Tasha’s golden glare fired as she raked it over Lily. “Ah, yes. The mouse. Not too wise of you to bring a tiny bite like her into a horde of hungry jaws.” Her scarlet-tipped claws waved about, indicating several males who’d stopped to stare at them. “One might nab her right from under your wing.”
Kord noted more than a few of them had a glint in their eyes as they leered at his lovely Lily. Damn him for not marking her. Without—at the very least—the exchange of verbal intent, her unmated musk became a status obvious to all.
Mine. The warning was pure mental threat, aimed as far as he could fling it, followed by an audible snarl that sent each male scurrying in opposing directions. Lily jumped, gaping at him.
Unfortunately, Tasha paid no heed. Her mouth pressed into an angry line. “You will of course dance with me as our customs dictate, my beloved Prince.” She reached for him.
Before he could formulate a cutting response, Lily surged forward. He swore her entire body vibrated. He could almost taste her anger. A rumble emitted from her throat that had every hair on his body singing in response.
Mate. She might not know it yet, but he did. Satisfaction curved his lips as he wound his arm tighter around her waist, holding her back. Which made him smile even wider to think he needed to restrain her.
“Tasha,” he began.
Lily cut him off. “He is not ‘your’ beloved Prince, lady. Back off.”
Tasha’s eyes flamed in reaction, and Kord hastily swept Lily behind him. Every muscle in her slender body tightened, and in an attempt to step around him, she wriggled in his hold. Even as he verified this really was the last thing in the realm he needed right about now, his inner dragon wanted to roar in triumph.
“Enjoy the day, Tasha. Maybe on the other side of the field.” It taxed him greatly to remain civil to the wench.
“I go where I please, Kordlith of Draconian.” A sneer twisted Tasha’s face into something ugly and bitter. “You are meant to be mine. As for your female”—she tossed the word as if it were raw sewage—“you’d best make sure she doesn’t cross my path again.” The twin flames in her eyes narrowed to dangerous spears. “She could get . . . hurt.”
With a sharp flick of her hair, Tasha stalked away.
“I hate her.” Lily’s declaration spewed hot against his back as she squirmed harder. “Let go. She needs her ass kicked.”
Kord chuckled. “Not by you, little toughie.” He tugged her from behind him and caught her firmly in both arms before she could stomp off in search of Tasha. When Lily parted her lips, no doubt to grind out more oaths, he crushed his mouth to hers, bending her over one arm.
He hadn’t meant to push her or coerce her, only to distract her. Then she kissed him back. Hard. After that, Kord couldn’t recall much of anything, including his own name.
He broke off with a heated, “Gods.” He tugged her behind a structure reserved for vendors, currently empty. The wide portico in front provided desperately needed privacy. Swinging her up against his chest, he took her lips again.
In the bright afternoon sun, their mouths clung and their tongues entwined. When Lily surrendered fully into his embrace, Kord swallowed her throaty moan as the kiss spiraled crazily.
The power of her passion, twining through him, almost brought Kord to his knees. He wanted to take her down to the lush grass, peel the silky tunic from her perfect breasts, and caress every inch of her skin. All his good intentions to be patient were on the verge of crumbling.
His dragon’s insistence that he claim her here and now severely tested his control. The last thread of his resistance slipped away.
“Lily,” he groaned against her lips, cupping her soft breast in his palm.
“Yes.” She arched and shuddered, seeking another kiss, opening wider for his tongue. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
The realm, the games, his impending challenge . . . it all spun away as he lost himself in Lily’s kisses. Her passion drove him mad with want. Until he finally gathered enough brain control to remember his promise to proceed with patience, and managed to break the kiss.
The needy purr she formed of his name, pierced his heart.
“Lily—”
“I’m thinking Prince Big Bro could use some cooling off.” The voice, tinged with familiar, cheerful sarcasm, infiltrated Kord’s fogged senses.
He lifted his head and stared dumbly at his annoying brother, then glanced at Lily, who looked as dazed as he felt.
Bakka flashed a grin as he swept into an expansive bow, bending low.
Kord smothered a chuckle as Bakka’s hair swept the ground. Their mother had drilled gentlemanly manners into them at a young age, which meant his brother would hold the pose long enough for Lily to compose herself.
Finally, his irritating sibling straightened with a smile. “Lady Lily, at last we meet.” Bakka sidled in closer and his grin widened at the giggle she released. “I am Bakkailin—Bakka to my family and friends—and youngling to Kord. Pity me.”
Lily held out her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Bakka.”
Shooting Kord a cocky grin, he placed a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist.
With a mock growl, Kord clamped a palm over his brother’s head and gently shoved him away. “Make yourself scarce before I toss you in the lake and let the nibblers have at you.”
Laughing, Bakka saluted mockingly, then ambled toward a nearby stew booth.
Kord turned to Lily, enjoying how flustered she’d become. “There you have it. My pinheaded brother who has yet to reach maturity and retains the intelligence of a hookworm.” He traced a finger over her petal-soft cheek. “Not to mention he interrupted a vital moment between us.” At her soft sigh, he brought her in for a tender hug. “Did I make you uncomfortable, my lady?”
With a shake of her head, she leaned against his chest. “I didn’t mind. Except we are out in the open where anyone, like your brother, could see us.”
“Then next time Bakka is romancing a lady, we’ll have to figure out a way to interfere and bother him, what do you say?”
She hugged him. “It’s a deal.”
For a minute or two they stood behind the vendor booth, embracing, while the sounds and music of the dragon festival echoed around them. Kord found himself longing for a room with a bolted latch and a soft mattress thick with fur. He indulged his desire for his mate’s delicious skin by trailing his tongue over her exposed neck, tasting her sweet scent and loving how she trembled and shifted closer. Lily’s cheek nestled against his shoulder as she clutched his shirt. Her thumbs curved beneath the fabric, their touch like heaven.
Finally, she raised her face to his. “I suppose we’re required to participate today. Right? Well, you participate, and I cheer you on.”
He uttered an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, damn it. As my future mate, you are expected to sustain my every victory.”
Though she blushed at his reference to ‘mate,’ his adorable female snickered softly. “What about your defeats?”
Snatching her close once more, Kord growled into the curve of her shoulder. “I am the Draconian Heir. There will be no defeats.”
Lily loved the festival, although she was having a hard time concentrating on anything other than how wonderful Kord’s lips had felt against hers earlier, and her enthusiastic response.
The words ‘claim him’ whispered in her mind. Claim him? Who would think like that? Certainly not her. It was such an odd phrase. She’d been having a lot of strange thoughts since landing in the Dragon Realm. What did it all mean?
The sounds of the festival broke through her musings. Sitting in an ornate box-type area, reserved for the royal family, provided an excellent view of the main gaming field. Bakka drifted in, keeping her company until his parents’ social duties were fulfilled, exiting with a bow and a smacking kiss to
her cheek when his mother shooed him off.
“Tiresome child." Rosamunde smiled fondly. “He will be a strong and savvy royal consort one day. If he ever grows up.” She adjusted her formal gown and took a seat, then eyed Lily’s simple tunic and leggings. “I confess extreme envy at your choice of clothing today. I would have liked nothing better than to dress in similar garments.” She tugged at her sleeve, heavy with embroidery. “One day I’ll be able to wear what I enjoy instead of what is appropriate.”
“You sound excited about that.”
“Oh, yes. Because it means two things for me. I retire as queen of Draconian. And”—she patted Lily’s knee—“I gain a beloved daughter.”
“I, uh—” Suddenly at a loss for words, Lily’s face heated. Though she suspected she knew the answer, she still had to ask. “How do you gain a daughter and retire?”
“To retire means a new king and queen is crowned. My mate and I then live out our years together as nature intended for our species. We grow old as is our right and duty, secure in knowing our heir and his queen rule in our place.”
At Lily’s gasp, Kord’s mother stated gently, “You are the future queen. It matters not your heritage. Kord feels it, and I feel it as well.”
“How can I be a dragon’s mate if I’m not a dragon?”
“With each day you remain with us, I feel it stronger. The king, as well.” The queen brushed a kiss across Lily’s cheek, then eased back to gaze at her with the kind of emotion only a mother would exhibit. “There is tradition in Battle Draconian, but there is also fate. Kismet, something the human realm believes strongly in.”
“You told me a Draconian prince who obtains majority has to mate an Anglican female,” Lily reminded her desperately. “I don’t remember much of anything other than my name and where I lived. Everything else is still a blur.” She swallowed painfully as a new thought slapped at her. “Tasha. She’s Anglican. Probably my age. And she’d, she had—” God, she couldn’t even say it aloud.
“Tasha is not for Kord, this I believe. And I speak out of turn about matters beyond my control. Forgive me for putting pressure on you, Lily. Most unfair.” Rosamunde nodded toward the field where a new jousting competition was gearing up. “Relax and watch. Kordlith and Bakkailin’s game is next. They are very good together.”
Eager to drop the subject of her pathetic memory and excited at the mention of Kord, Lily searched the field for him.
Colorful banners flew in a light breeze, the air filled with the earthy scents of cinnamon and smoke. Long, thick poles were laid out on the ground, each with bright ribbons tied to one end. People gestured animatedly as they found places to sit on raised benches along one edge of the field. She spotted the king, resplendent in scarlet and gold, chatting with several males dressed in similar finery.
What appeared to be contestants ran onto the field, males in human form, all wearing tight-fitting tunics and pants. Their heads were bare, which surprised her considering they planned on coming at each other with dangerous weapons while sitting on the backs of dragons.
Then Bakka dashed out to wild cheering and many stomping feet. “He must be a favorite, right?”
“Oh, yes. He is a strong player.” Rosamunde waved her hand toward the long poles stacked on the ground. “Bakka’s expertise with the shard grows as he matures. His father taught him well, as he taught Kord.”
“Where is Kord?” Lily scanned the field, her heart pounding in anticipation of seeing him again.
The queen pointed. “Look up, my dear.”
Glancing in that direction, Lily almost melted on her seat.
Kord flew, majestic beyond belief, his wingspan alone impressive to see. Beneath the bright sun his scales gleamed and flashed, gold and amber tinged with fire. A harness, padded with a kind of saddle, encircled his upper body.
His mighty jaws parted and he released a bone-shaking roar.
Lily gasped. Then shrieked when blinding, blue-tinged flames erupted from his mouth, shooting into the air before him like out of control fireworks. “Oh, my. He can breathe fire!”
“As can the king. And me.” Rosamunde’s reminder made Lily swing around to face her. The dragon queen blinked, those bottomless wells of smoky gray flickering briefly, edged in hot orange, before returning to their more familiar hue. “Let’s cheer them on. And enjoy this wonderful day.”
Gulping, Lily nodded, applauding loudly when Bakka leapt upon his brother’s back and settled into the saddle. He waved to all and they responded with cheers. With a powerful flap of his wings, Kord sped upward in a spiral that should have knocked anything off his back. Bakka seemed to hold on effortlessly. Other dragons and riders took to the air, until six pairs of combatants circled, ready to compete.
“Part of the game takes place in the air. Part on the ground,” Rosamunde explained. “Markers at each end are common goals, with a mandatory halfway point mid-field for air combat. The last rider to remain in diollaid is declared winner.”
Focused on the game as each dragon pair assumed their starting positions, at first Lily didn’t realize she had understood the foreign sounding word. Until the mock-battle began, and Bakka unseated the first two riders. They tumbled to the ground as he and Kord soared higher for a fast victory loop before repositioning for the next round.
“Look at how quickly they chaill a sheazmhach,” she exclaimed, tugging on the queen in excitement. Then froze as what she’d said aloud floated back to her . . . and made perfect sense.
“‘Lost footing.’ An upset. Chaill. Oh, God.” Fresh panic gripped her. “That term,” she stuttered. “It was in my head like it’s supposed to be there.”
Kord’s mother studied her closely. “A bhiel li nth ot ghl mo mhacc?” she asked softly.
Lily didn’t hesitate even an instant. As if with a will of their own, the words burst forward. “Yes. I could learn to love your son.” Then she clapped a hand over her mouth, aghast. “How can I know your language?”
Eyes twinkling, Rosamunde said, “Well, I have a few thoughts about that.”
The first two challenges were easily met. Kord snapped his wings and glided to the ground, Bakka clinging easily to the diollaid. With a short break to tighten straps and collect fresh shards, they would begin a new game, this time ground only. As much as Kord loved to fly, he had to admit racing along the ground required special skill for his dragon body that he enjoyed perfecting.
Bakka gave the belly-strap a final tug. “All right?”
“Fine,” he grunted. His gaze swept the spectator area, locking on the royal dais, and with male satisfaction spotted his mate. Then he released a low curse, sensing Lily’s distress. His mother leaned in close, brows knitted.
“What is it?” As always, his brother was attuned to his moods, an ability that had increased as he’d grown closer to full maturity. Bakka might play the foolish youngling, but there wasn’t a thing wrong with his dragon intuition.
“I’m not sure.” Kord shook his head to clear it. “After we win the day, I’ll find out. Ready?”
Bakka smiled grimly. “Always.”
They took position at North Goal. Bakka hefted his shard, adorned with ribbons in vibrant Draconian colors of scarlet and gold. Every muscle in Kord’s body tensed, poised for first offense.
Across the field, their challengers guarded South Goal. Bakka would have to unseat the rider and steal their Goal. Kord’s job was to flip and pin his opponent until he lay feet-up, an impossibly submissive position for any dragon to endure. Their species would rather die than end up on their backs with their hindquarters pointing to the sky.
Bakka’s leg-grip tightened on the roll bar across Kord’s nape. “You release only when ready. Do not act impulsively,” Kord warned, his standard caution at the start of each challenge.
“I’m not an imbecile,” Bakka gru
mbled. He briefly laid his cheek along Kord’s neck. “Luck and victory, Brother.”
“Luck and victory.” With that promise, Kord folded his wings, lowered his head, and waited for the cannon-fire.
At the booming blast, they rushed toward South Goal. The opponent did the same, thundering due north.
A third of the way across the field, with their opponent barreling down on them, Kord sensed something wrong. A struggle ensued between the approaching dragon and his rider.
Misgiving rising along with his spine-scales, Kord emitted a warning, knowing Bakka would settle the shard across the roll bar and flatten his body in a position of retreat. That action alone would cause the judges, one of whom was their sire, to call foul and pause the game.
As Bakka maneuvered the cumbersome shard and the caution-cannon erupted, their opponent kept coming. To Kord’s amazement, the opposing rider leapt off his diollaid, landing heavily on the ground. Obviously injured, the rider limped away. Kord had already dug in his back claws, but they’d move forward several more yards before his bulk caught up with his momentum. Bakka cursed and tossed his weapon aside, another visible sign of forfeit.
The riderless opponent did not stop, and in flagrant disregard of on-ground rules, unfurled his wings to full span. Within each narrow gaming bracket there was little room to maneuver or turn, other than straight up. The earth equivalent of two cars playing ‘chicken’ on a narrow country road.
With no other recourse, Kord demanded, “Bakka, up.” He spared a second for his brother to alter his knee-grip on the diollaid, before spreading his wings and arching sharply to attain airspace.
It wasn’t enough. Even as he leveled into low flight, the opponent raised black-tinged jaws, and snapped at Kord’s flank. A howl of rage and flames burst from his throat as sharp teeth tore into his underhide, where the scales were thinner. The bastard knew exactly where to bite.
Realm of the Dragon (The Soul Mate Tree Book 1) Page 6