The Dragon's Ambivalent Sacrifice: a Dragon Shifter Romance (The Last Dragons Book 2)

by Ines Johnson

  Beryl dropped his hands and turned away from her. His shoulders caved in as though someone had sucker-punched him. A guttural roar tore from his throat.

  Poppy stumbled at the loss of his hands holding her. Not one of his words had lashed out to wound her. He seemed angry at himself, not her.

  “I shouldn’t blame you,” he said. “You didn’t know any better. You didn’t know that going out into this world that other males would look at you as though you were fair game.”

  He turned back to her. His cheeks were ruddy, as though shame had crept up there. His chin dropped to his chest as though it were weighed down by guilt.

  “Forgive me,” he said, his voice a plea.

  “Forgive you?” Poppy parroted. Her mind whirled.

  But each direction she turned she couldn’t make sense of her predicament. Where were the punishing words to make her bleed internally? Why was the blame not heavy on her shoulders?

  “It’s my fault,” Beryl said, taking cautious steps towards her. “I didn’t claim you.”

  “Claim me?” Poppy brought her hand to her shoulder where Beryl’s bite had raised the skin there.

  “That’s a mark.” Beryl’s hand covered hers. “Claiming is … more.”

  “Do you want to claim me?”

  “I will claim you.”

  His words were vehement. But she didn’t cringe at his tone. She didn’t back away from the dangerous glint in his eyes. Somehow, she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

  “I will rip Ari’s head off before he can get his paws anywhere near you.”

  Right. The fight. There was going to be a fight. And she was the prize.

  All that had slipped her mind. Because it made no sense. She was nothing special.

  “Beryl, I don’t want you to fight for me.”

  “You are mine,” he growled. Again loudly. Whispering didn’t seem to be in Beryl’s repertoire. He must not have learned about the inside voice as a child.

  Still, she’d watched enough daytime talk shows to know that those were the words of a possessive male. For a woman who had been in an abusive relationship most of her life, possessive was a great upgrade from abusive.

  “It’s just that, I don’t want you to get yourself hurt,” Poppy said. “Especially not for me.”

  Beryl’s lips pressed tight. His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as though something was stuck there. “You don’t think I’m strong enough to protect you?”

  “What? No. That’s not what I said.”

  His head raised, and the corners of his mouth lifted at her words. This was good. She’d figured out another way to please him. Most men were easily flattered. Luckily, she didn’t have to stretch the truth with Beryl.

  “I believe you could take that lion man down. Probably both of them.”

  Now his chest puffed up. He rested his fists on his hips like she’d seen bodybuilders do in their poses. It would’ve been comical if he wasn’t so damn sexy.

  “But the fight’s not worth it,” she said. “I’m not worth it.”

  Beryl’s eyes flashed emerald. He was on her before she finished her statement. His large hand wrapped around her neck. His fingers tugging her hair until her head was bent back.

  She should be scared. She should be terrified. Instead, she felt heat pooling between her thighs. Her nipples pulled into two aching points.

  “What did I say about talking bad about my treasure?”

  Poppy was wrong. Beryl did have an inside voice. His growl was so low it reverberated in the bones of her spine, turning her knees to mush.

  “I said I would punish you, didn’t I?”

  A cool sensation washed over Poppy. It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation.

  Beryl yanked her head to his, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. Poppy had been punched, kicked, spat upon, degraded until her ears burned from the insults. This punishment topped all that abuse.

  Before, she’d kept a small part of herself away from the abusive men in her life. With Beryl, that wouldn’t be possible. With his every touch, his every word, his every glance, he stole a piece of her armor and slipped into her heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The moment Beryl was on his family’s lands, he exhaled. The moment he ushered her inside the castle’s stone walls, his shoulders relaxed. He did not let Poppy go until she was behind the locked door of his room.

  "Come," he said to her, beckoning his mate to the washroom. "I want to clean you of that lion’s scent.”

  She cringed. Her features had contorted into the same look of discomfort from back in the forest when he’d raised his voice at her. He had regrets that he’d frightened her, but she needed to understand the gravity of the situation. He’d almost lost her to the lions. Just a few more moments and Ari would’ve been within his rights to scoop her into his paws and run back to his den with Beryl’s treasure.

  Just that thought had his dragon baring its incisors. It would not come to pass. Poppy was now and would forever be his mate. No lion would ever touch her. No lion would ever see her in all of her glory.

  She stood in her garb; a cloth shirt that molded to her curvy form and tight pants that showed off her assets. Her arms were crossed self-consciously over her body. He would never understand her. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and yet she constantly ducked her head and twisted her body as though that fact were not true.

  After a moment, Poppy moved toward him. Beryl stretched out his hands, but he didn't disrobe her. He wanted her permission. Not that he needed it. She was his to protect. However, he did want her trust.

  "It’s my job as your mate to care for you," he said. "Let me."

  There was command in his voice, but also a plea. Poppy's gaze lifted as her hands lowered from her chest. She placed her hands in his.

  Inside, Beryl felt something uncoil. He'd handed over his soul when he'd received her. Now, she was unlocking his heart.

  He slipped her top off. Her breath trembled as he did so. Her hands didn’t go to shield her breasts. She was trying to cover her scales.

  Beryl kissed the backs of her fingers. He nuzzled his nose against her digits, pushing them aside until he got at the skin she tried to hide.

  Pressing his lips to the first spot, he said, “You are perfect."

  "I'm not," she insisted, her voice shaky. "I'm scarred."

  "I've told you already. These aren't scars. They're scales. It means you were made for me."

  Beryl tugged the tight pants she wore down her body, pulling off her shoes before he stood. He stepped back to look at the wonder of his mate. Poppy was soft curves and dips with a smattering of dark scales along her arms and legs.

  Poppy moved to cover herself again.

  "Hands," he commanded. He was tired of fighting his mate for this part of her. "You are mine. Do not cover what is mine."

  He’d raised his voice again. Poppy inhaled sharply, her eyes going wide. But not with fear. She was trembling now. The scent that hit his nose told him that she was in need.

  Beryl lifted her into the tub of hot, soapy water. Then he disrobed under her watchful gaze. He liked that his form pleased his mate's eyes. He knew his muscles and physique was what females enjoyed gazing upon. From now on, each bench press, each bicep curl, each upright row was only for his mate’s enjoyment.

  His dragon was sedate as he climbed in the tub behind Poppy. He pulled her bare body back to him and rested the back of her head against his chest. Poppy fit him like a puzzle piece, like they had been made for each other. Had it only been a day since she'd come into his life?

  Poppy reached for the washcloth, but he took it from her hand.

  "Don't you want me to wash you?" she asked.

  "It’s the male who tends to his female.”

  "That's not the way it works in my world."

  "The men of your world are weak,” Beryl snorted. “It's women who make men strong. That's why we grow muscles, so that we are strong enough to protect
our treasures."

  Beryl dipped the cloth into the water. He squeezed it of excess water. Then he ran it in careful circles over Poppy’s chest.

  "I'm not sure how I'll make you strong,” she said, “when I've been weak my whole life."

  She was silent for a while as he washed her. He let her have the quiet as he massaged the suds into her body, erasing any trace of lion fuzz.

  “Where I come from, little girls aren’t treasured,” Poppy said after a while. “They’re not always protected. My mother used her body to make money. One of her clients used to look at me funny. Then one night after he was finished with her and she was asleep, he came to my bedroom.”

  The cloth slipped from Beryl’s fingers. His hold on his mate tightened.

  “He started touching me. I was too scared to call for help. I didn’t want to make him angry. Even as a child, I knew we needed the money. So, I just lay there and let him.”

  The water had grown tepid as they both sat in its depths. It began to boil as the dragon roused. “Did he—”

  “He didn’t. My mom came into the room. She hit him over the head and knocked him out before he could …”

  Thank the Goddess, her mother was there. Beryl had always known that a mother’s highest calling was protecting their young. That’s why the guilt had clawed at him all his life.

  “Where is your mother now?” he asked.

  “The man who tried to hurt me died, and my mom went to jail for his murder.”

  “Jail? She was caged for protecting you?”

  “He was an important man, so she got into trouble. That’s the way it works where I’m from. She died in jail.” Poppy turned her body, curling into his chest. Her hand rested on one of his pecs, and she gazed down at the spot on her forearm. “She had the same skin condition as me. She had fire in her blood.”

  “Dragons and halflings aren’t meant for that world. I’m sorry she didn’t survive. But I will honor her bravery and her sacrifice for you.”

  Poppy tilted her head up to meet his gaze. The scent of desire permeated the waters of the tub. The room filled with steam with his dragon near the surface.

  “Are you still going to punish me?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid I must,” he said. “You need to learn your lesson.”

  He reached down into the water for her waist. When both hands were filled with her curves, he lifted her to stand over him. Beryl rested his head back against the side of the basin and positioned Poppy’s hips over his.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  There was desire mixed with confusion in her eyes.

  “I’m going to lick your treasure spot. You’re going to stand there and take it. If you dare to tell me to stop, I’ll lick you for five minutes longer. Do you understand me?”

  “I … oh …”

  Beryl sealed his mouth around her soft flesh. With only his second pull, her knees were already knocking against his ears. He showed some mercy and cupped her ass, but he used his position to push her up and down on his tongue.

  The top half of her body was already bent over. She gripped the edge of the tub. She was so responsive to his touch like she’d never received such pleasure before.

  She was his. His perfect mate. So soft. So sensitive. So reactive to his every move.

  He cursed Ari that he would now have to wait to claim her properly. He knew that breaking that particular rule amounted to forfeit. This was one battle he’d die before losing. There were no rules against tasting her, pleasing her, letting her know whom she belonged to.

  Poppy learned her lesson that night. She didn’t once beg him to stop. She took every ounce of pleasure Beryl gave her. Standing over him while they were in the tub. Bent over the chair next to the bed. Lying flat on her back on the bed.

  Beryl kept his head between his mate’s legs until she went limp, finally passing out from all the pleasure. After all the fights he’d been in, after all the bouts he’d won, he never felt as victorious as looking down at his contented mate as she slept in his arms.

  In the morning, he would start training for war. The lions had no idea what they awakened inside of him. Beryl’s dragon was no longer on a mindless rampage. Man and beast were focused on the prize, and they would gut anything and anyone who stood in their way.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rolling over in the large bed, Poppy’s thighs were sore. Like she’d run a marathon. Up twenty-six flights of stairs.

  She’d often hurt after sex with Bruce. He was not a gentle lover. But this was the good kind of sore.

  The muscles of her inner legs throbbed as she sat up. Her lips were swollen and sensitive to the touch. Even her wrists ached from when her dragon held her down after her fifth orgasm when she was sure she couldn’t take anymore. She’d been wrong. And then wrong again.

  Poppy looked around for Beryl. He’d held her the whole night. But now he was nowhere to be found.

  She told herself not to panic. Beryl wasn't Bruce. Bruce fucked her, but he never slept with her. He preferred the couch, or better yet, some other woman’s bed. One of his tricks who knew how to give pleasure back to him. That wasn’t Poppy.

  Before last night, she’d never taken any pleasure from sex. Come to think of it, Beryl hadn’t taken any pleasure from her. She knew what a man’s orgasm looked like. She knew what it felt like inside of her. She knew what a mess it made afterward when she had to clean the evidence from her person.

  Beryl hadn’t gotten that look. He hadn’t spilled anything inside her or on her. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen anything but his chest since her first night in his bed.

  Poppy got up from the bed. She pulled clothes over her head and up her legs. All the while, she tried not to jump to conclusions.

  She’d probably slept late. Beryl might be an early bird. She knew he worked in the mines. He was probably there … and not in some other woman’s bed.

  That was it. He had work to do. She couldn't expect him to hang out with her all day.

  Perhaps, she could work with him? She had no intentions of simply sitting around all day. That's what she'd done all her life; hidden inside because of her scars.

  No. Not scars. Scales.

  She had the blood of a dragon inside her veins. She was made of strong stuff. Those spots on her body were nothing to hide from anymore.

  Beryl wasn't ashamed of her. He reveled in how she looked. Poppy hadn't missed how he'd lit up when she stood before him naked. The man wasn't faking it. He liked what he saw.

  Looking in the mirror now, she couldn't help but smile. She brushed a hand over the starburst pattern on her shoulder, the one Beryl couldn't stop kissing. She pushed up her sleeves so that her scales could be seen.

  Poppy headed out of their room and immediately got lost in the maze of the castle. Each door looked the same. Each turn she took only served in turning her around. Turning down one hall, she heard voices. She followed the sounds to another nondescript door. But the scene inside brought her up short.

  Chryssie and Cardi were both propped up on a massive bed. Cardi lay at the bottom, her legs bent at the knees, her heels bouncing downwards toward her Jordache covered rear. Chryssie lay at the top of the bed, her hand resting on the small bump on her belly.

  On the other side of the bed sat Elek. The quiet dragon shifter had his arm wrapped loosely around the shoulders of an elderly woman. The woman was dressed in the nightclothes of someone out of the Victorian age. White frilly cap, high necked nightgown that reached down to her wrists. All four of them stared at a television screen.

  On the screen, colorful puppets danced around. Their shaggy hair flew out from their heads as they sang. Their puppeteer hands clapped in time to the beat.

  "Hey, Poppy," called Chryssie. "Come join us. Did you watch Fraggle Rock as a kid?”

  “Um, no,” said Poppy. The kid’s show debuted on HBO, and her mom could never afford cable. She knew the show dealt with deeper issues than shar
ing and caring like the normal cartoons. It would slip into the arena of spirituality, racial and social identity, and environmental issues. So, no, it did not make the after school cartoon line up or PBS Kids.

  “Hi, Cardi. Good morning, Elek. Hello, ma’am.”

  Cardi wiggled her toes, not turning her face from the television. Elek gave her a slight nod of his head, also not taking his gaze off the TV. The woman didn’t even blink. She gave absolutely no indication that she was aware of Poppy’s presence.

  "Poppy, this is Miya,” said Cardi. “Miya, this is Poppy. She belongs to Beryl. Can you believe it? Beryl got himself a sacrifice."

  Cardi rolled over so that her head was resting on Miya’s covered legs. As she flipped her body, Cardi’s gaze never left the screen. Miya blinked once.

  “Miya is Elek’s mom,” said Chryssie. “But we’ve all kind of adopted her. Dragon births are hard on women. Most don’t survive, but Miya did because she’s strong.” Chryssie patted Miya’s shoulder with one hand, while the other caressed her belly.

  Miya blinked. But her eyes didn’t reopen. Poppy’s gaze darted to her chest. It still rose and fell. Hopefully, that meant she was just sleeping.

  "So," said Cardi, finally breaking her gaze from the TV. "You and Beryl ..."

  "Cardi, that's inappropriate," said Chryssie.

  "How's it inappropriate when we could all hear them boinking last night?”

  Poppy’s face heated so thoroughly she thought her eyes glazed over in red. She didn’t want to correct Cardi on the boinking bit since that technically didn’t happen.

  “It's good for me to know,” said Cardi. “Corun can throw down. Beryl can throw down. Hopefully, if ever Kimber grows a pair and boinks me, I'll find out he can throw down as well."

  "Kimber has a pair," said Elek.

  "Huh," huffed Cardi, snuggling up to rest her head on Miya’s bosom. "I'm glad he's shown them to you because he sure as heck hasn't shown me."

  "He will," said Elek. "When you're ripe."

  "When will that be? I'm sure I'm already eighteen. I think I might be nineteen." Cardi turned back to Poppy. "Time runs weird on this side of the Veil. Miya here was born in the 1800s. I think it’s like a year here for each decade back on the other side.”