Page 4 of The Wrath of Ashes
“That is true, my liege. I rescind my offer. It was impetuous of me.” Jeron’s disappointment stung a little, and Rath immediately wanted to make it right, like his wants mattered.
“But I have trusted you for these few years and you do seem eager. I’ll allow it on one condition.” Rath watched the reflection of the blue fire in his dark eyes from Jeron’s glistening gaze. “That he has to want you as his valet.” Rath tapped the tip of Jeron’s nose, and the boy’s smile stretched wide across his attractive features, dazzling Rath with a reminder of why he chose the boy as a bedservant to begin with.
Would, but it could be so easy. So many dragons before him felt the song of their soul twinge with love and call out for them, leading two dragons to couple. But others? They were called by the Ashen Ones, great mages with a resurgence of dragon’s blood, humans that carried the soul of a dragon. A human. A human called for him in his pained soul, and only in torture did Rath’s mate’s magic spark, which made reaching out to the male a painful thing.
“Let me practice, my liege? I’ll ready you for nest, bathe you, show you what fine things I could do for your mate.” Jeron clasped his hands, and Rath simultaneously wanted to deny himand allow him that pleasure. Because, as his mind drifted to his mate, he realized that he’d never be able to touch Jeron as a lover again. And it was a shame, because Rath’s body hungered to be inside someone. Even his hand simply would not do.
***
In his quarters, Rath settled into his sleeping area, a roundnestdepressed into the floor, filled with all manner of soft pillows, a nest fit to impress a mate. He’d had it built after his father stepped down, retired to sleep in the deepest caverns, leaving Rath alone to deal with the kingdom and the endless cries of help and jaded anger that the humans seemed to heap upon them.
Rath lay in the depression of his bed, taking in the scents of the bath oils on his skin. He had to admit, Jeron did a fine job, thorough in his word, treating him with relaxing care. He could imagine his mate softening under the experienced touch, readying himself to be taken, the faceless mate he yearned for.
Of course, his mate would be human, an Ashen one, a child in a war-torn nation, humans, squabbling over dirt. There’d be a price for him, of course, if they’d even let him take him. Butwherewas the question.
“My liege?” Jeron’s kind voice drew his eye.
“Yes?”
“He is an Ashen one, yes?”
Rath made a noise, noncommittal but agreeing.
“Please call for him. He’ll turn his mind to you.” Jeron sat up, pleading. “I don’t understand why you have not. It surely is not on behalf of my feelings. And if he is in pain, you may save him.”
“Fire child,” Rath called him, for his red hair and yellowed eyes, a human forged of the dragon’s fire. “He is in great pain,and when I reach out to him, it hurts. What if I find him only to watch him die? I will never find another as perfect.”
“I have poppy milk in my apothecary. My matron gifted it to me when you selected me for your bedservant.”
“Why would you have need of such a thing?” Rath furrowed his brow and sat up, staring into his glimmering eyes.
“Because dragons are too large for us, and she feared my first time with you might have left me sore. But I endured it and found you quite skillful.” Jeron blinked at Rath, eyes fluttering with pure adoration. Even when Rath hurt him, he still cared for him, a creature of sharp tooth and vicious fang. A creature of fire and death.
“I did not know this, but that’s why we have bedservants, to tame our urges and give us the experience we need to pleasure our mates. I am fortunate you found me adequate.”
Jeron reached up and unfastened the chain from his horns, reverently placing it in his bedside jewelry bowl. The bands stayed on, a permanent fixture since he was a youngling, his crown of sorts. He let his fingers caress them, trailing down the wickedly ridged surface of them, his finger flicking over every rim. “And I would have gently guided you if it were not pleasurable, so you know I’m not telling an untruth.”
Rath tilted his head, his expression lost and unsure. He genuinely worried, but the sensation of his mate flickering in and out of his mind had left him so very tired. And it was a bedservant’s prime directive and utmost skill to lull a dragon into peaceful complacency.
“You have the most beautiful horns. Have I told you?” Jeron smiled.
“You have, quite often.” Rath settled back, lost in thought. “But I appreciate the compliment. And I think I will take that poppy milk. Perhaps it’ll help. Perhaps not. In either case, I’llsleep.” He’d had precious little of it in the past few days. Waking from cold sweats and lashings made his stomach twist.
Jeron left, headed toward his nearby quarters. It’d never occurred to Rath that his size hurt the poor boy. He never considered his pain, only their combined pleasure. And while the appetite of a dragon was prodigious, it was uncouth to spread their seed about, which is why the bedservants were necessary. And Jeron had been, up until his mate’s wakening, a good one.
The bitter milk of the poppy crossed his lips, and his mind curled about his magic. It was akin to the past few days, the shape of his mate’s soul, amorphous and unformed, unaware of what he was. Were he only the slightest bit aware, he’d be calling out for Rath. To not tell an Ashen was a crime. The dragons would surely strike out, burn village and city alike down for keeping an Ashen one from their mate, especially Mezerath, the youngest king of the dragons. He hadn’t even lived a full century, yet. But the younger a dragon mated—the stronger their bond.
He pulled the thread of his mate’s mind, drawing him ever closer in.
Come to me, young one. Open your eyes so that I might see.
Rath waited for the whisper of his mind to meet his mate. The veil lifted and darkness still surrounded, not even moonlight from a window.
“Lyss?” His voice trembled and the stench of mildew surrounded him, laced with blood,Ashen blood.His sleepy words were thick with pain.
Someone had harmed his mate, and Rath was incensed.
You know me not, sweet boy. Tell me what has been done to you?
