Marked by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 8) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance

by Alisa Woods

  She let her hand move the way she’d seen Leksander do. Egged on by another flush of pleasure, she moved faster. One hand braced against the cool tiles. She neglected to soap up the rest of her body while working herself into a state of heatedness she’d not known possible without Leksander’s electric touch. Although it was the image of him—his hand, his tongue, his iron-strong body—that was sending the true shivers of delight through her. She shuddered and suddenly stopped, breathless. Her eyes had fallen shut, so she popped them open, checking the damp feathers of her wings to see if they were still white.

  Still of the light.

  They were. She swallowed and leaned back from the wall, grabbing the spray nozzle off its hook on the wall and slowly rinsing the soap from her body. This realm of pleasure was so new to her, she wasn’t sure what was even possible. Or how she could keep her angel nature through all of it. Was it the purity of her love for Leksander? Or that strange thing he had spoken of—loving herself? And how could she pleasure herself and still stay clear of the shadow side? It made no sense, not in the realm in which she normally lived.

  But soon enough—when Leksander sealed her with his dragonfire—she might lose every vestige of her angelness anyway. What would she be then? Solely a woman? A mother for Leksander’s child? That was both thrilling and deeply satisfying but also tremulous and terrifying. Did she even know how not to be an angeling?

  The thrumming of the water spray over her skin was pleasurable. That breathiness caught in her throat again as the pulsing splashes of water pummeled her already sensitive nipples. She’d rinsed most of her body but avoided the overly sensitive flesh between her legs. When she directed the spray there, she gasped again and had to brace against the wall. The pleasure surged back, and this time, it had her reflexively spreading her legs and her wings, arching back while directing the spray more completely right where it felt best. She moaned through the pleasure, and her body seemed to have a mind of its own, bucking against the rhythmic beating of the water, which caused the pleasure to circle with the movement.

  Holy magic… she could feel it building. That intense peak of pleasure—her orgasm, as Leksander had called it. She gripped the water wand harder. The circling of her body and the spray went on and on, building stronger and harder until her entire body convulsed with it. Her power pulsed at the same time, and because she wasn’t anchored, it threw her back against the wall of the shower, water wand dropping and spraying everywhere while her pleasure rippled its peak throughout her body and then abated.

  She sat slumped on the cool tiles, head tipped back, eyes closed, both relishing the pleasure whose dying echo still trembled through her flesh and fearing to open her eyes and see the state of her wings. When the pleasure receded, she finally did.

  Still white.

  She sighed in relief and stayed there a long moment more. Was she truly angelkind, even now? The things she was doing… her vow was long broken, but this wanton enjoyment of pleasure seemed like it belonged in the shadow realm. At the same time, the pleasure and the shower had renewed her, given her a calmness and an energy that had been sapped away by the endless lovemaking before Leksander was called away.

  He would return soon, and then everything would be put to the test.

  Her love.

  Her angel nature.

  Her ability to give him the child that would save everything… including him.

  Erelah climbed to her feet and resolutely turned off the water wand and hung it up. Leksander would be back any moment—she should dispel these doubts so she could be firm in her purpose, confident and willing to give everything she had to him and to the creation of their child. And there was one person in the keep who might help her with this.

  Rosalyn Thorne. Now she was a princess of the House of Smoke, but only by the grace of Erelah’s blade, as she excised the demon from Rosalyn and young prince Thorn while he was still in the womb. Rosalyn had feared losing her witch nature, but the woman stared down that fear to bring her child into the world. It was a mark of honor and true nobility. If Erelah hurried, she could seek Rosalyn’s counsel before Leksander returned.

  Erelah quickly magicked away the water that still clung to her body and magically produced clothing, just a simple toga. Then she tried to leave the keep only to realize that the wards were an effective prison—it kept immortal creatures out, but she was an immortal, and so it kept her in as well. She tested it with several blasts of angry angelsong before relenting to that implacable fact. She despaired of reaching Rosalyn before her beloved returned until she remembered that dragonkind and humans used phones to contact one another. A thorough search of Leksander’s lair finally produced one stashed in a drawer in the kitchen.

  She stared at it, having no clue how to operate it.

  After a determined search through the device’s many functions, she finally landed upon a listing of many familiar names… including Rosalyn’s. Erelah activated that contact, and soon the phone was ringing.

  “Hey, studly!” a female voice gushed on the other end. “How’s the hot angel sex going?”

  “It is going fine.” Erelah frowned, wondering if this seeking of Rosalyn’s help was prudent.

  “Oh! Uh… hey, Erelah.” There was a cough on the other end. “Sorry… working on getting my foot out of my mouth now.”

  “Your foot is in your mouth?” Erelah pulled the phone away from her ear and peered at it, but there was no image activated, just sound. She brought it back to speak. “Have I interrupted some kind of sexual activity between you and your mate?”

  Rosalyn sounded like she was choking and laughing at the same time. “Oh my God. I’m not even sure what to say to that.” She cleared her throat. “Erelah, honey. You’re awesome, and you’ll forever have my love for saving Thorn and me and Leonidas, but man… I hope Leksander’s teaching you a few things.”

  Erelah pulled in a breath and then let it out in a long sigh. “He’s taught me much already.”

  “Good.” There was a sound at the other end of the phone, some rustling of fabric. “Hang on, I’ve got to feed the wee beastie.”

  “You have a pet?” Erelah asked, wishing they could get back to discussing Leksander and the things he was teaching her.

  “I’m talking about Thorn.” More rustling. “He’s hungry like five hundred times a day.”

  “Is that what baby dragons do?” A chill went through her. Her lack of knowledge of all things dragon and motherhood, much less dragon motherhood put together, could fill a bottomless chasm.

  “Oh, honey, I’m exaggerating,” Rosalyn said, her voice warming. “Don’t let it freak you out. Speaking of which, have you and Leksander done the deed? You’ve been locked up in his lair long enough.”

  “No.” Erelah swallowed. “And that is what I need to speak to you about, but I am prevented from leaving the lair due to the wards.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! These dragons can be so over-protective.”

  “It is of the utmost importance that we mate and produce a dragonling.” This was obvious—didn’t Rosalyn see it? “It is prudent for me to remain here.”

  Rosalyn didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice was hushed. “Erelah, are you okay? Are you sure, you know, about this mating thing?” There was a genuine worry in her voice.

  “In truth… I have concerns.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.” She hesitated. “I mean, you are human, right? Part of you, anyway.”

  “That is not the part I worry for.” She pulled in another breath, but she should simply get to it—Leksander could return at any time. “When you faced my blade, Rosalyn… when you knew you might lose the essence of your witch nature… and yet you were bold and unflinching and—”

  “There might have been a little flinching.” Her voice had grown serious.

  “Yet you sought me out to sacrifice yourself, should it be necessary to—”

  “Honey, I was scared shitless.”

  Erel
ah blinked. “You were?”

  “Fuck yes!” Rosalyn snorted a laugh into the phone that somehow comforted Erelah. “I mean, I was half convinced I would just plain die… and lose the baby… and Leonidas… everything, Erelah. I thought I might lose everything.” Erelah could hear the tears choking the princess of the House of Smoke, and she suddenly regretted bringing back these memories for her.

  “And yet you came for my blade.” Erelah was even more convinced of the pure righteousness of Rosalyn’s heart.

  “You were my only hope.” There was a sniff on the other end of the phone. “Look, Erelah, honey… you’re a fucking angeling. You’re not afraid of anything. So what’s got you worried here? You’ve got this.”

  “I’m… I am…” Strange how difficult it was to speak it aloud, even though she had already bared her fears to Leksander. He likewise thought she should not be concerned. “When Leksander seals me with his dragonfire, I fear I will lose all vestiges of my angel nature.” Her wings were outstretched, unfurled from her back and unrestrained by the toga. She flexed them then folded them, magically stowing them in her back, so she appeared human. That might be her constant state going forward.

  Rosalyn was silent on the other end of the line.

  “I have always been half human,” Erelah whispered, and it felt like a confessional. As if she were standing before Markos and listing her sins. “But it is my angel half that defines me. Without that… what would I be?” She wondered what she truly was, even now—some strange mixture of dragon and fae blood from Leksander flushing through her angel and human veins? An angel who broke her chastity vow and enjoyed many pleasures? A woman in True Love with a dragon?

  She was a mess of contradiction already.

  “Okay, listen up, angeling.” Rosalyn’s tone had grown suddenly sharp. “You are Erelah, the mad-skills angeling who saved my family. The hot angel girl that Leksander’s been in love with forever. You are you. You are unique. And if you have to lose your angel wings in order to save the world… well, that doesn’t make you anything less, Erelah, honey. It makes you something so much more.”

  Her words were working a strange magic on Erelah’s voice—she was unable to speak.

  “I know you’ve probably never been scared of anything in your whole life,” Rosalyn went on, quietly. “But remember this—you’re not doing this alone. You’ve got your mate and me and this whole damn House. Once you’re carrying that baby, there’s not one of them who wouldn’t sacrifice their lives to keep you safe. You can do this, Erelah. I know you can.”

  “You are right.” But her words were a gasp. Tears threatened at the back of her eyes, but they were tears of gratitude. And joy.

  “Of course I am.” Her voice had softened, and there was a smile in it. “Now go get yourself knocked up with a dragon baby and come see me when you’re good and preggers.”

  Her angel nature aside, Erelah might yet fail at that simple task—providing Leksander with a child. But she wouldn’t let herself think about that now. First… the mating. The rest would follow well enough.

  “Leksander should return soon,” Erelah said, voice hushed. “We will mate as soon as he does.”

  “Now you’re talking. Go put on one of those mating gowns. They go nuts for that.”

  Erelah frowned. “Mating gowns?”

  “Never mind! Ignore me. You’re good just as you are.”

  Erelah hesitated. “Thank you, princess of the House of Smoke.”

  “Hey, you’re going to be one of us soon. Take care, honey.”

  Erelah said goodbye and waited until Rosalyn hung up, not sure of the protocol of who should first terminate the call. Then she set the phone back on the kitchen counter in case she had need for it again.

  Mating gown… perhaps she should conjure something suitable to the event.

  And soon… before her beloved returned, and her days as an angeling might come to an end.

  Leksander was jolted awake by a searing pain.

  Two pains to be precise—one in each wrist. He jerked away from the source as he tried to pry open his eyes, but whatever clamped on his wrists wasn’t letting go. His arms were outstretched to either side, held tight. His head pounded, and his vision swam. The world around him seemed one giant white blur, both too bright and indistinct.

  But the soft, menacing chuckle in front of him was all too familiar.

  “Zephan,” Leksander spat, squinting and blinking to finally bring the wretched fae prince—the one who had menaced his House and his brothers, endlessly trying to stop the treaty from renewing—into view. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He thrashed against his restraints, but now he could see they were golden, glowing ropes with one end cinched and burning his wrists and the other tied to bedposts, one at the head and the other at the foot of the bed. He was standing at the side, bound to the bed but not actually in it. The rest of Zephan’s icy winter fae palace became clear—the jagged corners of translucent crystal, the undulating walls, the tall, tall cavern that towered above them.

  “Come now, dragon prince,” Zephan taunted him, his voice full of arrogance. “I didn’t think you were that stupid.” His ice blue eyes, nearly clear, sparkled even more in the white brilliance of the light coming from the walls.

  “You can’t kill me,” Leksander said, teeth gritted against the pain. “The treaty forbids it.” Which was true, and Zephan knew it, so… what? He was just getting off on torturing Leksander? He had to admit that was well within Zephan’s track record with the House of Smoke. Or really, Zephan’s attitude toward any sentient being.

  “Yes, yes… the treaty…” The fae smirked and sauntered closer to where Leksander was bound to the bed. He was just within striking range… Leksander gripped hold of the golden fae rope, roaring through the pain but using his hold as leverage to kick both legs toward Zephan, trying to land a square jab to his chest.

  He missed… and more searing pain cut through his wrists as they bore his full weight. He tried desperately to shift to his dragon form, but something about his restraints cut off access to his magic.

  Zephan was laughing. “Oh, do try that again.”

  Leksander growled and got his feet under him, relieving some of the pain but not all. It was a wonder the cords didn’t cut right through his wrists, but they seemed calibrated to deliver searing pain but not slice through his flesh at any substantial rate. Either that or his dragon and fae healing powers were keeping it at bay.

  Zephan was still smirking. “It’s a wonder I didn’t think of this sooner, purely as entertainment. The treaty is gloriously specific and yet beautifully Spartan. I may not kill you, dragon prince, but oh, everything short of that is certainly fair game. So long as you recover. Eventually.”

  “You are really fucked in the head, Zephan.”

  The humor in Zephan’s eyes faded, but the cruel smile remained. “No. I’m quite rational. You, on the other hand…” A demonic glimmer came back as he twirled a finger in the air.

  Leksander frowned, trying to parse what the hell this madman-fae was doing, when a man appeared next to Zephan, dressed all in black and very pale. Not, not a man… Leksander caught the iron stench of blood. Vampire.

  A race of fear went through him. Given enough time, a vampire might kill him, especially if Leksander was bound and unable to fend him off. Lucian had nearly gone out that way when he was trying to end his life. But the treaty should still protect him—

  The disgusting creature slinked closer, his eyes full-black. Hungry. It flicked a look to Zephan, obviously waiting for his signal.

  “You cannot direct my death either, Zephan!” Leksander’s voice was hiking up. Had the crazy fae found another loophole? He’d already infected Rosalyn with a demon via vampire bite…

  Holy shit.

  “Ah, yes. I was hoping to see that look on your face,” Zephan sneered. “Before the demon took you.”

  “You can’t…” He struggled against his restraints, but they just seared more pain th
rough him. “A demon won’t...” Kill him. But Zephan didn’t mean to kill him. What the hell was happening? Leksander watched with wide eyes as the vampire slinked closer. It was a male, scrawny and pale like they all were, and it licked its lips as it climbed on the bed behind Leksander where he couldn’t see it. Fuck. He struggled again, but he wasn’t getting anywhere with that.

  Zephan chuckled, a long and low sound. “My brilliance amazes me sometimes.”

  “Whatever you think this is…” Leksander couldn’t help jerking away from the slimy-cool feel of the vampire’s fingers on the back of his neck. “It isn’t going to work.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely going to work.” Zephan edged closer. “And that taste of angel on you… well, that will only hasten your demise. I have to thank you for doing your part to help out with that.”

  Demise? What was he talking about? The blessing from Markos? Zephan was fucking mental, but this made little sense. The angel blessing was supposed to protect him. How could it—

  His head was yanked to the side by the hair, and suddenly, twin pinpricks of pain sunk into his neck. Fucking hell! He thrashed against the vampire’s hold for a second, but then the venom seeped into his body and took hold… and a flush of pleasure ran through him… it was so strong, even the pain of his restraints turned perversely into pleasure. His body convulsed, his cock grew rock hard, and a moan bubbled up from deep in his chest. A vague and shrinking part of his rational mind was horrified at what was happening.

  “You can’t…” he ground out between teeth now clenched in pleasure, not pain. “You can’t kill me.” Dying this way, in an endless spasm of pleasure while being drained of his magical healing blood… it sent a cold, slinking dark fear seeping through his body.

  A fear that seemed to gain shape and clarity as the vampire took long, deep pulls from his neck. The inky blackness coated Leksander’s heart like tar, and his dragon surged, fighting against it in a frenzy of magic that just got more and more wild. The angel inside him—the blessing from Markos—it couldn’t attack the darkness directly, but it was egging on his dragon nature to engage in the fight.