My collection had grown quite nicely by then, and I was exceedingly proud of the glorious treasure I’d amassed—
“Huh?” Dearra said, confused by the turn the story had taken.
“Dragons love treasure, Dearra, anything rare or beautiful. They are quite happy spending their entire existence gathering gold, silver, jewels, and anything else they covet,” Darius said in an effort to alleviate Dearra’s confusion.
Crudely put, but accurate enough, I suppose. Thank you for clarifying, Darius. May I continue?
“Sorry, Brin. Go ahead.”
One day, a man came to my cave. I might have killed him immediately under ordinary circumstances, but I wasn’t fully awake at the time.
“Dragons spend a lot of time sleeping as well, Dearra,” Darius said. “They are vain and greedy, and prefer to lay idle atop their hoard.”
Yes! Thank you, Darius! My, my, aren’t we just a helpful font of information today? Don’t forget our ability to remember things, especially insults or slights, for a very long time, as well as our almost obsessive need for revenge.
Darius laughed at the thinly veiled threat, knowing that Brin was mostly bluff and bluster. “Peace, Brin’du Drak’Tir. I only want Dearra to understand, oh most noble dragon. No offense was meant.”
“Oh, stop it, you two,” Dearra chided.
As I was saying, a man came to my cave. He briefly introduced himself, saying his name was Hathel and that he’d heard of a powerful dragon living in the caves. He brought me a gift, a beautiful pearl.
I asked the intruder what he thought might prevent me from simply killing him and taking the pearl.
He responded that someone as glorious as I could do whatever I chose, but that he only meant to pay me the respect I deserved. He promised me additional treasure, as a sign of the deep admiration he held for me.
I am ashamed to say I was fooled by him. I was vain, and I was taken in completely. I enjoyed each of his subsequent visits. Every time he came, he praised and flattered me and offered me some small object of great beauty.
He arrived one day, after about six months of visits, wearing a gem of the deepest blue around his neck. It sparkled and glittered, and I was entranced. Hathel lay before me another gift of gold, but my eyes never left the jewel at his throat. Time and time again, he returned to see me wearing that jewel at his neck, until I could think of nothing else but obtaining that one item. Finally I told Hathel I simply had to have it. He seemed surprised, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it.
Of course I could have the gem if I fancied it, he said, but he seemed agitated, and I asked if he was regretting his decision. He told me that he had only one wish, but he felt he was too far beneath my greatness to ever ask.
I was so pleased with my new acquisition that I waved aside his hesitation and urged him to continue.
He asked me for a single drop of my perfect blood. Such a treasure would mean more to him than his life, he said. He swore he would keep it as a family heirloom for all of the centuries.
It was a very presumptuous request, but I was feeling generous. I was so preoccupied with his reverence of my greatness, it didn’t occur to me to be suspicious when he produced the crystal vial from his pocket. I mean, if he truly felt too lowly to presume to ask, why did he carry the vial with him?
He bowed before me to collect the blood, then scampered from the cave, clutching the vial to his chest. He must have begun the incantation shortly thereafter, for, alone in my cave, I started to hear thoughts not my own. At the time, I didn’t recognize the words, but I later realized that what I heard was the wizard casting his spell:
Blood of my enemy,
From across the sea.
Pure of body,
No taint can there be.
Blood of the warrior,
Wild, brave and free.
Blood of the dragon,
Imprisoned by me.
Trapped in a cage,
By the blood of all three.
Locked in steel,
Bound without key.
There was a moment of silence as Dearra reflected on the terrible trap that had been laid for her friend. “Oh, Brin. I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice a choked whisper.
“Hush, Dearra. Let him finish,” Darius told her. “If you cry, he will fall apart like an old woman.”
You’re starting to get on my nerves, boy.
Darius smirked a bit, but said no more.
For twenty years, I had no choice but to do the bidding of that petty man, listening in on the thoughts of his enemies, and sending messages to others in their dreams.
I was forced to slaughter whole villages on two occasions; it was horrible. I placed little importance on the lives of other creatures around me, as a rule, but killing for killing’s sake was unpalatable and lacked honor, and I started to despair, and often wished for my own destruction.
I would have continued on like that forever if it hadn’t been for Cyrus. He was unhappy with his lot in life, as was I, both of us trapped in situations that we found deplorable, and my ability to communicate with him enabled us to form a fragile friendship. I chose him because he exhibited a high level of intelligence, and believed he would make more than a simple warrior. It is a long story, but in the end, Cyrus found he could stand it no more, and stole me away from Hathel in the night. The two of us escaped our Breken master, and neither of us ever looked back again.
“Cyrus was Breken?” Dearra said.
“Even I didn’t know that,” Darius said. The implications of the revelation overwhelmed him; he was not alone. He was not the only Breken to have chosen to follow a different path, to have broken free of his heritage and gone a different way. That it had been only one other, and it had been a thousand years ago, made no difference.
Dearra cocked her head in confusion. “What did you mean when you said you were forced to slaughter whole villages?” she said. “I mean, you’re just one sword, and you’re very impressive and everything, Brin, but isn’t it really the wielder who does the killing and not the sword?”
This was treading on dangerous ground. Dearra was a headstrong girl. Sharing too much information with her could lead to trouble. Though it was best to be cautious where Dearra was concerned, he owed her at least some degree of honesty.
Dragons all have innate physical and magical abilities. When I was trapped in this form, I kept some, and I lost others. One of the ones I kept was the ability to breathe fire.
Dearra’s eyes grew wide with interest. “You can seriously breathe fire? How does that work?”
Darius couldn’t hear everything Brin was thinking. When he chose to, the dragon could block Darius, but he sensed hesitation on the dragon’s part, and he mentally cautioned Brin. Darius didn’t want him to share anything that might put Dearra in any future danger.
It isn’t really ‘breathing’ fire, Dearra, that’s kind of a misconception. It’s more of a consequence of a very complicated spell. It’s been so long since I’ve cast it, I’m not sure I even remember how it goes. It’s a long one, too. I’m afraid I’d bore you to tears if I tried to recite it.
“Oh, come on, Brin, you remember. Tell me, please.”
Brin saw enthusiasm for the subject shine in Dearra’s eyes. When she looked at him like that, it was near impossible to refuse her anything. How he could find himself at the mercy of such a little slip of a girl was annoying, to say the least. Tolah help him if she ever discovered how completely she had him wrapped around her little finger.
“Dearra, I hate to interrupt,” Darius said, saving Brin from spilling all of his secrets and humiliating himself, “but I’m pretty sure dinner is almost ready, and I know they have prepared something special for your birthday. You don’t want to disappoint everyone and spoil the surprise, do you?”
“Oh! I completely forgot!” Dearra jumped to her feet, but pulled up short when the pain from her burned leg, a lingering and permanent reminder of the ordeal she had suffered at the hands of Jacob
only a few days ago, reasserted itself.
Darius saw her wince, and he struggled to control the flash of loathing he felt. Though he would give almost anything to erase the mark that Jacob had branded into Dearra’s upper thigh, it did neither of them any good to dwell on the wound. Darius’s only hope was that the brand had not burned so deep as to leave a mark on her heart as well.
***
Did you enjoy your birthday, Dearra?
“I suppose.”
That doesn’t sound very convincing. What’s wrong?
“Nothing, I guess. I just don’t feel...”
It’s Jacob, isn’t it? It’s not as easy to let go of the past as you hoped it would be.
A tear escaped from her eye and caught in her lashes. Her voice trembled when she spoke again. “He branded me, Brin. I feel as if it somehow defines me. As if I am forever marked as his property.”
Brin spoke gently. You know that’s not true. You are who you always have been. A scar does not make that any more or less so.
“If it were any other scar, I would agree with you, Brin (Cyrus knows I already have my share), but I am reminded of his touch every time I feel the wound beneath my skirts.”
The burn will heal, Dearra. In time, you will forget it’s even there.
“Never. Even when the pain has faded, I will know. It makes me sick inside every time I look at it.”
Let me see it, Dearra.
Dearra lifted her skirt to expose the angry, red burn on her leg, the letter J vibrant against her pale flesh. She stayed like that for a long time, frozen in place, waiting for Brin to speak.
I think I can help, Dearra, but it means trading one mark for another. Is that something you want?
“Oh, yes, Brin, anything to get rid of this awful thing!”
I can’t really get rid of it, Dearra, but…well…do you trust me?
“That’s a foolish question. Of course I trust you.”
Take the sword and press the flat of the blade over the brand. It’s going to get hot, but it won’t hurt like the other did. You need to be sure about this, Dearra. Once we start, I can’t stop. Do you understand?
“Yes, yes! I’ll do anything, Brin. I’m sure. Just please hurry—I can’t stand it a minute longer. It…it disgusts me.” Dearra tucked the hem of her skirt at her waist to hold it out of the way.
Brin instructed her to place the blade flat against her wounded thigh, so that the widest part of the sword completely covered the burn. Once the blade was in place, Brin began to speak.
Draco Aeturnus,
Prognatus Ignigena.
Puella Maj,
Ambo Consociu.
The tip of the blade grew red hot, and a small wisp of smoke drifted up from it. Dearra felt only a deep warmth emanating from the metal, permeating her skin and seeming to make her whole leg tingle.
“What does that mean, Brin?” Dearra asked, holding the blade firmly against her leg.
Loosely translated it means, Dragon eternal, born of fire. Maiden of Maj, the two united.
“Oh,” was all she could think to say.
You can look now, Dearra.
She slowly pulled the sword away and stared, open mouthed, at the mark the sword left behind. The original J was still raw, but the new mark looked as though it had been there for years. When the J finally healed, it would be nearly impossible to distinguish it from the rest of the mark she now bore, shaped like a dragon in profile, with a wide wing spread, curved gracefully upward to a fierce point. The figure’s head was held high, and topped with two magnificent horns, the mouth slightly ajar as if ready to speak, or perhaps breathe fire.
Dearra, say something, he urged. It’s all right isn’t it? I did tell you that you would have to trade one mark for another.
“No, it’s fine. I’m just nervous, I guess.” She took a breath and finally said, “Brin, it’s…it’s…thank you.”
Satisfaction and relief at her response washed over Brin. Dearra yanked her skirt back into place and was preparing to bolt from her chamber.
For Tolah’s sake, Fuzzy! Now where are we going?
“I have to show Darius!”
Brin didn’t argue. What good would it have done, besides?
Chapter 3
Dearra made her way through the keep as quietly as she could, pausing briefly every once in a while to check for anyone who might be walking the halls so late at night. Now that Darius had been moved to a chamber next to her father’s, Dearra had to be a bit more cautious. She tapped lightly at his door and let herself in, not waiting for a response.
Darius relaxed in front of a fire wearing only a pair of soft leather pants, trying to shake the tension of the day. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he had not heard her gentle tapping, but he was not surprised when Dearra slipped into his room.
Darius took a deep breath, got to his feet, and approached her. “What are you doing here, Dearra?” he asked. His tone was firm, but his eyes were kind, and she knew he wasn’t really angry. “I thought we agreed no more nighttime visits. It’s no good for your reputation, and if your father ever catches us, it won’t be any good for my neck either.”
She was so excited, she completely ignored his concerns. “You worry too much,” she told him. “I came to show you! Look! Look what Brin did!”
Dearra took hold of the hem of her skirt and lifted it high, exposing the burn on her upper thigh. Darius assumed she was referring to the image of the dragon that now covered the offensive J that had been there previously, but honestly, he had spared the mark only a cursory glance in favor of staring at Dearra’s shapely legs.
“Well? What do you think?” Dearra asked expectantly.
Darius swallowed what felt like a mouthful of sand before he was able to force a response. “Magnificent,” he whispered, not looking up.
Dearra realized that he was not referring to the dragon, and for a moment she was annoyed, but then she saw how dark his eyes had become as he stood fascinated before her. It was a heady thing for a girl of eighteen to have that much power over another person. Perhaps she could be forgiven for wanting to experiment a little with that kind of influence.
Don’t do it, Dearra.
She didn’t heed Brin’s warning. She had chosen her course. Her heart beat nervously as she looked into the face of the man she loved. Summoning her courage, Dearra stepped toward Darius’s towering form, the skirt still held high. She closed her eyes, leaned into him and inhaled deeply, and placed velvety kisses on his bare chest.
Darius held himself completely motionless, warring with the desire to do the right thing, and the desire to do the Breken thing. For a moment he thought he would be able to control that more dangerous side of himself, but when Dearra stepped even closer to him, and reached up to twine her fingers into his hair and urge him to kiss her, he lost what little control remained.
Months of her teasing had taken their toll. Brin had warned her. Darius had warned her. Even Carly, her best friend, had warned her, but Dearra refused to believe there was any danger in her flirtation. She was about to find out how wrong she had been.
Darius lowered his head to provide the kiss she was so ardently insisting on. He scooped her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, the kissing becoming more insistent, more intense, until Dearra felt she couldn’t catch her breath. She tried to focus on what was happening, even as she felt the room begin to spin. Overwhelmed with these strange, new feelings, she couldn’t seem to make her mind work properly. But when she felt the bed beneath her, she snapped back to reality, and a moment of apprehension crept in.
“Darius,” she managed to whisper between kisses, but instead of making him pause, the throaty whisper seemed to urge him onward.
She felt his weight on her frame as his body partially covered hers. The sensation was both pleasant and intimidating at the same time. “Darius,” she said again, this time with a bit more force.
Again, her voice seemed only to intensify his need. She was still not o
verly concerned, and continued to revel in his touch, but when she heard the fabric of her shirt tear under his less than gentle hand, she felt panic set in, and tried to sit up, but her attempt was in vain, for she was pinned beneath him. “Darius, wait!” she pleaded.
“No more waiting,” he growled in response.
Gone was the Darius she knew and loved, replaced by the newly awoken Breken warrior, the one who wanted and took without thinking twice.
When she tried to push him away, he grabbed both of her narrow wrists in one of his hands and held them firmly above her head, effectively shackling her. It reminded her too much of being manacled by Jacob. The image of him touching her bare leg loomed in her mind, causing her to relive the horrible time spent on board the ship, and silent tears slipped from her eyes. “Darius, please! Stop!” She cried openly, no longer able to hold back her tears. Darius continued, giving no indication of having heard her plea.
Darius was completely consumed by the fire of his longing. Somewhere, at the very back of his mind, he thought he heard a voice telling him to stop, but that voice grew fainter with each passing moment. She was all he needed. How and even why he had denied himself this for so long became the only questions he cared to deliberate. She was right in front of him, and she had come to him. He wanted her; everything else was irrelevant. Who could blame him for succumbing to his desires?
She smelled like lavender and sunshine, and he breathed in deeply as he kissed the skin above her chemise. There was a brief moment in which he wondered how her undergarment had become exposed, but then he disregarded the thought and continued his exploration.
He kissed the hollow of her throat. His free hand trailed down her side to her hip. Again, he had a moment’s pause when he considered that his other hand was holding her wrists, but then the moment passed when he became distracted by the feel of her beneath him, the fabric of her skirt, and his hand wrapped in the gauzy material. That was when he realized that the only barrier between him and the silky soft skin of the woman beneath him was the garment. He needed to feel that skin on his the way a man dying of thirst needed water. He tore the cloth violently out of his way, and then—
The Destiny Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 31