Zandra's Dragon: Dragons of Telera (Book 6)

by Lisa Daniels

  “I think is safer for you to not know everything. But I will say basics. I can shift into... the thing you have seen. Is painful to do so. It becomes easier the closer it is to full moon. Though I do not know why.”

  “There are lots of you?”

  “I do not know. There are enough. And, I’m sorry. You distract.”

  “I do?”

  Her eyebrow twitched when he averted his gaze, suddenly embarrassed. “You are… turned on. Is making it hard for me to focus. Is not wise for me to stay. I have said this.”

  She reached out to grab him with force, trapping his warm, rough palm in hers. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. And I have a feeling that something in you expects to die.”

  She suspected quite strongly that if he disappeared now, so soon after his father’s death, after the deaths of the others, she would never see him again – because he would no longer be on this earth. There had been utter defeat in that face. More intense than the cracks on her consciousness, which thankfully had not completely given into madness. A stronger part of her mind shielded from that horror.

  “And, uh, yes. I am horny. I can’t really guarantee that I won’t be able to leave you alone,” she confessed.

  Tia gasped as the man gave a shudder, squeezed his eyes shut, before pulling her close.

  “Forgive me,” he said, before capturing her lips with his own.

  Thrills of delight permeated her blood, sending warmth into her stomach. The arousal flared, giving her the equivalent of a massive lady boner, even as his body responded in kind, and she felt the stirring of his erection against her pajamas, through the baggy clothing.

  Part of her wanted to immediately pull away. The other wanted to lose itself into the kiss, the shared warmth of their bodies, and she knew he wanted desperately to forget things as well. He wanted to not exist as himself.

  With a hoarse groan, clearly smelling her desire, he crushed her deeper into his chest, and their lips transitioned into a battle of tongues, hot and wet, slipping over one another as they tangled together.

  It was all ridiculous, really. Crazy, insane. She couldn’t even explain why she felt so turned on, except that she wanted nothing more right now than to devour the man underneath her. She tugged at his clothes, which had only been on for about ten minutes, and he did the same to hers, growling softly when her breasts spilled out, exposed to the living room light.

  They tumbled and tossed with each other, kicking out of the rest of their clothes, arousals soaring higher and higher, causing the actions to become frantic, desperate, seeking solace, escape and comfort in the bare skin and heartbeats that interlocked.

  She brushed slender fingers over his furred chest, the same color as his iron-gray hair, saw his erection stand to attention. Seeing it made her groan, and she slid herself over it, teasing him, at this moment in time straddling him. In a snarl, he turned them both over in one powerful flip – her legs spread beneath him, and he pushed against and into her entrance in one quick jerk, sliding in with ease.

  Those amber eyes bored holes into her as he buried deep inside, before beginning slow thrusts, teeth bared in concentration. Tia gasped, shuddering, waves of pleasure pulsing within, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, giving him more traction. Both their cheeks were flushed, and their bodies burned from the contact.

  It was all insane, yet at this moment in time, Tia needed him there, inside her, stabbing into her soul. Something about his scent drove her crazy, clouded her brain like a drug, which accumulated from his proximity. She desired him – a vague thought in her head registered that maybe this was some sort of wolfy pheromones triggering a chemical reaction in her brain – but she also discarded that in favor of ascending with him to that place where orgasms happened.

  His chest hairs scratched over her breasts, hardening her nipples further. He plunged his mouth onto hers in quick snatches of lip and tongue, seeking the close contact, the warmth, the intimacy – somehow, the lip contact felt more sacred than their cores slotted together.

  When she realized that this felt like so much more than a quick, casual screw, it caused a tight, coiling sensation to bundle in her stomach. Her thighs trembled and twitched, her toes curled as he thrust into her faster, his brow sweating in perspiration as he hit the sweet spot. She arched her back and clawed at his, mouth opening in a long moan of pleasure as the orgasm, built up to the max, now began to ripple through.

  It didn’t stop after the normal six to eight seconds, either. It kept going, radiating through her, and every limb shuddered from bliss.

  Her inner walls clenched around him, and he hissed, before orgasming mere seconds after her, releasing inside her, shivering along with her.

  Boneless, she flopped onto the sofa, eyes fixated on the ceiling light, brain floating from the overdose of endorphins.

  She felt him leave her, and drop onto her side, adjusting himself into a comfortable position. His arm draped over her front protectively, and he nuzzled into her neck.

  Neither of them bothered to speak, both equally stunned but floating from the rush of unexpected happiness.

  Temporary happiness.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” Tia said, the conviction of her word clogging her lungs. “At least until we’ve had sex for like a million more times. Because that was something.”

  He chuckled into her neck, the first real sound of mirth she had ever heard from him. Amber eyes blinked languidly at her. They made her wonder if she could fall deeply in love. She saw the possibility. She felt it.

  “Tempting. You feel as good as you look and smell. I am glad at your persistence in keeping me around.”

  “I have been known for persistence, yes. Along with a terrible taste in jokes. Like, check this one out. Hear about the girl who lost her left arm and left leg? She’s ‘alright’ now.”

  He furrowed his brow, unimpressed. “I am not sure if saying that straight after we have had sex is best timing.”

  “It’s the best time,” Tia disagreed. “Because you’re in a good enough mood to listen to it without wanting to bash my skull in.”

  He sighed, and buried his head into her shoulder. “Strange human.”

  “You love it.” She nudged him affectionately, before exhaling a sigh. “Maybe it was bad timing for us with the sex.”

  He began kissing her neck, touching soft, delicate parts that made her spine ripple in pleasure. “Or maybe we both needed to forget.”

  Tia squeezed her eyes shut, heart sinking at the truth. “Yes. We did.” She tilted her face to press foreheads together. “After tonight, will I ever see you again?”

  Dilated amber eyes met hers with affection. “I do not know.” His voice shook. “Is not because I do not want to. Is because, I might be dead soon. The Lubanovs – they left me a poisoned legacy. Is hard to run from that kind of background without death meeting you someplace. Not that my father and I didn’t try. It just caught up with him. It is gunning for me.”

  The cocktail of warmth, happiness and increased feelings of intimacy dulled with the statement, made her happiness lose some of the shine.

  “I hope I will see you again. I’m not sure if I want to lose you so soon. And maybe we both need a lot more forgetting.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, a gentle smile caressing his lips. “But you have number. And you have me, and I have you for this night. We may not be doing traveling together so soon, but we can travel in spirit.”

  They melded their bodies together, stealing warmth from one another’s skins, doing little else other than to stroke each other’s cheeks, and unflinchingly meet eyes. When Tia finally fell asleep, it was naked and in his arms, under the soft snoring that came from his mouth.

  Waking up the next day had her stirring in bed, under warm, fresh sheets, with pajamas back on. He had carried her here and placed her clothes on at some point in the night. The idea of such a tender gesture made her heart jump in slight pain.

  She didn’t want to lose the man wit
h the amber eyes so soon. Not when they had barely begun to explore the depths of one another, and not when she had just found out about the mechanisms of an underworld, working hand in hand with the normal realm of humans. She recalled his talk about the countries across the world, and his surprise at her lack of exploration. She remembered the images of Bruges on his phone.

  Sunlight burst through her window, dappling over her bedcovers. Her eyes alighted on her cellphone, resting on the bedside table, and she stretched over for it, taking it off standby.

  One text message showed. She thumbed it open.

  Danny: I do not regret meeting you. Sleep well. Wake happy. Be good and safe.

  She texted him back, feeling an immense pang of inexplicable loss.

  I miss you. How strange. I’ve only known you for one night. Yet there is space here for you.

  The reply came back a minute later.

  Danny: There is space here, too. We will meet again. Be strong.

  Tia hugged the phone to her breast. She hoped so. She really did. She had the world to explore after all.

  The End

  Frey’s Mate

  Shifters of the Bulgarian Bloodline

  Prologue:

  When Frey reached seven years of age, she tried to kill her baby brother with a knife. Evo represented the pride of her parents, the bundle of joy that she should have been, but wasn't. Evo, in all his chubby brilliance stole the love that should have been for her – sucked it all up until nothing remained but ashes.

  Frey grew up, enduring her father's disappointment, her mother Kalina's sadness when she thought Frey wasn't looking, but Frey saw everything, and understood her parents hated her for being normal. For not having the magic blood. She had failed her family bloodline, defiled their purity by coming into the world as a pathetic human baby.

  She did strange things without love warming her up. Once, she had stared at the midnight skin of her mother, and the snow-pale contrast of her father, Lazarus Radev, then stared at her own walnut toned mix, hating the fact she was neither dark or light. It marked her out as broken from the start. She took a knife from the drawer and peeled into her skin, thinking it would be like an onion, and paler flesh would reveal itself underneath. It didn't work out that way, and her mother had caught her, screamed hysterically and rushed her to hospital in one of the few times she exhibited concern.

  The doctors treated her like she was stupid and disturbed, but she wasn't. She just didn't want to be Frey Radev. She didn't want to be a failure.

  When her mother fell pregnant and gave birth to Evo, with startling ice blue eyes gazing out of his dark skin, her parents rejoiced. Evo had the magic blood. He would transform, and carry on the legacy of his forefathers.

  And Frey, well – she was a human in a world of werewolves, a nothing in her father's eyes, and a source of guilt and shame for her mother.

  Evo had taken the little love Frey had left. Maybe if he was gone, she could find it again, and her mother would return it without the distraction of little Evo. One night, when her mother slept, and her father was away on personal business, Frey took the knife, went into her brother's room and crawled into the cot with him. She stared at his peaceful sleeping, knife poised in hand, trembling from fear and adrenaline.

  Her heart bubbled in hatred, anger and frustration, and tears ran hot down her cheeks.

  At that moment, Evo opened his eyes, and looked at his big sister, with the metal object glinting in her hand. Unafraid, thinking it was a game, Evo reached to his sister's free hand and squeezed it with pudgy fingers, gurgling in happiness.

  Frey's heart crumbled some more. Her fragile defenses fell, her rage dissipated. The knife dropped from her grasp, tumbling onto the bedsheets. She watched Evo for a while as he made those contented sounds, before quietly getting out, returning the knife, and clambering into the cot to sleep with her little brother.

  Maybe her parents didn't love her. Maybe they saw her as nothing but a burden, a reminder of their plans gone awry.

  That no longer mattered.

  She had her little brother, and she would protect him with all her heart.

  Chapter One

  Howling jerked Frey awake. Rubbing her eyes, she rolled out of bed and groped for the light, turning it on to reveal a mess of a room, with empty Winston cigarette packets piled on the dressing table. I need to get around to throwing those away, she thought vaguely, before opening the window and peering out to the town road below.

  Sapareva Banya usually resembled a ghost town at this time of night. Sometimes, in the silence, you heard the spit and hiss of the pipes processing the geyser that had erupted from the thermal springs under the town. You didn't hear howling, however. She strained her eyes, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. The howl came again. It made the hairs on Frey's neck rise. Desperation, loathing and agony saturated those calls.

  Evo burst into the room behind her, ice blue eyes already gleaming. “Sis! Be careful. Me and the other guys think there's been some kind of fight. We're gonna check it out.” He spoke in English, solely out of the desire to practise Europe's international language, and Frey responded likewise, though her English accent was thick, laced with Bulgarian vowel crunches.

  “We're not expecting any travelers.” Frey groped for her Taurus PT111, and checked the chambers of the handgun to make sure it was fully loaded. “Could they be after the Belgian wolf we've got?”

  Evo shook his head, his fangs and nails elongating slightly. “Tas wolves doesn't have any known enemies. Might be a conflict from Rila. Heard there's a hunt going on for one of them Spirovas.”

  Frey backed from her window biting her lip as she ran her thumb over the grip of the Taurus. She screwed on the silencer tighter. “I'll alert the Belgian.” She strode out of the room behind Evo, ready to fire, even in her blue and yellow pajamas, out of place on a grown thirty year old woman.

  Her mind raced through possibilities, even as she banged on the door of where the Belgian werewolf currently slumbered. Evo with the two Americans who helped run their werewolf hotel. A bleary faced man with light pink eyes answered, purple shadows sunk into his cheekbones.

  “What?”

  “There's something going on outside. Might be werewolves, a fight. Be alert in case they're not friendly.”

  The Belgian werewolf nodded, rubbing at his rose tattooed arm. “Need me to help?”

  “Well. Got any enemies you know of who might want to track you down?” Frey said, patting him on the shoulder.

  The werewolf merely grinned under his mop of blonde hair. “I doubt that. See you at the bar.”

  “Don't die,” Frey advised, sidestepping and heading downstairs, turning on the light of the bar and watching her colleagues and friends shrug on jackets, ready to inspect the scene outside. Frey tossed on hers as well, and hastily tied back her frizzy hair into a bun. Her heart pulsed rapidly, hoping that her fears were misplaced, that the old clans hadn't started their slaughter of the humans in Sapareva Banya.

  She watched her brother lope off into the empty street, his face lengthening into a bestial snout, his normally deep voice grating into rumbling snarls. Emma and Horace, the American couple, sped after him, their forms a light silver compared to Evo's iron gray. Frey wished in that moment she could assist as well and let the wolf burst out of her body, but she had to remain content with watching her friends morph.

  She did, however, pack some expensive vanadium laced bullets. That material did some interesting things to werewolf blood. She stood at the entrance of the hotel, noting the Belgian prowling behind her, and stared into the darkness, where the howls wrought the atmosphere.

  She felt sure Lazarus Radev would be cursing her from his scattered ashes if he knew his corrupted daughter had taken Evo completely under her wing, planting liberal notions in his brain and turning him against the old ways.

  The thought made her smile, though it came bitter and spiteful. The smile dropped when she caught a flicker of movement in a black
corner, past where several dilapidated buildings crumbled into ruin. Johan's warning growl next to her ear made her aim her gun at the disturbance and wait, trembling in fear and exhilaration at the same time.

  “This one smells like bones,” Johan said, joining her by the door. His pink eyes narrowed in distaste. “Bones and meat stuck between teeth. A savage.”

  “Thanks.” The shadow moved, and Frey caught a glimpse of a shaggy human, with a strange lurch to their gait. He staggered toward where Frey stood, and she could quite clearly see the whites of his eyes, the foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth, and the cracked, bloody hands and face, as if he had been tearing at his own skin.

  “Fuck,” Frey said, along with Johan's exclamation of disgust. “It's a human.”

  “Infected.”

  “Let him come inside. Easier to clean the mess,” Frey said, her emotions glazing over in an icy film. She didn't like killing, but with an infected human, she had no choice. They were a hazard to everyone. All that remained in their minds once the infection struck was a boiling pool of pain, and a ceaseless urge to kill.

  The human grunted, and staggered closer, now snapping his teeth at Frey, who moved aside. Johan, nervous at the sight of insanity, snarled softly, claws developing on his hands. Finally, the human, ravenously driven toward the lure of fresh meat, tripped into the hotel. The stench of rotten meat covered his skin, along with the acrid tang of filthy clothes and dried, unwashed sweat. His broken nails scrabbled at the floor and he looked so pathetic there, exactly like a flopping fish, stranded on the linoleum of their clandestine hotel. Frey crouched near him, aiming carefully as he gibbered and cackled, dribbling foam on the floor.

  “Rest well,” she said to the suffering man, and pressed the trigger.

  Johan helped her drag the body into a small kitchen, where she would clean up the remains later, along with her brother and the Americans. She didn't feel bad for killing the man – only that it needed to be done in the first place. Why would she feel bad in putting something suffering to rest?