by Marie Harte
What good is being king if you can’t burn your own rules?
Ethereal Foes, Book 4
In the two years since Jentaron hatched, he’s grown into an adult blue dragon full of the knowledge of his royal predecessors. He’s a true king, even if the other denizens of the Ethereal, those demons, havoc, angels and the like, continue to test him.
But he’s got heavier worries. Namely, an unspeakable danger that threatens all life as the planet knows it. He can feel it, can sense that he’s got a bigger role to play than just pissing off the Ethereal.
With the blood elves and havoc making more trouble than usual, magic no longer flowing freely in the Abyss, and angels massacring everything demonic they can get their holy hands on, the Balance has reached a tipping point. Time to take charge before the rules change.
What’s a dragon to do but create his own chaos? He’ll take a mate or two, instill fear where needed, and finally return dragonkind to the Ordinary—the human lands—where a dragon will decide the fate of the worlds.
Because he’s king, and he says so.
Warning: Contains a dragon king challenged by a devious demon and an alluring, not-so-human human. Expect carnal hunger only a king can satisfy, and heat only a dragon can generate.
The Dragon King
Not So Ordinary
Marie Harte
Dedication
To everyone who wanted Jentaron’s story. This one’s for you.
Chapter One
Jentaron swallowed a sigh and tried to hold onto his patience.
“Oh please. What is the worst thing you can do? Glare at us to death?” The human-looking creature snorted and exposed small fangs. “Another argument on the merits of nonviolence?” The monster erupted into gales of laughter.
“Perhaps the scaled one will cringe in terror instead. Hope we take pity on him and allow him to leave.” His friend jeered. “Where is your steel? Your fire?” He shook his head. “Such a shame your kind is stuck with a peacemaker for a king.” The word was said with the same derision demons used when discussing heaven.
Jentaron stared at his tormenters, wondering if they acted alone or on someone else’s authority. This wasn’t the first time he’d been challenged in the two years since he’d become the leader of all dragonkind. Everyone expected him to kill first and ask questions later. But he wasn’t his mother, and he had more important things to worry about than the disdain of lesser beings—non-dragons.
The creatures now mocking him resembled humans, though he’d only ever seen the dead and the damned here. Living mortals occupied the Ordinary—the middle realm—a source of constant balance upheaval, where ignorant mankind were all-important.
Denizens of the upper and lower realms battled for souls, and human souls in particular. Yet aside from their inaccurate myths and legends, the mortals had no knowledge of anything but themselves in the Ordinary. Angels reigned in the upper realm, while Jentaron and his neighbors dwelled far below.
Many called the lower realm the Abyss. Humans called it hell. But contrary to popular belief, demons and devils did not rule the lower realm. Dragons did.
Pity that no one else seemed to have gotten the memo.
Since assuming the throne after his mother passed into eternal rest, he’d been continually tested by demons, blood elves and the havoc—a fine example of such stalwart beings residing in the two teenagers now offering him rude hand gestures. Though demons and blood elves could be a pain in the ass, the havoc were by far the worst.
They looked human but had the strength of dragons. Their short claws and fangs differentiated them from frail mortals, and their pupils were four times the size of a human’s. The creatures ranged on the tall, muscular side and loved to fight. Since coming out of isolation when their Keeper had mated his brother, the havoc seemed to have nothing better to do than give him headaches.
Take them from the earth and they’d grow weak, possibly even die away from the magic inherent to their world. But connected to the earth and their creator, they were an unstoppable force of brutality and might.
“The blue one trembles like a…” The taller one scratched his head. “A demon?”
The havoc were also a fount of poorly executed insults and bad humor.
“Perhaps a cherubim,” his friend countered. “He practically glows with angelic purity.”
“Ah, well thought.” The larger boy slapped his companion on the back.
Jentaron wanted to slam his head against a wall. No, he wanted to slam their heads against a wall.
“Well? Come on, lizard-brain. Show us your not-so-considerable skills.”
Their smack talk was just…painful.
Jentaron sighed and stared down at his foes from a considerable height. He’d matured quickly since hatching. In dragon form he stood twenty-four and three-quarters feet tall, or so his twenty-five foot older brother insisted. Jentaron possessed a handsome set of fangs and claws, as well as the most beautiful blue scales known to dragonkind. Hell, the only blue scales known to dragonkind. As magic in the realms had waned over the centuries, the blues had as well. Not just able to dabble in magic, they were born of it. Blue dragons had shaped the course of history on whims of fang and flame.
The rest of the dragon spectrum continued to flourish under his regime—even if they had a tendency to bellyache about his reforms. They didn’t realize how the many changes he’d implemented would help with what was coming.
“I’m talking to you, Baby Blue.” His tormenters tittered. He closed his eyes in exasperation, then opened them with cold resolve.
With a long sweep of his tail, he knocked the youngling havoc off their feet. The hissing boys fell back and would have charged him. He could see it in their flat black eyes. So he did what dragons did best—he readied to roast them alive.
And he would have, if his brother’s mate hadn’t jumped in front of them.
Kirha shook her head. “Jentaron.” Pretty, petite and deadly, this havoc should have been born a dragon.
“What? I’m supposed to tolerate insults? From infants?”
“We’re grown,” one havoc teenager protested. “Strong and unafraid.”
“And stupid,” Jentaron muttered.
Kihra interrupted before he could add more. “They are foolish indeed to taunt the great dragon king.” She frowned at them, and they subsided.
Great dragon king. Jentaron truly loved this mate of his brother’s. Teban had chosen wisely with Kihra. But the other one? Jentaron still wasn’t sure what Teban saw in James Sinclair. The demon was male, for starters. A schemer, a liar and a deceitful creature in general. In other words, a first-class demon.
A lot like James’s sister, Eve, who still served as Jentaron’s Guardian when the occasion demanded, along with Jentaron’s other brother, Ranton. The royal line of dragons had gone “darkside,” as Eve liked to say. Both his brothers, the esteemed Prince Teban and vicious General Ranton, had mated outside their species.
Personally, Jentaron couldn’t care less. Bonded souls joined at a level beyond the physical and frankly defied his understanding. Still, it might have been nice if his brothers’ mates weren’t so close to their families. He was tired of demons and havoc pricking at his ego. Especially since no one had invited the little bastards into the stronghold in the first place.
“What is great about a large lizard?” the shorter of the two havoc persisted by asking.
Jentaron glared at the impudent younglings. “They get that from James.”
Trust a demon to start the havoc referring to him as nothing more than a lizard. Dragons came from magic—from pure, unadulterated power. Lizards were nothing more than mundane reptiles populating the middle realm.
Kihra folded her arms over her chest, showcasing toned biceps and curves that distracted one from her lethal skills in combat. “My kin will well remember their manners, or the next time they return home, they will be missing limbs.”
That she meant the threat made her absolutely adorable. And she made his brother happy. Since coming to live in the dragonlands, Kihra had also helped Ranton fortify their army. The dragon legion could now give the havoc a run for their money in the mock battles Kihra staged, and everyone knew how dangerous warrior havoc could be.
“But Keeper, we—” the other youth whined before Jentaron cut him off with a blast of orange and red flame. The boys shrieked and scrambled back on all fours.
“Your Keeper told you to mind your manners. I’m done playing nice.” He bared his long white fangs, flapped his wings hard enough to stir a funnel of air around the boys, then used his magic to whip them up in it and fling them away. Far away.
He and Kihra watched in silence until the boys were no longer visible.
“That will not go over well. They are nephews to Myfere’s men.”
He shrugged. “Your brother—”
“My chieftain.”
“—Myfere is on my last nerve. I’m done humoring him. The next time he sends havoc here to needle me, I’m eating them. And I hear the younger the prey, the more tender the meal.” He wriggled his brows and dragged a forked tongue over his fangs.
Kihra laughed. “I am pleased to see you acting kingly, though I know you would never eat my kin.”
“Perhaps once they mature?”
She grinned. “All back and no bite.”
He frowned. “You mean all bark and no bite.”
“Dragons bark?”
“Never mind.” Her mates really needed to introduce her to the fine world of idioms. Did no one in the stronghold prize intelligent discourse? Was it always threats and battle and death?
“The havoc respect strength and cruelty. Remember that when you must deal with Myfere.” Kihra paused. “I have heard you talking with Asael on occasion. He seems at ease in your presence.” She sighed. “Too at ease. You must force them to respect you, Jentaron. We havoc are fierce, but a fallen angel is no match for a dragon king. He should give you more respect than he does.”
“True. Though Asael has always been more than a mere Fallen.” But what more, Jentaron couldn’t say.
Things were coming that none but a handful would understand, and even those higher beings had no idea what they would need to do to repel such destruction. Squabbles between realms meant nothing compared to the annihilation of the world as they knew it.
If Jentaron didn’t shake things up, and soon, swaying souls for heaven and hell would mean nothing compared to survival. Time to put Plan N into action…
He left Kihra in charge of dealing with the fallout from the havoc brats and went in search of Ranton. Older than Jentaron by several hundred years, huge, mean and black of scale, Ranton had seen Jentaron hatch. Carmaron had been an ideal queen, and she’d spawned her share of dragons, but maternal she was not. Just as Ranton had been raised by their older brother Teban, Ranton had done his part for Jentaron.
Jentaron loved his older brother like a father, and he knew Ranton would do anything for him. Such acceptance, pride and affection created bonds that would never break.
So it was with a heavy heart that Jentaron kept his present knowledge a secret. Ranton had important things to accomplish, and learning about the end of existence would only distract him. Jentaron wondered how best to go about his grand plan.
Typically, dragons had breeders that laid hundreds, sometimes thousands, of eggs. The weakest eggs died while the strongest bore fruit, attracting male breeders to fertilize them. The process wasn’t messy like human reproduction, though he well understood the compulsion to mate as a human. He had often shapeshifted into that form to enjoy sex with Eve—back when Ranton was sharing. Eve and Ranton were fit Guardians, introducing Jentaron to everything a dragon should know. Well, mostly.
Jentaron still hadn’t been to the Ordinary yet. But Ranton—
He sensed a blast of blue fire in the distance and flew out of the catacombs across the arid land of his ancestors. Flows of fire spread in rivers in the dragonlands. The Abyss made do with a black orb for a sun, an affectation created eons ago by one creator or another to mimic the views enjoyed by the other realms. There was little in the way of vegetation, though great boulders and rocks dotted the landscape around singular rivers of actual water. Gem mounds flickered with brilliance in various spots, and a few crystal clear lakes existed by the lounging fields.
Dragons loved nothing better than lying about against the warm earth, sunning and conserving energy for those times requiring action. We’re thinkers, annihilators, hoarders. Jentaron had no problem with any of those descriptions, but to survive, his kind would have to be more. They’d have to do more than destroy, but create as well.
And so, Plan N.
He found Eve sparring with Ranton. A demon holding her own with a large, badass black dragon. Ranton in battle was a sight to behold. He tried time and time again to force Eve back with his flame, but Eve was no ordinary demon. A Decision maker, she helped sway souls on the brink of going toward hell or heaven, steering them to the Abyss.
And she was a Sinclair, one of Asael’s progeny. As such, she had the power of light within her, though she’d probably rather die than admit it. Eve and her siblings commanded blue flame, the only demons in existence who could. It could burn through everything, and it made his brother hot—no pun intended.
Ranton swore as Eve shot a blast of fire at him. Through her eyes.
“Nice, Eve.” Jentaron settled down on his haunches to watch.
She winked at him. “Thanks, J.”
“I have a problem.” He swallowed a grin when she turned all her attention to him. Then he frowned, trying to appear worried. “It’s with the havoc. I really stepped in it this time.”
“What’s wrong? Are you—” She yelped when Ranton snaked his tail around her waist and spun her upside-down. “Hey, you cheated!”
His brother chuffed. “I won. That’s all that matters.”
“But Jentaron…” She trailed off when she saw his wide grin. “You’re such a liar.”
“You trained me, Eve. I was good, wasn’t I?”
She tried not to laugh but did anyway. “Yes. You had me worried.”
“Not me,” Ranton bragged. “I know his bullshit face.”
“You would.” Eve tried to pull out of her mate’s hold, but Ranton wasn’t giving her wiggle room. “Bully.”
“You say that like it should hurt me.”
“Ass.”
Ranton lifted her higher and brought her closer to his face. He bared a long fang and licked it, then her, with his tongue.
“Yech.”
“Again, not feeling the insult, Eve. You’re growing pathetically less effective with your abuse.” He shook his head. “I’m disappointed.”
“A lot like the havoc, unfortunately,” Jentaron had to add. “The baby smack-talk of the damned.”
Ranton chuckled.
Eve glared at Jentaron. “Not funny.”
“It’s not,” he agreed. “I just launched two of the pubescent whelps back to Myfere.”
“Hell.” Ranton sighed and tossed Eve high into the air, earning a screech. “We’ll be hearing from them soon, I take it. Better prepare for war.”
Eve flipped in midair to land on her feet. “Damn it. I hate that.” She glared at her mate, then turned on Jentaron. “War again? You’ve got to stop taking everything personally. It’s only natural that the oth
ers test you. You’re only two years old.”
He and Ranton exchanged a look. Typical of those not dragonborn to fail to understand how his kind functioned.
Ranton morphed into his man-shape, his wings still immense but proportioned for his smaller frame. Like most of those in human form in this realm, he wore trousers to protect his tender parts, but nothing else. He claimed to like this form best since having mated Eve. He could fly when he felt like it and fuck at the same time. Crude, but Jentaron appreciated the sentiment.
“Honey,” Ranton said. “We’ve been through this. Jentaron might seem young in years, but he was born with the wisdom and knowledge of the royals. He’s a blue, the first one to rule, hell, to exist, in ten thousand years.”
“Fifteen thousand, actually,” Jentaron corrected, but Ranton talked over him.
“And he’s magic. I mean, straight up, solid mana-magic.” Mana, the pure source of magic that sprang forth in the lower realm.
“Yes, watch.” Jentaron slid his claws together and from the ground by Eve, a spring of gems cascaded forth.
“Oh, sapphires. Last time you brought me rubies.” With greedy hands, she grabbed a few for herself. “I want earrings, Ranton.”
Ranton smiled. “Gold or platinum settings?”
“Go platinum,” Jentaron suggested. Ranton needed to hone his skills crafting jewelry. And swords. And deathtraps. But he could start small and work his way up.
“Fine. Platinum. I want to make Sapphira jealous.”
Ranton’s fangs reflected the blue shimmer of cascading gemstone. “Your brother’s mate will make him work twice as hard to get something as nice. Now that’s my girl.”
Duncan Sinclair, Eve’s other sibling, was James’s twin, and the only Sinclair Jentaron didn’t have to worry about. That demon had mated outside of dragonkind. He remained Asael’s problem.
Yet mention of Sapphira reminded him of what he’d sought out this pair to do. Sapphira was a blend of human and angel, a nephilim, and a powerful hybrid. She and others like her would buoy their forces against the coming threat.