Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  Another part of him—a part he was trying to ignore, especially with so many lives at risk—was simply thinking about Reagan. What did she feel for him? What did she think about him? What had been that look in her eyes when she’d pursued him into the hallway, just before his men had interrupted them? It had been all he could do to keep his distance from her over dinner. He’d had to fight to keep his hands to himself every time she turned those great golden eyes onto his face. He was completely lost to the charms of this woman. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable around him, so he’d done everything he could to give her space, to keep his distance even as his dragon was roaring in his chest to take her, to claim her as his mate once and for all.

  Could she be his mate, he wondered for what felt like the thousandth time? If she was—well, she was hiding her feelings well. And if she wasn’t—he was in for a pretty sad life here, feeling as strongly as he did, knowing it to be unrequited. He took a deep breath, trying to sigh out some of the tension. One thing at a time, he told himself sternly as he tried to will his body to sleep, tried to pull his mind from distinctly inappropriate thoughts about Reagan. First, he’d focus on turning back the invaders. Then, he’d give a little more thought to an investigation of the feelings he had for Reagan—and the feelings he couldn’t help but hope she might have for him.

  The next day dawned, bright and cold. It was chillier in these mountains than he was used to, the air biting at his skin. But his human flesh wouldn’t be a problem for long. Not today. Not when he needed all the weapons of his true form at his disposal at a moment’s notice. He stayed in his human shape long enough to check in with his own advisors and with the staff of the palace, and then he was out on the heights with the early morning sun on his skin. With a broad grin on his face, he transformed.

  The sun felt just as good on his scales as it had on his face, but he couldn’t focus on that now. What was important now was to get some altitude, to keep a close eye on the valley. He beat his great wings hard, the sunlight gleaming from them as he ascended. From just below the clouds, he had an excellent view of the whole valley and of the mountains beyond, through which Clifford’s forces were approaching, according to his advisors. His brother’s forces were on their way. Scouts had flown through the night, and he knew Albert had forces ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. All they could do now was wait and hope that reinforcements reached them before Clifford’s forces did.

  But in the end, they didn’t get so lucky.

  It was midday when Stephen saw it. The barest glint of light, down among the trees that lay beyond the northernmost tip of the valley. If he hadn’t been scanning the area so closely, he’d have missed it. But sure enough, as he swung his neck around to look more closely, the steady beats of his great wings keeping him still in the air as he looked, his heart sank. Sure enough—a dozen dragons, maybe more, winging their stealthy way through the treetops. Approaching the valley.

  Approaching Reagan.

  Stephen roared a challenge, reaching out to the assembled forces as he dove, his wings folded against his back to grant him speed. There were dozens of dragons on watch, and they followed him too, an impressive show of force in the midday light. Clifford’s dragons were surprised to have been sighted—he could tell by the confused way they retreated into the trees. There was something very satisfying about that—and then, Stephen and his forces were in the trees, and chaos broke loose.

  Stephen couldn’t think about his brother, about reinforcements, about anything but the battle at hand. Almost immediately, he was surrounded by dragons, tearing and slashing at him—he roared in fury, striking out with his wings and talons, felling trees as easily as foes as he channeled years of anger with these attackers into the battle. He could feel and hear the dragons of the valley fighting at his side, and he roared a challenge to Clifford’s forces, knowing that as their King, his forces were looking to him for inspiration.

  And no matter the cost, he would fight for his new home. For his people. For his Queen.

  But the cost was dear. As the battle waged on, more and more dragons seemed to swarm out of the woodwork to fight for Clifford, and Stephen could feel his great strength giving out. For every dragon he dispatched with a swipe of his claws, two seemed to take its place. He was bleeding in a dozen places, breathing hard, beginning to falter. And—was he seeing things? There, in the sky. A dragon who looked just like him.

  Hold the line, brother.

  Albert! Stephen fought with renewed vigor as his brother joined the fray—and to his delight, he could feel the tide of battle turning. The reinforcements had arrived in the nick of time. They surged forward—but when Stephen tried to leap into the air to follow the battle, he felt his tattered wings fail to catch the air. And as though it had been waiting for the reinforcements to arrive, blackness rushed up to claim his vision, frighteningly, sickeningly fast.

  His last thought before oblivion claimed him was that he hoped his death would at least ensure the safety of the place he’d so briefly called home—and the Queen he’d loved for all of a day.

  Chapter 8

  Reagan

  The healers had come and gone what felt like a hundred times. Reagan chewed on her lip, gazing down at the unconscious figure in the bed she had been sitting beside for days. Stephen had been brought in, bleeding freely from at least a dozen very serious wounds. Dragons could take a lot of injuries—they were notoriously tough—but this had given even the most experienced healers of the Palace pause for thought. Still, his wounds had been bandaged, and he’d survived so far. Did that mean that he would live?

  She willed herself to be patient. She’d never seen a dragon take so much punishment. By all accounts from the front lines of the bloody battle that had raged so close to their home, Stephen had fought like a beast. He’d taken down more enemy dragons than anyone, taken wound after wound that by all rights should have knocked him out for good. But instead, he’d fought on, only collapsing to the ground once the reinforcements had arrived and the battle had been won.

  It had been his brother, in the end, who’d slain Clifford. Reagan regretted that a little—she’d have liked to have a few words with the monster who’d brought so much death and chaos to the land. But knowing that he’d been executed was enough. With him dead and his forces either killed or scattered, the last of the threat to their peace was gone. It was an incredible relief, but Reagan couldn’t enjoy it. Not with Stephen lying unconscious here, barely clinging to life. And not with what the renewed peace might mean for them.

  What good was a union made for protection when the need for protection had been destroyed?

  She sighed again, reaching out to brush Stephen’s dark forelock out of his closed eyes. She’d been taking little liberties like that over the last few days, reasoning that he wouldn’t notice the intimacy of the gestures while he was unconscious.

  “I wish you’d wake up,” she murmured aloud to him, once she’d ensured the healers weren’t anywhere they’d overhear her. “You big, brave idiot.”

  She dropped her head onto the bed, fighting to control her tears. And then, to her shock, she heard a low chuckle—weak, and rough around the edges, but undeniably familiar. She sat up, hardly daring to believe her ears. And sure enough, Stephen’s eyes were open. There was something different about them, but she could barely concentrate on that, so focused was she on resisting the urge to throw her arms around him.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Barely,” he rasped, sitting up with some difficulty. “How did I get here? Where’s—”

  “Clifford’s dead,” she said quickly, noticing the way his body was tensing up. “His forces captured, killed, or fled. The threat’s over.”

  “And my men—”

  “All safe,” she said, feeling a rush of bemused affection for this man who’d barely checked his own wounds before asking after others. “A few nasty injuries, but nothing life-threatening on anyone else. You took the worst of it. T
enfold, I’d say,” she added, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’m mended,” he said dismissively, already unrolling a bandage from his arm. Sure enough, the skin beneath was intact. She’d often heard that their speedy healing had something to do with the magic that allowed them to shift between two different bodies. Whatever it was, she was desperately grateful that it had kept Stephen alive. “Clifford’s dead? For certain?”

  “For certain,” she confirmed, a smile on her face. There was worry prickling at her stomach. But she was tired of not voicing what was troubling her, of sitting quietly, of waiting. So she took a deep breath and summoned her courage. “Stephen, our union was formed to protect both our kingdoms from Clifford’s invasion. With him dead and his forces scattered, there is no longer a need for that protection.”

  Stephen was looking at her as though he’d been struck. “What are you saying?”

  “I just mean—” She ducked her head. “You were pulled away from your home, your family. This arrangement probably wasn’t your idea. You’ve done your duty, Stephen. If you want to go home, I won’t hold it against you.” It will break my heart, she added silently, but that’s my business.

  But he was staring at her. “Is that what you want?”

  “No!” She almost yelled the word. “No. But I thought—”

  “Reagan—” He was sitting up in bed, a look of urgency on his face. “I—I—“ Something seemed to break, and he started speaking, faster than she’d heard him speak before. “Leaving home was the best thing that ever happened to me, Reagan. Leaving home brought me here. Leaving home meant that I met you. And if you want me to go, I’ll go, but if it were up to me, I’d stay by your side for a hundred thousand years. The minute I met you, Reagan, I—I was yours. I am yours. Forever.”

  She was reeling. “Stephen—I’ve been beside myself—ever since I met you, I thought—I felt—but you were so—so polite, so distant, so—”

  “What are you saying?”

  She stared at him, and now she realized what was different about his face. His eyes—they’d changed. They were a deep, burnished gold. The same color as hers. “Stephen—your eyes—”

  “I know,” he said simply. “My brother’s changed too. When he met his soulmate.”

  Chapter 9

  Reagan

  There was a long, frozen moment. Reagan’s heart was pounding hard in her chest—she was acutely aware that they were alone in Stephen’s chambers. Part of her wondered if this was a dream. Could she really have gotten this lucky? Could this powerful warrior really feel the same way about her as she did about him? She took a deep breath. “Stephen, I—I think you’re my mate.”

  A smile broke out across his face like the sun through clouds, and he nodded slowly. As though in a dream, as though she was moving underwater, she found herself rising from her chair, moving across to the bed where he was lying—he was rising to meet her, his hands reaching for her. His arms were around her, and one strong hand was at the base of her neck, holding her firmly to him as their lips met in a kiss that felt like it was knocking down every wall she’d ever erected, every ounce of self-control she’d been using to hold herself back from him utterly spent. All that was left was his hands on her, the softness of his warm lips on hers, the sweet, spicy scent of him as she was drawn closer and closer to him.

  “I love you,” he breathed, breaking away to gaze into her eyes, and as she stared back at him, she felt her heart almost burst.

  “I love you too,” she managed, hearing her voice shake with—what? With trepidation? What could she possibly be nervous about? She had the love of her life in her arms, and suddenly, all the ideas she’d been fighting back were coming to the forefront of her mind again. “Stephen—your injuries—are they—”

  “Healed,” he said breathlessly, pulling her closer into the bed with him. “Completely healed, good as new, strong as an ox—”

  She laughed, but he was distracting her. His hands were roaming all over her, starting fires in places she’d never given much thought to. And it wasn’t long before she was tugging her dress over her head, privately a little shocked at her own boldness. She’d never done any of this before. Why did it feel so natural? Because Stephen was her soulmate, she realized in a dizzy rush. It felt like she’d known him for a thousand years, and it also felt like she’d been waiting a thousand years to get her hands on the unbelievable body that had been hiding under all of those formal clothes. She grinned to herself as she pulled the bandages from his body—it was clear from the sound of his breathing that he’d been waiting for this moment with as much enthusiasm as she had.

  Then they were both naked, and they wasted no time in diving under the sheets together, wrapped in each other’s arms. His hands moved agonizingly slowly. She all but groaned as his fingertips ghosted across her breasts, teasing at the sensitive flesh of her nipples, curling around her back and running down her spine, around the curve of her hip. There was something worshipful in his caresses, something that made her feel like a goddess and not just a Queen. And when his hands slowed as they approached her most intimate place, she reached down and pressed his fingertips to her sex in wordless encouragement.

  Her eyes flickered shut as he began to explore her body, and within minutes, she was choking back moans at the intensity of the sensations he was drawing out of her. She lay back among the tangle of sheets, fists clenched in the fabric, powerless to resist even if she’d wanted to. It felt like some kind of fire building low in her belly, resonating out to every part of her, right down to the tips of her fingers and toes. And just when it felt like something was about to explode, he pulled his hand away, drawing a frustrated groan from her before she could stop herself.

  There he was, hovering above her, a wicked grin on that gorgeous face she’d fallen for so completely, and for a moment, all she could do was gaze at him with a no-doubt ridiculous smile on her face.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, reaching out to caress her face. She pressed a kiss to his palm—and then felt his manhood brush against her thigh, sending a full-body tingle of arousal shooting down her spine. She gazed up at him, wordless, commanding, even though it felt more like begging. Either way, her wish was his command, and her eyes rolled back in uncontrollable delight as his manhood slid deep, deep inside her.

  They seemed to fit together as though they’d been made for each other. Every movement of her hips she made to draw more pleasure from their lovemaking seemed to bring him more pleasure, too, and it wasn’t long before they were both breathing hard, whimpering wordless pleas and vows into each other’s ears as they moved together beneath the blankets. The climax crashed over them both simultaneously, and Reagan had to bury her face in Stephen’s throat to stop herself from screaming loudly enough to bring every guard in the palace running.

  They lay together in the aftermath, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her, unbelievably warm and comforting. Her body was suffused with an unbelievable glow, but even in her post-coital bliss, she could feel that her desire wouldn’t be dormant for long. How could it be, lying so close to a man like this?

  “I’ve been wanting this since I met you,” Reagan murmured, turning to look up at her soulmate. He smiled down at her, warmth and love beaming out of his face.

  “Oh, my Queen. I’ve been wanting this my whole life.”

  Chapter 10

  Stephen

  “Thanks for meeting me out here.”

  Stephen turned from the bird’s-eye view of the valley afforded to him by the little rocky overhang he was standing on. It was one of Reagan’s favorite places in the valley—she’d shown it to him a few days after they’d met, after the chaos of battle had settled down, and they’d made absolutely sure that Clifford’s forces were all banished.

  He’d hardly dared to hope for the kind of peace they’d experienced since then, but sure enough, the weeks had flown by with absolutely no sign of Clifford or any of his soldiers. The threat was gone, and the
whole continent seemed to be celebrating. He and Reagan had been invited to no end of balls as the guests of honor—it seemed that word had spread quickly of what Reagan referred to as his ‘heroism’. It was a little embarrassing to think about. If he was honest, he hadn’t known how much danger he’d put himself in. All he’d known was that his Queen and his people needed him to protect them, and he’d done just that.

  They were also interested, of course, in the deeply romantic tale of Stephen and Reagan’s union. An arranged union for political purposes that wound up being a union between destined soulmates? It seemed impossible and had certainly captured the imaginations of every dragon they talked to. Sometimes he could barely believe his luck himself if he was honest, especially on days like this.

  It was the middle of summer, and though the air was still thin and rather cool up here, the warmth of the sun felt incredibly good on his skin. There’d been excellent hunting down in the valley, which was useful given how many visitors they’d had of late—it felt like every other night they were entertaining some visiting monarch or other who’d wanted to see Stephen and Reagan for him or herself. Today, thankfully, there was nothing on the cards. There were no patrols anymore; no guards posted to watch for enemies. Peace had the valley firmly in its grip, and Stephen was looking forward to getting a little bit of it to himself for once.

  He’d brought a little picnic to the ledge—nothing too elaborate, just a couple of sandwiches. Reagan did have a fondness for eating in her human form, and anything that brought his soulmate joy brought him twice as much. She grinned broadly when she spotted the basket sitting on the rock behind him, her golden eyes dancing in the sun, and for what was probably the thousandth time, Stephen wondered at his own sheer, unbelievable luck. A woman like this was his mate. Chose him. Lived with him, made love to him, spent afternoons and evenings and mornings in his company—