Flight of Dragons

by Elianne Adams, Sadie Haller, Zoe York, Shelley Munro, Zara Keane, LC Alleyne, Skye Jones, Evanne Lorraine, Ann Gimpel

  Really, the very least one could do.

  Taking a deep breath, Britt slowed her steps on the walk from the main house to the barns and pasture beyond. Sheep grazed and somewhere, a donkey brayed, and other than that, all she could hear was the wind and the rustle of leaves from the forest-covered mountain that rose beside the plateau where she was standing. The original monastery buildings sat on a rise above the river bed that bisected the mountain range. The river carried them to the ocean, where, in the name of expediency, a shuttlecraft would pick them up and fly them home.

  Slowly turning her head, she took in the mountain range rising softly to one side of the valley—the path up to the newer monastery—and across the river to the other, more fearsome looking rock face, covered in snow at the top.

  Home.

  How she wished The Outerlands were her home. Even the Artisan Flats didn’t pull at her heart like this landscape did, and lately, she’d been employed at the horse farms closer to the capital city. She missed the lake district and the slower pace of life there, but only because it was the closest similarity to here.

  “I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

  She jumped. She really had to stop disappearing into her head like that. Beside her, The Monk (she really needed to find out his name) smiled, a tentative pull of his lips that constricted her chest and made her own mouth curve in a mirroring fashion. “Were you looking for me?”

  He was such a confusing mix of confidence and modesty. His eyes bore into hers even as his cheeks pinked up. “I guess I was, if I noticed you weren’t there.”

  “I was there.”

  “We must have just missed each other then.”

  She nodded dumbly. What were they doing? “Oh. I wanted to apologize. About last night…”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, I think I was rude.”

  “You were stubborn and opinionated, but not rude. But thank you anyway.” He tipped his head toward the stables. “Are you riding today?”

  “As soon as the dragons arrive, yes.”

  He didn’t look up at the sky. Instead, he cupped his hand around his ear and listened for a second, and her heart did a little jump at the gesture. This one is a friend of the dragons, she thought. He gets it.

  As if he could hear her thoughts, his gaze sharpened and his brows pulled tight.

  What are you thinking? she wanted to ask, but before she could, she felt the first shift in air pressure. Whoosh. Like wind, but from above. Then again. Whoosh. She grinned and tipped her face straight up.

  The dragons were circling above. Dozens of them, from the steady, almost imperceptible downward pressure.

  At first she couldn’t see them, but then a shadow appeared through the clouds. That impressive wing span always hit her in the solar plexus. These creatures that she shared a planet with were amazing.

  When that first dragon broke through the cloud cover and descended, gliding right into the pen where they would saddle up, he was smaller than the shadow through the clouds would make one think. Eight feet fall and still light green, he was young. Eager to please, they usually were.

  Three more young dragons joined him, all varying shades of green, and then they were joined by their elders. With age, dragons darkened in colour, turning dark green and purple or brown. Unlike horses, older dragons weren’t easier to ride—more like people, they grew crotchety and mercurial in their old age, and if they wanted to fly, it would be best if someone with experience was on their back.

  Britt itched to be that person on at least one of them.

  She hurried to the pen, and after the monk attendant at the gate gave her a nod, she stepped inside.

  “Hi friends,” she said softly, holding out her hands, palms up. “I’m so glad you’ve joined us today. Did you sense that we wanted to ride?”

  One of the young ones reared up on his hind legs, a huff of hot air his positive response to her question.

  “Smart friends you are. Thank you.” She moved closer, extending her hand to that most eager one. He nosed at her skin, and when he settled his jaw in her palm, she let herself stroke his scales. “My name is Britt. Some of my friends here today have never gone flying before, so you’ll be gentle with them, yes?”

  Another huff, and a laugh beside her. She snapped a look at The Monk, who’d joined her in the pen, and he held up his hands. “I’m not laughing at you.”

  “Yes you are.”

  He pressed his lips together, trying and failing to contain another chuckle as he turned his attention to the dragons. He directed his own voice to the oldest of the group. “She’s not wrong. Today is a good day for gentle flights.” He used his hands to gesture a low-flying path over the ground. “Tut. Slow.”

  Tut was a training word and it made Britt bristle, because she’d never found the need to train a dragon to do anything, but he spoke with respect and the dragons reacted well—plus this was his stomping grounds, not hers—so she let it go. Mostly. As the first few guests came into the pen and paired up, two guests to a monk, and got a brief lesson in dragon-riding etiquette, Britt followed her monk to the fence.

  He hooked his arm over the top rail and propped his heel against the bottom. Dirt scuffed his boots and the early morning sun warmed his face. He looked every inch a rugged farmer, except for the religious garb.

  What would he look like wrapped in leather and denim? Stretched cotton t-shirts and snug pants that clung to the powerful thighs even his basic cotton pants couldn’t hide?

  She shook her head and stared at the ground for a second, desperately trying to think of anything else. Focus, Britt. She needed to talk to him, because he hadn’t been here on the first day and he’d missed their orientation session. She looked up and blushed as she found him watching her. “We explained to your colleagues that we don’t want to force the dragons into something akin to riding lessons.”

  He nodded.

  “You used the word tut and I just wanted to make sure you understood.”

  Another nod.

  “Because you missed—”

  “Britt.” Oh, lort, the way he said her name turned her insides to jelly. His voice had a commanding edge when he lowered it like that, and she found her thoughts stilling immediately. Stop, he’d commanded her, and stop she had. “It is Britt, right?”

  She licked her dry lips and smiled. “Yes.”

  “I’m Bjorn.” He pushed off the fence and stood tall. His hands swung loose at his sides, and for a second she thought he’d put them on his hips, but then he held out his right hand to shake.

  “Nice to finally learn your name,” she said, laughing a little as she reached out to take it. Her laughter died on her tongue as their palms brushed together and his fingers wrapped around hers. Sharp, bright electricity shot up and around her arm, warming her skin and lighting up all her nerve endings. “Oh,” she breathed, squeezing her hand tighter in his grip. Oh indeed.

  Of course they had a connection. The attraction had been obvious from the start. But she’d never felt anything like this, and obviously, neither had he. He dropped her hand like it was made of lava and she stepped back, giving him space.

  “I’m not a heavy-handed trainer,” he said roughly.

  “Pardon?” Her head was still swirling with the realization that her body wanted more of that sizzle with the off-limits monk.

  “I use tut. They don’t mind.”

  “Because you are gentle.” She blinked a few times, trying to get her mind fully back into the conversation at hand. The safe, about-dragons conversation. “But not everyone is. I just thought I should say something. It’s probably not a big deal.”

  “I appreciate the reminder.” He ducked his head a bit to bring their eyes closer together. The man was too tall for his own good. Too tall, too good-looking, too kind, and too damn celibate.

  She gave him her most polite, least seductive smile possible. “Well, I should go help. Over there.” Away from you. “Thank you, Bjorn.”

  ***<
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  He shouldn’t have told her his name. Now he wanted to haul her back against him and have her say it over and over again. He was half-hard from a single, bittersweet drop of her voice.

  All the more reason to turn around and head back to the guest house.

  He didn’t move. He stayed right where he was and watched her work, his heart swelling with unexpected pride. Every inch of him was reacting to this woman—his head was spinning, his arms ached from the effort of just holding himself against the fence instead of being at her side, and though he tried to block it out, every time she twisted her body or flicked her braid over her shoulder, his cock and balls tightened and pulsed.

  She was magnificent, in ways that had nothing to do with her exceptional beauty. He could watch her work all day. She had them take turns, only using the younger dragons, and normally when that happened, the older dragons would take off, flying alongside or heading back to their caves higher up in the mountains.

  Bjorn’s attention kept being dragged to the two dragons sitting quietly at the far end of the enclosure. They were watching Britt, and he remembered her introducing herself to them earlier. In a single moment, she’d obviously earned their loyalty.

  As the rides finished and the group started to break for lunch, he went ahead of them and checked in at the kitchen. The cook had made cold plates, easily set out at different intervals.

  Also easily packed up in a picnic.

  He pictured those two dragons sitting in the paddock. Waiting to be ridden, and obviously not by the guests—except one, perhaps.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, Bjorn grabbed a canvas bag and carefully wrapped up food in waxed paper. He added two water bottles and a couple of apples, as well as a few pieces of dark chocolate. Nobody paid him any attention, which only worsened the guilt twisting at his guts—not that it stopped him.

  Nothing would stop him, short of an order from God, and thankfully that wasn’t His way.

  God would let Bjorn make this mistake.

  He’d hope Bjorn would learn from the consequences.

  I’m not making a mistake. He felt it so clearly in his heart, despite the guilty ache elsewhere in his body. He hoped he was right.

  He found her giving a piece of hangreet root to one of the young dragons as a treat. He silently hopped over the fence and moved closer. He could watch her tend to their beastly friends all day, but depending on where she wanted to race to, they might be cutting the daylight hours close.

  He cleared his throat. “Britt.”

  She glanced around, then turned fully and gave him a curious look. “Yes, Brother Bjorn?”

  “You can just use my name, you know.” He grinned and took another step toward her. Then another.

  “Can I?” She curved one elegant eyebrow skyward. That was a fair question.

  He took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Yes, you can.”

  She looked at his fingers. “What are you doing?”

  “Come with me.” His pulse pounded in his neck. His palms still burned with the need to touch her again, and if they didn’t fly, he’d probably back her into a dark corner of the stables. “Let’s have that race.”

  She glanced to the dragons waiting behind him. “You won’t be missed this afternoon? Do you have work to do?”

  “It’s fine.”

  Her lips parted on a slow, breathy exhale, and her eyes did a tour of his hand and the dragons and the guest house even further back before she settled her gaze on his face and reached out her fingers to brush against his. “Then let’s saddle up, shall we?”

  4

  After agreeing on a lookout point barely visible at the top of the mountain across the river as their finish line, they did a children’s rhyming game to decide who could pick which dragon to ride on. Bjorn won. He went back and forth as they approached the two dragons with saddles.

  He recognized these two. They were mates, a male and a female, and he’d ridden on both. The female was more nimble through the wind, the male a harder puller. It was an even toss-up, but when he approached the male, he lifted his head as if to say, no, not me.

  Okay. Bjorn dipped his head in a slight acknowledgement and saddled up the female dragon, tucking the picnic supplies into a satchel behind his saddle. She moved proudly beneath his hands, and he could swear the male dragon was watching out the corner of his eye. Watching his mate, watching the crazy human intent on flying up the mountain to prove a point or something.

  Or something.

  Bjorn snuck a glance at Britt as she climbed into her seat high on the dragon’s back.

  The male dragon snorted and caught Bjorn’s eye.

  Busted.

  He was watching her in exactly the same way Mr. Dragon had been watching Mrs. Dragon. Protective. Possessive.

  “Ready?” Her voice, breathless and excited, tugged at him.

  Yes, my mate.

  It was a terrifying thought, especially for a Christian monk who’d turned his back on such beliefs.

  Not that he didn’t believe other people had one true mate. Of course they could and sometimes did—in God’s eyes, that was the ideal. One wife for one husband, one husband for one wife.

  But no wives for monks, especially not wives who kissed women and teased monks into racing up mountains.

  Yes, especially those women. She was spectacular, and if he was any other kind of man… If he hadn’t taken vows of chastity—but he had, and for good reasons that shouldn’t be thrown away over a spark of chemistry and a cultural tradition pretending that mates were fated.

  “Bjorn?” She looked at him expectantly, and a new stab of guilt shot through him. What was he doing? Beneath him, his dragon tensed.

  Right. Racing.

  “On three. One, two, three—” With a jerk, the dragons took their first few powerful steps, their heavy wings churning the air around them. “Yah!” Bjorn encouraged, pressing his knees tight against the dragon’s back as he flattened out.

  Beside him, Britt was doing the same, but where he was loud, she was quiet, whispering to her beast.

  He longed to know what she was saying. Even knowing that little bit of her would fill his soul.

  Who was he kidding—he wanted all the little bits, but he wanted to start with the murmured encouragements. He didn’t want to miss anything on this race to the top of the world, because it might be the only time they had together.

  Gripping the ridges on the dragon’s back more tightly, he nudged her slightly to the east as they rose through a bank of fog. Britt cut west and he lost sight of her, but when they broke through the cloud she was just ahead. “Yah!” he urged, digging in his heels. Her dragon may be stronger, but his was, as he expected, more nimble, and when she ducked her head, he let her dive.

  Smart dragon, he mused, as she pulled up, soaring faster than before, and as she rose again, she came abreast of her mate.

  Britt laughed, a happy, impressed trill that carried on the wind and made his chest swell.

  They were across the river now and banking hard. Bjorn relaxed his legs, letting his dragon charge hard on her own, and as they started climbing again, he thought they might just outflank Britt. But she urged her dragon closer to the jagged rock face, and her risk-taking would prove to be Bjorn’s undoing, for he pulled back, not wanting either of their dragons to be injured.

  And neither were, but as they reached the peak, Britt’s lead was insurmountable. He watched her settle on the large rock outcropping. He was torn between being impressed at her fearlessness and wanting to chastise her for being reckless.

  She didn’t give him a chance to say anything though, waving off his attempts to congratulate her on the race as he dismounted. She stayed in her saddle, still smoothing her hand over her dragon’s shoulder.

  “It was fun, wasn’t it?” He wasn’t sure who she was speaking to, but then she leaned in and pressed her face against the dragon’s dark scales. Definitely not him. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “
You did well.”

  All Bjorn had to offer his dragon was an apple, which she seemed to enjoy. He felt suddenly inadequate as a rider.

  Britt pushed herself up again, rolling her spine languidly before twisting and swinging her legs together.

  “You also did well,” she added cheekily in Bjorn’s direction as she dropped effortlessly to the ground. Her thick blonde hair fell in a braid down her back, but the mists they’d flown through had curled her hair something fierce and tendrils were escaping all over the place.

  He jerked his gaze away from her hair, glancing instead to her beast, who looked suspiciously pleased to have just been ridden by this woman that moved like water and smelled like summer wildflowers.

  That she didn’t notice his attention or if she did, she didn’t care, made her all the more captivating. Her hand trailed over the great beast’s neck, maintaining that contact until she reached its head, where she paused and murmured something Bjorn didn’t catch.

  Laughing, she looked around, then jogged over to a rock outcropping where a thick swath of green and white flowers were growing. Hardy, early spring blooms. She plucked a handful and spun around, holding them out in front of her in offering.

  Flowers?

  Bjorn sometimes gave the dragons hangreet root or an apple. He’d never given them presents.

  Her beast lifted his head and his ears twitched back, his nostrils flaring even as she was ten feet away.

  “Do you like the way they smell?” She laughed as the nostril flare got wider. Bjorn’s chest tightened at the sheer joy she was getting out of this moment. “I met a dragon friend on the other side of the Outerlands Range who liked to eat these flowers. Do you eat them too? Or was she just funny?”

  “When were you here before?” Bjorn interrupted.

  Britt glanced over her shoulder. “A few years ago.”

  “There’s no…” He trailed off. There weren’t any authorized dragon riding centres anywhere else on the continent, but he didn’t need to tell Britt that. What was done was done.

  She rubbed her dragon’s muzzle before moving closer. She stopped right in front of Bjorn and peered up at him. She saw right through him, clearly. “And yet somehow I survived.”