by Eve Langlais
“How is that supposed to teach me anything?” he roared.
“It doesn’t, but it would be less boring than this conversation. You’re a wizard. Do wizardly things. Like that dude in the walking tree movie.”
He growled. “Do I look like Gandalf?
“Grow out a beard, and I’ll let you know.”
“This isn’t funny, princess.”
“Never said it was. You’re the one being all drama king about it. I was being very serious. I am willing to wager my mint-condition Wonder Woman figurine that you’d rock a beard. Just think, I could yank on it during sex, you could tickle my clit with it.” When he continued to scowl, she sighed. “Why are you so convinced you can’t learn to do magic?”
“Because I haven’t the slightest clue where to start.”
“But you know two guys who do.”
He blinked. “What are you talking about? I don’t know any wizards.”
“Yeah, you do. Think about it.” Just in case he needed a hint, she began to hum the theme song from Star Wars.
It took him a second before his eyes got that light bulb moment. “The Jabbas.”
“Ding ding ding. Give the man a prize.” She flung herself on the bed, arms and legs akimbo, waiting for him to claim it, but instead, he continued to pace, hand rubbing his chin.
“They are part of the original group of wizards banished all those centuries ago, but will they help me? I did lock them up. And then left.”
“So, you set them free.”
“Is that wise, though?”
“You’re the wizard; you tell me.”
He snorted. “I don’t feel very wizardly.”
“Says the man who makes me feel magic every time he touches me.”
For a moment, his eyes turned smoky. “What if they lead me astray? Or won’t teach me?”
“Won’t?” She arched a brow. “Do I have to remind you again who you are?”
“You’re right.” He stood tall, broad, deadly. “I am Samael D’Ore, a direct descendent of the Golden line, not a hybrid experiment. They will teach me or face my wrath.” He punched the palm of his hand with a fist.
So hot.
“That’s my stud muffin. Now come here and thank me for solving your problem.”
“Why don’t you come here and thank me?”
Curiosity had her cocking her head and saying, “For what?”
“Because I’m about to make you come so hard you’ll go cross-eyed.”
And he did. He also had her screaming his name and clawing his back.
Then he left, without her, to go visit the Jabbas, taking no one with him.
Ditched his princess for his brother, but she was okay with that. He was a man on a mission while she was a woman with an ever-increasing posse of curious dragonesses who kept popping in and not leaving.
Who knew the pic she posted on Instagram would go viral among the Septs? Who knew so many would come flocking to the Underground Lair of Deviousness—as she’d nicknamed it.
Who knew how much she’d miss Samael once he’d been gone for a few days.
I should have gone with him.
But Samael was right when he claimed she would be a distraction—I can’t think straight when you’re around on account that all the blood rushes to my dick. If you want to have that claiming ceremony, then you’ll obey me and stay behind.
She didn’t do it to obey. Hell, no. She made the ultimate sacrifice and let him go off alone to become a super wizard because hello, more power!
In the meantime, with him gone—but surely thinking of her every single second—Deka took the liberty of redecorating a few rooms.
I’m sure he’ll love it. Especially the pink flamingoes she’d had brought in for his pond. They added a festive flair, as did the patio lanterns.
However, between the shopping, and occasional skirmish—because, hello, war on Earth meant good times fighting—she moped.
Funny thing she discovered, while the world revolved around her, despite what those other heifers thought, it turned out her happiness revolved around him.
About ten days after he’d left—during which a menstrual period sadly came and went meaning no bun in the oven—she wandered into the war room. Previously known as his office, now taken over and also redecorated—because the addition of a Star Trek theme just made it that much more badass.
She entered, wearing black again, to hear, “Look, it’s Princess Mopey,” announced by Sheila. That bitch. She’d arrived with her husband and kids last week and set up camp aboveground in the farmhouse—which, as it turned out, was more solid than it looked. She was now acting as the doorman to the farmhouse entrance, and her kids were freaking out new arrivals by silently exiting the fields and staring.
“I am not moping,” Deka said before tucking her lip back in.
“Are you here to check on the plans for the final battle?” asked her mother. Mommy Dearest had arrived hours after Samael left. Took one look at her watery eyes—because this castle was damned dusty—and proceeded to make Deka cookies. By the dozens. Mother always knew how to cheer her up.
But now, she wouldn’t leave. Apparently, Australia was one of the places they figured the final battle would occur. Britain was another, as was Maysville, Kentucky. Don’t ask why the precision; every one of the seers said it.
If Deka had a say, the final battle would be on the beach so they could all go for a swim after. The best part was, then the blood would attract sharks and they’d have plenty to eat for the barbecue afterwards.
But no one would listen to her. Nope, they were going off some old prophecies and tracking Suzie’s troop movements and other boring, rational stuff.
Given they couldn’t predict the exact location of the battle, the Septs had split up to ensure they were represented in all the likely spots. That meant Deka got Mommy butting in, along with a few other Silvers. But it wasn’t just the Silvers converging on her lair.
The other colored Septs were contributing, too. Especially the Aussie-based ones, who didn’t want the Americans homing in on their turf. She did enjoy her Down Under cousins, though. They knew how to get bulk loads of Tim Tams.
Snacks were super important at this stage of the conflict. Tensions were high, and with this many women in one spot, it meant Samael’s office now sported quite a few bowls and other stashes of candy and chocolate—because no one wanted to deal with a PMSing dragoness in need of sugar.
“Where’s Voa at now?” Since only Samael understood why she used the nickname Suzie, Deka had had to adopt the more commonly accepted name for the suzerain.
“She just rammed through the wall of China and unleashed some ancient stone army.”
“Have we sent any help?” Deka asked, plopping her butt in the high heel chair with its plush, pink velvet fabric.
“Are you nuts? You know the Chinese dragons don’t like anyone coming in on their turf.”
Unfortunately, their Asian counterparts had yet to realize they’d need to stand together if they were to prevail. They needed to make a strong showing, all of them together, if they wanted to push Voa back.
They also needed magic to fight magic because the longer Voa was on Earth, the stronger she got.
Someone’s been gorging on souls. One had to wonder how she didn’t get fat.
And how long before she ate so many she became invincible?
Where are you, Samael? We need you.
They’d heard nothing since he left.
No love note for Deka. No sexy pic for her to masturbate with. Nothing but the faint feeling of him, far away, but still living. Hopefully, learning magic. But would those lessons be enough? Would Samael return in time for the coming battle?
Doubt had no place in her life, so Deka chose to ignore it. They would win. Because she said so. And because she’d yet to claim her stubborn muffin.
Elspeth bounced in, blond curls jiggling, her cheerful smile causing more than a few groans. “Hello, everyone. What a wonderful day
.” Every day was wonderful to the always-happy Elspeth. Her bubbly nature and happy disposition made more than a few of them draw fingers across their throats.
The damned canary-yellow dragoness was happiness personified. Nothing ever brought her down. Everything was sunshine and rainbows. Glass half full. And all that crap.
She didn’t have an arrogant, greedy bone in her body. Her mother must have been so ashamed of her child’s infirmity.
“Isn’t there a rock in need of a pep talk in the garden?” someone asked.
“I already told them one day they’d become diamonds, they just needed to be patient.” Surely, that was madness and not genuine glee in her shining eyes?
“You do realize the end of the world is coming?” snapped Babette, who seemed more surly than usual.
Elspeth clapped her hands and rocked on her heels, smiling so widely, surely her head would split. “Is it the end, or just a new beginning? What if the coming battle means a better world for everyone?”
Groans abounded.
Babette loudest of all. “I doubt it. Everything sucks.”
“Oh, poor Babsy. Don’t be so grumpy.” Elspeth dove on Babette and lifted her off her feet in an enthusiastic hug—at six feet plus, the girl wasn’t dainty. “Everything will work out just fine. Just because your girlfriend has been ignoring you doesn’t mean you’re not loved.”
“What do you mean that bitch is ignoring you?” Deka interjected. This was the first she’d heard of Babette having issues with her new girlfriend. “Want me to beat her up?” Because she wanted to hit something, and she couldn’t slap Elspeth around. One didn’t hurt the arrogantly challenged.
“It’s nothing,” Babette muttered. “I mean, the apocalypse is coming. She’s probably busy.”
“Too busy for you? I don’t think so.” Deka latched on to the travesty of ignoring her very bestest friend. “Let’s call that no-good ho right now.”
“She’s not a ho. I’m sure she has a good reason.”
“When was the last time you talked?”
Babette shrugged, lips downturned. “Yesterday. She hung up on me, like midsentence. Which was weird, ‘cause we weren’t arguing or nothing. Just talking about the war and what we were doing to help it.”
“She’s a dragon?” someone asked from across the room.
Babette’s brow creased. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” asked Deka’s mother, who lifted her head from a stack of reports. “Is she human? Because, if she is, then you shouldn’t be discussing the conflict at all.”
“But the humans know about the war.” They couldn’t exactly miss it, given that their cities were burning.
“Humans shouldn’t be privy to dragon news. So”—Xylia turned on Babette—“what is she?”
“She’s—I—” Babette’s face creased, and she couldn’t seem to talk. Probably overwrought by the ho who’d ditched her coldly.
Deka hated seeing her like this. And she needed something to do. “Let’s call her.”
Over Babette’s protest, her cell phone was snared, hooked up to the screen suspended on the wall, and a Skype call was placed.
The phone rang. Ring. Ring. Went to a generic voicemail box that recited a short “leave a message” in a computer monotone.
“She’s not answering,” Babette said with a shrug.
“More like she didn’t want to. That’s the message you get when someone intentionally ignores a call,” Sheila remarked as she tapped a few keys.
As if that was allowed. Deka rose from her slipper shoe throne. “Someone hack that phone and get it to accept the call.”
In short order, the phone rang again, and through the magic of modern technology, on the big screen, a room appeared.
A war room much like the one they were in, except for one thing.
“Holy shit, Babette. Voa kidnapped your girlfriend and stole her phone.” At Deka’s shout, Voa turned around, her bright red eyes fixing on the cell phone screen.
“What do you want?” snapped the sorceress. “I’m kind of busy taking over the world.”
“Not for long, bitch. I’m coming for you. If you want a quick death, though, hand over Babette’s girlfriend.”
The eyes flared brightly for a moment, and Voa’s face came uncomfortably close to the screen. Not her best look, given the size of her nostrils. “You’re worried about Suzanne.” The smile proved much too wide.
For a being that could change shape, you’d figure she’d be more attractive.
“Where is she?” Babette stood in front of the screen, fists clenched. “You’d better not have harmed her.”
“Your girlfriend is fine. As a matter of fact…” Voa’s face darkened, and at first, Deka thought they were losing the connection, only the face morphed and the hair shifted and…
“Suzanne?” Babette’s tremulous query cemented the deal.
“Holy smokes, cuz, you were sleeping with the enemy.” And probably spilling secrets. That, and hopefully not a surprise lesbian pregnancy, was why Babette went running for a garbage can and threw up.
Deka glared at the screen. “How dare you break Babette’s heart!”
“All’s fair in war. She gave me what I needed. Just like you will all feed me what I need when I come for you.”
“Never.” The word came from behind her, and not from just any man, her man, dressed to the nines in head-to-toe black and looking so badass, Deka creamed her panties and then punched the woman beside her for doing the same.
“Stud muffin, you’re home!” Deka exclaimed, but he only spared her a quick, smoldering glance before facing the screen.
“Your reign of terror is going to end,” he declared.
Voa laughed. “It’s only just begun.”
“My boyfriend is going to kick your ass,” Deka declared. “Because he’s awesome.”
“I guess we’ll soon see. The battle will be in three days.”
“Make that forty-eight hours,” Samael corrected. “I’ve got a wedding to attend.”
“Who’s getting married?” she asked.
“We are.”
Good thing he was steady on his feet because her flying leap might have had a little more oomph than expected.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hours later, in bed, naked, and…I could totally go for a smoke, Deka sighed—because, yeah, the sex was that good—and uttered, “Show me.”
“I thought I just did.” He couldn’t help a smile.
She matched it and took it up a level with, “Your grins should come with a warning. Mini orgasm ahead. Now, stop stalling and show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Your magic, stud. Dazzle me,” Deka demanded as she lounged on his bed wearing nothing but his scent. It suited her. Suited her very well.
The urge to mark her now, before the battle, was strong. So strong. His need for her was never clearer than during the time he’d spent apart from her.
He worried about her every second. Missed her something fierce.
And yet he used those emotions to focus on his lessons with the Jabba brothers. The sooner he mastered his new skills, the sooner he could return to her side.
Now, he had to prepare for the biggest event of his life.
His wedding.
Because he wasn’t worried about the fight. He had a plan. An epic one. A strategy he would invoke in two days.
Two days of furious preparation by the dragons and their allies. Messages flew, as did people, all of them wanting to be part of the battle.
The final stage was set to happen in the Great Victoria Desert, the largest desert in Australia, the perfect stage for the upcoming festivities.
The clock ticked down. Everyone of import was aware of the epic event happening. Everyone wanted to be present and had done their utmost to look his or her best.
Standing on the reddish-orange sand as dawn crested and lit the world on fire, he tried not to fidget or sweat in his robes—not a dress.
If you say so, muffin.
Samael stood at Remiel’s right side, a position of honor accorded to him by the brother he’d wronged.
A chance for redemption.
And power, muffin. Don’t forget the power.
He hadn’t. He might not wear the mantle of king, let his brother bear that heavy load, but he could be a force to be reckoned with in his own right.
Ain’t no could be about it, stud. You are a force. My force.
Only because of you. Deka had helped him find that core of strength in him, reminded him of who he could be. Also helped him find what little honor he had left.
Now, he stood at the head of an army. A dragon army, an array of cryptozoids and even humans the likes of which the world had never seen.
And they were impressive. Him most of all.
Samael wore black robes edged in silver, the needlework perfect, the runes ancient but cool looking. He drew the line at the staff and beard Deka had insisted on.
Spoilsport.
At his side, the Golden king wore a splendid military uniform, hand stitched by the best seamstresses, and ornate enough to befit a king.
The king’s advisors and generals—the head of the Septs, with the Silvers being the most prominent—had all chosen to wear their house colors along with stoic expressions, their faces masks carved from stone. But their eyes…they glowed green with excitement.
It had been a while since dragons were able to openly fight.
Behind the governing ranks lined the army. Most had eschewed uniforms to emerge as their other selves.
Dragons with scales gleaming in the dawning sun. Heads held high, and in their clawed fists, weapons—pole arms, and spears, plus modern-day tools finely calibrated to each warrior. In the olden days they eschewed weapons, thinking claws and teeth were enough. Arrogance had helped to kill them.
They’d adapted. They created their own line of dragon-friendly weapons. And now, they’d finally get to baptize them with enemy blood.
Weapons weren’t the only change in this battle. Armor encased them, made to protect their more vulnerable bellies. Many wore helmets to protect their heads.