The Queen's Flight (Emerging Queens)

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  Sergei let out a long suffering sigh. “I will.”

  “When was the last time you were in a court? You strike me as the lone wolf—er dragon.”

  He stared up at the ceiling in deep thought, so Viola took a moment to ogle him. He still resembled a thuggish Mr. Clean, but there was a sensuality that coiled about him. Not wanting to get caught noticing how well he wore tight black leather, she focused on his face. When their eyes met, it felt like he was touching her physically.

  “What do you look like without your dragon magic?” she asked. “Are you normal looking or still gorgeous?”

  “You’ve seen it. A purple Wyvern with silver scars. I was hatched.”

  “Why did you choose to look like Mr. Clean?” Viola stroked the top of her head.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of Telly Savalas?” He manifested a lollipop in the corner of his mouth. “Who loves ya, baby?” he said in husky drawl that wasn’t his own.

  Despite herself, Viola’s toes curled and her face felt flushed. “Is that an all-day sucker?”

  “Sure it is. Come here and find out.” He grinned.

  “Seriously, who are you trying to be?”

  “Before your time,” he smiled. “How about Vin Diesel?”

  “There we go.” Viola snapped her fingers. “You remind me of him in Riddick.”

  “I’m glad I remind you of a stone-cold killer.” If his voice was any drier she’d need a humidifier.

  “But in a sexy way,” she reassured him, giving him the thumbs up.

  “Sure,” he said. “Like that makes sense.” He rolled his eyes, then looked her up and down. “You remind me of Jayne Mansfield.”

  “Was she fat?” Viola gave him the squinty glare of doom.

  “No, she had curves,” Sergei said. He made an hourglass with his hands.

  Viola wasn’t sure how to take this side of Sergei. She’d gotten used to the surly, gruff side. Now that he was here of his own free will he’d lightened up a bit, at least when they were alone. The intimacy should have been making her run for the hills. He had a deadly temper, but she wasn’t afraid of him. He stood up to her mother. He told off her ex-boyfriend, and he’d almost put Casimiro through the wall for insulting her. She was charmed. She was also probably an idiot. Why did she always have to fall for the bad boy?

  “Have you always looked like this?” Viola asked, attempting to see Casimiro’s side of things. Maybe the crooner wasn’t a douche. Maybe dragons changed their appearances like she changed her nail polish. Then she shook her head. Nope. Anyway you cut it, Casimiro was a jerk—a talented singer, but an asswipe off stage.

  “I change my appearance every few decades,” Sergei said.

  “How do you choose?” Viola wondered if there would ever be a time she would be bored with what the mirror showed her.

  “I keep with the human mode of dress. It causes confusion if I show up shirtless wearing a Highland kilt.”

  “Is it true?” Viola trailed off and pantomimed peeking up a skirt.

  “How cold are your hands?” he asked, suddenly wearing a ragged plaid with tanned hide boots. All that was missing was a broadsword. It was so tempting, and yet it felt like playing with fire. She’d been burned so often she couldn’t make the first move this time. But she wanted to. Then there was the added complication of her being a Queen and all. What if he couldn’t say no to her?

  “Why don’t you visualize hair?” Viola asked, smiling at his antics as he flexed his arm muscles. He had some seriously hot legs, too.

  “Useless appendage that your enemies can use against you.” He slid a hand dangerously close to the front of his kilt where Viola was trying not to be too obvious that she was doing a package check.

  She played with her hair. It should be easy to kick of her shoes and lie back on the bed and beckon him to join her, but it wasn’t. She was terrified she was going to make a fool out of herself or blow it again with a Queen faux pas. “I never thought of it that way.” Ack! What if he just felt sorry for her because Casimiro hurt her feelings? Sergei blew hot and cold; if he pushed her away she’d die of embarrassment.

  “Do I need to tell you that I like your curves?” His voice was a husky growl that tickled all the right places.

  Viola nodded. “Yeah, considering I’m not sure what the dragon protocol is for knocking boots. Plus there’s the fact that you’ve made it pretty obvious that you could take or leave me. So a little help would be nice. Are you here out of obligation or some other weird dragon ritual I am oblivious to?”

  Sergei smiled. “I wish I’d met you a few months ago.”

  “Why?” She was pretty sure if she saw him walking toward her on the street, she would have clutched her purse and moved to the other sidewalk. He, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t have even noticed her.

  “We would’ve had a great time.” Sergei’s eyes were half closed, as if he was imagining sensual delights. It made her look at his lips. He had such a kissable mouth. Their first kiss in the car had been epic.

  “And the whole Queen thing would’ve happened and you probably would’ve dumped me. But at least you wouldn’t have stolen a Harley or my bank account.”

  Just my heart.

  Viola gave a nervous laugh, to break the delicious sexual haze coming over her. This time it didn’t have anything to do with dragon magic. This was a very human experience.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I wouldn’t have handled your shift very well.”

  “Why do you hate Queens so much?”

  Several emotions flashed across Sergei’s face, and Viola was riveted. She saw regret, anger, and pain before his face blanked again and it was as expressionless a brick wall. “I was raised in a court,” he finally said, speaking as if he chose his words deliberately. “So I got to see things up close and personal.”

  “What was it like?” Viola tossed the knitting aside. He was far more interesting.

  Sergei’s lips twisted. “Well, when we heard her say, ‘bring me my wine,’ the smart ones ran for cover.”

  “She was a mean drunk?” Viola tried for a joke again, because he looked so serious.

  Sergei considered her words and seemed to weigh a decision. “She drank dragon blood.”

  Viola whistled. “No wonder half of the studs are either passive aggressive or full-out aggressive.”

  “Which one am I?”

  “Guess.”

  Goosebumps raised on her arms at his toothy smile.

  Why did he have to hate Queens?

  “Has it always been that way? The Queens tormenting the studs?”

  “Not until the curse. At first no one even knew there was a curse. But as the years went on and no Queens hatched or shifted, we realized there was a problem. And then, the Queens started dying off until there were only five.”

  “Lerisse, Esmeralda, Choyo, Hui Zhong, and Cassandra,” Viola counted off on her fingers, proud she remembered.

  “They were terrified at first. Of dying or being killed. Then the fear turned into something more insidious. They grew drunk on their own power. Reckless in their excess.” Sergei paced the room. Viola watched the twitch of his kilt over his rock-hard calf muscles and forced herself to concentrate on his words.

  “A Queen’s word was law. Who would tell them ‘no’ and risk not having sons? Not having a legacy to live on when we went into the weave was worse than death. They made laws. We followed them. As long as they were willing to have children, no stud would risk displeasing the Queen.”

  He caught her staring at his legs and Viola played it off that she wasn’t embarrassed, but if her hot cheeks were any proof, he wouldn’t buy it. “Were you the wine Queen’s Protector?” she asked, to let him know she was listening, in addition to ogling him.

  His lips twisted, but his expression was hard. The pause should have been uncomfortable, but Viola was happy to hold his gaze and wait for whatever came out of his beautiful mouth. “I was a harem boy.”

  Viola hadn’t been expec
ting that. He waited to judge her reaction and continued.

  “Occasionally a whipping boy.”

  That would explain the scars.

  He took a deep breath. “And frequently an assassin.”

  “You killed people?” Viola realized she should be frightened, but she wasn’t. There had to be an explanation. “You don’t strike me as a psychopath.”

  “Sociopath. Psychopaths kill for no reason. I had my reasons,” Sergei joked back at her.

  “Which were…” Viola asked, drawing out the sentence.

  “I killed dragons,” he smiled faintly. “Humans are insignificant.”

  Viola flipped him off. “Except for the Cult and the Order.”

  “Even them, to a certain extent. But we were careless and the Cult was able to steal a Queen.”

  She rubbed her aching head. “The politics makes my head spin. How do you keep it straight? Who are the good guys? How do you know whom to trust?”

  “Allegiances and alliances shift, and the lines become blurred over time. You build your court to the best of your ability and then strengthen the loyalties.”

  “Are you a good guy, Sergei?”

  “Not even remotely.” The sad smile he gave her almost broke her heart.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, getting up. “You rescued me when you could have gone along with Smythe’s plans. You came for me after the Cult separated us, and you’ve stuck with me as I’ve barrel-assed my way through dragon politics.” Viola walked up to him and poked him in the chest. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m not.”

  Time froze when Viola realized that the kilt he was wearing did nothing to hide his arousal when she was this close to him. All the air seemed to leave the room and time stopped as they realized at the same time they were almost touching.

  “How do I strengthen loyalties?” she asked in a husky whisper, leaning into the slight caress of his fingers down her cheek.

  “By having their eggs.” The rumble of his voice made her realize she was playing with fire. She stepped back from the heat.

  “Oh boy.” Viola rubbed her stomach. “That’s something I need to come to terms with.” It’s not that she didn’t want kids. She just wanted one father. Keeping all her baby daddies straight was going to require a staff.

  Argh! Was she really going to go there?

  She never had more than one lover at a time. Viola started pacing, and Sergei tracked her like a predator. She felt his stare physically, and she didn’t know whether to jump on him, jump into bed, or jump out the window.

  “Do the studs get jealous?”

  “Frequently.” Sergei stalked her. She stopped moving. Maybe, if she stood perfectly still he would take the indecision away from her. Just kiss me, damn it. But for all his other admirable attributes, mind reading wasn’t one of them.

  “Although if you have a strong consort, he’ll keep them in line and schedule them so that no one feels neglected.”

  “Hold. The. Phone.” Viola put both palms out. “My main squeeze is going to herd other men into my bed?” That went against a deep ingrained need to be someone’s one and only.

  “It is what it is,” Sergei said with a weary sigh. “For the continuation of our species it has to happen like this. At least until the Queen-to-stud ratio evens out.” He gripped her hip and pulled her into him.

  “Do you think the emerging Queens will let dragon society go back to the golden age?” Viola stretched her fingers out across his chest. She sighed. Heaven.

  Sergei barked a laugh. “In the golden age, they staked virgins to a pole for us to devour.”

  “Have you ever eaten a human?” Petting him like she would a high strung Persian cat, Viola willed herself to relax in his arms.

  He winked. “Just the pretty women.”

  “Are you a fava bean and nice Chianti sort of dragon?” Viola didn’t want serious talk anymore. Get with the kissin’ already. Nope. Still couldn’t read her mind. It was possible he didn’t want to kiss her. That was just ridiculous. His hand was on her ass and that wasn’t a baseball bat in his skirt. Distracted, she looked down between them.

  “No. Dragons stopped eating humans around the time Columbus got lost and discovered a way to exploit a native people.”

  Viola made a face. “Why didn’t a dragon eat him?” She always wondered why they needed to celebrate a lost Italian slaver and thief with a day off from work. Not that she complained, but it seemed a little strange to her.

  “Esmeralda couldn’t be bothered.” Sergei tightened his grip so she was plastered to his chest. Her mind blanked. Sergei was all planes and hard curves. “I think Columbus and Cortez were her lovers at some point.”

  “So Queens can take on human lovers?” Viola bit her lip as she reached up to pull his head down to her. “Don’t the Queens get sick of having sex all the time?” Hello, body language? In his arms, rubbing against him, holding on to his head? Viola wanted to cross her eyes in frustration. She would never know if he wanted her if she kissed him first. It had to be his idea.

  “Apparently not. Humans are especially eager to please. The sex is fun rather than fraught with anxiety on whether the stud’s seed will conceive. It’s nice to be wanted for yourself, rather than from what you can give someone.”

  Exactly! Viola huffed. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Would you like to?” He stripped her bare with his gaze.

  Finally.

  Their conversation had relaxed her enough that the pent up anxiety in her gut was starting to resemble her normal crazy instead of borderline panic attack. And Sergei looked fine in that kilt.

  “Yes.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

  The muted desire Casimiro had spun on her was nothing like the fierce rush of excitement she felt when their lips touch. Tentatively, her hands slid to his shoulders as she went on tiptoes to prolong the sweet caress. Her heart fluttered when he crushed her against him, rocking his mouth over hers.

  It started sweet but turned rough, desperate. Viola ground into him as his hands grew bolder on her body. He slipped his fingers under her sweater. The heat from them burned deep, passionate strokes into the sensitive skin of her sides. Greedily, she stroked down his muscled arms, feeling the slope and curves of the hard flesh.

  It was hard to breathe, held so tightly, his mouth demanding on hers. But who needed to breathe when the pleasure stole her breath anyway? She pushed the folds of the kilt aside and touched his abdomen.

  Rough scars abraded her palms and he broke off the kiss, holding her face between his palms. His intense stare probed deep into her soul. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he seemed to like what he saw. Viola drifted her hands to his back. The scars were thicker there. Tracing them, she couldn’t help a single tear from falling.

  Sergei’s thumb wiped it away. “They happened long ago.”

  “I’ve seen your dragon form. I knew you had them,” she said.

  “Do you know what caused them?”

  “Studs fighting you? The Order of the Dragon Slayer? The Cult of Humanity? All of the above?” A hysterical giggle threatened to burble up from her anxieties.

  “Never laid a claw, a pike, or a knife on me.” He slipped the kilt off and turned so she could see each cut, lash and burn.

  His ass was epic. She stood there, staring. Unable to breathe. They were in the center of the room, but it had narrowed down to just his body inches from hers. Viola was thankful he was facing the door. It would have given him too much power to see that she really, really liked what she saw.

  “Were you in an accident?” Viola said, forcing her gaze up to his back. It was a mess of badly healed injuries. Thick, ropy lashes crisscrossed the muscles of over his shoulders. Thin white lines peppered over his spine.

  He shook his head. Viola almost wished he had silky hair she could run her fingers through. She had to stop herself from stroking the smooth curve of his skull.

  “Why don’t you mask them with your magic?”
She touched one, heard his swift intake of breath, and then snatched her hand away.

  “Why didn’t you turn into Casimiro’s guitar woman?” Viola detected a slight note of menace in his voice as he slowly turned back to her. She forced herself not to look down. He paced a circle around her.

  He stopped behind her. When he moved her hair away from her neck and gently bit down on her throat, it was her turn to jump.

  Shuddering from the erotic waves of pleasure, Viola reached up to cradle his head when he sucked on the tender flesh. He kissed up her jaw line to her earlobe, tasting it with a flick of his tongue. He held her to his naked body and the heat from him threatened to melt her into a quivering puddle.

  “The last time I had my teeth on a Queen’s throat, I ripped it out.”

  “Well, that was better than a cold shower,” Viola said and stepped away, but he pulled her back.

  “I didn’t have a hard-on like this when I did it.” He pressed into her.

  Viola resisted the urge to rub against him. “That’s good to know,” she murmured. “I think.”

  “Can you guess who gave me these scars?” he whispered in her ear. She was unsure of his motivation. Did he want to scare her? Did he want to turn her on? He was doing a pretty good job of both.

  “I’ll take bitchy Queens for 1,000, Alex,” Viola sassed, hoping to bring up the mood.

  He chuckled in her ear. It sent tingles up her spine. “I want to kiss and suck on every inch of you.”

  “You should have kept the tearing the throat out comment to yourself, then. Isn’t that a death sentence?”

  “Are you afraid of me?” His hands were at her hips holding her in place, when she attempted to turn around.

  “Did you kill her?” Viola had a hard time picturing him as a murderer. But she didn’t think anyone could live long with their neck torn out.

  Suddenly, his hands and body were gone. Viola turned around looking for him. She missed his presence, his warmth, and his pseudo psychopathic threats. “Sergei?”

  “It is a death sentence to kill a Queen.” He was dressed in his motorcycle leathers again, she saw with a pang of disappointment. Without a backwards glance, he left the room.