Dragon Wife (18 page)

“Please,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone. Everything here still feels strange to me.”

That settled it. He’d just have to exercise self-control. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“I suggest we leave some clothes on,” Huroth said. “No need to make this harder than it already is. No pun intended.”

“Right. No nakedness.” Wen covered a smile. “Thank you, for being willing to stay. I know I’ll sleep better.”

Anything he could do, to help Wen feel comfortable at Dragonvale, was worth it. He hoped she would one day think of this as her home. Issues with Thord aside, that still seemed possible.

****

Huroth woke gradually, aware of faint light edging the drapes. Wen was sleeping, spooned tightly to him. The smell and the feel of her were intoxicating. Her silky hair flowed over his arms, the curve of her bottom pressing just below his hips.

He groaned quietly, trying to ease away from her, to relieve the pressure that was rapidly building. His body was primed and ready, knowing exactly what it wanted. The very thing it couldn’t have. Not yet.

She stirred in her sleep, scooting back against him, seeking his heat. Her movement only increased his arousal, making him wonder how long he could keep resisting. It would be so easy to give in…and so incredibly good. Wen had made it clear she wanted him.

His resolve wavered. He knew human women were more fertile than she-dragons, but perhaps he could get away with it, this once. Surely she wouldn’t conceive the first time.

He brought his lips to the smooth roundness of her shoulder, where it peeked from the neckline of her shift. His hand slipped under the fabric which bunched around her legs, sliding it up, letting his fingers stray to the delicate curls of hair in the warm cleft between her thighs.

She sighed softly, arching her back and stretching like a cat under his touch. Need consumed Huroth. He throbbed with it, aching for completion. No reason was powerful enough to stop him, not if Wen was willing.

He began loosening the fastenings on his clothing, as she came half awake, rolling over and reaching for him. The swell of her breasts pulled tight against her shift. Her exposed skin was rosy and luscious as a ripe peach. Nothing had ever looked more beautiful.

A knock on the door froze Huroth in place. Damn! Surely, whoever it was could wait. Wen’s eyes fluttered open briefly, and she murmured his name.

“I’m here.” He spoke softly, kissing her cheek and stroking her arm.

She gave a sleepy smile, before her eyelids drifted closed again.

Huroth.
It was Tallok, cautiously linking minds with him.

This is not a good time,
Huroth sent back.
I’m busy.

Thord has called us to gather. He intends to challenge you.

Now?

We’re meeting in the hall.

I’ll be there. Just give me a minute.

Huroth swore silently. Why did Thord have to be such a bad-tempered fool? No good would come of this, and the timing was terrible.

He carefully got out of bed, pulling the quilt up to cover Wen. At least she was a sound sleeper. There was nothing she could do to help, so it was better she stay unaware and safe in her quarters till it was over.

Huroth fastened his pants, put on his boots and leather doublet, and strapped his sword belt around his waist. The passionate energy which had filled his body, only minutes before, now turned to adrenaline. If Thord wanted a fight, by Oatha, he’d get one. Huroth felt wired enough to take on a band of trolkin, single-handed.

Tallok was waiting for him outside the door. Together they strode down the corridor, not bothering with words. What was there to say? Difficult things happened, and one simply had to deal with them. You couldn’t make the night less dark or the winter less cold, by complaining about it. What would be would be.

The rest of the dragons were in the hall, most of them clustered around the hearth, except for Thord, who stood apart. He wore full chain mail, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The atmosphere was strained. Every posture was tense and every face grim. No one took this turn of events lightly.

“I hear you’re challenging me,” Huroth said, stopping a few paces away from Thord.

“I am. It’s time our clan had a strong leader.”

Huroth wanted to strike Thord, right then. His pent up energy surged through him, looking for release, but he forced himself to remain still, keeping his voice calm.

“You’re sure there isn’t a better solution? The clan can ill afford another death.”

“You might have thought of that, before you dragged us into an alliance with Rhelaun. When I am chieftain, there will be no more deals, no more constraint. We will take what we want, when we want, and if any dare to stand against us, we’ll destroy them. We will live and die like dragons should…as lords of the land and the air.”

“That’s your vision for the clan?” Huroth asked. “You would have them burn out their last fire, in pointless aggression and conflict?”

“Better that than to dwindle slowly, serving inferior masters.”

“And this belief is worth your life?”

“Or yours,” Thord countered. Malice flickered in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to your human wench, once you’ve died. She won’t suffer for lack of attention.”

A low growl rumbled in Huroth’s throat.

“You’re only making this fight easier for me,” he warned, hand dropping to his sword hilt.

“Then why waste time?” Thord snarled. “Let’s get to it.”

“Not yet!” Tirza approached the two males. “Thord has no right to challenge Huroth, unless he’s supported from within the clan. At least one individual must speak for him. That’s the way it has always been. If a challenger lacks support, then he must leave the clan and find his way alone in the world.”

“Of course I have support.” Thord spat the words, as if insulted.

Tirza didn’t back down.

“Who speaks for you then? We need to hear a voice raised on your behalf.”

“Thalos has long shared my concerns,” Thord said. “He will speak for me.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to the venerable silver-haired dragon, who frowned and shook his head.

“I don’t agree with all Huroth’s choices,” Thalos said. “That doesn’t mean I want Thord for our chieftain. Envy and ambition drive him, blinding him to good sense. He’s nowhere near the dragon his brother was…more’s the pity. I can’t support his challenge.”

Thord’s eye’s blazed with anger, as he looked from one dragon to the next. Huroth was gratified to see that no one else spoke up. Apparently his position as chieftain was secure. They might have their disagreements, but the clan was behind him.

“Will no one support me?” Thord demanded. “Am I the only one here with Aurek’s blood flowing in my veins? Are you all gelded?”

There was a moment of silence, then Abeah stepped forward, holding herself like a queen.

“I will speak,” she said. “You deserve a chance to prove yourself.”

“Abeah!” Rhourik couldn’t hide his disgust. “Don’t encourage Thord in this stupidity.”

She turned on him and the rest of the clan.

“At least he knows what it means to be a dragon,” she said forcefully. “While the rest of you huddle in Huroth’s shadow, Thord is willing to risk his life for his beliefs. I support his challenge. May the best and bravest prevail.”

“Ha!” Thord shouted, drawing his sword and swinging it in a wide arc.

Huroth was ready for him. He brought his own blade up, two handed, blocking. The power of the blow vibrated along his arms, setting his teeth on edge. Thord wasn’t playing around this time. He was cold sober and wanted a fight to the death. It wouldn’t be an easy victory for either of them.

The two dragons circled each other, eyes locked, weapons balanced in experienced hands. The rest of the clan retreated to the walls, watching. Whatever they thought of the challenge, it was out of their control.

Thord lunged in, sword whistling through the air. The clang of steel on steel rang through the hall. Huroth deflected the charge, and came around to the side, catching Thord on the shoulder. The blonde dragon’s chainmail held, but he stumbled under the punishing force of the blow.

Huroth pressed his advantage, striking fast and focused. Thord retreated, a dripping red slash where his left ear had been. He paused only momentarily, before rallying and driving Huroth back with a furious attack, managing to slice the chieftain’s right leg.

Battle rage had taken them both fully. Blood was in their eyes, fire in their veins. Every ounce of skill and strength was channeled into this dance of kill or be killed. There was no turning back. One way or another, a dragon would die.

Chapter Sixteen

Orwenna came suddenly awake. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air and in the tightness of her knotted stomach. Glancing around her quarters, she saw Huroth was gone. She heard sounds of metal striking metal and a cry of pain.

She jumped out of bed, flinging the drapes aside and dashing onto the balcony adjoining her room. At any other time, she would have been enchanted with the lofty view of mountains and valley, but now her focus was centered on the fight below her.

Off to the right, less than a hundred feet down the cliff, was the largest balcony, the one adjacent to the main hall. Huroth and Thord were there, engaged in a fierce struggle. Orwenna could see they were both wounded, though neither showed signs of flagging energy or resolve.

Their swords flashed in the sunlight, as they came together again and again, steel biting steel. Huroth’s movements were fluid and powerful, but Thord matched him. They battled at a brutal pace. Orwenna didn’t see how they could maintain it for long.

She resisted the urge to shout at them, to implore them to stop. It would only distract Huroth, and she couldn’t risk giving Thord an advantage. Her gut told her this was serious, and they wouldn’t be done till one of them was dead.

The rest of the dragons had come out of the main hall. They were standing along the cliff side of the balcony, watching. It was obvious from their expressions that they were upset, but no one moved to interfere. Apparently they condoned the conflict.

Orwenna rushed out of her quarters and down the corridor. She was barefoot and half naked, not bothering to cover her thin shift with a robe or shawl. Her only concern was for Huroth and the danger he was in. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. It was a white hot poker in her chest, excruciating.

She reached the main hall and hurried onto the balcony, just in time to see Thord running toward the edge, shifting to drake form. He sped skywards, an impressive golden dragon with dozens of dagger-like spines radiating from his head, neck, and back.

Huroth wasn’t far behind. He shifted, even as he leapt into open space. His great black wings beat the air like a gale, his obsidian scales gleaming. His roar echoed off the mountainsides.

Be safe, and come back to me,
Orwenna prayed, wishing she believed in gods who interceded in worldly affairs. She would readily sing their praises and follow their rituals, if there were any who could keep Huroth alive.

The two airborne dragons clashed, snaking out long necks, trying to bury their teeth in each other’s hides. They broke apart briefly, banking in tight circles to reengage. Talons raked over scales. Flames scorched. Spiked tails whipped and lashed.

Orwenna shaded her eyes from the morning sun, craning her head back, trying to see exactly what was happening. They were too high up. She couldn’t make out which dragon was winning.

The suspense was agonizing, far more than during the battle with the Keskan army. There, Huroth faced humans, with five more dragons on his side. Here, he fought one of his own kind, as ferocious and lethal as he was.

Dread gripped her. She became intensely aware of her feelings for Huroth, now that it might be too late. What if she never got to tell him the truth in her heart?

Orwenna loved him. Utterly. She’d failed to see it before. Why had she been so stubborn and doubtful, wasting the precious time they’d been given?

Whether or not he felt an equal love, she wanted to be with him. It was sufficient, knowing he was fond of her. She could accept that, if it let them walk through life together.

She was certain there would never be another like him. No man she’d met came close. If Huroth survived this challenge, she’d gladly set her reservations aside and be his mate.

The two dragons bellowed, tumbling toward the ground, their talons locked together. As they plummeted nearer, Orwenna could see Huroth’s teeth sink deep into Thord’s throat. Thord thrashed wildly, biting down on Huroth’s wing joint. One of his feet swiped across Huroth’s flank, tearing a horrific gash.

“No!” Orwenna screamed, fearing neither dragon could pull up in time. They were falling at such a terrifying speed.

When they were almost level with the balcony, Huroth violently jerked himself free of Thord. The golden dragon continued to drop, spinning limply toward the rocks below, blood gushing crimson from his neck wound.

Huroth just managed to turn and slow, before slamming into the balcony. His wing crunched under him. He staggered, shifting to eldrin form, before collapsing in a motionless heap.

Orwenna knelt beside him, shouting for the others to bring bandages, quickly. The copious blood from his wounds spread onto the clean white of her shift and slicked her arms as she held him. His eyes glazed over, his skin deathly pale.

“Stay with me,” she begged, laying him flat and pressing her hands to his slashed side. Her body vibrated with the need to keep him alive. The world shrank to that one purpose. Huroth had to survive. Nothing else mattered or even existed.

“I love you, Huroth. I love you so much. Don’t leave me. I promise to be your mate. Just don’t die.” She sobbed the words, as brilliant energy exploded inside her, flowing in torrents down her arms, out her hands and into his failing body.

She lost all sense of time and place. There was nothing but the flood of shimmering magic which coursed through her, surrounding Huroth and healing him. It sang in her like a powerful chord of music, weaving harmonies of light and love.