Sacrifice: A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy

by Ava Sinclair

  And King Eknor was afraid, for he realized she was right. He could not move. His life was ebbing away. His three sons, lying beside him, were barely breathing.

  “Would you like to know how long you wandered in my forest?” she asked.

  “I know how long I wandered.” He licked his dry lips, looking longingly at the pool. “Days and days.”

  She shook her head. “No. It was years. Years and years. Time moves differently here. “Would you like to know what has happened to your kingdom while you’ve been away?”

  The king felt a chill run through him, a chill deeper than any he’d felt in the forest. He was afraid now. He did not want to know. She told him anyway.

  “When you didn’t return, those you conquered banded together to wage war. They defeated what remained of your army. They sacked your castle. One of them took your wife. He was a kinder man. She loved him, and bore him children.” She paused. “But that was a hundred years ago.”

  “You lie,” he said through gritted teeth, but she moved her fingers to his temple, and he saw all she’d told him flash through his mind, and knew it was true. His cries filled the cave.

  “All this?” he sobbed, spittle running from his mouth. “Because I felled a tree, killed a beast?”

  “Did you?” She stood and turned, looking across the pool. From the shadows the stag emerged.

  “My consort,” she said. She curtseyed to the stag. “My lord.”

  The stag bowed in return. Its voice was the deep voice of the earth, the sound of wind and water. “My lady.”

  The woman turned back to the king.

  “We are two parts of whole. We are Lord and Lady. God and Goddess. Duality. It is how the Wyld keeps its balance. You have a duality, too, I think. You are a man, but also a terrible monster. As punishment for what you’ve done, you will die, King Eknor. And your line will be cursed forever more with the task of balancing these beasts.

  She lifted her hands. “Come,” she commanded, and the three princes rose, not by their own will, but as in a trance. Like puppets dancing on invisible strings, they lurched past their father to the pool. There, they knelt like dogs and drank.

  “Behold,” the lady said, and the princes began to shiver and then to scream.

  “Father!” they cried. “Father!” But the king could not aid them. He could only watch as his sons burst into flames of different colors – one fire white, one sunset orange, one purple – that shot to the ceiling. Then the flames began to shrink and reform into something solid, and there, where his sons had stood, were three small winged beasts.

  The lady reached down to pet them one by one. “See what you put inside your sons? The dragon is the greediest of creatures. A dragon is never satisfied. Its appetite can be controlled only with the strongest will. I have used the old magic to draw out what you put inside them, to make it manifest. From this day forth, your sons will not be fully human, but a new race – half drake, half man. They will possess the fullness of their terrible dragon might, but their human side will grieve over how this destruction further removes them from all they love. They will war with man and dragon alike, never accepted by either, but dependent on what they deign to be the weakest – human females — for only through human woman can their line continue.”

  King Eknor understood now. The God and Goddess had tested him. He had failed. This was the awful price. He used the last of his strength to plead then, to plead for mercy he knew he did not deserve.

  “My lady. My lord…” Tears coursed down the king’s cheeks as he looked towards his sons who were hissing and backing away, all recognition of him gone from their yellow eyes. “Let them…be redeemed. If you’ve any mercy, grant them the capacity to find peace, to make it.”

  The Goddess looked up at the God, who glanced the three juvenile dragon. He considered them dispassionately before giving a barely perceptible nod. The lady had a merciful side, and her consort could not deny her.

  The lady knelt again, took the king’s face in her hands and fixed him with eyes of kindness.

  “I will fulfill your dying wish,” she told him. “I will grant the Drakoryan the will to learn, although the path will be very long, and very hard. I will grant them protection through my priestesses, the Wyrd. In time, they will become a great and mighty race, so long as they keep the balance their father could not.”

  The king nodded. “I am tired,” he said. “So tired.”

  “Then take your ease,” she said, cradling his head in her lap.

  And there, in the cave, the king closed his eyes for the last time.

  Chapter One Fire Bride

  Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I read.

  One would not think sleep would be a problem most nights. Take tonight for instance.

  I could decide which of my mates to sleep with, but I do not want the weight of choosing so I leave it up to them.

  It starts at dinner. I feel the tension as soon as I walk into the hall. The four of them stand and do not sit until I take my seat at head of the table. The maids come in with food and the brothers are always quick to compliment me on my menu choice. I’m getting used to running a household, even if it can sometimes seem overwhelming. In the village, the best I could have hoped for was a three room hut to sweep. Now I manage a staff of hundreds and carry several heavy rings of keys that open any of a hundred castle doors. My favorite task is planning the meals. Tonight, I have laid the table of my lords with pheasant pies, the savory juices still bubbling under the crusts, bowls of greens seasoned with shallots, a thick soup made from freshwater mussels, apples stewed in brandy butter, and round loaves of piping hot bread.

  My portions are dainty compared to those of my mates, but dinner only marks the beginning of their appetites. As they eat, they cast hungry looks in my direction. The youngest, Zelki, doesn’t even try to hide his thoughts. He stares at my cleavage the entire time. Tythos, the second born, glances up occasionally, winking when he does. Drorgros, the eldest, shoots me a kind smile. And then there’s Imryth, third born. When he doesn’t look at me, I stare until I catch his eye, and can’t help but smile at his blush. He wants me as badly as the others, but feels ashamed that he and his brothers can’t take a meal now without their cocks raising to touch the bottom of the table. He wishes they could all be more restrained.

  But I do not blame them. They are half dragon, after all, and dragons are always hungry for one thing or another.

  Tonight, it was deemed I would go to Drorgros’ bedchamber. This was telepathically decided between the brothers. I closed my mind to their negotiations, even though I could have listened in.

  Drorgros, the defacto leader of his brothers. Drorgros the father figure. Drorgros, who assumed the form of a green dragon that snatched me from Altar Rock. Drorgros, who hid his dragon side from me when I awoke in his bed. Drorgros, who took my virginity with merciless efficiency and — in retrospect — when I was still numb from shock.

  Since then he’s taken his time with lovemaking. He undresses me slowly as if I were a precious gift to be unwrapped. His huge hands are careful tonight as he slides the gown down over my breasts. He cups each one, crowning my tight nipples with tender kisses. He does not have to ask what I want, how gentle, or how rough. He has learned to read the signs of my body. On this night, I want it fast and hard. Do Drorgros and his brothers know that the silent rivalry at dinner has become part of foreplay for me? Do they know that the thought of their cocks, hard and stiff under the table, is the reason I shift in my seat at the head of the table? I sometimes think of what it would be like to take two of them at once. Or all of them. But that would never be a safe scenario. I’m convinced that standing by while another brother pushed his cock into my ready body would be enough to awaken the dragon in any of them. It is not a fantasy I can afford to indulge. And my night with Drorgros proves it is not necessary. One at a time is enough.

  Drorgros orders me to grab the post of his large bed.

  “Hold on,” he growls, and I
feel his cock like a snake, moving, curling, stroking over the curve of my ass. I look back and moan. He’s holding the post as well, his hands above mine, his eyes also on his huge cock. The length of it follows the head, moving down the crack of my ass like a snake seeking is prey. And then I feel it parting my outer labia, caressing the swollen folds of my womanhood, lubricating itself. I moan and squat, inviting it in. Drorgros chuckles, calls me a greedy little wench. The head of his cock stabs at my clit, tapping. I wriggle.

  “Beg,” he says into my ear, and I want to tell him I won’t beg. But my pussy is clenching and I want to be filled. “I want to hear you,” he says, and I know the eldest Lord of Fra’hir isn’t content hearing my silent plea.

  I look back at him, unable to wait a moment longer.

  “Fuck me, my Lord Drorgros,” I say.

  And the cock thrusts into me as his huge hands move to my wrists, restraining me. He begins to pound me, hard, his thrusts driving me up against the bedpost.

  “Ah!” I cry. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” My pussy quivers a little more with each thrust and I can feel passion build like a spring winding tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock. I throw my head back and feel Drorgros’ lips blaze a hot line of kisses down the slender column of my throat. He’s fucking me hard now, hard and rough. He’ll make me sore. I want to be sore. I love waking up, love-bruised and spent from lovemaking. My passion, like a mother’s milk, is supplied according to need. I have enough for him and his brothers.

  We come together, and afterwards, I lean into the post, sighing as Drorgros’ cock ripples and flexes, expelling the last of his seed.

  Afterwards, he pulls me tenderly down to the mattress, and while my body is tired, my mind is not read for sleep. My gaze moves to the table by the window, to the books.

  I take books to all my mates’ bedchambers now. Well, save for Imryth. I don’t have to take them there. He practically has a library of his own. He is happy to have me read after we couple; often he will read with me. Drorgros and Zelki just fall asleep. Tythos? I’m lucky if he isn’t still fucking me at dawn’s first light.

  But this evening I wriggle away from my softly snoring hot-skinned mate and curl up in a chair to continue my education on Drakoryan history. It is a history linked to mine now. One day I will bear children to these men. I will teach them, too. But the seed of my mates will not quicken for at least a full sun cycle.

  The blending of personalities is like the making of a fine sword, Drogrgros says. In their wisdom, the witches who brought us together have dictated that our relationship be molded in passion’s fire, hammered by trials, tempered by reality. Only then will be strong enough to welcome sons.

  I have been reading of King Eknor and his sons, and am grateful that the God and Goddess took pity on them, that in their wisdom they thought to grant the Drakoryan protection of the witches. It was the witches who hid Arok, Dax, and Yrn deep inside the cave of the Mystic Mountain, counseling and consoling them when they shifted back to man form. They helped them accept their fate, encouraged them to document all they experienced so there would be a record for their progeny. Who knew that one days the Drakoryan would protect them?

  I run my fingers across the words in the ancient book I’ve opened. Some are human script, but others are in the timeless language of the dragons. It would be many years before the first Drakoryans encountered true dragons. This was long after they had subjugated man. The breed of dragon they encountered, the ShadowFell, were fiercer than any humans. But ironically, it was the humanity of the Drakoryan that made them stronger in battle. Over millennia, the ShadowFell have been unable to defeat the Drakoryan.

  I close the book and place it on the table. Outside, the moon hangs large and bright in the sky. A gentle breeze flows through the open window. I really should go back to sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me. The Council is coming to confer with my mates in the Hall of Meeting, and although Drorgros has told me it is nothing for me to worry over, I have sensed small things that make me wonder if he and the others aren’t trying to protect me from something.

  After Drorgros brought me here, after I’d been claimed by him and his brothers, came the Deepening — an ancient ritual in which I became mentally bonded to my Drakoryan mates. We can communicate telepathically. On occasion, we can even read each other’s minds, but such experiences are brief, and come across as flashes of feelings or impressions rather than thoughts.

  I don’t have to read the thoughts of my mates to know something is wrong. There are other signs I can read. I notice small things they think I miss — the furrowed brows and lowered voices when they huddle together, the way Drorgros spends more time in the watchtower, scanning the skies. On one of my walks through the castle grounds I followed the sound of clanging to the ironworks, where Tythos was overseeing the forging of fresh blades. Zelki and Imryth take to the skies in dragon form with Bartax and Skryll. They stay away a day or more at times. In Imryth’s chamber, there are freshly rendered maps, the routes marked with arrows and other strange symbols.

  I am waiting for them to tell me why the scurry and fret so. Instead, they tell me as lady of this house I must ready the castle for the arrival of other lords and their ladies. They know this will keep me busy. I must supervise the menus. I must make sure the servants have prepared all the guest chambers with clean linens. I must see that bowls of fresh fruits are in ready supply in the Crystal Cavern, where I will entertain the mates of other Drakoryans. I confess to eagerly anticipating the latter, to being reunited with Enid and the other women. Perhaps they will know the real reason behind this meeting.

  “Lyla.” Drorgros is staring at me. “Why do you leave my bed?”

  “I was reading.”

  He rolls onto his back. “And why is my lady reading?”

  “To learn, my Lord Drorgros.”

  He smiles, his white teeth gleaming in his bearded face. “Come, little one. If it’s knowledge you seek in this chamber, it should only be of a carnal kind.”

  A dragon’s appetite is never satisfied. I go to his bed, and the eldest son of Rymoth of Fra’hir teaches me a new way to make him moan. Afterwards, as he falls asleep, I search the channels of his mind, hoping to capture some image or thought that will give me a clue as to what has made him brood so. But whatever he’s hiding remains hidden. I catch only a fleeting image — a field of fire as far as the eye can see.

  Did it come from his mind? Or was it a suppressed memory from my childhood, from a time when I was too innocent to realize the beasts I feared would claim me for their mate?

  I turn on my side, nestling into the muscular curve of my mate’s strong body. I tell myself I will not have answers tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps. Finally, I sleep.

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  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Ava Sinclair has been writing for many years, and prides herself on writing sexy books for smart women. Readers want it all – characterization, world building, plot, and steamy sex — and that’s what she strives to deliver with every book.

  For a full look at her backlist, visit her Web site at www.avasinclairauthor.com.