Page 11 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

The sight didn’t seem to affect Hinarax or Aidrek. But the shape of those soft naked bodies gave me a strange thrill deep in my belly, near the root of my tail. I did not tell anyone about the reaction, not even my brother. The pulsing thrill happened again whenever I thought of the incident, until at last the memory grew stale.

Over the next several years I returned to the coast now and then on my own, looking for fresh sights, fresh stimulation. Usually the people I found were clothed, or they were men, the sight of whose bodies did not have the same effect. But one time, in a secluded cove I found two naked women lying on a blanket. One of them was licking the other’s genitals, and both of them seemed to be enjoying the sensation. When they fled screaming, I was disappointed. I did not wish to hurt them; I only wanted to watch.

That sight provided a fresh thrill that occupied me for a while. When I was thinking of human women, experiencing new sensations, I had no space in my mind for wretched memories, like the crack of my mother’s bones as the voratrice swallowed her.

Sometimes I dreamed of mating a human, and though I always woke up ashamed, those dreams were far better than the nightmares about my mother, the dreams where she called out for me as her wings, scales, and flesh dissolved in the acidic belly of the monster.

After a mating dream involving a human female, I would often wake with my cock stiffened and protruding from its protective slit—something my father told us should only occur every twenty-five years during the mating heat. Dragons do not experience sexual need except during the appropriate season.

Those dreams and reactions confirmed my belief that something is deeply wrong with me. I was born late, hatched weeks after my siblings, which is rare among dragons. Perhaps that is why I am different—perverted, as my captive claims.

And perhaps that is why I did not protest Kyreagan’s plan. Secretly, wickedly, I have always wanted a human woman.

I must keep control of myself. I must not allow my deviant desires to become apparent, or permit them to affect the way I treat my captive. I will care for her with the kindness and respect she deserves.

“Hold on tightly,” I warn her. “We are approaching Ouroskelle, and the route to my cave will require some maneuvering.”

Her body jerks a little, as if she was slumping over and has snapped upright at the sound of my voice. We’re both lucky she did not fall asleep and tumble off.

“I hate you, dragon,” she tells me as we race toward the cliffs of the island.

I give a low hum of understanding. “As you should.”

4

Night cloaks the island, so I don’t see much of our route, but I feel every dip and dive, every banking rise, every skillful sweep of the dragon’s wings as he threads tall rock formations, skims along cliffsides, angles around mountain peaks, and finally lands with surprising grace in a pitch-black enclosed space—his cave, I assume.

“There is no nest,” he says apologetically. “I was supposed to craft one for mating season, but I did not, and then we went to war. I will make one for you this week.”

Right now, the armies of Vohrain are probably sweeping into the capital city. I should be there to protect my family, to keep us safe, hidden, and fed. My family needs the supplies and the money that I carry. I place my hand over the bulging bag I’m wearing, wondering how much of the food survived my altercation with the murderers and my struggle in the dragon’s claws. It’s probably all smashed into pulp by now.

“Get off my back.” The dragon’s tone is firm but gentle. “I must go to my brother. As the princes of Ouroskelle, we must visit the grieving families of the clan and receive the bone-tribute they offer.”

“Bone-tribute?”

“When dragons perish, their forms dissipate at dawn, leaving only bones behind. Those who loved them will each take a small bone in remembrance, and the rest will be arranged upon the green meadows of Ouroskelle, to become part of the island over time. The families of the females who died on Ouroskelle last night will have gleaned the commemorative bones today, and they will offer bone-tribute to Kyreagan and I, to honor the dead.”

His grief vibrates through the rich timbre of his voice. I’m trying to understand, trying to figure out how to connect with him, to convince him. But panic is starting to set in as I realize how trapped I really am. If I keep envisioning all the terrible things that might happen to the children, I’m going to lose my mind.

“You can’t leave me here in the dark,” I tell him. “I can’t stay on this island. The city is going to fall, if it hasn’t already. My family will be vulnerable. Please…”

“Get down.”

I pin my thighs tightly around his neck and grip his spikes. “Make me.”

In the darkness I sense movement, his neck lifting, his head turning until I can see one of his amber eyes glowing, watching me. “You saw what magic I wield, yes?”

“Void magic,” I murmur.

“I could take off one of your limbs. Would that persuade you to obey?”

“You can’t do that. Not while I’m sitting on your back. You could end up hurting yourself.”

He chuckles darkly. “I am immune to my own magic, little one.”

“Good to know. Still, I don’t believe you’ll actually dismember me.”

The dragon crouches, pinning his wings tightly against his body and lowering his neck. His great shoulder shifts as he tries to reach me with his foreleg and knock me off. But I’m just out of range.

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