Page 138 of The Dragon Warlord
Corrik knows what he has to do: Wash the beast away. Fill him up with the softer, playful aspects of his character.
“Oh, Tristan. You’re too stubborn for your own good. I’m certain you’ve already done everything there is to do to him. Refusing to admit it out loud doesn’t keep you on whatever moral high horse you think you’re riding.”
I flinch. What the hell is Corrik thinking? He’s going to lose his head.
Tristan’s protective instincts are roused. His eyes flick to Alrik’s sword that’s been left by the door.
“Leave it, Corrik.”
But Corrik isn’t the sort of Elf to leave anything well enough alone.
“If you won’t, maybe I’ll invite River to sit in my lap. Shall I, Warlord?”
Dear Drakon. I hope the Gods really do shine upon him.
Tristan lunges with a snarl for Alrik’s sword as Corrik leaps and tumbles for his. Tristan ushers me behind him, which is unnecessary and Corrik’s amused. Even he would admit that I could kick his arse into the next realm and against Tristan, he’s unmatched. I don’t see how he could win this.
Their swords meet in the center of the room with a clang that naturally alerts Bayden and Alrik who have to abandon the children to see what’s going on. “Let me handle this,” Corrik grunts as Tristan slashes and slices without mercy.
Corrik wants this. Corrik was made for this.
He stares with awe at how beautiful Tristan has become. Tristan has always been beautiful, but he’s grown into something otherworldly. The refinement of his skills is noticeable. His grace is mesmerizing. He’ll be a challenge for Corrik who doesn’t appear to mind. He eyes Tristan with pride and amusement, spinning his sword in the air, delighted.
Morning sunlight casts white brilliance onto their battle. The marble suite surrounds them with stone under their bare feet. Denny’s tiny Elf doll pokes out from behind the curtain on the window ledge—we’ve been looking for that—and Bon’s game of Elven Stix is strewn across the floor, despite Corrik having told him to “pick it the fuck up” twenty times.
Tristan draws first blood slashing across Corrik’s abdomen, but still, Corrik’s appreciative gaze admires his majestic form. Every muscle taut and on display, how his arse squeezes when he vaults into the air and his hair whips as he spins.
Corrik fakes a swing toward River, and when he moves in that direction, he drops quickly and smashes with all his might upward, knocking the sword out of his hand. Taking advantage of Tristan’s shock at the underhanded maneuver, Corrik sweeps Tristan’s feet out from under him, and he lands on his back with a sobering thud.
He wouldn’t be the dragon Warlord—not an alive one anyway—if he wasn’t able to snap into action quickly and he does, but he only makes it to his knees. Corrik’s got his fingers pressing steadfastly into his bonding bite before he can pop to his feet. The one on Corrik’s neck gives him access to the one on Tristan’s. It’s a diluted version by comparison to the control the dragon lord has, but it’s enough to allow Corrik to subdue him.
It's why the dragon lord wanted Tristan’s men to have them. It’s hard to say if the others will use them, but I’m glad to see that Corrik’s not afraid to. That will bring Tristan comfort and the dragon lord will feel less apprehensive about allowing him to leave The Tower.
“No. Don’t get up. Stay on your knees.”
Tristan yields, bowing his head, placing his hands on the stone floor for balance.
“Tell your omega to go to his room. You’ll see him later.”
“I’ll be okay, River,” Tristan says in a voice that sounds more like him already, with only the undercurrent of defiance left. “Wait in your room for me. Someone will bring breakfast to you.”
“Y-Yes, Warlord.”
* * *
Icry like a child in my room. I know Corrik will take care of Tristan, but what’s going to become of me? It’s the first time I’ve ever cared. I’ve been living my dream life with Tristan, a life I didn’t know I wanted, but I also knew that it could end.
It was supposed to be an experiment, at my suggestion, with the caveat that it could and might well end. I meant what I said, and if Tristan decides this should end, I’ll respect that but I’m not sure how I’ll survive it. My heart’s already breaking. It’s like my chest has become a hollowed-out fissure and I can’t breathe right.
“River? May I come in?” Tristan’s voice floats through the door that’s ajar sometime later. He’s naked save a pair of underpants and wow, marked to the high heavens.
“You know I’m not going to refuse you, Warlord. Just come in.”
He shuts the door behind him and uses his dragon stealth pad in quietly. My eyes hurt from crying. My blond hair is sweat-soaked and sticks to my face. I must look awful.
“I wish you hadn’t done that for me,” I say.
“Bullshite. You love when I fight for your honor.”
