Obsidian Wings (Soul of a Dragon Book 1)

by Clara Hartley

  But Rayse looked oh so delicious.

  Do not let him near you! the voice thundered through her thoughts. Listen to me, Constance, please. You must not bed him. It will be the end of you.

  “Who are you?” she asked, before she could catch herself. Her lungs swelled, making it hard to breathe.

  Marzia waved a hand over her face. “I’m your friend. You can recognize me, yes?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Then who? Goodness, maybe we should leave.”

  Remember my words. Do not let him mate with you. Now, run.

  Everything seemed to pause as her eyes traveled up Rayse’s body to meet his gaze again. His cold, unwavering eyes pierced her like tendrils of darkness. As their gazes locked, another pool of sensations electrified her insides.

  “Constance? Constance!” Marzia shouted. Her sharp voice forced its way through Constance’s confusion. She realized her body had bent halfway toward the ground.

  The pain, the ache. Damn it all. It felt too good.

  She tried to shake off the sensations, and in a jolt, instincts took control of her limbs and she ran. She ran as if being chased. The cloth of her long dress nearly made her trip. Hastily, she tore the bottom of her dress off for better movement.

  Was she going crazy? Voices in her head were telling her what to do. She should want to be chosen. She needed the money to save her village, and yet she was running away. Why?

  Although she was confused, her body pushed her forward. She found her way toward her house and swung the door open. As she dashed inside, the voice spoke again, more faintly this time. Hide.

  Constance ran across the living room, knocking some bowls and herbs off a table as she did.

  She flung herself into her chambers and threw the door behind her close.

  “Why in dragon’s name would I even be running?” she muttered. “Why…” Rayse wouldn’t be bothered about a small village girl like her.

  Panting, she knelt to the ground and shuffled underneath her bed. She intended to wait out the ordeal, which mostly came from her head.

  The front door flung open. She swallowed.

  No sound. Eduard’s footsteps were always loud and clunky. They normally gave away his clumsiness.

  This was a stranger. Or the wind? It couldn’t be the wind.

  She spotted the stranger’s bare feet. Trembling with fear, she brought her fists to the sides of her face. Noticing a broken piece of wood sticking out from her bedframe, she tried to reach for it.

  A hand grabbed her and dragged her out from under the bed. She screamed, reaching for the broken wood. The momentum of the stranger’s pull didn’t give her enough time, and wood splinters scraped her fingers, drawing blood. She flinched at the sharp pain.

  She was face to face with her captor, blood dripping down her fingers and onto the ground. Looking at him again made her moan—possibly with fear, but mostly with halfhearted, foreign delight. His muscles felt taut when pressed against her body. And…

  …and she could feel his growing erection nudging her thigh.

  Her body couldn’t decide whether to flee or give in.

  She waited for the dirty feelings to come—the ones she got from the men in the whorehouse. They didn’t arrive.

  Escape! If it had a body, the mysterious voice would be thrashing with panic.

  She couldn’t listen to it, not with Rayse so close, tempting her with his intense eyes. So beautiful…

  “Oh,” she whimpered. Her knees nearly folded in on themselves.

  He glanced down, looking at her cut fingers. They hardly bothered her now. He growled. The guttural sound made her center ache. She tried to fight her lust. She tried to fight her need to mate with this man.

  “Why hurt yourself, love?” he said. His voice was low and rough, yet music to her ears. “Let me take you home.”

  “Yes,” she said in almost a whisper before raising her arms and wrapping them around his waist.

  Then her eyes shut, and she fell to blackness.

  Chapter 2

  Twelve years ago

  Most men liked to visit the whorehouse during twilight hours, right after they had finished their shifts. Little Constance hated it when the place bustled with clients guffawing with rotting teeth. Each of them likely hadn’t showered for days. They made a foul odor stain the place.

  “Little girl, why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap?” a grimy customer with gray stubble said. He patted his knee while his equally abhorrent friends cheered him on.

  Constance did not like having to face men like him. She avoided his chilling, predatory gaze and trudged to her mother’s side. Mother, Constance heard the other ladies in the inn call her “Marsella”, would always protect her from these lecherous men.

  Her mother twirled around and flashed her customers a seductive grin. The middle-aged prostitute wagged a slender finger at the boys. “Nah ah. Naughty fellows, aren’t you? She’s not for your taking, boys. Play with some of the other girls your age.”

  The man snorted. “But I don’t want girls my age. What’s the big deal, aye? It’s only gon’ be a matter of time. Like mother like daughter, no?”

  “Patience. A grown man’s cock should be able to wait a bit,” she teased. Mother grasped Constance’s trembling hand and tightened her grip. Constance knew her mother bubbled with anger on the inside but couldn’t show it. Sometimes Mother would cry in the middle of the night and apologize for not giving Constance a better life.

  I will never let them touch you, her mother had promised. And so far, she had managed to keep her vow.

  Why did Mother always have to please these awful men? They treated her like rubbish. Constance’s eight-year-old mind found this difficult to comprehend.

  The door slammed open and a towering man stomped in. The bright light from Everndale’s street silhouetted his frame. He stepped into the whorehouse, and soon Constance could see his characteristic red beard and skin-bald head.

  “Whh… Where is she?” He walked with an unsteady gait and held a liquor canister in his right hand.

  She hid behind Mother and clutched her parent’s damaged, cream-colored dress. This man was one of Mother’s most loyal customers, and Constance hated him. Every move, every word he said was always smeared with jealousy and hatred.

  Three of the women in the house had gone missing after attending to this customer. Their bodies had been mutilated beyond recognition. Mother was to be next—that was what the other whores said. Watching his every step made Constance’s throat dry. She hated having this monster anywhere near Mother.

  Mother pretended to smile with joy. “Bastion, darling. So good to see you.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him and forced an alluring look.

  A buzz started in Constance’s head. Ringing… ringing… telling her that something was very wrong today.

  “Shut yer trap, whore,” the city guard said. “You betrayed me.” He grabbed the nape of Mother’s neck and smashed her against the table.

  Constance’s heart raced, and she lurched forward to Mother’s side. “Let her go!”

  Bastion pushed her aside with an effortless kick. “Get off me, you stinkin’ brat.” The buzzing wouldn’t stop.

  “Hands off!” She threw herself at Mother’s assailant again, but he easily flicked her off with another kick, this time using more force. Her gut ached from the pain, and she coughed. She fisted her hands and got up. She would do everything she could to keep this man away from Mother. Her naivety gave her confidence.

  A pair of hairy arms wrapped around her and pulled her aside. “Don’t want to mess with the big boys, aye, girly? Let the poor bloke deal with his business.”

  Her cheeks were wet with tears. “No…o…” She thrashed with the vigor of a child.

  Mother turned to her, her face red from choking. “B-be a g-good girl—”

  Bastion slapped Mother’s face. Blackened teeth bared, he said in her face, “I didn’t say you could speak.”

>   Constance banged her feet on the floor and tried to wriggle her way out of her captor’s viselike grip. “Hands off!”

  Bastion dragged Mother to an empty room. Her feet scratched against the wooden floor.

  “Mom!” Constance quivered, trapped in the stranger’s unwelcome arms.

  The room’s wooden door clicked shut, separating her from her mother.

  The putrid-breathed man holding her whispered in her ear, “Now that’s dealt with, why don’t we have some fun, girly?”

  Screams rang from the room Mother was trapped in. They rose in a crescendo, then silence, before continuing again.

  What was happening behind those doors?

  What was that man doing to Mother?

  Listening to the chorus of duress tormented Constance. She wailed as grief washed over her.

  “Sounds like your mother’s having a blast, lass,” the man holding her said. “Why don’t you say we play, too?”

  At the nape of her neck, he sucked in a deep breath. Her skin crawled.

  Her mother wasn’t around to protect her this time. Her stomach tightened from thinking about what these men were going to do her. She was only eight, but she understood that she didn’t want them to treat her the way they did Mother.

  She bit down on her captor’s finger as hard as she could.

  “Ow!” He released her. “Damn brat.”

  Her body shook with fear as she darted to the open entrance and slipped out to the busy street.

  “Get back here!”

  Sometimes she would sneak out and play with the other children, so she knew the streets well. Muttering words of encouragement to herself, she pressed on and meandered her way around Everndale until she was sufficiently far away from the whorehouse and somewhere relatively quiet.

  She didn’t have to worry. They didn’t give chase.

  But Mother…

  She found herself a cozy corner and sat down. She brushed her eyes with the back of her hands and wiped the tears from her face.

  She’ll be okay, she thought. Bastion will be nice to her.

  She knew the truth, however. She doubted she would see Mother again—not after those nightmarish screams.

  It wasn’t long before she broke down and sobbed in the quiet space.

  In the wee hours of the morning, when the men were sure to be gone or too drunk to care about anything, Constance returned.

  A prostitute stood alone at the bar. She looked up and shot Constance a look of pity.

  The whore shook her head. “Child… I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry… about what?

  Constance rushed to the room Bastion had dragged Mother into. Lying there was a lifeless body. A thin, tattered cloth covered Mother’s frame and draped over her face. Shaking, Constance moved closer to inspect the scene.

  “Mom?”

  She reached out and placed her hand on Mother’s bluish hand. It was cold.

  She inhaled sharply then lifted the cloth. She screamed, stumbled backward, and fell to the ground. Accidentally, she dragged the rest of the fabric with her.

  Mother wasn’t clothed. The corpse’s limbs were snapped in all the wrong directions. Her face wasn’t there anymore. Instead, a gruesome concoction of blood and flesh lay in its place.

  Constance’s stomach was empty, but if it wasn’t, she would have vomited all over the floor. She retched anyway.

  The wooden floorboard creaked. “You shouldn’t be seeing this,” the prostitute said from behind her. “We’re sending someone to clean her up and give her a proper burial tomorrow.”

  “How could he have done this?” Constance asked. She couldn’t fathom how someone could be so wicked.

  “Most men are monsters. Your mother was unlucky enough to cross the worst of them.”

  Chapter 3

  Rayse peered down at his mate. Her chestnut hair framed her face as she slept. It was wavy, silky, and long enough to reach her waist. Her lips were plump and pink. A light and gentle pink colored her cheeks. Her breasts weren’t too large, but were full and perky nevertheless. She looked every bit a ravishing woman.

  Beautiful.

  That was the first word that flashed in his mind when he saw her. He’d only seen her today, but he had imagined her a million times over the last five hundred years, not knowing she really existed.

  He was in human form, but his wings had unfurled behind his back. It didn’t happen often. In fact, this was the third time in five hundred years.

  His dragon couldn’t contain its excitement.

  She’s the one, it said. Take her now.

  His human side didn’t believe it. He didn’t know this woman, but his member was strained in his pants. He wanted to wait for her to wake up and seek her permission. No one liked having sex with an unmoving, sleeping person.

  But fuck the goddess—he couldn’t stand it.

  It was hurting just to hold back.

  The other mated males said they experienced an intense urge to mate once they saw their partner, but no one mentioned it was going to make every fiber of his being tighten with uncontrollable need.

  His hands clenched hard on the frame of the bed. He gritted his teeth and let out a muffled groan.

  Fucking dragon.

  He could unknowingly break his bedframe if she didn’t wake up soon.

  He shook back and forth and counted downward from a thousand. Maybe he should leave. His mental dragon pushed back, forbidding him from doing so.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “Wh-where am I?”

  He was on her in an instant.

  He kissed the nape of her neck. So sweet. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Who are you?”

  He didn’t like hearing the panic in her voice.

  He pulled back and pushed his hair from his face so she could get a good look at him. She deserved that, at least.

  Her brow furrowed. “Rayse?” Then he saw it—the need. She would be experiencing it too, albeit not as strongly as he did. Humans did not have instincts as strong as animals like him had. Her voice came out as a whimper. “Where am I? Am I still in the brook?” He could hear the shiver in her voice—the longing to be pleasured.

  He ripped off her dress. His human side wanted to get to know her, and to at least find out her name before he entered her. But his animal didn’t care. All his dragon wanted to do was mark her with its scent.

  Constance looked up in a daze. Her clothes… he had just torn them from her.

  This was all happening too quickly.

  “I don’t want to do this,” he said. “Dragons fuck it, I don’t want to, but I can’t control myself.”

  She couldn’t either. All she could think about was having this man inside of her. No delays.

  She was terrified despite that. This wasn’t her. What magic had he cast?

  “Stop,” she said.

  The heat between her legs ignited. Squeezing her thighs together, she attempted to soothe the warm ache. Her back arched, and she bared her bare breasts to Rayse.

  Nonono, she should have been doing the opposite. Take the covers, shield yourself. But instead, she clawed her hands around his back and pulled him to her.

  “What are you doing to me?” she asked.

  “I can’t stop myself, little fire. It’s the bond.”

  He penetrated her with his member. There was no tender kiss. Just pure, unadulterated lust emanating from them both.

  He was large, and she thought she couldn’t contain him, but she sheathed him entirely. She winced at the stinging sensation he caused her, but it quickly melted away and her body throbbed with wanting.

  “S…st…op.”

  He began a rocking motion. She clung to him as if clinging for her life. They morphed into a mess of sweat, sex, and pleasure. The musty scent of their sexes lingered in the air.

  This is wrong. So very wrong.

  She began hating herself, and the memories of her childhood took over again. It made her dizzy, confused, and scared.
>
  She detested herself for enjoying whatever this man was doing to her. His body… it was so firm, so delectable. She couldn’t withhold herself from wanting him.

  Her eyes flitted to behind him. And there she saw black wings, covering their bodies and curling around them.

  He was a demon.

  She was frolicking with the devil himself.

  Chapter 4

  Rayse wanted this. He’d been longing for this for all his years. She was the missing component of his life. He could reign and rule and conquer all he wanted, but without someone to share his life with, it would be meaningless.

  She would give him the love he’d been missing all his life.

  Right?

  He was being hopeful. The sensations of melding with her tightening sex was clouding his reason. But it had been a long while since he’d felt so complete. This was nothing like the experiences he’d had with other women.

  “Love, I…” He opened his eyes, and the sight made him pause.

  His mate lay beneath him in a pile of tears. He expected to see his passion reflected in her, but all he could see was fear. The same fear he’d commanded and saw in the expressions of his subjects and the humans.

  He disdained that look of fright. He’d always wanted to wipe it from their faces, but it was the only way he could rule without chaos.

  All of Gaia could hate him and be afraid of him, but not this woman. She was supposed to be the missing piece.

  He didn’t want to scare her.

  Exercising all his restraint, he pulled out. The dragon inside him flared and thrashed. I should finish in her. She’s not properly marked yet. He willed it to calm down.

  He grunted and stifled a groan of pain.

  “Wha… What’s… happening?” she asked.

  He pulled his pants back on. The hard-on wouldn’t go away. “I’m sorry.”

  His dragon roared.

  Shut up, he thought. Have some self-control.

  It was having none of it.

  He didn’t turn around to look at her, because if he did, he knew he would throw himself against her again and rut like a beast.