Dance of the Dragon Sorceress [Tangere Tales 3]

by Heather Rainier

  “You’re really hungry, aren’t you?”

  “Mmmm,” it replied, using both “hands” to pull itself up into the opening before falling back in.

  “You need a little help?”

  “Mmmm-mmmeee,” it replied in a tone that clearly said, “Yup.”

  She reached in and gently scooped the critter up. “Caresse has a little bit of training as a vet tech because her dad was a vet. Maybe she can tell me what you are, and if you’re supposed to be so scrawny—what the ever living hell. Oh, those aren’t scrawny joints. You have cute, widdle—”

  The tiny being shook itself out in her lap, and itty-bitty wings suddenly flapped out and slapped her in the face.

  She giggled. “Well hello to you, too.”

  Its eyes bulged wide as if it hadn’t expected that to happen, and then it lost its balance and fell over in her lap.

  Assisting it into an upright position, she said, “You must not be used to those yet, huh?”

  It sneezed in reply, blowing up a little cloud of dust, and then shook all over, making its hair stand up in a comical bristly fashion.

  “Well, aren’t you a cutie-patootie!”

  Seeming to sense her approval at his effort, the tiny being preened on her lap and wound up tripping over his feet before latching onto her blue jeans and staring at the can and then blinking his expressive amber eyes at her.

  “We need to name you if we’re going to eat together, don’t you agree?”

  “Mmm!” he said, his eyes widening in his expressive little face. He seemed to understand the gist of what she said.

  “I’ll take that as approval. Let’s see…Fuzzy Tuft-footy,” she said as she stroked the tufts of fur that ringed his clawed feet. “No. How about Fuzzy Freaky-foot because these are freaky, baby.”

  He peered up at her with what seemed to be indignation. “Okay, no ‘Freaky’ in your name. I get it. How ‘bout…Beaky. Beaky Tufterson. No? You don’t really have much in the way of a beak. Okay, last try and then we eat.”

  She eased the edge of the lid back, holding it above him so he wouldn’t hurt himself on the sharp can. He stretched his neck up, sniffing at the pungent salmon with obvious hunger, and flapped his wings, trying to maintain his balance. “Flappy.” He stopped at eye level and gazed right at her with those fascinating amber eyes. “Flappy McFlapperson. That’s who you are.”

  He cooed and then rubbed his bumpy head against her chin and purred.

  “A purring bird,” she said with a chuckle as she stroked his head. “Let’s feed you, shall we? You sit here.”

  She arranged herself so she was sitting against the cave wall, legs crossed, with him perching on her knee. Outside, the wind blew, and hail began to fall while she fed him a tiny little tidbit of the salmon. “You like that?” He gobbled it up and looked to her for more, not fighting to get at the can the way a wild bird of prey would do.

  “Flappy, you have nice manners. That was a freaky loud noise we heard earlier, wasn’t it?”

  She made conversation with him, taking turns between feeding him bites and putting a little on crackers for herself, until all the salmon was gone.

  Looking back at the dark tunnel, she said, “You know…Angel and Caresse should’ve arrived at this end of my tunnel by now, if they were coming. I’ve got to check on them, and the campsite, before we do anymore exploring. You’ll come with me?”

  His reply was in how quickly he scaled the sleeve of her flannel shirt and latched on to the backpack strap she’d replaced over her shoulder. “Well, all right then. You’re pretty good company, Flappy.”

  “Mmmm-mmmeee.”

  “And you can call me Meemee. That settles it. Wait until the girls get a look at your cute little self.” He trilled in response.

  She returned the way she’d come and quickly ran into a problem. A huge problem.

  “The tunnel is gone. What the ever-loving fuck? Sorry, I cuss a tiny bit sometimes. You’ll get used to it.”

  He made a questioning sound as she felt around on the rock wall, sure that the tunnel she’d come from had turned a corner right there. But it was a complete dead end. The passageway only reached a few yards inward before it became a solid wall. There was no exit but the one they’d been at earlier.

  “This is some freaky shit right here, Flappy. Okay, so…next step is to go out this way and find my way back around to the lake. It can’t be that far.”

  The hail still came down hard in tiny pellets, filling the air with bits of leaves and greenery that littered the ground like a carpet, and she resigned to wait until the storm passed.

  “I hope my tent held up okay. There are few things worse than sleeping in a wet sleeping bag on wet ground.”

  Gazing up at her with gorgeous amber eyes blinking, he popped up a tiny tufted eyebrow as if he was withholding judgement on that statement.

  Chapter One

  “It was smart of Cirruth to wait to leave until just before the storm hit,” Rainger Galterrium said to his companion, Basile, crown prince of the Western Kingdom of Tangere.

  Basile’s gaze was trained on the forest, vigilant for signs of movement. “I doubt she wanted to leave the heir before it became absolutely necessary. I’m curious why she didn’t bring him—assuming it’s a him—directly to the abbey.”

  “I can’t pretend to understand how a dragon thinks, but she must’ve had her reasons. We’re lucky we spotted her.”

  “Narrows the search area. Lucky for her the ice pellets were small.”

  Keeping an eye out in the other direction, Rainger followed his friend out from beneath the rocky overhang they’d sheltered under during the storm. “She’s tough. She’ll make it back to the Eastern Kingdom, flying above the storm. Great cover, actually.”

  Basile nodded as he searched the sky above them. “She might know about getting above the storm, but an infant won’t know to even get out of one. Even tiny pellets might…”

  The sound of a female voice carried from nearby, and Rainger tapped Basile’s shoulder and put his finger to his lips.

  With the exception of Rainger, the Dragon Huntsmen roamed the kingdom, hunting the dragons by order of the queen, doing what they pleased without fear of retribution. What sane person would allow a woman to roam alone in this forest? Basile followed him as he faded into the shadows, doing as a well-trained dragon huntsman was taught, to be invisible until it was too late, just for a different cause.

  The lone woman came along the path, clad in an odd assortment of rags, carrying a canvas duffel on her back—and she was talking to herself, or chanting.

  “A witch?” Basile breathed in a barely audible tone.

  “In the Western Kingdom?”

  “Draconia would never allow it. Too much competition,” Basile replied. Rainger heard the hint of a snarl in his wry tone. His closest friend and the heir to the throne in absentia had spent enough time in the queen’s evil presence while growing up to know she’d never allow competition for power or the throne she’d usurped.

  “Don’t listen to her. She may be casting a spell.”

  The woman was too far away for the men to discern what she was saying. Rainger couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she paused on the path and removed some sort of stick with a tiny knob on its end from her ear. Some means of communicating with spirits? She swung her duffel off of her back and squatted down in the path.

  “Not very wise,” Basile said, looking around. “Anyone could see her, much less hear her.”

  Rainger gulped as she bent over the canvas bag and stuck the stick-knob thing in the front pocket and chuckled to herself. The movement revealed the entirety of her lush derriere covered only in a layer of some strange faded blue canvas. It conformed to her curves, and his cock couldn’t help but react when she twitched it from side to side as she bobbed her head back and forth and chanted to herself some more.

  “She’s trying to cast a spell on us,” Rainger muttered.

  “It’s working. What a luscious a
ss. Those hips were made for grabbing. I could—”

  Rainger finally succeeded in looking away and shushed Basile. “We have a mission to uphold. Are you so easily swayed by a pretty ass, nice tits—”

  Basile looked past him. “Mmm, they are nice.”

  “Shut up. I mean shut up, Your Highness.”

  “Look,” Basile murmured, a smile crooking his lips.

  Rainger turned to look. “We should resist her spell. We should…”

  She’d straightened her knees so her entire backside was pointed at them. She chanted in a melodic rhythm as she removed the ragged multicolored tunic from her shoulders and tied the sleeves around her waist, leaving her upper torso clad only in a sleeveless shift-like garment.

  Basile grunted in disappointment.

  “Good, she can’t tempt us with it if it’s not visible—”

  Basile arched an eyebrow and pointed at her. “I think she can.”

  The woman, beautiful with glossy curling black locks the color of a raven’s wings, swung her hips as she lifted her bared arms in graceful arcs above her head.

  “We are doomed,” Rainger muttered. The storm was over. They were supposed to be searching for the vulnerable young of the royal family of the Eastern Kingdom. They were—

  Basile cocked his head and smiled. “What is she saying?”

  “Chanting, she’s chanting, and it’s a curse to lure us from the forest, and our duties.”

  Her voice had a sultry lower pitch that sent shivers up Rainger’s spine. “You make me weak.” She rolled those luscious hips and he did indeed feel his resolve weaken.

  “I’m gonna die,” she intoned as she continued her sinuous seduction.

  He forgot all else, enraptured by her movements.

  “Just then, you said we’d try…”

  Her hips rocked to some rhythm only she could hear, but his body responded, wanting nothing so much as to touch her, to squeeze those lush thighs.

  “Lovin’,”

  “Gods, yes,” Rainger whispered.

  “Touchin’,”

  “We are doomed,” Basile replied to him.

  “Squeezin’ each other.” She giggled and the fabric of the multicolored tunic she’d tied around her waist swished back and forth with her movements.

  “How does she know this?” Basile asked.

  “She just read my mind.”

  “I want to do those things with her.”

  She wiggled her hips, and her chortle hardened Rainger’s shaft further. If he didn’t control himself he was going to pitch a tent in his kilt.

  She giggled again and said, “That’s right, you can do it with me.”

  “Oh, dragon’s blood,” Rainger growled. Basile held him back when he would’ve leaped from their hiding place.

  “Listen,” Basile said.

  “When I’m alone…all by myself,” she chanted, and her voice had a sultry, musical quality to it.

  “What does she do all by herself?” Rainger imagined her touching herself in intimate places, and his cock surged with lust. She would tease him, moving her fingers between her legs slowly, enticing him.

  She paused in her movements and looked down at a little flat box in her hand. “Oh? Is that one too slow? I need to find shelter before dark so you’ll have to learn on the go.”

  Basile seemed to lean toward her. He whispered, “Wherever you go.”

  “You’ll like this one,” she whispered. “Feel that beat? Just bang your head like this. Awesome.”

  “I’ll be banging my head all night if she keeps swishing that glorious ass,” Basile murmured, ogling her unashamedly as she pulled the duffel straps back onto her shoulders and set off down the path. “Wait, what is she doing?”

  She started bobbing her head and then pumped her fists up and down in the air. Her curls flew in all directions as she strutted down the path and her movements took on more violent but somehow rhythmic purpose. She had not a care in the world and gave no sign of watching for enemies in the forest. Perhaps ensnarement was her defense? No man could seize her before she seized him in a snare of lust and sent him to his everlasting doom.

  “Is she having some sort of fit?” Basile asked as she continued in her giggling and thrashing about.

  “Perhaps it is a mating ritual.”

  He looked at Basile, who watched with appreciation as she strutted down the path. “If we follow her, then we aren’t keeping to our mission.” They needed to find Cirruth’s offspring and take it to safety before the rest of the Dragon Huntsmen, who were loyal to Draconia, found him. If that happened, the heir to the Eastern Kingdom was doomed.

  Basile paused, his head bobbing a tiny bit as he watched her disappear from view, his mouth hanging ajar. “Damn. But what if she doesn’t understand how dangerous the forest is? What if disaster befalls her?”

  “Let’s search the area for the heir. She was on the path. If we hurry, we may catch her yet. Even then, if she is a witch…” Undeniable was the fact that they didn’t know who’d sent her. Perhaps Draconia had discovered Basile was still alive and had devised a strategy to lure him back to the capitol to face either death or enslavement.

  They needed to act quickly. Each passing hour, each passing day hastened the moment when Draconia would recall Rainger. By the time his service tattoos grew hot, he would need to report to the capitol. Each time he returned to Palais de Lune de Sang, the palace Draconia had ordered built for herself atop the ruins of the previous palace, he risked his true mission being discovered. But there was still much to accomplish so he continued in his risky deception, posing as a loyal Dragon Huntsman to the queen.

  Basile still watched the path even though she was no longer visible. “What if she is a traveler from the Southern Kingdom? They have some strange customs there. We can offer to protect her.”

  Rainger grinned and leaned close. “You say ‘protect her,’ but your eyes say ‘fuck her.’”

  Basile’s lips curled in a devilish grin, and he leaned closer. “Same as yours, bastard.”

  “We could be quick in the exploration of the area.” How quickly his resolution gave way under her alluring spell.

  “And then we go in search of a seductive little witch.”

  A giggling sorceress with sweetly rounded thighs and an ass that would bounce with each thrust so beautifully. He hadn’t had a good—

  Basile elbowed him aside. “Let’s finish the search. Whoever catches her gets to keep her.”

  Rainger chuckled. “And what if we catch her at the same time?”

  Basile grinned. “We claim our prize together.”

  * * * *

  Elaina was sweating and her feet were sore by the time she crested the hill. From the valley below, it had seemed like the highest point, but as she paused to look about, it was plain they were surrounded by even taller hills and mountains beyond those. More troubling, however, was the fact that though she’d hiked and camped in this part of Mt. Rainier National Park all of her life, she didn’t recognize a single landmark.

  “Nurk,” came the soft intonation, interrupting her scan of the area, and she eased her backpack from her shoulders and set it gently on the thick green grass under foot.

  “You all right in there? You must be hungry again, huh?”

  Since they’d set out, Flappy had been riding in her backpack, chattering occasionally but mostly listening to the music she’d played for him, which seemed to distract him from his earlier fright. Judging from the occasional jostling movement and poke at her back or shoulders, he had moved around, which was fine. He’d probably hollowed himself a little resting spot.

  Hooking the zippered edge of the main compartment with a finger, she pulled it back carefully and chuckled when he poked his head out, revealing that he’d somehow gotten wrapped up in the wires of her earbuds.

  “Ah, you wanted to listen to more music, didn’t you?” she said as she untangled him. She set him on the grass in case he needed to stretch his legs or do his business while
she secured the earbuds in a smaller pocket. She giggled when he nudged her and started bobbing his head up and down. “Aw, you want more Metallica, don’t you? You’ve got great rhythm. I bet you’d like Bob Marley. Let me find us someplace to build a shelter,” she said as she shaded her eyes and turned in a slow circle. “And then I’ll play you another song. Until then we’d better save the battery.” She squinted, blinked, and rubbed her eyes. “What the…who the…huh?”

  Opposite of the hill she stood on was another slightly higher peak. Topping that peak was a fortress, or perhaps a castle. The imposing structure was girded with watchtowers and had tall pillars in front, forming something like a massive portico with a huge domed roof over the top of all of it. A waterfall, likely fed by a subterranean spring, flowed or gushed from several spots below the foundation of the castle. The structure was enormous, and crouched over the hill like some monolithic spiky gargoyle, surveying the valley below—or perhaps guarding its inhabitants. It was the perfect defensible position but didn’t look all that inhabited.

  “But it’s about to be,” she murmured as she glanced up at the sky, searching for the return of more clouds harboring hail. The sky was clear, though.

  Who had built such an unusual structure in the midst of the national park? There were no roads that she could see leading to it. Why had she never heard of it?

  “Hang tight, Flappy, we’ve got one more hill to climb. Good thing my knees are holding up.” At the last second, she unzipped the pocket in the backpack where she kept the snack foods and pulled out a cracker and offered it to him.

  “Nurk.” His claws were somewhat retracted into his five tiny tufted fingers, and she smiled again at the way he was able to grasp the cracker. He stuffed it in his mouth, bit down, and crumbs went everywhere.

  “Messy, messy,” she said with a giggle.

  “Meemee!” he chirped, and more crumbs flew as she gathered him up and placed him in the main compartment of the backpack. He’d managed to create a little nest, using the mandala scarf she always carried in it. She never knew when she might need a shawl or a cover or a privacy barrier of some kind and believed in being prepared. The brightly colored mandala was the perfect size to wrap around her to stay warm in a pinch. He sneezed, blowing up a little cloud of dust, and then curled up and closed his eyes.