by Loki Renard
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Additional Books in the Dragon Brides Series
More Stormy Night Books by Loki Renard
Loki Renard Links
The Dragon Lord’s Pet
By
Loki Renard
Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard
Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Renard, Loki
The Dragon Lord’s Pet
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by Shutterstock/Oleg Babkin and Shutterstock/Vuk Kostic
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Chapter One
“Fierce little thing…” The soft purr of the jailer’s raspy voice made Lilly squirm against her bonds. Clapped in specially forged irons that prevented her from taking her dragon form, she was trapped. Her body was beaded with sweat. It was hot in the king’s dungeon and her anger made her hotter still.
Her naked form was spread out on a stone slab, her wrists chained by her sides, her ankles likewise shackled. A silver collar was wrapped around her neck and chained to the slab, preventing her from lifting her head. She was totally captive, unable to move anything besides her legs, which she could spread apart about a foot and a half. Her naked state and the sting that persisted across her tender lips made her keep them closed.
She lay staring at the ceiling, a sense of deep failure pervading her being. She had struck out for what was right. She had tried to avenge those who deserved vengeance. But there had been no great moment of revenge. There had been no righting of wrongs. There was only captivity and punishment.
Let me go.
The words rose to her lips, but she bit them back. There was no point pleading for release. That was not going to happen. She would likely never see the light of day again. The cruel King Casimer would no doubt have terrible things inflicted upon her until her last breath.
“You tremble,” the jailer noted. “But I do not think you are cold. Is it fever?”
Lilly held her tongue. She would not speak to these foul instruments of the dictator king. They would not hear anything from her.
The jailer’s hand slid over hers and up her arm. She hated the way she trembled. She wished she could be braver, but she was afraid. She had no doubt that the pain would soon begin. She was to be punished for her crimes.
She could not see his face. He was beyond the limited circle of light shed by the torch until he stepped forward, a cloth reeking of pure alcohol clenched in his massive hand. She saw heavy markings on his arms, tattoos of ancient script interspersed with curling dragons. He wore the history of his bloodline on his great right arm, and on the left, nothing.
Stupid idiot, she thought to herself, hating him instantly, as she hated all others in this disgusting place of riches. They were all tools of the evil king who held her captive—the dragon she had sworn to destroy.
* * *
The jailer’s prisoner stared at him with hissing eyes. She was a slight little thing, weak even for a dragon female, but still it had not been easy to get her shackled down. She had fought with the fury of a world eater, cursing and hissing and shouting. It had been a difficult matter to restrain her without harm, but he and several of the guard had succeeded in the end. The moment the elemental bonds went on, she had fallen silent and refused to speak a word.
She was so soft, her skin tender and pale. He tried not to look at her as a sexual creature. She was his prisoner and prisoners were not sexual beings. They were his wards. But he could not help but see the dark down between her thighs, and the tender lips between them. He could not help but remember how it had looked when her legs were spread, when those pale lips flowered with the interrogator’s touch.
Her humanness was on full display—partial human blood at least. It was said she had a flight form, so she must be one of the rare mixes. His curiosity was intense. There were so many questions he would have asked, but it was not his place to question her. He shouldn’t even be this close to her. He should be outside the cell, ensuring that none came close. His curiosity had drawn him in and now, hidden largely in shadows, he inspected her at his leisure, trying to unravel her mysteries.
There were some things he could see plainly written on her body and expression. Answers to questions he did not have to ask. She was young. Too young to be this angry. And she was beautiful. She had brilliant deep blue eyes the color of a jewel, and raven black hair that fell over her shoulders and spilled out around her head in a gleaming cascade, holding a light curling wave.
There was tragedy in her eyes. A sadness that made his gut twist in empathetic response. The jailer was not used to feeling empathy. It was not the job of a jailer to relate to his prisoners. It was his job to ensure their captivity. Taking a deep breath, the jailer tried to look away from her, but he could not. She was captivating. She was also yet to be sentenced for her crimes. It could be that she would spend the rest of her life in his care—and it was possible that the rest of her life might only be a matter of days, or weeks.
Casimer’s dungeons were largely empty, mostly because the king’s enemies were not so foolish as to directly draw his ire, or risk acting against him in any way significant enough to gain his attention. He was a fair king, a good king and as a result most of the jailer’s work involved briefly holding pretenders to the royal guard who had made fools of themselves in one way or another. Every few years, the royal city would be inundated with young warriors who thought themselves brave and bold enough to become part of the king’s personal guard. At times, their rowdy behavior and high spirits could spill over into criminal activity and then it was not uncommon for them to find themselves sent to the jailer’s dungeon. He had been chosen for his stature and fearsome appearance, his ability to scare the shit out of those who came down for a brief stint behind bars.
It had been many, many centuries since anyone had even considered a crime against Casimer directly. The fact that this girl was young and obviously part human, and totally inept at the task only served to make her more of an anomaly. He wondered again if she was unwell.
She was definitely trembling, even though it was warm. The possibility of shock entered his mind. In this state, she reminded him of a trapped hare. Beasts of prey could die simply from the fear of being captured. Her pulse was hammering in her throat, her eyes darting around the room.
The jailer took a heavy blanket and covered her body. It would provide her some modesty, and hopefully the weight of it would soothe her too. Another trick he had learned handling animals. Then he went around the room and turned the heating grates down. He did not want her to sweat herself sick.
She would be more comfortable now. At least, as comfortable as any young
woman could be shackled to hard rock with not so much as a pillow for her head.
“What are you doing!”
The jailer jumped with fright as the door of the cell was thrown open. Standing behind him was a man seven feet tall with ruthless features and short dark hair cut close to his head in patrician style. Dressed in red battle robes, his shoulders were broad, his forearms powerful under dark leather gauntlets. His legs were long and clad in black armored leggings. From the tip of his boots to the top of his head, he was ready for war.
Grand gold eyes, slitted with dark pupils swept over the shackled young woman and the jailer beside her as he waited silently for an explanation.
“H-high Lord Vitomir. I was just… trying to…” The jailer had become a stammering mess beneath the high lord’s gaze. His attempt at explanation was waved aside with a large, impatient hand.
“Get that blanket off her. She has earned no covering. No kindness.”
The jailer pulled it off with a guilty look, his head bowed with contrition. He was a large man, but High Lord Vitomir was bigger in every sense of the word.
“Unchain her,” Vitomir ordered, his lips twisting with punitive passion. “She comes with me.”
Chapter Two
Hours earlier…
“All praise King Casimer! All hail King Casimer! All honor and glory to King Casimer!”
The shout was taken up by a hundred voices, rippling from the very heart of the royal palace out through thronging crowds and down into the city proper. The dragon realm was celebrating the birthday of King Casimer—a celebration that came only once every hundred years. This birthday was special, and far grander than any held in the last millennium. This was the first birthday the king had celebrated since his marriage to the beautiful Crown Princess Mika, and everyone was invited.
They made a stunning couple. Casimer the ancient was as handsome a king as the realm had ever had, his features elegant and strong. He was of a pale complexion and had a mane of nearly white hair, brilliant blue eyes like ice sweeping over those he commanded. Though he was many hundreds of years old, he did not look any older than forty. His dragon blood kept his walking form in prime shape and so he showed no signs of aging or infirmity.
His much younger bride was equally beautiful. Her hair was bleached pale, but there were touches of red here and there, the natural hue of her birth. She had human blood, which softened her features but did not make them common, her eyes were golden with a rim of blue around the outer edges, she had pretty bow-shaped lips, full and passionate, a neat straight nose set perfectly in place. Tales of her stunning beauty had reached every corner of the dragon realm, and she was a popular subject for portrait artists who sold copies of her and Casimer’s likenesses to hang in the homes of those who celebrated their monarchy.
For a few hours, the king and his crown princess had sat upon great pale thrones located on the great dais of the very hall in which they had made their vows. Casimer had clasped Mika’s hand and whispered sweet words into her ear as their subjects threw themselves into unreserved celebration that stretched from the palace all the way into the streets of the city below.
As the night drew on, Mika had been escorted from the hall by a phalanx of royal guard. Such a departure would usually have caused great consternation among the nobles, but the sight of her had explained the reason for her inability to stay by her husband’s side all evening. She was swollen with the future prince of the realm, a reason to celebrate doubly. It was a matter of days before the kingdom had an heir, and some said that it could be that very night. It would be auspicious, so went the whispers, for the king’s son to be birthed on the king’s birthday.
It did not seem likely that was to be the case, however, as Casimer remained behind to reign over the celebrations, though he did so with restraint, speaking largely with the high lords, of which there were only three in the realm. Two of them were growing old and soon to resign their position. Their sons were not considered to be suitable replacements for reasons practical and moral. The third among them was in his prime, vital and powerful. It was said that Casimer was considering consolidating the high lord’s position under Vitomir, which would have made him the second most powerful dragon in the realm besides Casimer himself.
Dancing, singing, laughing, displays of flight and aerobatics took place in the hall and above it, through the clear vaulted ceiling that had been installed for the celebration, allowing the highest in the realm to stand inside and watch the energetic displays of the fire breathers and actors playing out some of the greatest battles in dragon history for the amusement of the onlookers. Among them, of course, the tale of the great warrior Vilka, he who had defeated a world-eating elemental dragon—not before fathering the crown princess herself.
These were the grand legends of the realm, new stories that were being made all the time. History swelled and rose around the king and his courtiers, those noble enough to be granted access to the palace hall, those who danced and made merry… until the world fell apart.
There was a sound like the very essence of existence being ripped asunder. It boomed through the hall, echoing with such power that great glass windows shattered even before the air itself twisted and screamed and tore apart in the center of the hall.
At first nobody did anything besides stare, some still laughing as if this were perhaps part of the royal show, another trick to please the crowds. That illusion was broken as Casimer himself rose to his feet and roared to the crowd.
“Flee!”
Finely dressed nobles ran screaming for the cover of armed royal guards as fire and flame expanded in the air and through the tear in the fabric of reality; stars of another world glimmered in a night sky that spun slowly, but discernibly with the growing of a dawn.
There were screams of panic and a stampede just barely contained as the royal guard ushered the nobles to safety. They had good reason to panic. The first and very last time the sky had been torn apart in such a fashion, it had been high over the royal city and a fighter jet had burst through, engines screaming, guns blazing, pilot dying. If such a thing were to happen in the very heart of the populated palace…
The king rose to his feet and looked fate dead in the eye. Several of the guard ran toward him in an attempt to get him to safety, but he held his hand up, gesturing for them to stand back. Though the portal seemed to have stabilized, the chaos it had generated was spreading outward, rippling from the portal through the royal palace. In seconds the hall was nearly empty save for the king, a few of the most stoic royal guard, and one noble who had not fled with the rest of the fine dragons.
There was a moment of sudden and strange peace. Food and drinks lay discarded upon the floor, trampled by running feet. For that split-second there was nothing but the emptiness and the chaos and the foreign spinning sky. Casimer stood, tall and strong, his handsome face pale, eyes narrowed with purpose and fury. In the dragon realm, the king protected all. He would not scurry for cover. He would take whatever fresh hell the humans had planned for the realm in stride.
A scream of fury emanated from beyond the portal and something came rushing through. It was no fighter plane. It was a black dragoness, obsidian scales shining as she whipped through the portal. Her passage through the realms resulted in a powerful gust of wind that sent plates and chairs and scraps tumbling through the air and knocked several of the royal guard off their feet. There was a long sword hung around her neck, a blade that gleamed blue as it passed through into the dragon realm.
The portal snapped shut as the dragoness landed in a skid, her claws digging into the royal rugs as she slipped into her human form, becoming a slim, pale, very naked young woman who picked up the sword that had fallen with her shift in form. She ran toward Casimer, her mouth open in a war cry drowned out by a fearsome roar that shook not just the palace, but the entire city below.
The dragon king was no longer a man. He was a great white dragon, many times larger than the dark one had been, and infinitely
more powerful. He opened his great mouth, and gleaming rows of scimitar white teeth shone in anticipation of the dragoness.
When the female saw what awaited her, she stopped and flowed back into her flight state. Even in her scaled obsidian form with wings of pure darkness she was diminutive compared to the dragon king. If her walking form had made her a morsel for the great dragon, her flight form was a mere two-bite snack.
Regardless, the royal guard had no intention of allowing her to reach their king. Their reactions had been slowed by sheer shock. In all living memory there had never been a direct attack on King Casimer in his palace. Now their shock had worn off and they rushed forth, blades in their hands. Their swords were not forged from ordinary steel. They were made from the bones of a world eater, and they could slice through the hide of a dragon like hot knives through butter.
The attacker was now trapped between two equally deadly opposing forces, Casimer on one side, the royal guard on the other. There was no time to call for her surrender, let alone for her to give it, not that she seemed inclined to. She turned about herself, black scales rippling in the remaining candlelight, a sibilant hiss escaping her maw. And then she went for Casimer again, her dragon form becoming one vicious strike aimed at the throat of the king.
In the moment before she either reached the king or was skewered on a dozen blades, a massive crash echoed throughout the hall. A red and gold dragon swept down and landed over her, pinning her to the floor, great wingspan sheltering her from the blades.
The royal guard stayed their hands. The extreme discipline it took for them to cease their momentum near instantly was impressive as High Lord Vitomir stood over the screaming black dragoness, pinned beneath his powerful back feet. It writhed and it tried to beat its wings and finally it accepted defeat and flowed from a small malevolent dragoness back into a naked young woman now caught in the arched space beneath the high lord’s talons.