by Ava Sinclair
And now I find my voice. And I scream.
DRORGROS
Lyla. What is she doing here? Suddenly nothing else matters, not my anger at my brother, not my desire to keep him from fleeing before we can sort out our differences.
Lyla. Why did she come here? Even that doesn’t matter. Because she is here. Her keening scream entering my human ears as I shifted, getting my attention. It’s gotten my brother’s too. When I turn to him, I see my worry reflected in his eyes.
“Lyla.” He is the first to speak and moves towards her, but she’s shaking her head. She tries to take a step back, but the shock of what she’s seen has locked her legs. She falls backwards to sitting on the ground, staring up at us.
“No,” she says, and begins to cry. “No. No. No.”
“Lyla.” I keep my voice gentle as I walk to her. Her chest is heaving through her thin shift, her breasts visible beneath the sheer white fabric. Behind her is a spent candle. She’s come through the tunnels. I channel the anger I feel towards Beti. She was supposed to be minding Lyla. What happened?
But that is not important now. My brother and I flank her, kneel.
“Lyla…”
“You!” She looks wildly from one face to the other, scooting backwards and raising herself to standing. She looks wildly at Imryth, then at me. “You don’t command dragons. You are dragons!” She begins to sob, her tears unbidden. “It was you who took me from the ledge. It was you who burned my village!” She launches herself at me, her fists pounding wildly on my chest. I’d be amused if her pain weren’t so palpable. I glance at Imryth and then pick Lyla up, restraining her in my arms. My mind flashes back to the day I took her from the ledge, how warm she felt in my grasp as I lifted her high into the air. She fought until she lost consciousness in the thin atmosphere. She fights now, but does not stop. She is cursing at me, scratching as we make our way through the tunnel.
I move quickly, praying we don’t encounter another Drakoryan taking a break from the hall to spread his wings before resting on one of the ledges. As it is, Skryll and Bartax have no doubt seen and heard more than they should have. I remind myself to send someone to speak with them.
By the time we reach Lyla’s bedchamber, she has given up her futile attempts to extricate herself from my arms. She has fallen silent, having run out of names to call me. I enter her room with Imryth on my heels. Beti is there, and her apology dies in her throat when she sees my expression. I glare down at her.
“Out,” I say. She flees and Imryth shuts the door behind her. I place Lyla on the bed. I expect her to curl up into a ball and weep, but she rises instead and walks to the tiny window of her room. She may have spent her rage in my arms, but she is still seething. My brother and I remain silent as she collects herself.
When she turns, there are tears coursing down her cheeks, and her lip trembles in anger as she speaks.
“You could have told me,” she said. “You could have given me the choice.”
“And have you judge us by our dragon form alone?”
“Better a form that burns than one that deceives. Both your forms steal and destroy. You stole my innocence, Lord Drorgros, with your betrayal. You have destroyed my trust with your secrets.”
What can I say to this? I have no words, but Imryth does. “You have every right to be angry,” he says. “You have every right to hate us.”’
“Brother,” I begin, but he holds up his hand, silencing me as he makes his way over to Lyla.
“Ours is an ancient race, set in our ways, adherents to tradition. We are Drakoryan — half man, half dragon. We walk between the worlds of land and sky, forever restless. If we fail to put our trust in you enough to give you the truth, please understand it’s because we — more than anyone — know how hard it is to trust a dragon. How can you trust something that rules through destruction? Here is a secret for you, Lyla: In human form, we fear the dragon that lurks inside. We are forever cursed with the task of controlling it. We understand the primal fear of dragons, even as we have embraced it as the other side of our nature, even as we revel in the power of becoming one. There is beauty in dragons, and loyalty, but to trust one, you must first know its heart, its thoughts. As Drakoryans, our human form allows us to give a voice to the beast. We keep the secret from our human mates until we have all known her, touched her, convinced she is ours, and we are hers – loyal to the death.”
“Who made you?” she demands to know, and Imryth smiles and touches her face.
“That, my dear, is a story forged over ages, and a story that would take ages to tell. Of course, our history has been written, and if you can forgive us for deceiving you, if you can accept us…” He kneels now, taking Lyla’s hand. “You will know our history. You will know all.” He puts her hand to his forehead. “Please, despite what you see, despite what monsters you think us to be, give us a chance. Please. Be our mate. Please. Forgive us.”
I stand in silence, marveling at the image before me. Lyla, so small, so innocent in her shift, her naked body visible through the fabric. My brother, so large, but kneeling to place her hand on his head as if he were her pet, her servant.
“Do I have a choice?” she asks.
Imryth takes her hand, puts the palm to his mouth and kisses it gently before clasping it between his. I hold my breath. “I would not take you without your consent,” he says. “I would endure the wrath of my kin, my brothers, the inner beast, before I would force you.”
Everything rests on her now. My eyes are focused on my quiet brother, who has just placed the entire fate of House Fra’hir in one tiny human’s hands.
Lyla is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. I am rooted to the floor, as afraid now as she was in the cave. I know Imryth. He does not bluff. If she says no, he will not take her. If he does not take her, there will be no Deepening, no mating. Our line will end. He is giving this little human all the power, all the control.
“If I consent, I’ll have your sons?” she asks.
“If you consent, come mating time, yes,” he replies.
Worry clouds her pretty face. “You’re half dragon,” she muses. “I do not desire to have a baby dragon, or to…lay an egg.”
I cannot help but laugh now, and even Imryth is smiling. “No, little one. You will have a son as fine and fair as you. Drakoryan do not assume their dragon form until their thirteenth season. I promise you, our sons will be as human as you until they are nearly men. No doubt, they will test you nonetheless, especially if they inherit their mother’s curiosity.”
She looks at me. She looks at Imryth.
“And if I refuse? Will I go home?”
“No,” Imryth answers honestly. “You will live in exile here, in one of the villages. You will be cared for, but your wishes will be respected. You will remain untouched until the end of your days.”
“Untouched…” Lyla puts her free hand to her chest. “Untouched.” She whispers the word. She falls silent then, staring towards the window, then moves the hand from her breast to my brother’s head.
We wait for her to speak. She is thinking. I can tell she thinks a lot. I want to rush to her, to shake her, to demand an answer. I am afraid. But I must trust her as I ask her to trust us. Finally, she speaks.
“I have made my decision,” she says. “I never thought to leave my home. I had prayed in the night not to be taken by the dragon. But I was. It cannot be for nothing. What I have been through, cannot have been for nothing. All of this…it has touched me beyond the physical. It touches my head, my heart. Even when I am angry, I long to know more, to walk this path I thought to resist.” She pauses. “I will accept you, Imryth, Lord of Fra’hir, as I accepted your brothers. And I will accept what follows as my fate.”
If I could shout a cheer, I would. But I restrain myself, as does Imryth, who only kisses her hand as he rises.
“Thank you,” he says. “Now, with reluctance, I will return you to Tythos, who will give you his gown. I will see you tonight, in the hall.”
He bows. “Until then.”
He leaves, and I offer Lyla my arm. We do not speak as we walk back to Tythos’ chamber. The woman beside me, while small, walks taller, and with more confidence. I am impressed, intrigued. We could not have picked a better mate.
LYLA
Tythos had swelled with pride as we entered the hall. I feel like a living flame now, dressed in his color. I know now that the gowns represent the color of their dragon forms. Drorgros is green, Zelki is blue, Tythos, red. The last gown I wear shall be gold, Imryth’s color.
He smiled almost shyly as Tythos reluctantly handed me off amid the thunderous roar from the crowd. My hearing was still sensitive from my time in the pool. The noise made my head pound, but I allowed myself to absorb the excitement and optimism in the room, and unlike previous times, this time I turned to the crowds and flashed a brief smile. They roared louder.
The wine had been even more plentiful and sweeter, the feast more lavish. Massive pigs, their mouths stuffed with apples the size of melons, were placed on the tables by male servants who groaned under the weight of the platters. The sight of the beasts, whose eyes had been replaced with golden fruit, was unnerving. But the meat was tender and mild and salty-sweet, the skin of the pigs’ crisp and juicy and flavorful. There were huge tureens of soup. I grew tired of asking what kinds they held. Some were spicy, some savory. I could only sample a little of each for the richness of them. There were huge mushrooms swimming in wine sauce, long loaves of bread filled with soft, unborn grains, cakes and pies with juices that bubbled from beneath golden crusts.
I understood, now, the Drakoryan appetites and why, despite all the food, each plate and platter was cleaned by the time we left. They are, after all, half dragons.
And now, here we stand, in Imryth’s chamber. It is as different from the other chambers as he is from his brothers. It could be a wizard’s lair, this Drakoryan’s chamber. It is the only one with books, and there’s a long table under the leaded window covered in scrolls and sketches and curious creations half-finished, wooden creatures operated with tiny cogs and levers.
There’s a huge dragon scale in the corner. Imryth has fashioned it into a shield. The front is engraved with the silhouette of a dragon head, the style simplistic but elegant. When I admire it, he lifts it and places the leather bands on the inside over my arm.
“You’re a warrior now,” he says. The shield is solid, and hard, but lighter than I would have imagined.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say.
“It’s yours.”
I look up at him. “No.” I slip it off my arm. “I couldn’t.”
“You can. And you will. Anything I have is yours now, Lyla. Look around the room. I love the way you examine everything. It makes me want to share it with you. Besides, watching you has given me the time I need.”
“Time for what?” I ask.
He falls silent, then smiles an almost boyish smile. “Time to figure out how to seduce you.”
I slip the shield off my arm and gently set it down before looking up at him. My face is flushed.
“I’ve never been seduced,” I say.
He chuckles. “Given that your experience is limited to my brothers, I don’t doubt it. But don’t take that as an insult to them. They are unrestrained in their passion. They demand it in return. I would draw it from you, Lyla.”
He hasn’t even touched my body, but the way his words touch my mind has evoked a physical response that’s just as strong. My nipples tighten against the red gown. My pussy pulses softly; I can feel slick nectar coating the opening petals of my inner womanhood.
He takes my hand and begins to speak, his voice deep and soft:
“A maiden stood upon a rock,
A dragon came to call.
He plucked her up into the air
She fought but did not fall
A Lord unto that maiden came
And plucked her flower fair
His brother came and then another
Each took her to his lair
She wore their gowns – green, blue and red -
Until at last she stands
In my chamber, not filled with dread
With my heart in her hands.”
I am speechless. The rise and fall of his love poem is beautiful.
“Did you write that?” I ask.
“No,” Imryth says. “It just came to me. Would you like me to write it down for you?”
I nod.
“Would a lady mind if I did it later? It pleases me to look at you, Lyla. I do not want to look away.” He smiles. “I don’t think I can, really.” His finger is tracing the fabric running across the shoulder of my gown. “May I?” he asks.
I nod. He slips the fabric off my shoulder and reaches for the other side. “May I?”
“Please,” I say.
Can he feel my excitement? It rushes through me in waves. I look at his fingers as he gently slides the gown off my shoulders. His long fingers. They’ve fashioned delicate drawings, made wondrous little articulated devices. But all I can think about now is having those fingers thrust into my aching pussy, or having the mouth that recited such sweet poetry capturing my nipple with hot, sweet suction.
“I’ve flown thousands upon thousands of miles,” Imryth says when the gown falls. “I’ve seen towering mountains backlit by glorious sunsets, blazing comets that lit up the night sky. I have seen waterfalls that start in cloud-shrouded peaks and end in explosions of mist miles below. I’ve seen vast deserts, whole seas of shifting sand. I’ve seen oceans that never seem to end. I have seen all these things and more, Lyla. But I have never seen anything more beautiful than the woman standing before me.”
Another feeling has joined the warmth of arousal. It’s a different kind of warmth that floods through my chest and makes me weak in the knees. When Imryth lowers his mouth to mine, I stand on my tiptoes to meet his lips, parting them to allow his tongue. His mouth is warm; his tongue swoops over mine, nimble as a dragon, and as bold. My gentle poet is taking control of me, and I abandon myself to him, allowing this final brother to scoop me from the floor and take me to his bed. His bed. There are no posts, no heavy canopy. Imryth has painted constellations on the ceiling. I spread my legs and arms for him under the stars and he descends, his powerful body molding to mine. He whispers in my ear as he winds my hand in his hair. I run my hands down his back, tracing his muscles, his spine. I find the clasp of his leather sash and unhook it. He kisses me as he pulls it aside and I laugh against his mouth as both our hands meet trying to remove his leather skirt.
He traps my hand then, guiding it to his cock. I lift myself and look down. Like the rest of him, it is lean and sleek, the narrow, arrow-like head positioned now just between my legs. Imryth slides into me with a satisfying thrust and dips his head towards my breast to capture my nipple in his mouth. I arch off the bed, my legs tight around his waist. And when he’s completely embedded in me, I feel a small nudge against my clitoris, like a finger. But his hands have trapped mine above my head, pinning them down. He’s looking into my eyes, gauging the wonder as I discover his special talent. His cock is deep within me, but there is something else flick, flick, flicking away at my clitoris. It moves with the same kind of dexterity as Tythos’ cock, only…it can’t be…
“Such a passionate lady deserves more than one,” he whispers with a wink and I reach my hand down.
“If need be,” he says as I marvel at what I’m feeling, “I can bring double the pleasure to my beautiful mate.”
He begins to pound me then, driving me up and back on his mattress until my toes curl with ecstasy and I scream my orgasmic pleasure up to the painted stars. I’m still coming when he turns me over. And now I feel one cock seeking my pussy as a second emerges and probes at the crinkle of my bottom hole. This time I look back. I want to see, even though I’m afraid. And it’s oddly natural, even though I know it is not. He can change the size and shape of both cocks; they are long and thin now, and both gently pushing
into me. My pussy is clenching around one as I gasp against the sting of the second entering my bottom. Both are just the width of a finger, but then the first — fully embedded now — begins to swell and pulse. The second, narrow still, continues to slide in. The feeling of fullness is arousing me beyond measure. I feel thoroughly taken, impaled as I am by this most unusual of lovers. And now the second cock begins to expand, and I moan as he begins to move, stroking me from the inside as his fingers find my clit, rubbing it in slow circles as I writhe and moan into the bedcovers.
He probes me from the inside, exploring, stroking. He brings me to the edge of orgasm and pulls back, laughing when I mewl in frustration. And when I finally beg to come, he drives me hard, the softness gone as he pushes me through a string of climaxes so powerful that I can’t catch my breath. Imryth has made an art of sex, wringing pleasure from my body until I think I can take no more. And then, he shows me I can, whispering words of love in my ear as he rises with me on one final wave that culminates with a dual explosion of his seed.
“You are mine, now,” he says when he finally withdraws. He holds me gently in his arms, stroking my face as I play with his hair. “Mine, and Drorgros’ and Tythos’ and Zelki’s. We have joined with your body, my brothers and me. But tomorrow, we will join with you here, where it counts the most.” He touches my temple, then kisses it. “And then, you will fully be our mate.”
DRORGROS
“Are they going to lock themselves away all day?” Zelki grumbles as he holds his horn out for more wine. Normally, I don’t care how much he drinks, but I put my hand over the opening before the maid can fill it a fourth time.
“You’ve had enough, brother. Drink and brooding don’t mix. And are we to begrudge Imryth his mating time? He waited for us.”