman.”

  “Then we make a perfect pair, don’t we?” Ualan winked as he shut the refrigerator door. Within seconds he whipped up a drink and handed it to her.

  Eyeing the dark green liquid warily, she guessed, “Sloken?”

  “Drink,” he commanded as he brushed past. Morrigan blinked rapidly at his fast movements. His fingers caressed over her neck as he left her, saying, “The dressmaker will be here soon.”

  “Wait, dressmaker?” Sniffing the green concoction, she wrinkled her nose and set it down on the counter without tasting it before chasing after him. “I don’t want a dressmaker. I want a pantsmaker.”

  * * *

  Morrigan got a dressmaker. Bara was a kind sort, with deft, precise hands that measured and stitched quicker than Morrigan could think. She came supplied with half-made garments and bolts of material and a handful of dutiful assistants—mostly men.

  The woman didn’t talk to her directly, and Morrigan wasn’t sure if it was because Bara didn’t speak the Old Star language or because she couldn’t converse with a slave. Instead, the dressmaker spoke to her husband in the Qurilixian tongue and pointed at her client with looks of concentration. Once, Ualan moved his hands as if to signify the curves of Morrigan’s hips. Morrigan blushed. He insolently winked at her when the dressmaker wasn’t paying attention.