by Juniper Hart
Table of Contents
Prologue
Epilogue
Part I
Epilogue
Part II
Prologue
Part I
Prologue
Part II
Part III
Epilogue
Part I
Epilogue
Part II
Epilogue
Part III
Prologue
Epilogue
Dragon’s Choice
Misty Woods Dragons
Juniper Hart
Dragon’s Choice
Misty Woods Dragons
Text Copyright © 2018 by Juniper Hart
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2018
Publisher
Secret Woods Books
[email protected]
www.SecretWoodsBooks.com
Contents
Dragon’s Choice
Bonus Content: Dragon Shifter Romances
Bonus Content: Shifter Pursuit
Bonus Content: Vampire Romances
Bonus Content: Shifter Romances
Dragon’s Choice
Prologue
Heaviness hung within the dank castle walls, each brother more distraught than the next.
The cavalry—soldiers on foot—was coming, but who could say how long it would be before help arrived? Would it be a day? A week?
The six princes of Misty Woods knew they did not have such a luxury.
“We are doomed,” Cassius murmured, pausing between the grey slate of the stone to stare into the darkness. “We have called too late for salvation.”
“You must not speak so ridiculously,” Marcus growled, pacing along the hearth, his heavy wolf cape draped about his shoulders. “They will come. We will be saved.”
“We are the sons of King Rui. We have never failed at battle, and we will not commence today!” Anders declared hotly, slamming his sword into the scarred round table and scowling at his brothers. “We bleed royal blood. We carry the seed of Misty Woods in our loins. Cease your doubts and hold your heads high as Father would have had us do! Whether they come or not, we will go into battle and fight for our kingdom!”
His brothers did not seem to be convinced.
“I must go to Nora,” Ansel muttered, turning to flee the room. Maximus stood solidly in his way.
“You will see your maiden when the kingdom has been spared,” Maximus spat.
“And what if the kingdom is not spared?” Titus demanded, undoubtedly thinking of his own love, locked away in the turret with the other women and children for their own protection against the impending battle that loomed not so far away.
“Then we shall all perish together!” Cassius roared.
“You needn’t perish, my lords,” a creaking voice called out to them, and the princes whirled to the source.
From the shadows beneath the cast iron candle holders, the old sage grinned toothlessly at them, her wretched face a twisted compilation of glee and malice.
“You!” Maximus shouted, lunging toward her. “How did you get in here?”
“I come in peace, my lord—lords,” she cooed, seeming unperturbed as the oldest brother yanked her from the wall and paraded her forward. “I have come to offer you safety in this time of terrible peril.”
“You?” Ansel snorted. “You are decrepit and useless. Who do you fight with?”
The old sage cackled, and each man felt a shiver of apprehension slide through them as they realized the crone was not intimidated by the threat of six towering men of power and weaponry.
“As you said, my lord,” the witch demurred, “I am ancient and without benefit. I do not wish to take sides.”
“Put her in the barracks!” Marcus howled. “We are wasting valuable time bantering with this hag!”
“My lord!” she cried imploringly. “Before you lock me away, hear my words, and then decide to do what you will. I only beg a moment of your precious time.”
Her black eyes seemed like hot coals as the brothers turned their attention to her.
“Speak!” Maximus snapped. “We have matters of battle with which to contend!”
“It is of those matters I wish to speak,” she assured them. “You cannot win against the Northmen.”
“Nonsense!” screamed Titus. The princes advanced on her, their swords drawn, ready to behead the her for uttering such treasonous words.
“I beg of you, my lords, hear my words before you strike me dead!” she continued, offering them a nearly toothless smile. Her grin widened, even though she was encircled among the six princes of the kingdom, as though their presence inspired amusement in her rather than fear.
“The soldiers you have requested from the realm will not be here until the day following the full moon,” the sage explained. “And the Northmen will attack at dawn. You know as well as I do that they have already conquered the villages. Their next skirmish will be the castle walls. They outnumber you. It will undoubtedly be a brief, humiliating fight.”
“How can you know that?” Ansel demanded, but even as he spoke the words, he knew the woman had her ways to obtain the knowledge she desired.
“I assure you, my lord, it is so,” she said. “I am offering you a chance to win against the Northmen without fear. You will be regarded as legends, and the minstrels will sing about you for generations to come!”
“We are the princes of Misty Woods,” Anders growled. “We fear nothing!”
“There are already many a ballad about our bravery!” Marcus called.
The old sage shook her head, as if there was little else she could do to change their minds.
“Then you will die,” she told them, her tone flat and certain. “And Misty Woods will no longer be.”
A stillness hung in the air, not broken or interrupted even by a breeze from the open window as the six princes stared at the old witch. Her statement had cut each of them deeply, and they could do nothing but inherently recognize the truth. Without help, their kingdom would certainly cease to exist.
“How can you prevent it?” Cassius asked quietly. He sensed the disapproval of his brothers for asking, and although none of them protested his question, he still lowered his gaze.
“I have the power to invoke the will of Mother Nature and turn you into beasts who breathe fire,” the sage told them. “For three days and three nights, you will sprout wings and fly above your enemies, touting flames from your throats until they have all been sent back to the fiery hell where they belong!”
“Witchcraft!” the brothers yelled. “A spell! Underworld debauchery!”
“It is the will of Mother Nature,” she assured them, demurely lowering her eyes. “It is only a short miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.”
The princes stepped back and glanced at one another, unsure of how to respond.
“If it is the work of Mother Nature…”
“If it is only for three days and nights…”
“If this ensures our victory…”
They turned back to the woman, who waited patiently for their response, her black eyes glittering.
“Why would you help us,” Ansel demanded, “if you claim to have no side?”
“Ah, my lord,” she replied smugly. “Just because I do not choose, it does not mean I do
not hate.”
“And what do you have to gain by this?” Titus insisted. They wanted to know why she would willingly help them fight against the Northmen.
The old witch smiled enigmatically. “I am serving my kingdom, my lord.”
Once more, the brothers exchanged a long look. The old woman had been nothing but trouble for them and for Misty Woods, but if she could give them a chance to defend their kingdom… if they could save their people…
Slowly, the six princes began to nod, one by one, their hearts filled with hope once again.
“We shall prevail!” Anders cried, and they all roared in consensus, raising their swords to toast their newfound power.
And in their surge of arrogance, they did not see the witch’s smile grow cruel and cold, for they had not thought to ask her which kingdom it was that she served.
Not until it was much too late.
1
Georges hopped from the front seat and hurried to open the door for Marcus as he strutted off the Lear jet toward the waiting limousine, dark sunglasses obstructing the light of the morning sun.
“Good morning, Mr. Williams. I trust you had a pleasant flight,” Georges said.
Marcus eyed the driver, a half-smile on his full mouth as he thought of what he had left behind on the private plane: a half-naked and exhausted air hostess with his name on her lips.
“It was good, yes,” Marcus replied smoothly, slipping onto the cool leather seats where Melissa sat, her mouth pursed into a fine line of concentration. “Thank you for asking. Hello, Missy.”
“Your flight was late,” she said without preamble, annoyance tinging her words as she thrust an itinerary onto his lap. “For the third time this month. This pilot is incompetent.”
“He can’t control the weather, darling,” Marcus reminded her. “You must cut him some slack.”
Melissa vehemently shook her tightly coifed head, and Marcus marveled at the way not one dark strand moved with the motion. “The last one was never late. He got you home from Bogota in a hurricane, remember?”
Marcus’ grin widened, his vivid blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “Some of us are just better in a storm, Missy. Some of us err on the side of caution. Which type are you again?”
As Georges closed the door, he slid across the seat to press his solid form against her thin frame. His assistant’s mouth became a scowl once she realized he was gently mocking her.
If there was one thing Marcus knew, it was that Missy did not appreciate being teased, but he couldn’t resist. She made it so easy with her uptight attitude and humorless smile. He felt as if it was his personal duty to put her at ease. It was the least he could do. After all, she ran his life so efficiently.
“You seem unusually tense today, Missy,” he told her, his strong hands reaching to caress her shoulders. “Let me help you.”
Melissa scowled and shrugged him off, ice in her fierce brown eyes. “This is no time for games, Marcus! You’re late to for your meeting, and you know these guys take these slights very personally. Rodney is still seething from having to smooth things over from your last fiasco!”
Marcus sat back, winking at her.
“I rescheduled that meeting from the plane,” he told her. “You and Rodney can exhale now.”
“You what?” Melissa screeched, throwing up her hands in disgust. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been panicking for the last half an hour!”
Marcus patted her knee, and she sighed heavily.
“It’s so much more fun this way, don’t you think?” he jested, and she grunted in frustration.
“You’re going to be the death of me one day,” she complained, pulling off her reading glasses and falling back against the seat.
“I guess the rest of my day just opened up,” he said smoothly, his hand squeezing her knee.
“What am I going to do with you, Marcus?” Melissa asked in mild exasperation, a tired smile on her face. “I am doing my best to keep your life running without incident. You can’t just keep pulling stuff like this.”
“Why not?” Marcus challenged, turning his body toward her, his eyes boring into hers as he licked his lips. “It keeps things exciting.”
“Marcus…”
“Hmm?” His lips found the curve of her chin, and he gently nibbled on her jawline, his palm inching up her thigh as she slowly relaxed against him. Melissa’s legs parted to allow him access, and Marcus chuckled.
“Isn’t that much nicer?” he asked soothingly as the car slipped onto highway 427 and headed into the downtown core. His mouth closed around the soft skin of her throat, and Melissa sighed, her head falling back to permit him a better spot. Marcus’ hand traveled upward, scooping her tiny buttocks into one meaty palm. Melissa squealed as the movement landed her vertically along the leather, her skirt raising over her slender hips while his mouth met hers.
“Oh, I missed you,” she purred, her hips bucking upward to encourage his hand. “I wish you would take me with you on more of your trips.”
Slowly, Marcus rubbed the soft fabric of her panties, his lips falling to taste the skin of her cheeks. She moaned, and Marcus felt a rush of warmth on his open palm. He smiled to himself.
“There’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling away to stare into her face. “That’s better, isn’t it?” He sat up and straightened his burgundy tie, leaving Melissa to stare at him, dumbfounded.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her voice taking on a whine of complaint. She reached out to pull him back, but Marcus slid his powerful form away, reclaiming his original seat across from her, and reached toward the bar.
“You seem more at ease now,” he replied nonchalantly as he poured two fingers of whiskey into a crystal tumbler. He took a sip and winked at her while she sat up, a slightly dazed look in her eye.
“Marcus!” Melissa moaned. “I haven’t seen you in a week!”
“Then you can wait a few more hours,” he replied, pressing the button to lower the partition. “Georges, take me to the Queen Street apartment,” he instructed.
A look of understanding crossed over Melissa’s face and she nodded, reaching for her tablet without another word.
“Yes, Mr. Williams,” Georges said.
As the limo steered onto the Gardiner Express Way, Marcus turned to watch the impending Toronto skyline, his mind on six different things.
The meeting in Dubai had gone better than he had expected, his deal closing at less than he had bid. Stopping in Misty Woods had been more trying than usual, but his father was known for being difficult. No matter how many hundreds of years passed by, he would never grow accustomed to dealing with the slowly deteriorating old dragon.
But now I am home, and I have the women that need my attention, he thought, watching as Georges exited on Yonge Street and stopped at a red light. There truly is no rest for the wicked.
Idly, Marcus glanced back at Melissa, who seemed enthralled at whatever she was reading on her device. He wondered what she was really thinking. Even after centuries, it seemed bizarre that the women in his life accepted their complacency so freely.
Once upon a time, they were tied to a prince, their hopes likely intertwined with the prospect of marriage, but in the modern day, he could not understand precisely why they so easily fell into line. Perhaps it was still the same mentality.
After all, Marcus was the CEO and president of a world-renowned conglomerate, a company whose tentacles extended to the far reaches of every avenue of business. He was one of the richest men in the world, sweeping his conquests into a life of luxury when they captured his attention: elegant apartments, driving expensive cars, and draped in the finest clothes. They wanted for nothing but his undivided attention, and yet no one dared to ask him for it as if they knew the outcome of such a brazen request.
Not that Marcus was complaining; any one of them could and would be easily replaced. As much as he liked them all, he loved none. Commitment and marriage to one woman were a waste of a man’s prowess and energy.
With the divorce rate being what it was, why would he jeopardize his finances and time when the result was inevitable?
It didn’t matter that Marcus’ net worth could fund generations of divorce. That was beside the point.
Something tickled the back of his mind: an uneasiness as he thought about someone who might make him reconsider his staunch views on monogamy. Just as quickly as it surfaced, though, the thought disappeared, as if it had never been there in the first place.
“Five minutes, Mr. Williams,” Georges announced, shooting his boss a quick look in the rear-view mirror.
“Thank you, Georges. You may take Melissa back to the office and return to pick me up.”
“I can wait,” Melissa called out quickly, her dark eyes darting up, and a wry smile touched Marcus’ lips.
“Aren’t you a little sadist?” he said coyly, and her cheeks blushed crimson.
“No,” she protested. “I just don’t see the point of Georges making two trips if you are returning to the office.”
“Who said I am returning to the office?” Marcus demanded, his smile freezing on his lips as he studied her face.
Embarrassment colored Melissa’s olive complexion as she realized her mistake.
“I forgot you had canceled the meeting for this afternoon,” she said quickly.
Marcus knew she had forgotten no such thing, but he had to admire her quick thinking. It was easier than admitting she was questioning his actions.
The car pulled up to the quaint refurbished condos on Queen Street, Georges blocking traffic as he exited the driver’s seat.
“Marcus?” Melissa called tentatively.
“Yes?” he replied, ready to step from his seat.
“Will I see you tonight?”