Page 33 of The Dragon Warlord
The very idea is thrilling, and butterflies jolt around in my stomach. I never thought I’d have an alpha as magnificent as the Warlord and now I’ll get an even deeper connection with him. Drakon has blessed us both.
“Is that a common thing?”
“It’s not common. It’s special.”
He lays on his back, this time atop his fluffy comforter, and it’s safe to assume he’s healed some if he can do that.
“I’m proud of you too,” I tell him. “I’m so proud to be yours, Alpha. I’m bursting with it, and I know you always say you haven’t done anything to deserve my praise, but today you did.”
“Mhm. I’m glad to make you so proud, Omega,” he says, his eyelids fluttering closed.
5
Tristan
People keep a wide berth, which is a lot more than I intended in my dragon rage. I don’t have to worry about them touching River because they won’t even look at him, averting their gaze elsewhere when we walk into any room. I’ll have to fix that, but it works for now.
I have other matters to attend to, like behaving well enough—as deemed by His Royal Dragonness—to meet my army. It’s getting harder to remember why I care to meet them in the first place. I’m already tired of his rules, especially when it’s a lot of “just for show” nonsense.
It’s not often I traipse around jacketless these days, but today, I’m going casual. I don’t know how I can be a Warlord without an army and all I’ve done since I’ve got here is laze around and read books. Not a single one of them was a sex book. I always have at least one of those on the go. They’ve got to exist here. This place is filled with animalistic sexual energy. It’s less organized than the way Elves do things, but just as prominent. It’s making me suspect that Tristan ran away from Markaytia simply so that he could start his own sordid sex cult where they worship him.
Rolling up my sleeves in the mirror, I check myself over. I’ve chosen a simple, white cotton shirt with an open V-neck and fitted brown trousers tucked into my boots. Know what? I’m going to go swordless today too.
Before I flew away, I’d sworn off swords and everything to do with fighting, in an effort to prevent, well, what ended up happening anyway. I didn’t know turning into a dragon would be the outcome, but I knew the trouble I’d been having with my blood could end badly.
And here I am in the “badly” part of that sentence.
When I found the sword in my room, taking it with me seemed like a good idea. I didn’t know if I was about to encounter friend or foe. Since, I’d held onto it, wondering if I would encounter trouble but so far, the only trouble has been me. I wanted to slit Ace in two with every cell in my body. It was the steady rhythm of River’s heart that calmed me down enough to exercise self-control, something I have little of these days since manifesting my dragon self.
I declare myself on a break from Warlording until I have an army. This will be my casual look.
The crest of my Warlord’s tattoo that sits across my left pectoral peeks out from the open V-neck and I leave my hair down so I can feel Baya with me, his love energy surrounding me like a warm blanket. One of the best gifts he gave me was this hair. Perhaps I should show River the cool trick it can do when cut. Might be a fun prank for laughs. We should do something for laughs around here.
There’s something else that peeks from the boundaries of my shirt and that’s the gleaming red metallic collar. It’s seamless. No beginning. No end. No lock. Bound around my neck for as long as the dragon lord deems it necessary, which is forever. No one gets their collar removed permanently in Dragon Land. Can’t have dragons shifting into beastly dragons. There would be chaos or so I’m told.
There’s a knock at the door and River enters with breakfast for us. He stares at me funny. “Warlord?”
“Only in name. Today we put our swords to rest, remove our armor, and relax. Maybe we should visit people. Don’t you have a bucket load of family members for me to meet?”
I haven’t even met all the wizards yet and they seem important. I don’t expect them to give up the dragon lord’s secrets, but I’ve got a brain cell or two in this noggin and I could figure some things out even through simple conversation.
Setting the tray down on the table, he walks over to me with clear admiration embedded within his features, but there’s also concern. “You look handsome, Warlord.”
“Thank you, but what don’t you want to say?”
“I would never question your judgment—”
“Out with it, Riv.”
“I just wonder if you knew that we’re under the constant threat of attack?”
I raise a brow. So far, I’ve encountered more threats heading down to the market square in Mortouge than I have gallivanting around this tower. “When was the last time someone breached these walls?” I didn’t know this place existed and I was sure no one else did either.
“Roughly, a year ago.”
“A year? Then I’m sure we’ll be fine for one day. It’s unnecessary to outfit myself and my omega with weapons. What can two of us do to something that could breach the protections of this place?”
“Are … Warlord, are you expecting me to give up my sword for the day as well?”
