Page 47 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

“I plan to do that tonight. I’m taking her to the sacred springs.”

“The most beautiful place on the island.” I wish I’d thought of it first; I could have taken Jessiva there.

“She seems to enjoy bathing,” Kyreagan continues. “I think she will appreciate the hot water.”

“No doubt,” I agree. “It is a good plan. And will you fuck her?”

He bristles, his lip curling in a discomfited snarl.

“There is no shame in it,” I tell him. “Do what both of you desire, and feel no guilt about claiming moments of sweetness and pleasure in a world filled with so much pain.”

Kyreagan’s golden eyes meet mine. Amid the sorrow I’m so used to seeing in his gaze, there’s a flicker of hope.

I lower my head and touch my muzzle to his neck, a sign of respect and affection. “She is good for you, brother. I wish you every joy.”

“She is temperamental and troublesome,” he growls.

“So are you.” I nudge his wing with mine, and he chuckles.

“Fair enough.” He shakes himself, stretching his wings. “Shall we hunt?”

I lift my wings as well. “If there is anything left to be hunted. Prey is growing scarcer by the day.”

“We cannot risk a long flight to the Middenwold Isles until we better understand the change in our forms.”

“Then let us hope we understand it soon,” I reply. “Before Ouroskelle is stripped bare of food.”

14

I spend hours in the forests and fields of Ouroskelle, foraging with the other women for berries, mushrooms, cresslily stalks, wild carrots, onions, edible roots, and starchy potato-like tubers. Some of the dragons hunt while the others accompany us women, warning us away from poisonous vines and plants, steering us around the dens of the voratrix or the lairs of fenwolves, and keeping us from sinking into bogs in the low-lying areas of the island.

I enjoy the work. Movement has always soothed me. Without it I grow restless, anxious. Yesterday, when Varex leftme in the seaside cave, I was forced to be idle, so I napped in the sun like a cat. But I made up for that rest with a long night of sex.

Other women might be worried about becoming pregnant with eggs, hatchlings, hybrids, or whatever the fuck—but in my case, that’s not a concern. There’s a reason I let Varex fill me with his cum, over and over.

When I began my service as a palace dancer, I underwent a physical examination by a healer who informed me that I’m basically infertile, that it would take a miracle for someone with my internal differences to conceive. She never explained the precise nature of those differences, and I was so shocked at the time that I didn’t press for details. I’ve often wished that I’d asked more questions.

At the time, her pronouncement felt like a benefit. I could have as much sex as I liked without taking contraceptive herbs afterward. I took full advantage of that, and I’ve never gotten pregnant. There’s no reason to believe that dragon cum would be any different.

At one point during the day, I venture into a shallow gulch to gather the cresslily stalks growing in the rainwater that has collected there. I’m bending to pull a stalk free when I notice something sticking out of the mud.

It’s a dragon claw, curved and sharp. I rinse it quickly, wipe it on my skirts, and tuck it in the pocket of my dress before anyone notices that I found it. No matter what the future holds, having a weapon in my possession isn’t a bad idea.

When we return to the cavern with our supplies, all of us are weary—but it’s the pleasant kind of exhaustion born from fresh air, sunshine, and healthful work.

Varex returns shortly after the foragers do. I notice his presence the moment he lands in the courtyard, but I don’t seek him out right away. A dragon called Ashvelon brought us moresupplies—soap, clothing, blankets, and more—so I go with the other women to bathe in the cavern pools.

When I emerge from the cave, clad in a soft green gown, I feel Varex’s gaze like the glowing heat of the sun. He watches me help with dinner preparations, and even though he is occupied with the reconstruction of the damaged barrier, I sense the magnetic force of his attention and his desire, focused solely on me.

As a dragon he’s exquisite—sleek and elegantly formed, sinuous as a serpent and graceful as a cat. He’s intelligent and charismatic, a born leader with a talent for gracious words. Even though he’s more soft-spoken than many of the other dragons, their respect for him is obvious, and it’s not solely because of his status as a prince. They respect him for his character, his kindness, and his wisdom.

I hate that he’s everything I want. I hate how many times my eyes stray to his form, how my fresh underwear dampens as I watch the surge of his powerful muscles beneath the gleaming black scales. I shouldn’t be sexually attracted to a fucking dragon. I can’t let all his good qualities blind me to the most important flaw—the fact that he took me against my will and refuses to set me free.

By now, my sister and her children could be dead. My brother might have been killed. Or worse things could be happening to all of them—rape, torture, unimaginable cruelty. And here I remain, on this beautiful island, wandering through lush grass under the warm spring sun, breathing clean air tinged with the salt of the sea. I’ve been yielding my body to the male who claimed me, giving him exactly what he wants, when I should be striving to escape.

Is Varex really as wonderful as he seems, or am I being foolish? Is the charm, the gentle speech, and the kindness meant to soothe me into submission? Am I following the same patternI’ve fallen into before, where I mistake temporary pleasantness and false praise for genuine beauty of soul?

Am I really fucking a monster?

---