A Lair So Sinful

by Zoey Ellis

  Zendyor shook his head.

  “Then, we cannot assume Nyro did anything purposefully. However, Nyro,” Khyros said heavily, “I expect you to honor the boundaries that we set in place. Just because you do not take clan laws as seriously as the rest of us does not mean you can do as you wish or inconvenience any of us because you see no value or worth in the laws set forth. It is the principle of the matter. If she was on Zendyor’s territory first, particularly if she knew she was, then I expect you to return her to him.”

  “Are you ordering me to give this one over?” Nyro said tightly.

  “No,” Khyros said. “I ask that you look into it and make a decision that falls within the oath that courses through your blood as a Vattoro clan member.”

  Nyro’s face dropped and he nodded reluctantly. He glanced at Zendyor, who was also clearly unhappy with Khyros’ decision. As far as Nyro was concerned, he didn’t have to do this with any urgency. It could be another century before he came to any kind of conclusion about this individual and her intentions, and by then she probably wouldn’t be any use to either of them. Zendyor didn’t use kon’ayas the way that Nyro did. In fact, none of the brothers used them as frequently as Nyro did, except maybe Sethorn.

  “Now that is settled, we will move on to Vattoro business,” Khyros announced.

  Nyro grunted his agreement while his other brothers nodded, but as soon as the meeting began, he leaned back in his chair and allowed his mind to wonder, as he usually did. His brothers were always so concerned about what was going on in the Twin Realms, and how it could affect them being the last remaining dragorai clan, but he found it all pointless. They may be the most powerful beings in the Twin Realms, apart from the Seven Goddesses, but they were also potentially more vulnerable than they had ever been, and his brothers always seemed to be in denial of the fact.

  His mind returned to the woman he just left. It was a long time since a lesser-mortal had looked at him with such anger and disgust. Most were afraid to displease him, as they should be, and most were willing to do whatever he said, or allow him to do whatever he wanted. This woman had looked at him with all the indignation and ferociousness of a Goddess herself. And she wasn’t scared of him—she had literally punched him in the face. Of course, fury had gotten the better of him and he’d taken to punishing her before realizing she was more delicate than she appeared. Most lesser-mortals couldn’t hold magic in their physical bodies without significant and severe damage or falling unconscious from the pain, whereas this woman managed to attack him while carrying around an unfinished incantation in her face. Part of him wanted to see how much magic she could take.

  By the time he realized the degree of pain he was causing her, he’d been enraptured by the complex scent of her fear mixed with her desire. She smelled like sin itself—evocative, sweet, and addictive—and the beauty of her scowl was unparalleled. He couldn’t recall being kissed the way she had kissed him, or even remember any woman taking such unabashed liberties. She couldn’t be one of his kon’ayas; he’d never encountered her before, and all of his staff knew where they could and couldn’t go in the lair—besides which, she had been in a very strange part of it, and naked. Nonetheless, if she wasn’t already one of his kon’ayas, she would certainly become one. She fitted his most basic physical preferences; full, heavy breasts, a round behind, and a tight, succulent kon. Add to that a gorgeous face, an insolent stare, and those plump lips, she was perfect. He would order his stewards to recruit her as soon as possible so he could have access to her whenever he wanted. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy. Women like that did not tend to want such a role, but he didn’t care. She was in his lair and thus his property. She had no choice. He was interested to know where she came from, however.

  Even more intriguing was why his dragon, Sanderyll, had disobeyed Nyro’s direct instruction by going after her. It wasn’t unusual that dragorai-dragons knew what was happening in their own lair, sometimes even more so than the alpha. But Nyro had been heading out for a quick flight before the clan meeting, directing Sanderyll over their range when the dan askha tilted in the air, soaring back around to their lair. Nyro couldn’t figure out why, and even after attempting to force San back on track, he still headed straight toward some random opening in the side of the mountain. Nyro was surprised to find a woman the target of his dragon’s interest.

  Almost no one realized how tenuous the link between alpha and dragon was within the dragorai. It was a very well-guarded secret no one spoke of outside the clans. Most people thought alphas could talk to their dragons, maintain complete conversations and direct their behavior, but that was only partly true. The connection between man and dragon mainly consisted of moods and feelings—Nyro could tell how Sanderyll was feeling, especially when he felt strongly about something; it was like a surge of emotion layered onto his own. Only through maturity could a dragorai-alpha tell the difference between his own feelings and his dan askha’s.

  While alphas did have the capability to direct and instruct their dragons, that was only through an intense emotional connection or forced through the use of magic. Of course, no other being was as skilled in the use of magic as the dragorai. But it wasn’t something most alphas were keen to use. Their dan askha’s were wild creatures unto their own, and they tended to support their alphas and abide by whatever the alpha felt strongly about.

  In Nyro’s opinion, that was how it should be. Both dragorai-alphas and dragons were supposed to be wild and uncontrollable, even with each other, to some degree. He fully believed that they were the last remaining dragorai clan because of that ferocity. The Vattoros had always been prone to violence—more so than any of the other clans before their demise. He would not shy away from it or encourage Sanderyll to, since it was the very reason for their continued existence.

  Sanderyll’s behavior in relation to this woman remained a mystery. It had been known in the past that dragons had captured mortals and kept them in their lairs to toy with or to eat. Dragorai-dragons weren’t particularly fond of that, but it wasn’t a guarantee they wouldn’t do so. It hadn’t happened in the Vattoro clan, particularly because of the wildness of their dragons, but it didn’t mean it was impossible. For what reason did Sanderyll need to start focusing his attention on lesser-mortals?

  And what a delicious mystery she was! Excitement tightened his stomach as he drummed his fingers on the table waiting for the meeting to conclude. There were so many questions needing answers, and for an unknown factor to present itself after so many centuries of monotonous boredom, was like a gift from the Goddesses. Even hunting had become predictable. He finally had something to focus on that had roused every part of him, as evidenced by the ridged thickness of his length straining against his pants.

  Nyro shifted in his chair, trying to make himself more comfortable.

  “What do you think of that, Nyro?”

  Nyro looked up, forcing himself out of his contemplation. “About what?”

  “He isn’t even listening,” muttered Zendyor.

  Nyro growled at him. “I’m only here because I’m required to be, not to actually participate in discussions.”

  “So you have no feelings about who wins the war?” Sethorn asked.

  “No,” Nyro said. “I’ve made it very clear that I do not think we should involve ourselves in the affairs of the lesser-mortals. They are the reason why we are the only clan left.”

  As far as he was concerned, the inferior beings who caused the deaths of all the other dragorai were not his concern. He didn’t care if most of them were killed and hunted and tortured and destroyed. And he didn’t see why the clan had to bother themselves with what was happening with them either. Let them kill each other. He just wanted to live his life doing things he found pleasurable—and the woman he found was next on his list.

  “Exactly,” Zendyor said. “We should make sure that we are in control of the events that take place across the Twin Realms to ensure the survival of our clan.”

&
nbsp; “The only way to ensure the survival of our clan is to kill all not loyal to us,” Nyro said forcefully. “In massive numbers, they are the only ones who are a threat. If they want to do the task for us and kill each other, I do not see why we should be interfering.”

  Sethorn and Zendyor shook their heads in disagreement, but it wasn’t anything new. They’d had this argument every decade since the war had started, and the brothers were no closer to changing their stances on getting involved.

  “We know your position, Nyro,” Sethorn said gruffly. “We have discussed it many times before. I just want to be clear that you are choosing not to partake in any action we choose?”

  “That is correct,” Nyro confirmed. “I just want to know what is going to happen so I can make sure my dan askha and I are not in the way.”

  Sethorn inclined his head. “Of course.” He spread a map of the Twin Realms on the table. “So we can plan this quite simply—”

  Nyro shifted his focus again, staring out the window overlooking Khyros’ mountain range. Each brother had his own, spanning an enormous amount of uninhabitable land that bridged the two extensive lands known as Twin Realms. Sethorn and Zendyor believed their lands were one of the reasons they survived, and that could be true. Nyro believed it was their brutal approach to most things but he didn’t much care the reasons why, as he’d reiterated many times. He was a superior being, and as such, he was owed a life of superiority. He lived in luxury with everything he needed surrounding him. If his brothers could only learn to adopt his approach, they would all have happier lives. Death was coming for all of them eventually. Sometimes Nyro felt he was the only one who was truly prepared for it.

  Finally, the meeting came to a close, and all the brothers rose from their chairs.

  “I expect to hear from you soon with regards to the trespasser,” Zendyor muttered as he strode past Nyro.

  Nyro seriously considered breathing fire on the asshole’s back, but Tyomar was watching him with another one of his “looks” on his face.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Nyro said irritably.

  Tyomar bellowed out his laughter. He was used to both Nyro’s indifference and Zendyor’s irritable moods and actually seemed fond of each of their characteristics. “I don’t know why you’re letting him get to you so much. Normally you ignore him.”

  “I don’t appreciate him demanding my time or telling me who can and cannot be part of my staff,” Nyro growled. “We all know you do not interfere with another brother’s lair.”

  “I’m not getting into it,” Tyomar said, raising his hands. “It was already discussed during the meeting. You do what you need to do, and Zendyor will do what he needs to do.”

  “Traitor,” Nyro muttered gruffly, although he was jesting. Tyomar was one of the more committed and positive brothers of the clan. He always encouraged the brothers to get along and tried to defuse their disagreements. Nearly all the brothers enjoyed his company; he was friendly with them all. Of the brothers, Tyomar was Nyro’s favorite for that reason. He never judged Nyro for wanting to live his life simply and not be involved in clan politics or lesser-mortals affairs. He cared for him as he was, and his amiable nature made it difficult not to return that affection.

  Nyro sent out a call for Sanderyll and launched himself from the mountain onto the dragon’s back with magic as he bid his brothers farewell. He encouraged him to fly as fast as he could back to their lair, straight back to that opening in the mountain to finish what he started with his mystery woman. But when he dropped into the opening he was shocked to find it empty.

  Nyro stood staring at where he’d left her, dumbfounded. Disbelief coursed through his veins that she was gone. How dare she leave! He had explicitly told her to wait.

  He turned and shook his head, outraged at her disobedience, before realizing that she probably hadn’t understood him. She spoke one of the baser, derivative tongues of the lesser-mortals—which one, he had no idea. And even though he mostly understood what she said, he would never lower himself to actually speak those languages. She would have to learn to understand him.

  Walking around the small space, he looked for any sign of where she may have gone, but it wasn’t like she could leave any tracks inside the lair for him to follow, especially when she had no clothes.

  A growl erupted from his chest as he realized he now had to hunt her down. But accompanying his annoyance was bone-deep excitement the challenge presented. Her scent still lingered in the area, and he took a deep breath before turning back to call Sanderyll.

  He needed to scout around the outside of the mountain to see if she had fallen or climbed down. It was a perilous journey, but it wasn’t unusual for lesser-mortals to think they could successfully scale the mountain. He considered whether she was one of his kon’ayas, but it was impossible. Never would a kon’aya of his behave so boldly or so rash. They were all meek and obedient, even before the stewards trained them to be. Still, he would ask the head steward about any new recruits.

  Part of him worried that this woman was the one Zendyor was after, but if she was no longer here, then Zendyor could not stake a claim, and he had no obligation to look into the matter. Furthermore, Zen didn’t deserve a woman like that. Even if Nyro became bored with her, which he did not foresee happening anytime soon, a beauty and body like that was not ever destined for Zendyor.

  Sanderyll arrived, swooping around the opening as he screeched, annoyed by Nyro’s demands, but Nyro ignored him. He muttered the incantation that would take him through the air and onto the dragon’s back, then fixed himself in a comfortable position as San soared downward to the bottom of the mountain.

  He would make it his duty to find that woman and when he did, he would enjoy her to the full extent of his capabilities.

  3

  I’mya woke thrashing.

  “Calm down!” Strong hands held down her arms.

  I’mya tried to speak but could only gurgle.

  Voices blurred in her ears as a powerful, soothing calm seeped into her body. It was clearly being forced on her, but she was unable to fight it.

  She drifted away, floating on clouds of quiet that hushed her alarm. She wasn’t sure how long she lay lulled by the peace of it, her mind blank, her body rested.

  But eventually the prickle of unease burrowed back into her, and she woke with a start.

  I’mya sat up abruptly, her hands flying to her face. The magic was gone. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, wriggling her jaw and tongue, but there was no sign the magic was still in her face.

  Lowering her hands, she exhaled in relief and took in her surroundings. She sat in a tiny, enclosed space just slightly longer than her length and about five hand-widths higher than her head. Beneath her was a heap of thick, white bedding, pillows, and cushions. The walls were smoothed and carved around her, like she was inside a fat tube. At the foot of her makeshift bed, the wall jutted out creating a small ledge, on top of which sat an orb emitting a soft opalescent glow that filled the tiny area, but I’mya suddenly realized that was not where most of the light in the space was coming from. There was an opening behind her, so she crawled to the edge to look out.

  As she sat back down, looking out and around, she realized she was high up inside a wall. Before her, beds and cushioned chairs were dotted around a large room. On the left wall was artwork, orbs, shelves, and wooden chests, as well as a set of double doors. I’mya sat in one of about seven small, deep sleeping spaces that had been carved into one of the walls creating cozy sleeping nooks. I’mya’s was in one of the top ones alongside one other, with three in a row below and another two below that, allowing her to overlook the entire room. A number of naked women milled around the space, lying on beds reading or chatting. On the right wall, almost the entire part had been cut away, leaving a large opening to the outside, displaying a view of a bright mountain range, similar to the one where she’d seen the dragon.

  At the thought of the dragon, fear kindled in her chest. Sh
e looked down, checking her body. There were no burn marks and her skin was not sensitive where she’d felt the dragon’s fire. She peered at the view of the mountains in the distance, but there was no dragon in sight. She wasn’t even sure it was the same mountain range, although it looked similar. The various shades of grey of the rocky terrain were dusted in white, unifying them under the bright skies.

  And then, of course, there was the enormous man. Heated rushed up her neck and burned her cheeks at the thought of their encounter—what he did to her and how she responded. She couldn’t imagine why she’d encouraged him, why she’d savored his kiss and reveled in his attentions. It had to be something to do with this lair, making her act abnormally. Or maybe it was because of his scent. It had been truly gorgeous, multi-layered, deep and enticing. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t pleasing to the eye either. In fact, she couldn’t imagine a more handsome man, but that wasn’t the point. He had jumped on top of the dragon… Who would dare do something like that? Something wasn’t right here—she was missing a key piece of information. But it wouldn’t elude her much longer. Her memories were returning. Even if she didn’t understand them yet, that didn’t matter. If she could remember the layout of the mountain—that she’d known when magic was in her veins—she should be able to find a safe and undetectable way out.

  “You’re awake.”

  I’mya shifted to the edge of her nook and peered out. In the nook on her left, the girl with the golden hair sat with her legs swinging—the same one she’d tried to speak to in the corridor. She was leaning forward, peering over at I’mya.

  “When Dayatha brought you in unconscious, I was a little worried,” she said, smiling nervously. “We’re supposed to be safe here.”

  I’mya shifted to sit on the edge too, tucking her legs underneath her, and she leaned forward to respond, but as soon as she made a sound, a harsh, burning pain blasted through the back of her throat. She winced, her hand flying to her neck. Even though the magic was gone, her throat was still raw from all the screaming.