To Tame a Rogue (Age of Gold Book 3)

by May Sage

  Rhey looked at it, before taking it, his grip firm as he shook it.

  "Till we meet again, then."

  "Farewell, until then."

  Ash then turned to Elza. She'd remained almost silent since they'd walked into the room an hour ago. Now, he saw that she was frowning, no doubt still displeased about his omitting to tell her who he was.

  "Thank you for the timely rescue."

  "My pleasure."

  Her lips thinned. Ash knew enough of women to realize that she was definitely pissed.

  "Wait a minute, we're going with him. Right? I have to see my brother."

  All at once, everyone in the room vehemently disagreed with the queen, except for her sister. Good.

  "My being escorted by Farden royalty may not end well."

  If he was seen as a hostage, they would attack before Ash had a moment to issue an order. Besides, there was still the matter of Gragnar.

  "But..."

  "I will inform Damion of your desire to see him, and should he so wish, he'll come greet you. Or write."

  Or he'd ignore the information altogether, returning to his affairs. Damion's wounds were deep, and very much tied to his family, however innocent his sisters might have been in the affair.

  Neither sister seemed satisfied with that answer, but their mates were reasoning with them. Ash ignored the matter to redirect his attention on his own family.

  "You're sure you don't want a throne?" he asked the blonde.

  "Not even if it's pretty."

  It wasn't. Ash sighed.

  "I will enquire about your mother. You're welcome in our lands. Your lands. And I so wish to see you again."

  She shrugged. "Well, I like traveling. See you on your next birthday, little brother. Don't get killed, then."

  There was much else to say. He should have thanked the elder who'd saved Saskia and exchanged more words with Demelza. Tell her who she was, what she was. Explain that he wanted her more than his next breath and told her why he couldn't act upon that desire. But Ash found that he did not have the strength for it. If he turned to her and talked now, he might soothe her pursued lips and wrap his hand around her neck before tasting her skin. His dragon was pushing for it, demanding it.

  He could not give in. He was lord of Absolia, and so he would be until his last breath, now that his sister had declined the throne. He was the true ruler. And so, it meant that he would soon have to do the one thing he'd avoided for three quarters of a century, since his coronation.

  Choose his three spouses.

  He turned his back on his mate and walked toward his duty.

  Anger

  Demelza had never been more pissed, or frustrated, mostly against herself. She had no reason to be pissed. None whatsoever. So what if he'd hidden that he was the freaking king of Absolia? She got it. They were strangers. She'd basically kidnapped him; no wonder he hadn't opened up and given her his whole family tree. But she was deeply hurt nonetheless. What killed her was that he hadn't lied, even once, so she had no actual reason to be pissed. If he'd said, I'm called John and I'm from the Northern Var, she could have called him a lying scum and moved on with her life. Instead, he'd said a few things, and let her make her own conclusions. And she'd come to the wrong conclusions. How stupid was she? He'd said he was no rogue, that he had people. She should have known.

  And now, he was leaving. Above everything else, she was pissed at herself because she hated, hated, the fact that he was leaving so soon. She wanted him, dammit. In her mind, she'd been practically certain that they'd talk to Rhey, clear things up, and then she could have got him to herself, binding him on her desk and having her way with him for hours upon hours. Maybe even days.

  The chemistry between them was off the charts, the air between them had been charged with an ungodly amount of lust and longing.

  And he was just leaving. Nice to see you, bye. What a complete a-hole. Demelza wasn't what one would call a femme fatale, or any such thing; she didn't feel entitled to a man's dick simply because she wanted it, but she could tell the attraction had been mutual.

  Oh, well. She'd forget him soon enough. In all likelihood, he didn't know how to find a clit, like most men. Soon enough, she'd be playing with one of her old lovers and forget that Ash Dracul existed.

  Two weeks later, Demelza was contemplating the notion of hunting the man down and beheading him. Needless to say, she had not, in fact, forgotten his existence. If he made it to "the one that got away" years hence, she was truly going to have to murder him. She might do so regardless.

  Elza screamed as her sword-arm repetitively went down, faster and faster, hitting Saskia's shield until it cracked.

  The other dragoness swore out loud, before leaping forward, shield still up, crashing it against Elza's jaw. Sass then brought her own sword to Elza's flank; Elza deflected, evading the edge of the blade just in time not to get slashed. She growled. "I thought this was a friendly spar!"

  "Yeah? Well, your bashing my arm in didn't feel very friendly," Saskia retorted.

  She might have had a point.

  "Shall we call it even?" the blonde suggested.

  Demelza blinked. Had Saskia ever attempted to get out of a fight? Like, at any point in her life? And more concerningly yet, Elza did not, in fact, want to call it even. She wanted to keep hitting her sort-of-friend until her frustration went away.

  But she muttered, "Whatever. Sure. I'm hungry."

  Saskia laughed. "Aren't you always. All right, then. Food's on you for bruising me."

  Saskia put the shield away. Shit. Underneath, her arm was black and blue. Had she truly done that?

  "Sorry," Demelza apologized sheepishly. "Here, come, I'll heal you."

  She took the other woman's arm in hers and pushed energy through.

  Most dragons had elemental magic; fire, mostly. Elza also had gifts with water, and when she healed, that was the element she called to her. Normally, it was a seamless process for her. When she'd been studying the arts of healers, her tutors had called her gifted, naturally prone to healing those around her.

  But now, she could feel something blocking her. She'd healed wounds far worse than little bruises in the past but pushing elemental magic through felt harder than her most difficult spells. Her mind fought against it. It didn't want to heal anymore. It wanted to burn.

  What the fuck?

  "What's the deal, anyway? You've been on edge for days."

  That was saying it mildly. And it couldn't have anything to do with Ash Dracul. She refused to even consider the possibility that he might have that much influence on her. That would be ridiculous. And unhealthy. Who even did that? Obsessing over men they met for two seconds. What was half a day in the life of a two-century-old dragoness?

  "I'm fine."

  Saskia snorted. "Yeah, right. I can see that. No biggie. You don't want to speak to me, don't. Honestly, it's wise. I have zero empathy. Just speak to someone, so you don't murder anyone you like without meaning to. Trust me, been there, done that. Not fun."

  Demelza could actually imagine Saskia impulsively burning someone to a crisp and saying "oops" while looking at the ashes.

  "I'm not getting into it with you," Elza stated.

  But maybe Saskia wasn't wrong. She should speak to Xandrie, or maybe simply take her for a flight around the country until she'd regained her senses.

  "With me, specifically," Saskia noted, smirking knowingly. "I get it. That brother of mine should come with a warning label. Hotness on thick legs, beware."

  Elza cursed herself. Damn her big mouth.

  "Firstly, ew, incest is gross," she said.

  Sass shrugged unapologetically. "Not my fault, I wasn't raised with the guy, I didn't develop a natural distaste based on acquaintance. Don't worry, though. I definitely won't do someone I'm related to. That would be gross."

  "And secondly, this is most definitely not about your half-brother. I'm just pissed without reason. We're dragons, that's what we do, occasionally. Go fiery and
angry and needing to blow steam."

  The woman wasn't buying it. "No, that's what I do. Because that's who I am. You're the collected, beautiful, attentive healer who likes to help people. Not punch them. There's something going on. If I didn't know better, I'd say your beast wants out. She's pissed and wants you to pay attention to her."

  Elza watched Saskia closely as they walked to the kitchen together. The woman was a lot more attentive than most gave her credit for. And she might be correct. Elza had felt her dragon push to the surface a lot more than usual recently, and each time, she'd made an effort to shift, in order to let her have time to work out her issue. But maybe her dragon didn't want to stretch her wings. She might be more interested in communicating with her; something Elza didn't do often.

  Hm. Wouldn't hurt to try.

  Beta

  Ash flew to the borders of Farden to find no one; not one warrior had been sent to his aid. For a moment, he wondered if Damion had opted to keep his wound a secret; he might have left it if he'd felt that he'd been healed after the blow. But it was unlikely.

  Ash made for Absolia, flying straight home, to find dozens of dragons flying over his fortress. The beasts were fighting, claws and fangs extended, while hundreds of warriors were crossing blades on foot.

  War. And a civil war by the looks of it.

  Ash flew right to the guard tower that topped every other building and mountain in his kingdom, his black dragon clutching it with his huge talons, and he remained there, observing all his subjects, taking the scene in.

  At the city walls, he saw his mother's pack fighting bears. Gragnar stood with the wolves, standing right next to Ash's mother. No sign of Damion.

  It wasn't hard to guess what had occurred. His mother had always been power hungry. In his youth, she used to insist that he should take years to play around, enjoy being a youngling, rather than take the rule of the country at twenty-five. "You're too young, you shouldn't have such responsibility," she'd say. "I can carry on being your regent for as long as I'm needed."

  But he had accepted his responsibility as soon as he'd come of age. He would have enjoyed a few years to himself, certainly, but he'd seen what his mother had done with the country. She shamelessly favored the wolves in all things. If Ash had delayed his coronation, he would only have had ruins to rule over: the dragons would have revolted against Milena Dracul sooner than later.

  And so, every year since, his mother, as one of his advisors, had still subtly attempted to regain some control. Rejecting her council had become a habit Ash had never thought much about; shrugging her off was easy enough. Her most vocal protest was that he wasn't fit to rule over wolves or bears without being tied to either clan: it was his duty as king to marry.

  She'd pushed and pushed for it, always proposing one of her packmates as a potential wife. At the back of his mind, Ash had shuddered, thinking that the moment he got the wolf bitch with child, he'd be as good as dead.

  But as he hadn't married, they'd plotted to get rid of him nonetheless. Gragnar, ever his mother's creature, had hit him with a long-distance spell, leaving him for dead, and now they were making a move to seize the crown.

  Ash wasn't entirely surprised. No king in Absolia had ever ruled without having to fight for their crown.

  He was young, untested, and had to prove himself to a nation of powerful warriors.

  Good. The dragon was in the right mood for that.

  As he watched them all from his tower, his subjects stopped fighting, eyes on his beast.

  The dragon arched its back and roared, a sound that made the ground shiver, the mountains quake. At once, dozens of knees hit the ground and weapons fell next to their owners, who submitted, heads bowed. Some remained on their feet. The dragons in the air remained where they were, assessing his next move.

  So, Ash let his beast do what any Absolian king would have done in his place. He batted his wings, flying to the battlefield and picking up anyone who wasn't kneeling, throwing them hundreds of feet in the air, ripping arms, legs, heads off with his teeth, and eating those who didn't smell.

  Landing in front of his mother, Ash slowly turned back into man. The woman had guts; always had. She was standing head high, looking him straight in the eyes.

  Ash paced in front of her, assessing her.

  She'd always been alpha to her pack. The moment she'd wedded his father, she'd become alpha of all Absolian wolves.

  Ash turned his back on her like she didn't matter. She didn't.

  "You will bow."

  She laughed.

  "You're my son. You wouldn't hurt me."

  "I am your son. I would kill you and not think on it another second. But you will bow nonetheless, or I shall rip out the throats of all who follow you, starting with my dear cousin Gragnar."

  He spared the mage a disgusted glance. "Don't tell me you've done all this just because you're fucking her."

  The man looked down guiltily.

  Ash saw more into it.

  "She told you you'd be by her side if she won the throne?" Ash guessed, laughing. "Clearly you haven't paid attention to what happened to her last husband." Then all humor disappeared from his features as he grabbed Gragnar's neck and squeezed, too tight for him to attempt any sorcery. "Let us see if she cares. Bow."

  His mother didn't flinch. Ash hadn't expected her to. He just relished seeing Gragnar's despair at realizing that she couldn't care less about him.

  Poor boy. By that point, killing him would have been a kindness, and Ash didn't feel particularly magnanimous, so he let go of his neck. The mage fell forward, coughing.

  "Who's the beta here?" Ash asked.

  One of the kneeling men on the front row got to his feet, a young wolf, tall, broad, with a bear-tooth earring and long, silky hair.

  He'd do.

  "For your treachery, I will wed a dragon. I will wed a bear. I will exclude all wolves from the affairs of this kingdom and let you starve in the tundra come winter."

  The wolves had it harsh in the south, hence the reason why the clans had been at war for so long: they'd tried to take the north, and of course the bears would not give it away.

  Since the dragons had come and made one kingdom of all these lands, the wolves had been cared for, fed, and kept warm. There were dragons assigned to each of their packs, helping with their fires, hunting for them when the winter was too harsh.

  It had been a thousand years since the wolves had to live through harsh winters without help, but many among them remembered. Wolves weren't naturally blessed with immortal lives, but those who formed a bond with immortals could live hundreds of years, like his mother, and long ago, Absolians had found ways to dilute their blood into immortality potions. The bravest wolves and bears had been blessed with such gifts. All trembled at the thought of returning to their darkest days.

  "Mercy, my lord. We were told of your demise. I, or my people, would never have marched against you."

  Ash could tell the beta was truthful.

  "Very well. Kill her. Mercy for you and your people."

  All but one.

  Ash pointed to his mother. "Just kill her first."

  The beta did not hesitate.

  Ash may have liked him less if he'd simply taken his weapon and hit Milena without warning, but instead, he left it on the ground, and faced the woman. "I wish this didn't have to end. You were a good alpha, for a time. But the survival of our people is worth more than you. I challenge you."

  An ignorant might have directly bet against Milena. She was shorter, a lot thinner, and her muscles weren't nearly as developed as the beta's. As soon as they shifted, trading skin for fur, all of that ceased to matter. Both wolves were around the same size; his mother, red, and the beta, white. The red wolf was the first to attack, viciously slashing against the white one's flank and attempting to go for the throat. The white wolf rolled on its back, pushing its head back to hit the red one against the frozen ground. They were both on their feet again. Milena growled, her sharp claw
s digging into the white wolf's back as she tried to mount him to get to his neck.

  The white wolf twisted to face the alpha and surprised Ash by partially shifting one hand. He thrust it hard into the alpha's ribcage, and Milena whimpered as thick red blood dripped from his arm, turning his snow-white fur red.

  Then, Ash's mother was nothing but a lump in front of the new alpha.

  Ash smiled, stepping forward, and extended his arm to help him up. After a moment of hesitation, the beta gave it to him.

  "Your name?"

  "Archer."

  "Well done, Archer. Go get some rest. Tomorrow, you'll be introduced as alpha of your kind, second only to me in this kingdom."

  He could have killed Milena himself; but what would it have proved? Getting her kin to do it for him clearly stated that Archer was his to command.

  The dragons had left the sky, gathering in the close-by trees to watch. The bears had observed from a safe distance. He'd established his dominance in front of all.

  For now.

  “What about him?” Archer asked, pointing to Gragnar.

  Ash shrugged. “He shifts into a wolf. That makes him your problem, not mine. Just keep him away from me if you leave him breathing.”

  Ash had killed enough family on principle for a day. With some luck, he wouldn’t regret his decision later.

  Hunted

  Ash was starting to get impatient with his dragon. One month of this should have been enough. They'd talked, acknowledging their difference of opinion: the beast wanted to mount their mate and pump a few dragonlings into her. Ash wanted to stay the fuck away from her and never see her again. And so, they were at an impasse. Ash had expected that the beast would misbehave for a time, but this was ridiculous. The dragon pushed to the surface at all times, and when Ash gave in, letting it fly, it took off to the east, clearly making for Farden.