Page 46 of The Dragon Warlord
Father slowly walks around to the front of him and grips Tristan’s jaw with one hand. “There is something else we need to address. Your attitude about Warlording. Is it a game to you?”
“N-No, Alpha. Not in the slightest.”
“Then why the fuck would you think that an army makes a Warlord?”
“I-I don’t know.” His fear is perceptible, leaking off him and polluting the air. The small crowd is frozen in time as he tries and fails to come up with something that could redeem him.
There’s nothing.
“What if you were in the middle of nowhere, separated from your army? Would you stop being Warlord? Would you give up and go home? Jump off a cliff. Answer me!”
Tristan pulls himself together so he can look the dragon lord dead in the eyes. “I’d never give up.”
“Good. A Warlord isn’t defined by his army. He’s resourceful with or without one. He makes the rules of battle, not the other way around. I don’t want to ever hear another word otherwise out of your mouth, or I will make you a lot more miserable than this.”
As the punishment progresses, Tristan’s energy reaches less toward me and more frequently toward his alpha. I often wonder about their bond, it’s the most peculiar one I’ve ever seen and that’s even with our bond being as wild as it is.
Tristan is suffering. His defenses are crumbling. It’s only in this state that he would reach for his alpha.
Alpha.I hear Tristan through our connection.
I’m here, Omega. C’mon. Just a few more. You can do this.That’s Father. I hear him too as all his dragons can. He can block what he says to Tristan from me. He’s allowing me access to his responses.
I can’t—can’t. Please. I’ll behave. I promise.
I’m tempted to speak up, but I won’t interfere. They need to foster their connection. All bonds demand some level of connection between alpha and omega. Some more than others. I suspect that the bond calls to Father more than it does Tristan, but I don’t know for sure.
Tristan makes it through all one hundred lashes, but he’s wrecked. He blessedly passes out. That’s going to burn for days as it heals. The dragon whip is crafted with magic. It sears like fire while it lays down lashes and smolders painfully until a dragon’s magic patches the damage.
It would kill a human.
Father shouts for everyone to leave except for me, Rayne, and Lux who is the best healer among Father’s husbands. Rayne is a wizard from the dragon tamer lineage. His magic is special because it’s not quite wizard and not quite dragon. Tristan favors him and Rayne is considered true dragon kin even though he’s not quite a dragon.
Three of Father’s husbands are dragon tamers.
Lux's black hair flickers and flashes as he works quickly to stop the bleeding and leave only some of the damage for Tristan to suffer through on his own. I knew it. Father wouldn’t have allowed that for anyone else. He has a soft spot for his omega even though it may not seem that way.
Rayne is there with good old-fashioned soap and water. “River, he’s your alpha. Would you like to do this for him?”
“Please.” My fingers itch to work on him. I want to heal him the rest of the way, but if Father wanted that, he would have let Lux do so. On my knees, I clean up his back and with Rayne’s help, we bandage him up.
* * *
He’s carried to his quarters and placed on the bed. I stay with him, ready with some herbal tea for the pain. The sky is dark, but the moon is bright. The air is warm with a sweet-smelling breeze, so I leave the doors to his veranda open.
It’s weird seeing him without his long hair. Will he grow it back? How can I convince him that this should be a one-time thing without being disrespectful?
He stirs and my heart lifts. I think I’m going to get a depressed Warlord. A morose and dejected Warlord. Instead, he raises his arm into the air from where he’s lying on his front, pointing to the sky with his index finger.
“That was not what I expected it was going to be.” His voice is hoarse from screaming. “How are you, Omega?”
“How am I? How are you, Warlord?”
“Nuh-uh. I asked you a question, Omega, and I expect an answer.”
I’m frozen momentarily. Wha-What the…? How is he this dominant when he’s half-dead? “I’m good. Worried about you. Here, will you drink this tea?” It’s probably cold now.
He grips my hand before I can reach the tea. “Thank you for being there with me. It helped. Now, tell me, what do you think of my hair?”
