Taken by the Dragon

Taken by the Dragon by Lilah Claret

Copyright © 2011 Lilah Claret

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Isabelle stood alone in the town square, trembling. The thin material of her dress fluttered in the harsh wind, clinging to her and offering no protection from the elements. She hugged her wedding shawl tighter around herself, turned her back to the wind, and waited. This was not what she had imagined when she had sewn her wedding dress, or during all the painstaking hours that she had spent knitting the gauzy white shawl. She had imagined flowers, sweet perfumes, smiling faces. A warm spring day and some special someone waiting for her at the altar of the village church. Now everything had changed, and she was standing alone on a bleak November day, watching the sun set and waiting for the Dragon to take her away. She had a little bag of things with her. Her two everyday dresses, a little food that her family had packed up to send with her, and the small parcel that her mother had given her. Her stomach tightened into and even smaller knot as she thought of it, hidden underneath her clothing. She didn’t know which was worse- the thought of using it, or the thought of not using it. The wind changed. Suddenly it blew warm and westerly, bringing a hot spicy scent and whipping up a storm of grit and leaves. She shielded her eyes and looked upward, squinting into the stormy grey sky. Her knees went weak. He was coming. The dragon’s wings were so vast that they seemed to block out the sky. He landed so near her that she thought he would crush her, that one of those huge leathery wings would bat her across the square like a little doll. When he finally set down, his huge ebony head was only inches from hers, the glittering green eyes staring into her. She tried to scramble backwards, but fell instead. He advanced. His hot breath rippled her skirts, the scorching heat cutting through the thin cloth just as the cold wind had a moment before. Was he going to burn her right here? Right now? She stared into the evil vermillion eyes, tried to find some scrap of emotion there, and failed. But he was not going to kill her. Instead, he laid his head alongside her and went still. She stared. After a moment the head snapped back up and an angry grumble thundered out of the creature’s chest. He pawed the stones of the square, leaving deep furrows with his huge claws. She shrieked and cowered, unable to stop herself, but still the dragon did not kill her. It laid its head down again, and this time she understood. He expected her to ride. She wished she could just faint and let the dragon eat her here. This was asking more of her than she could give. However, she looked at the village around her, and remembered how little choice she had in the matter. The sweet, low houses of her town would burn so very easily in this dry autumn, and take everyone she loved with them. Slowly, shakily, she gathered up her bag and staggered to her feet. She stumbled a little as she approached the beast’s head, her fear tangling her feet, but she made it. She laid a hand on the creature’s neck. It was smooth and silky to the touch, the hard black scales as bright as polished onyx, and it exuded a ferocious heat. She clambered up and awkwardly straddled the beast’s neck. A few of the smaller spikes on his head were close enough to use as handholds, and she clung desperately to them.

The dragon did not wait. He launched himself into the air so fast that she felt as though her stomach remained on the ground. The ground spiraled away from them, and she had to close her eyes to keep from being sick. The wind in the air was even more bitter than it had been on the ground. Her face and fingers were numb in moments, and she pressed herself against the roaring furnace of the dragon’s skin to ward off the chill. They flew on. There was always a Dragon in the mountains overhead. They lived for a very long time, and rarely came out of their range. They did not prey on humans or livestock, for the most part, and it was believed that they brought luck and protected the village. However, the old dragons eventually did die. A new one would come to take their place, and every new dragon demanded a tithe from his village; a wife. The price of the dragon’s friendship and protection was always the same- a young virgin from the village, dressed in her wedding best. No one had ever seen a bride return, and no one knew what the beasts did with them. Her grandfather had remembered the last dragon’s coming, and the girl they had given him. She was the beauty of the village, every boy had been in love with her. Two weeks after the dragon took her, they held her funeral in the village church and stood a stone for her in the graveyard. No one but grandfather had ever spoken of her. Isabelle was not the beauty of the village, but she was the only marriageable girl left. All of her sisters and cousins and friends had married their sweethearts as soon as the old dragon had died, in a flurry of weddings that had filled the spring and summer with a frantic kind of joy. She had no sweetheart to marry, and someone had to go to the beast. It was her duty. Her father told her that he believed the dragons did not harm their wives. He thought that if she was a good wife, if she pleased the dragon, then he would not hurt her or her village. Her mother had other ideas. The rushing wind picked up speed, whistling in her ears and chilling her to the bone despite the heat of the dragon. She tried to see what was going on, but the wind blinded her watering eyes and she shut them again. In a moment, there was a jerk, and a thump that nearly dislodged her from her spot. She clung tightly and waited. They were not moving. She felt the dragon lower its head, and a soft bump as its chin hit the ground. She sat up and looked around. They were on a ledge in the mountains. It was just large enough for the dragon to fit on, though his tail and wings dangled over the edges. A sheer cliff rose up beside them, with a small dark passage cut into it. It was clear she was meant to dismount here, so she unbent her stiff limbs and scrambled off onto the ground. The wind was bitter, and the only shelter was the passage. She looked back to the dragon, who stared coldly down at her. He made no objection, however, when she moved towards the hole. She ducked inside. It was warmer the moment she stepped into the passage. It was a rough-hewn hallway that curved as it went, so that she could not see the end of it. There wasn’t much to be seen but rough walls and a couple of pegs with clothing hanging from them. After a moment of hesitation, she followed the hallway into the mountain. It came out into a wide round room with a fire pit in the center, filled with glowing embers. It was blessedly warm. She stood as close to the fire as she could get and began to massage the life back into her frozen fingers as she looked around.

This was no killing ground. It was more like one of her village’s little houses than anything. There was a kitchen with a cleverly built stone stove, wood piled high in the firebox, a water barrel. Blankets were piled high on a divan near the fireplace, and a work table stood in the corner with a few tool and some half-carved wood resting on it. A few small corridors led out of the room, but she could not see what lay beyond them. It struck her that there was no way for the dragon to enter the room. Her heart leapt as she thought she might be spared. Maybe the dragon only wanted company. A pet perhaps, like a little canary in a cage. This could be a comfortable enough cage, surely. Steps sounded in the passage she had entered from, and she whirled to look just as a man entered. No, it was no man. It was the Dragon, in the form of a man. He had pale skin and an aquiline nose, long black hair as iridescent as a raven’s wing, and he was tall and surprisingly thin. He was barefoot, wearing simple breeches and a cambric shirt, which she recognized as the clothing that had hung by the entrance. She could almost have believed him to a normal man, a servant or another captive, but for the eyes. They were unnaturally green, the color of gemstones. Even the stained glass on the church’s windows could not compare to the brilliance of that gleaming gaze. He looked her over. She knew what he saw- a girl that was too thin and too tall to be beautiful, bedraggled and shivering in a lacy shawl and a fine gown that had been sewn with spring in mind. His face remained still and unexpressive, but there was something burning in the jade depths of his eyes. She could not name it, but it frightened her. That was the way a wolf looked at a lamb that wandered, lost and crying, into the woods. It was hungry. “What is your name?” His voice was surprisingly deep. It echoed the terrible thunder of his other form’s roar. “Isabelle,” she whispered, too softly. The hours of etiquette her aunts had hammered into her reared up in her mind, and before she could think she was dropping a deep curtsy. “Isabelle, my lord.” She managed to speak with a normal voice this time, though it quavered at the end. “And I am Julian.” He stepped forward. She started to back away, but the edge of the fire pit prevented her. He pretended not to notice, and took her elbow. He steered her towards one of the side rooms, and she stumbled along with him. The room was very small. It contained a low altar, on which lay two rings. She saw that they were gold, real gold. No one in her village had such riches for their wedding. And here she was, with no one to see it but her soon-to-be husband, the Dragon. They stood facing each other before the altar in what seemed like a cruel parody of a wedding. There was no minister, no guests, not even a witness. He spoke the vows first- the same traditional vows they used in the village below. For better or for worse- though she could imagine no worse thing has he slid the ring onto her trembling finger. His burning gaze was fixed on her, that predatory gleam only growing stronger. She could feel it even when she averted her eyes. He pressed the larger of the rings into her hand, and then let her slide it onto his finger. Her hands shook. In tremulous tones, she repeated the same vows. ‘Til death do us part. It was done, but for the kiss. She had never kissed anyone in her life, and found that she was frozen with fear when he stepped close to her, so close that she could feel the warmth of him against her skin. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes or even move. He slipped a hand under her chin and raised her face to his. She squeezed her eyes shut, but could not escape the feeling of his lips against hers.

It was a soft kiss, surprisingly tender. She had expected force, but he lingered, his lips barely brushing hers, savoring the moment. Then he pulled away, though his hand found hers and held it. She looked back to the floor, a hot blush rising in her cheeks. That kiss had stirred something in her, and suddenly the cold winds outside were forgotten as an unfamiliar heat spread through her whole body. This terrified her, even more than the Dragon himself did, because it grew stronger the nearer he was. She couldn’t control it. He guided her from the little room, leading her gently by the hand. She trailed after him, confused by her own feelings and made reticent by fear. He led her back into the round room, which seemed bright and welcoming after the little chamber with the altar- but he did not stop there. Instead he led her across the room and towards another doorway. She nearly balked at the threshold, for what lay beyond was a bedroom, dimly lit by one candle burning in a sconce on the wall. She did follow him, slowly, his hand coaxing her forward. That touch, his fingers entwining with hers, was waking more warmth in her, and she was filled with relief when he let go. It was short lived, because then he reached for her shoulders, as though he meant to pull her to him. She flinched away from his touch. To her surprise, he stepped back. His face was serious. “I will not hurt you, Isabelle. I swear it.” His voice sent shivers through her- she could almost feel its velvety rumble brush against her skin. He turned to the bed, and started to settle the blankets. Then he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off of his shoulders, hanging it on a peg by the bed. He sat down on the bed, moving slowly, still in his trousers. She realized that he was about to go to sleep mostly dressed, just to keep from frightening her. She thought of her village- did their safety really depend on her being a good wife? She had a hard time believing that Julian- the Dragon- would harm anyone, when he was just a man, quietly getting ready for bed. Then she remembered the heat and thunder of his dragon self, and had to suppress a shiver. It wasn’t entirely a bad shiver. Now that his shirt was off, she could see more of Julian himself. He was pale, as though he rarely went into the sun, but his skin was creamy and smooth. He had a light frame wrapped in wiry muscle- as he moved, she saw the muscles ripple across his taut stomach. A rush of warmth started in her belly, which turned into a squirm of fear as she moved to sit beside him. He looked at her with a flicker of surprise, the first emotion she’d seen so clearly on that impassive ivory face of his. She gathered her courage and reached out for his hand. She saw that his fingernails were the same glossy black as his scales had been, and it sent a tingle of apprehension through her. She tried to take a deep breath, but her heart was pounding so hard that she could only pant. Struggling to sound calm, she looked down at their joined hands and murmured, “I want to be a good wife to you.” She should have said more, but she was too afraid. She could not even look to see if another expression had crossed his features. His fingers tangled with hers, their white standing out against her sun-browned skin. He wasn’t much taller than her when they sat together like this; she had always been too tall for a girl. A beanpole. When he didn’t speak, she wondered if it was not consideration that had made him pull away. Did he even find her attractive? He brought his other hand up and laid it against her cheek. His touch was gentle, but the heat radiating from his skin was answered in her. She was almost woozy with fear and with an unfamiliar but growing desire. He bent his head and kissed her- on the forehead this time, soft and sweet. Then he dropped his hand and sat up, giving her a little more space. A little voice in her head reminded her that

she was too ugly, too gangly for him to be attracted to her. She was failing her village. She needed to be braver. Another voice was picking up volume, a voice that had nothing to do with duty. It said that it wanted him closer, wanted his touch. “Please,” it was barely a whisper, as though her voice as deserted her. “I want to be a good wife to you. I want to please you.” The blush was back, burning its way into her cheeks like a brand. She glanced up, and found him considering her intently, eyes bright with the hunger she had seen before. In answer, he leaned toward her again, slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, where it tangled in her hair. He pulled her into another kiss, but this was different. There was greed in this kiss, a fiery want that seemed to overpower her shyness. Her lips parted, her resistance melting under pressure. She felt his tongue caress her lips and then quest deeper, finding her tongue and dancing with it, tasting her eagerly. When he broke away, they were both breathing hard. Isabelle could hardly hear over the hammering of her heart. His hand slipped from her neck to her shoulders, and then slid further down until it found the ribbon that laced her bodice tight. He started to unravel the knot, and she froze. The fear was suddenly back, threatening the fire that had been building in her veins. It was too much. He felt her stiffen, and slid his hand away from the knot, caressing the small of her back instead. She felt as though everywhere he touched burned, and that voice was back, wanting him to touch her everywhere. She tried to bow her head again out of embarrassment, but he gently caught her chin. “It’s alright,” he murmured, meeting her eyes and holding them with his. “The dress doesn’t have to come off tonight.” He kissed her again, more softly. When it ended she found that she had wrapped her arms around him, was sliding her palms across the smooth, warm planes of his shoulders, his back. Their upper bodies were twined together, and she could feel her breasts pressing into him with every breath she took. She almost snatched her hands back and sprang away, but she found that she didn’t want to stop touching him. She wanted to touch more of him, feel every inch. She brought a hand around and ran it down his stomach, feeling the hard ripple of his muscles under her fingers. Looking down, she saw that there was a growing bulge at the front of his breeches, straining against the buttons. She swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of both desire and trepidation. She had heard whispers, of course. She knew what was supposed to happen on a wedding night, but beyond spying on the village boys while they swam, she had no experience with any of this. He followed her gaze. Slowly, he pulled his arms from around her and started to undo his trousers. He slipped the first button from its hole and waited, testing the waters. She did not object, and he continued, undoing one button at a time. Finally freed from the cloth, his erection rose, thick and pulsing. She looked at it, pinned in place by longing and uncertainty. He kissed her neck, sending shivers through her. “Here,” he whispered, his breath hot and wet in her ear. He took her hand in one of his and settled it onto his member. He wrapped his own hand over hers, and guided her fingers up the shaft. She felt it twitch under her fingers, and a thin trickle of pre-cum oozed from the tip. He slid her hand down, and then back up again in an easy rhythm, then took his own hand away. She faltered for a moment, shocked at the sight of her own fingers wrapped around his cock. She slipped her hand down his length, and watched how he shivered when she gripped him just a little harder. She stroked more confidently now, and his breathing quickened, his breath ragged against her neck. Her own body was answering his, filling with giddy warmth. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her even closer, and her hand slipped, sliding over the head of his cock. He growled with pleasure,

and she slid her hand back down onto his shaft slowly, letting her fingers caress the swollen head and bump over the little ridge before she wrapped her hand around his thickness and pumped up and down. She’d gotten his pre-cum on her hands, and things were starting to get slippery. Not just for him, either. The place between her legs was wet and hot, crying out for attention. She almost reached for herself, but she resisted the impulse. That was too much, too shameful. Not even embarrassment could dampen her hunger for him, however, and something was stirring in her memory. Something one of her married friends had hinted at, something too scandalous even for whispers. A sudden devilish impulse filled her and she bent to lay her tongue against the throbbing shaft of his cock. The groan it brought out of him was so delicious that she dragged her tongue upwards while pumping steadily, just to see what it would do to him. It was as if he was immobilized by pleasure- he slowly collapsed backwards onto the bed. She tried another lick, sweeping her tongue across the head. Another groan that made her want to writhe with pleasure. Spurred on, she leaned over him and took him into her mouth. Still stroking his shaft, she let her tongue swirl around the dripping tip of his cock. As she curled her tongue around the place where the head ended and the shaft began, she saw his balls, still inside his trousers, tense as he let out a strangled moan, his ebony-clawed fingers curling into fists. Her mouth filled with something hot and salty-sweet. She pulled her mouth away as he jerked again, and his seed spattered her face and hands. She released him and sat up. Without thinking, she swallowed, not realizing at first that he was watching her. She caught the spark of his eyes and looked away, down at her sticky hands. She didn’t know what to do now. Her mind was a storm of uncertainty, fear, shame- and, yes, desire. She wanted more of this. She wanted him to do a thousand indecent things to her. Every inch of her skin was screaming for his touch now, the hot wet curl of need in her belly only growing stronger. He reached out and took her arm, pulled her unresisting onto the bed beside him. He erection was slowly subsiding, but the hunger was still in his eyes. He laid a slow kiss on her cheek. “You’re wonderful,” he whispered, and traced his fingers down the curve of her neck, laid a hand on her shoulder. She shivered under his touch, but did not pull away as the hand slid further, smoothing the thin white cloth of her wedding dress along the slope of her breast, her taut stomach, the swell of her hip. His hand reached the hem of her dress and slid over the bare skin of her leg. Then slowly, carefully, his slipped up under the cloth and began to trace a slow path up the inside of her thigh. She trembled, but could not stop herself from pressing into his touch. His fingers found her mound and rested there for a moment, testing her reaction before the delved deeper. When she made no objection, he parted her lips and slipped a finger between them. She craved that touch so much it nearly hurt. He pushed the finger a little deeper between her thighs, skimming through her channel to tease her entrance, testing that supple opening without crossing the boundary. Then he traced it back, sending a deep, aching heat through her whole body. It exploded into flames as he found her sensitive nub and let his finger slide across it. She gasped, her hips jerking to thrust herself against his hand. He drew circles around the tender organ, flirted with it, made her want to cry out from need before he touched it again, massaged it. He built a rhythm with his touch, one that seemed to be pulling her deeper and deeper into a well of pleasure. She closed her eyes as she was overcome by a rush of euphoria, a sweeping climax that seemed to ripple through her for an eternity. It left her weak and shuddering, a soft cry falling from her lips as it ebbed away. A sanguine contentment spread through her. She laid her cheek against his bare chest, his skin warm and soothing. He wrapped his arms around her, and they slept.

She woke in the morning to the sound of his footsteps leaving the bedroom. It took her a long moment to remember where she was, what she was doing there. A surge of half remembered fear jarred her into wakefulness, followed swiftly by the memory of what they had done the night before. Just the thought of his hands on her was enough to make her wet. She quickly stood up and set to making the bed to distract herself. Her wedding dress was wrinkled and stained from the night before. She blushed, remembering where some of those stains had come from, and went in search of her other clothes. When she entered the main room, it was empty. She peered into the other chambers, but it seemed that Julian had disappeared. What business a dragon had during the day she could not fathom. All she knew was that her heart fell when she discovered that he was gone; could she really miss him? She had met him only yesterday, he had taken her away from her home and family. But last night… last night had changed something between them. There was food laid out for her in the kitchen. Bread, cheese, a few crisp, sweet apples that were still chilly from the cold autumn air. He must have gathered them for her this morning. She warmed one of the apples in her hands and smiled. Her bag was where she had left it the night before, beside the fire pit. The fire was freshly fed, filling the room with light and warmth- another token of his consideration. She opened the back and pulled out her most comfortable dress, slipped into it quickly. She also took out the food her family had sent, and shook out her other dress to keep it from getting more wrinkled than it already was. That left the last parcel wrapped tightly and shoved to the very bottom of the pack. She took it out, and unwrapped it. The dagger was a beautiful thing, a family heirloom, its long, straight blade as sharp as the day it was made. Wait until he sleeps, her mother had instructed her. You can kill him and be home before morning, and we will be free of the Dragon once more. She shook her head. In her terror, it had sounded like a good idea. Slay the dragon. Return home. But now… not only did she see the holes in that plan- wouldn’t another dragon come to take his place?but she was unsure that she wanted to return home. It was pleasant here, in the firelit safety of the Dragon’s lair. She decided to put the dagger to better use as a bread knife, returning to the kitchen to cut a slab from the loaf. She noticed now that there was a note lying beside the food, written in an elegant script. I have gone to patrol the mountains- something evil was on the wind this morning. Keep indoors, stay safe and warm, and wait for me, my love. ~Julian ‘My love.’ No one had ever called her that before. But what did he mean by patrol? Was it true, then, that he protected their village from other, greater monsters? She wanted desperately for it to be true, but could imagine nothing more terrifying than the Dragon that had come to pluck her from the village. Surely there was nothing worse. As if in answer to her thoughts, a thundering roar exploded around her. It was so loud it felt as though the sound was inside her head, drowning out all thought. Then another roar answered it, followed by a bellow of rage. The sound had to be coming from outside. She started to run to the bedroom to hide, but another thought occurred to her- that was Julian out there. A scream of pain ripped through the air, and before she

could think she was running for the entrance, the dagger still in her hand. She pelted down the long hallway to the door and looked out. An autumn storm was brewing, low clouds sending icy rain down in a screaming gale. At first, she thought that there was nothing there but the storm, that what she had heard was thunder, but suddenly the sky erupted into a flurry of tangled wings, tails, and fangs as two dragons rose from below the ledge. There was Julian, his green eyes flashing from the glittering onyx of his horned head, his fangs bared and wings churning as he fought for altitude. Just behind him, jaws snapping, was another beast, this one a foul sooty grey with eyes of gleaming, hellish red. Both dragons climbed higher, shrinking into the distance, and then they were falling together, locked in battle. The red dragon was at a disadvantage- she saw that it carried something hooked in its huge claws. As they drew nearer, she saw that it was a horse, spotted with patches of black and white. She realized with a chill that she recognized it. It was her uncle’s horse, his prize stallion. It grazed in a paddock just outside the village. She pictured the crimson horror descending on her home and felt sick. At that moment, the black dragon wheeled in the air and spat a gout of roaring flame at the enemy. The red monster tried to avoid the attack, but the fire splashed along his flank, fizzling uselessly on his heavy scales but biting into the tender membrane of a wing. The intruder howled- a sound that seemed to shake the mountains- and fell. It seemed to hang in the air for a moment, its wounded wing flailing for traction, and then tumbled downward, the horse slipping from its claws. The fall was short, however; with one last frantic lunge, the beast managed to land halfway on the ledge, its impact causing the stone to tremble. Julian was banking upwards, trying to gain height before his last attack, as the red dragon scrambled up on the ledge and turned to face the sky. The winds were working against the black dragon. He was struggling against the storm now, the rising wind forcing him too close to the cliff. He lost height, began to fall into reach. The red dragon’s flaming eyes seemed to grow brighter, and it angled its jaws towards Julian, an evil flame rising in its throat. Its tail curled and slithered across the ledge like that of a happy cat watching a bird draw nearer. The red dragon’s charred and tattered wing was an all-too-clear illustration of the danger to Julian. In seconds the wind would force Julian too close, and all would be lost. Panic was rising in her chest- not fearing for herself, but for her husband. She could not watch him die. The crimson tail slithered past Isabelle’s hiding spot again. She realized that she was still gripping the dagger, its hilt warm in her hands. Without thinking, she stepped out onto the ledge and plunged the knife into the curling red tail. The dragon choked back his flame and snapped his huge head around to see what threat had come from behind. She leaped back towards the doorway, but tripped on the coils of tail and stumbled. The monster opened its mouth and she could see past the rows of its rotting teeth to the flame growing bright in his mawA black bolt descended on the creature, ivory fangs digging into the crimson neck and black claws tearing into the creature’s remaining wing. There was a brief moment of dizzying violence, black and red blending together as the dragons tore at each other, but then the red dragon was on the edge of the ledge, then falling, tumbling away into the storm-lashed emptiness below, its useless wings trailing behind a limp body. Isabelle stood and wobbled over to the edge, peering down into the depths. She couldn’t even see where the dragon had fallen below. The wind was growing even stronger now, and a crack of thunder

echoed through the deep valleys and crags of the mountain. Julian was a towering black bulk above her, his scaled chest heaving with exertion. He, too, looked downwards- then fixed his piercing green eyes on her. She looked at him. Really looked, this time, without the fear that had clouded her eyes the first time she saw him up close. She had noticed the teeth, then, and the claws and the scales and those terrifying, thrilling eyes. Now she saw the grace in the lines of his neck, the gentle curves his folded wings made against the sable of his flanks. He was beautiful as a man, and he was beautiful this way too. She put out a hand to touch his shoulder, and he brought his head down, resting it so lightly against her side that she felt the warmth of him, not the weight. She wrapped her arms around his neck, as far as she could reach, and he thrummed a soft, tender sound. The wind was biting cold, however. After a moment he gently pulled out of her grasp and looked pointedly to the door. She realized that she was freezing and took the hint, trotting back into the warm safety of their home. Behind her, the roar of the storm cloaked any sound the Dragon might have made as he launched himself into the dark sky and disappeared. Isabelle worried. The storm raged outside, now pouring sheets of icy water down on the drenched earth as well as scouring every surface with biting wind. She went to the door to look out once or twice, but there was nothing to see besides the rain-dimmed landscape of craggy mountainsides. She made herself busy to fill the time. She cooked a little dinner on the woodstove. There wasn’t a lot to cook with- Dragon or no, Julian had obviously been living like a bachelor. She ate, then cleaned the kitchen, then stoked the fire. Then there was nothing more to do but pace and try not to drive herself mad worrying about more invaders, more fire-breathing monsters attacking her home and her husband. Finally the hour grew too late and the fear was too much for her. She sat down on the divan- just for a moment- and fell into a fitful sleep. It was deep night when she was woken by quiet footsteps. The howl of the storm had died into silence, and she opened her eyes to find Julian warming himself over the embers of the fire. The room was lit only by the glowing cinders, and he was a looming silhouette with vermillion eyes alight. She stood up, yawning, and saw a smile creep into those green gleams. “Your town is safe,” he said matter-of-factly. “That idiot bandit had only taken the horse when I caught up with him. A few fences were damaged and we might have knocked down a barn, but everyone is safe and sound. If he had any friends, they all fled when they saw me; I flew many miles today and saw no more intruders.” The relief that flooded her was so great that she almost had to sit back down. Instead she wobbled over and embraced him, encircling him in arms that felt as weak as water. “Thank you,” she whispered, and the words were almost a sob. He hesitated, unsure of himself for a moment, and then awkwardly patted her on the back. She straightened up and rubbed the hint of tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just so glad that you were there.” He shrugged. “This is my land,” he said. “I protect what is mine.” His bright eyes met hers, and she felt a thrill that spread through her, making her tingle all the way to her fingertips. She was his. And suddenly she knew that he would protect her until the end of the world, and beyond. She was suddenly aware of the his smell, a smell she hadn’t even realized he had: a warm, musky scent with a sweet, exotic hint of smoke and something more that she could not name. Her hair was still mussed from sleep. He brushed a lock away from her face, trailing his fingertips behind her ear, down to her neck. She stepped into his embrace, leaning against his chest and drinking in

his heat, his scent, every atom of him. He held her tightly for a moment, folding her into him and surrounding her. Then, slowly, one of his hands slid down. It stroked across the small of her back, then lower. She was overcome with a heat that had nothing to do with the dying fire as he caressed her loins, pulling her closer to him. She felt suddenly constricted by her dress as her body ached to be freed, to submit to his touch on her naked skin. He kissed her on the top of the head, and then she tipped her face up and he kissed her mouth, tasting the desire on her lips. He caught her skirt and lifted it slowly, exposing her long legs to the night air, then the smooth globes of her buttocks and the downy nest between her legs. She shivered as the cloth rippled away from her hips, her waist, unveiled the milky white swell of her breasts, whispered over her face, and then was gone. She stood naked before him, her cheeks burning but her eyes fixed on his. No shame could shadow the need she felt- the need to be his, entirely and completely. Julian tossed her dress to the floor and reached to touch her, cupped one breast in his warm hand. When he brushed a thumb across the stiff nipple it lit fires deep inside her, made her ache with want, and she leaned into him, ran her hands under his shirt to feel the smooth skin beneath. She could feel him growing hard, straining at his trousers. When she started to slide a hand down the long plane of his stomach, dipped her fingers below the waist of his pants, he caught her wrist in one strong hand. The bedroom was too far. He swept her onto the divan and then stripped off his own clothing. She lay exposed and watched the firelight flicker across his bare skin, highlighting the ripples of muscles shifting as he knelt beside her. He bent and kissed her tenderly- a brush of his lips on hers, then at the base of her neck, and then on the yielding flesh of her breast. His hands skimmed over every part of her, possessing each inch of her willowy arms, the sensual curve of her stomach, her thighs, and finally moving into the velvety sweetness of her channel. He brushed over her tender pearl, sending a wave of pleasure through her body, but moved on, reached deeper. She was wet and aching for him. He circled her opening with a finger, testing her, and she squirmed, spread her legs to offer herself to him more fully. He slipped a finger into her, and then another. Her tight sheath resisted a little, but he slowly stroked the fingers up and down, relaxing and widening her. She gasped as he bent his fingers, hooking them into a secret spot that sent her spiraling down, plunging into the depths of an orgasm that consumed the world around her. She heard her own voice cry out, but all she could feel was the pleasure radiating from his gentle touch. That cry and the pulsing of her walls as they rippled around his fingers were too much for him. He climbed onto the divan, covered her body with his. They kissed, her breasts heaving against his chest and his erection throbbing between them. Then he broke away and slipped the tip of his cock into her slit. Slowly, he pressed forward, filling her completely. Isabelle mewled, a tiny sound between a cry of pain and a gasp of pleasure. He stretched so much that it hurt, the most delicious ache she had ever experienced. He lingered, giving her time to adjust, but she shifted, her walls closed in on him for a moment, and he couldn’t keep himself from thrusting a little deeper, then drawing back. He started to thrust into her- gently at first, trying to spare her, but she was so tight, so wet that he drove harder and harder, taking every inch of her. She wrapped her arms around him as he rocked her whole body with the force of his passion, raking her quivering sheath with mounting intensity. He rested his burning lips against her neck. She threw her head back and moaned as she tightened around him, gripping his cock in building waves of pulsing pleasure that drove him to the edge, and then over it. His voice joined hers as he came, and he thrust into her for the last time, his whole body shuddering as he spent himself.

They remained there for a moment, unmoving, both gasping for air. She turned her head and sought his mouth, tracing the salty line of his lips with her tongue. He slid off of her and collapsed onto the divan beside her, his arms twining around her and pulling her tight against him. Isabelle felt that she was lying in a perfect moment of peace, one patch of pure brightness in a wide, dark world. She was replete, warm and safe in the arms of the man she loved. In the minute before sleep, she realized that she wanted nothing more in the world than the life that was ahead of her, a lifetime as the Dragon’s wife.

Also by Lilah Claret:

Tonight is the Duke's Masquerade, a citywide festival of lights, drinking, and dancing. Angel has a once in a lifetime chance: he has an invitation to the Duke's manor, the heart of the party. And he's got the perfect dress to wear. Angel decided that for one night, he wants to be romanced, to flirt, to dance with handsome men in public. If he has to wear a dress to do so, then so be it. The only question is, can he maintain the illusion despite the advances of a very attractive masked man? This slightly-steampunk romp is 4,700 words long and suitable only for open minded adults that enjoy delicious m/m sexual content. See it on AllRomance!