Page 68 of The Dragon Warlord
Three times. I masturbated three times last night. A new record for me. It’s as if the Warlord’s scent has been heightened. It’s a deadly combo of man and citrus. It doesn’t help that I’ve been scenting him and that in return he scents me.
Fuck. I might have to stop that. It’s become part of our fabric though. I don’t know if I can stop. I’ve got to try. I can’t think with his scent all over me. My dreams hate me. They’re creative too. I didn’t know a brain that had never experienced sex before could come with things so uniquely filthy.
I hate that Tristan thinks I want someone other than him. How could he think that? Doesn’t he know he’s it for me? I’m fully willing to live my life celibate for him if he never wants me like I want him.
Despite what my body’s doing to me now, I don’t care about sex. I just want him to own me.
A small part of me hoped that with him under the impression that I’d somehow fallen for some other alpha, he’d go feral on me. I love all the versions of Tristan, but I love the beastly version who wouldn’t let me leave his bed most. The one who walked up to me and made me his by sinking his dragon teeth into my neck.
He may not have asked, but I wanted it and that’s important. I loved being taken like that.
And now I want his fat dragon cock, railing me from behind, his teeth snarling in my ear. Gods, do I have enough time to rub a quick one out before we head back to The Tower?
We’re on the field doing drills that I could do in my sleep. I know it’s still important to practice them, but I bet I could be back in five minutes. Before I can make my excuse about having to take a piss, the portal activates, gold swirls from the center, and expands into a large oval.
It takes my mind off my troublesome cock, and I check in with Tristan who doesn’t seem worried about the unexpected guest.
Ikara steps out from the shimmery light.
Since her mother’s death, she’s transformed. First, she cut her hair. She wears it short, with an undercut that she keeps shaved to her skull. A long, thin braid runs along the outer strands and reaches her shoulder. The cut accentuates her exotic dragon eyes that angle to her temples. Gold flecks stand out from blue irises. She wears the long robes of a Council member now as she has for the past five years, taking her mother’s place and having them fashioned in burgundy with gold accents as her mother’s were.
“I must speak with the Warlord immediately,” she says still without the proper respect she’s meant to have for him. One does not show up and demand the Warlord’s time. But the Warlord considers her family and made a promise to her a long time ago that she could come to him whenever she needed.
Tristan’s long strides take him in her direction and I’m by his side just as quickly. The hand he’d normally rest on my shoulder doesn’t come. That’s … different.
“Ikara, let’s move to the tent for some privacy. Come with us, Omega,” he says. “General Sharpe, you’re in charge until I return.”
The three of us duck under the flap of the large Warlord’s tent where he’s got a map of the mountains set up on a table, a large bed he rarely uses, some chairs, and a small desk. He gestures for us to sit as he takes his place behind the desk.
“I found it. I found a way to convince Father to let us send a crew out to the Wastelands.”
Tristan leans back in his chair. “Why do I want to go to the Wastelands?”
She smiles. “They have a dragon.”
He frowns. “How do you know that?”
I bite my lip to keep from groaning. After all this time, is he really asking her that?
“Because Iknow,” she says.
Tristan rubs a hand over his face. “What makes you think he’s going to allow me to take an army to the Wastelands for one measly dragon?”
“Because it’s not just any dragon. It’s an ice dragon. An ice dragon who can shift.”
I love my sister dearly and I know she’s a gifted seer, but that’s far-fetched as hell. “Those don’t even exist. No one’s seen an ice dragon in thousands of years, let alone one who can shift,” I remind her.
She maintains her optimism. “One exists and he is in the Wastelands.”
“If you think you can convince your father with that, be my guest. I’m happy to take a crew in there. It’ll be a good time,” Tristan cuts in.
He’s being a tad sarcastic. He would be happy to take a crew into the Wastelands for her, but it wouldn’t be a good time per se. The Wastelands are in the Valley of the Forgotten. The smell alone is enough to keep most sane creatures away. If that weren’t enough, it’s loaded with beasts like the one Amira lost her life to.
“Done, Warlord. I’ll speak with him today. Be ready to leave by sundown.” Some of the Ikara I used to know shines through and as much as I think this is a cockamamie idea, I’m willing to go along with it to bring that kind of light to her eyes again.
She races out of the tent, and the Warlord and I are left staring awestruck at the other.
“He’s going to say no,” Tristan says. “He won’t let me near the Wastelands. He gets all weird about it.”
