“I love you,” he said, looking into her caramel eyes and seeing his future.
He could smell her wetness. Her folds clenched around his cock. She was just tight enough, like a sheath meant solely for him.
She locked his lips on his. Their tongues danced together and he fought for dominance. He won, eventually, and pushed deeper into her. She was his. That fact sang through him in an encompassing chorus.
“Yes,” she gasped. She locked her legs around him and pulled herself down. This woman… she made him see stars. She was making him lose his senses. He was certain his eyes had long shifted into dragon yellow, and that she was mating—no, fucking—the beast in him. His human wanted to pleasure her slowly and explore her body like no other man would. The human in him was impatient, but would have his turn eventually.
His hands dug into the bricks. He nearly broke down the brick wall they were leaning against. He couldn’t hold back a groan as hot pleasure shot through him like lightning. He threw his hips against her as hard as he dared. He came, letting his seed fill her. His dragon hummed with contentment.
She mewled as he released himself, and climaxed with him. Her eyes were watery and her knees weak from the overwhelming sensations.
Her lips were swollen from his kisses. “That… that was…”
“Beautiful. Amazing. Everything I ever wanted.” He smiled into the nape of her neck. He peered once again at her mate mark. It curved around the arm, ending with a dragon’s head right above her elbow. It was still simmering with magic, and carried a light glow. This time, it would be permanent.
“I’m yours,” she said, grinning widely.
“Mine at last.” He smiled with her.
They stayed like that for a few more heartbeats, allowing the rush of their sex to subside. Even if he lived to be a thousand, he would never forget this perfect moment.
24
The taste of freedom was sweeter than Constance had dared to imagine.
She was holding Rayse’s hand. She blinked tears of joy at that fact. This dream was too good to be true. Maybe she’d wake up in a few moments to find herself in that same dreary cell, awaiting her next punishment. She had been caught in the darkness for so long, and now, accepting herself, and being with Rayse, intoxicated her with such fervor that it made her dizzy.
“The guards will be on us if we don’t hurry,” Rayse said.
They darted through the hallways, unaware of where they were going. They’d been living in this carefully crafted bubble made by the Mother for who knew how long, and never had the chance to fully explore the castle.
“Over here!” came a familiar voice.
Shen was at the end of the hallway, dressed in what seemed like a potato sack; the typical prisoner’s garment. He had his wings spread behind him, and was flying toward them.
Shen halted, levitating in front of them. “Greta’s about to get a portal running to transport as many of us as she can out. She doesn’t have enough to keep it open for long. We have to hurry.”
“I can open the portal for longer,” Constance said. She didn’t have any sentient souls to use, but if Greta had some, she could borrow them. Her affinity with the art was better.
She couldn’t harvest the drakin, even if they were enemies. Unless she really had to, or had a strong reason for committing such an atrocious act, she couldn’t kill mindlessly.
She was still seeing those strange, useless visions in her head. They trickled small bits of information into her mind, but nothing substantial. She wondered if they’d ever go away. At least the voices were gone, now, no longer tormenting her. Her mind was part fog, part clarity.
They followed Shen. The chatter of guards echoed in the distance. The castle was rumbling, as if angered by the Dragon Mother’s demise. The walls shook, bricks and pieces of architecture collapsing around them. Aesryn was gone, but she would forever remain in Constance’s memory, constantly tormenting her. The pain would lessen, however. She had to believe that time healed everything.
Jaerhel…
If only he could be there for this. For freedom.
She forced back her grief. There would be time for mourning later. She had to focus on the matter at hand.
The fixtures of the castle were groaning under their own weight, singing a song of death as they fell apart.
“Rayse?” she called, seeking him for support.
He shot her worried look. His guess on why the palace was disintegrating was as good as any.
The roof lifted over her heads. The spire began to fall sideways. She clutched at Rayse for dear life. Shen and Rayse leapt into the air, dodging rubble as everything fell.
She gaped at the sky revealed. It lingered over them with judgment, a brownish-red, as always.
The spire toppled, the heavy weight falling over the city, crushing whatever lay beneath it, forming a long stretch of death and destruction.
A dragon’s shriek played in the distance.
“Goddess be damned,” Shen said. “Greta’s waiting for us at the lower levels. I hope she’s okay.”
They managed to escape the falling structure unscathed. Constance’s heart was beating against her chest so loudly that she didn’t know whether Rayse could hear it.
She turned back and saw sparks of multicolored fire blazing in beams through the crimson sky. Her heart stilled.
The only person who had those flames was the Mother herself.
“She’s still alive,” she told Rayse. She felt him gripping her tighter as he cradled her. His wings flapped against the winds.
He pressed his lips into a thin line before muttering a curse.
They flew down, to where Shen knew Greta waited. Constance saw a gathering of prisoners huddling together, and drakin surrounding them. There were dead bodies littering the ground.
Rayse drew his sword as he carried her. A drakin in dragon form came lunging at them. With the souls lying dormant in her, Constance couldn’t do anything. Rayse dodged and ducked underneath the dragon. He thrust his sword up and aimed for the drakin’s weak point in the chest. The dragon cried out and fell, diminishing into nothing.
Her head was spiraling at what was happening.
“Are you okay?” Rayse asked.
She exhaled. “I’m fine.”
They continued to fly down, without any drakin attacking them, fortunately. More multicolored flames licked around them.
Greta waved at them, positioned in front of a glowing portal.
Too late, Constance thought. It would’ve been better if it was she who had opened the gateway. It would’ve lasted longer.
The prisoners were lined up in an orderly fashion and stepping through the portal. “Where’s Jaerhel?” the old lady asked.
“He’s not coming,” Constance replied, as Rayse set her down.
Greta understood, and nodded. “Well, best be along now.” The old dragon placed a hand on Constance’s back and nudged her forward.
“Have you always been able to use black magic?” Constance asked.
“It’s been a while since I last touched it,” Greta responded.
The Mother’s dragon form soared into the sky. Aesryn’s beauty spelled death. A heavy sound of the goddess’s landing echoed a deadly warning. Constance could sense Aesryn’s gaze fixated on her. She held back a shiver. She felt like a mouse being hunted down like prey.
Flames of all colors licked Constance surroundings. She’d experienced this fear before—in the vision Aesryn had given her. Adriana’s memory came back in the visions lingering in her head. Her stomach churned.
Greta pushed her forward. “Hurry, pumpkin. I’m going to have to close the portal if you don’t step into it.”
“I can’t.” Constance studied the long line of people waiting to escape. She searched Rayse’s eyes for an answer.
“You’re not the kind of person to leave them behind,” he said.
She had thought she would become evil. She believed that after all the Mother had put her through,
after she’d crossed the line and harvested Nanili, she wouldn’t be able to think about anything but her own desires. And sometimes she wanted to destroy, to walk over the weak and bask in the glory of dark magic. But she held on to the glimmer of good in herself. She wanted to believe that she could be a better person.
She wasn’t like Aesryn, or Adriana. She knew she could revel in other people’s suffering, but it was choosing not to that made her better. She wanted to help.
But how?
A vast sea of power lingered in her, but it wouldn’t come out.
“What are you thinking, pumpkin?” Greta asked.
“The mishram… they were me,” Constance said, not taking time to pause and look at their reactions. “I took Nanili’s soul out of desperation, and that seemed to unlock all their souls. All their dull souls rushed into me, and it’s just so much power.” She tested her spells in her mind again, but they wouldn’t come. She even tried uttering a simple, light spell. Still nothing. “I can sense the pool of magic in there but it’s refusing to come out. I don’t know why.”
Greta grimaced. It struck the wrong chord in Constance. The old woman usually kept an easygoing facade, but none of that showed now. “You don’t have balance,” Greta said.
“Balance?”
“You’re only carrying dull souls at the moment. What is one of the first things they teach you about magic? There has to be balance in the natural order. You can’t use most spells without bright souls. They’re the most important component. You need a mix of a bright souls in your concoction.”
A few of the men amongst the prisoners had shifted into dragons and were trying to ward off the Mother.
An entourage of her drakin came charging, joining the battle.
Greta’s portal closed. The old dragon had run out of power.
They were going to die.
“I can’t…” Constance said. She couldn’t take Greta’s soul. It was past that line of good.
She had nearly crossed it, but was thankful she stood where she was. She believed that there was a way to do what she needed to without sacrificing her morals.
“Balance, pumpkin.” Greta muttered the harvest words: “Es rea misreagou, Kisla misreagou.”
Constance searched for where the old dragon was taking the souls from. She scanned her surroundings until she saw Greta pulling magic from her very own heart.
Constance’s blood ran cold. “No, you can’t! Greta, please!” She placed a hand over Greta’s, which was fisted over the old lady’s chest. Greta groaned in pain. Constance cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. She had just lost Jaerhel—she couldn’t lose Greta too.
“Please…” Constance said. “You can’t… you can’t do this to me.”
“I’ve had my days. Use my soul well.” Greta caressed Constance’s cheek with a wrinkled hand and smiled warmly. Regardless of how kindly the female dragon’s expression was, Constance couldn’t feel better. An icy river ran through her insides.
Greta directed the magic into Constance. She didn’t want it. She wanted her mentor to live. But Greta’s soul was just as stubborn as the old lady. It pried its way into Constance and mingled with the dull souls of the mishram. The magic in her sang a welcome. It joined together as one.
She trembled. The sudden burst of power numbed her. The visions of her past lives poured through her mind in a flood again. The dormant magic awakened.
And then one particular vision caught her attention…
She was a dragon, with golden wings and shimmering scales.
It wasn’t an image of the past, but of the future. Her body reacted to that image. She glanced at Rayse, seeking an explanation as her limbs lengthened and her nose turned into an elongated snout.
She grew into ten times her normal size. Wings sprouted from her back. She didn’t know what was happening, but went along, allowing the power to do what it wanted to. It was like an excited child, eager to carry out its purpose.
Moments later, she was perched on top of the rubble of Aesryn’s castle as a dragon. She stared down at Rayse, who was gaping at her. He looked so tiny next to her claw. Was that how he saw her every time he was in dragon form?
The Dragon Mother had massacred almost all the dragon men who had stood up against her.
Constance had to do her part. She fought away her anguish. She had a world to save, and she couldn’t let her emotions get the better of her.
In her dragon form, Constance turned toward the goddess and flew.
25
Rayse had been shocked into stillness.
His mate had turned into a dragon. And the mishram were her? What was that supposed to mean? He shouldn’t be this stunned. He was in love with an incredible woman and could only expect incredible things from her.
But fucking hell.
His heart thumped loudly as he watched Constance rush to battle. She had just found her new skin. He remembered the first time he had shifted into his reptilian form, as a dragonling. He was tripping over his own feet and couldn’t manage himself. And now his mate wanted to fight the goddess? He hoped she knew what she was doing, because he sure as hell wouldn’t like seeing her getting skewered by Aesryn’s talons.
She needed help.
But fuck it, the two sisters were so strong that he wasn’t sure if he’d be swatted away as a fly if he tried to join in. Long ago, he had been called the Black Menace. In this new world, everything around him was the Black Menace.
But he still had to do something, lest he lose his mate.
His dragon was purring with their newfound mate bond, happy to be sated. He nudged it to be more alert and focus on the dire situation at hand. He tossed his sword aside and shifted into his bestial form.
His wings morphed into a larger wingspan, his bones shifted, and scales grew from his skin.
He let out a battle cry and joined his fellow fighters. What was left were huddled around the unfortunate group of prisoners. Most were women and children, but a spattering of frail human men was also amongst them. They were just as helpless against an entourage of unearthly beasts.
Shen led the remainder of the dragon warriors.
“How many?” Rayse asked, referring to the drakin.
“Too many to count,” Shen responded. “I don’t think we’re making it out of here alive.”
“We very well might not. But I’m not going to go down without a fight.”
“You wouldn’t have said that a year ago.”
“A lot has changed.” Constance was back in his life, and he wanted to do whatever he could to keep it that way.
He proceeded to do what he did best. He soared toward the nearest drakin and tore its throat out. He blinded the one next to him with his fire and dug his teeth into one wing, a claw in the other, ripping them both out. Within minutes, he was surrounded by a litter of maimed and wounded drakin. He released a roar of fire, his dragon making a too-early victory cry. It was like the old Rayse was back, and he’d missed this part of himself for the longest time.
He was about to tear the head of the next drakin out when it covered itself with its wings and adopted a submissive position. “We’re on your side!” the young dragon said.
Rayse halted and checked his blind spot, wondering if it was a trap.
“We are,” the drakin continued. “We’re a little late, but Jaerhel’s got some of us convinced. We hate the Dragon Mother. We want her dead.”
Rayse still had his suspicions, but gave the dragon the benefit of doubt. If they joined him, then they stood a better chance of getting out of this wretched city. “What’s your name, lad?” he asked.
“Kien,” the drakin said. The same name Jaerhel had used to hide his identity. Rayse cursed. He wondered if it was a sign. Jaerhel was such an ass, but Rayse was starting to like him in his death, as much as he hated to.
“All right, Kien, gather as many men as you can who are willing to join you. I don’t know the drakin and I’ll assume that you’re a better judge of character for th
em than I am. Do you know what the lance formation is?”
The young dragon nodded.
“Make them do that. Surround the innocents.”
“What about the Dragon Mother, sir?”
Rayse smiled at the honorific. Both human and dragons always gave him one soon after meeting him. “I’ll need a few men who you can trust. Send them to me. We’re going to have to count on Constance, but if we can provide backup, then she’ll stand a better chance of winning.”
“More drakin will come to our side, sir.”
“Why?”
“Many of those prisoners are their family. We’re conditioned to obey the Mother. The drakin are just trying to imprison these people again, not kill them. They’re afraid that if they disobey, the punishment later will be worse.”
“Then we might actually win.”
“If we show we can take the Mother down, then we have a good chance.”
“Hurry, then.”
Rayse prayed to the heavens, now that he couldn’t pray to the Mother, that Kien was trustworthy. If not, he’d have Kien’s neck wrung.
Pollick had his sword drawn. He was standing like a fool in the midst of chaos. Flames surrounded him, and the palace… it was gone. Getting out of the avalanche of crashing rocks was nearly impossible. He wasn’t sure if most of the castle inhabitants made it.
He saw his family in the distance, huddled, surrounded by a group of dragons in both dragon form and half form.
Not certain what to do, he made his way toward them. A dragon snarled at him. He ducked left and ran past the assailant. The attacker ignored him and lunged at another drakin. Pollick almost tripped over a rock. He wasn’t the most graceful of dragons. “Fuck the Mother,” he said. He still doubted his choice, but he tried to convince himself that it was the right thing to do.
Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3) Page 21