Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition (16 page)

M
orrigan had tensed
when Ualan walked into the room, momentarily surprised when he hadn’t continued past her as he had been wont to do the last several days. She knew he was giving her temper time to cool and possibly punishing her with the silent treatment. What he didn’t seem to understand was that she had navigated the stars for months at a time by herself with only a computer to talk to. Three days was nothing. She could hold out for a year. She’d done it before.

Blast it all, he smelled so good. It had been so hard the last several days. After he left her in the tub, she had stayed there for nearly an hour, panting, raging, crying, plotting his death in a hundred different ways. Her whole body craved him, more than the wanderlust, more than the adventure of traveling to distant galaxies. If he would just relent his stubborn ways…

Morrigan breathed heavily, knowing she should push him away, but she instead concentrated on discovering what the source of the weird power floating around her senses was. She let him kiss her for the moment. A fog overcame her like with the glowing crystal, connecting them, allowing them to sense each other. She didn’t know how, but she could almost feel his heartbeat reverberate slowly in her chest. It was like she could feel his desire for her, not just the desire he stirred in her.

He trailed kisses along her jaw, light and airy. Morrigan bit her lip to keep from crying out, forever tormented by what he did to her. She knew he would stop before she found pleasure. Hadn’t he always? But that faint hope inside her told her to wait, that maybe, just maybe he’d finish it this time.

Feeling the power of him, the steady control, did something to her sanity. Her insides melted and her head felt faint. When she looked into his eyes, she saw longing in him. Or did she see it? Morrigan peeked at him. No, his expression gave nothing away but more kisses.

Closing her eyes, the wave of his desires again filtered through her. He leaned over her, trapping her beneath him without touching beyond his mouth. His hands braced his weight on either side of her waist. She didn’t move, frozen stiff as he gently brushed feathery caresses over the skin, comforting the dull ache of his earlier anger. Her trembling fingers reached for his face where her handprint still glared. She’d hit him much harder than he’d grabbed her. Morrigan sensed that his anger had surprised him, just as her anger had surprised her.

Suddenly, an electrifying rush of emotions flooded her. She couldn’t process them all.

“What…?” Morrigan questioned, pulling back from him both physically and mentally. She blinked several times. The connection broke and the fog lifted.

“Don’t…” he started to say, but it was too late. The sensation was gone.

“I cannot be a wife, Ualan. Even if I wanted to stay here, I can’t. I have a home of my own, friends, a job I’m good at. What would you have me do? Stay and be a housewife? I can’t do it. My life would be hell and so would yours. Besides, you’re so young and…” she almost said handsome but hesitated.

His brow rose, as if knowing the word even though it went unspoken. “These duties can be learned. In fact, you will start training immediately with Mirox.”

“What?” Morrigan stiffened. All traces of tender feelings, save for the more erotically charged, were severed between them. “Do you even listen when I talk to you?”

“I listen, Morrigan,” he said softly with a smile that was all devil. “But your words make no sense. You will be a wife to me, make no mistake. Your honor is of utmost concern for it will reflect on mine. So even if you don’t take your vows to me seriously, I do.”

Morrigan gasped.

Ualan stood. His cock was still heavy in his pants but he acted like he didn’t even notice. Morrigan couldn’t look away. It was eye level with where she sat. Finally, she pried her eyes from his crotch and looked up at him. He insolently winked at her and then strode up the stairs to his bedroom.

“Caveman,” she hissed under her breath, making sure the word was too quiet for him to hear.

“
I
understand now
, my lady, why you have enslaved yourself,” Mirox said with a severe nod as he showed her how to sweep the floor with a broom. She was anything but an enthusiastic student, and he caught her eyes rolling and wandering more often than not. At least the broom contraption was easier than sweeping with her apron on her hands and knees. He chose to politely ignore her ill humor.

If she didn’t know about cleaning before, she definitely knew about it now and she hated it with an even greater passion. She had no idea that dust collected on so many things, so very fast. In her opinion, it was hardly worth bothering. It was to the point where she was almost grateful she couldn’t leave the house, because Mirox had to call several maids in to tend to the laundry and to beat the fur rugs in a different part of the complex. Those were more chores she really didn’t want to learn how to do. If she was going to beat anything it was going to be her captor with the broom handle.

“I apologize for not understanding it before,” Mirox continued. “It is a noble sacrifice you make. You honor your husband’s name and make the Draig people proud.”

Morrigan gave the man a quizzical look. What was he babbling on about? He didn’t speak to her for days. The three days of silence shouldn’t have been a problem for her. She’d gone much longer without conversation. Yet this situation felt different. She was confused—not about a story, but about a man. She found she needed a friend to talk to—anyone who wasn’t a seven foot tall barbarian with the sexiest blue eyes, and the firmest…
Argh!
She was doing it again.

“It must be hard to indenture yourself on a new planet and not be able to have anyone talk to you,” Mirox continued, handing the broom over.

“You’re talking to me.” Morrigan made quick work of the floor, glaring at the marble the entire time, hating it for being dirty.

Mirox scratched the scar on his nose, again not giving her ill humor any mind. Moving to sit on the stairs, he pushed out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. He watched her work.

“I was granted permission to speak so that I may instruct you,” he answered happily. “It is a great honor for me to have been asked.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled sarcastically under her breath. Teaching her to clean up after her caveman lord—great honor. “So that’s why you have been ignoring me? Because you had to?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Rigan is fine,” she said absently, before angling the broom at him. “All right, this is finished. What next?”

Mirox tried to hide his amusement. He pointed to the water bucket. “Mop.”

Morrigan contemplated dumping it on his head. Instead, she brought it to him without comment. He smiled. When she set it on the floor, he explained, “I must address you according to your rank, my lady.”

“My rank?” Morrigan whirled around to study him.

He nodded.

She narrowed her eyes, willing him to explain. When he didn’t, she prompted, “So I have a rank? What? Am I nobility? Do I have a formal title? Is it a military thing?”

Mirox avoided answering as he plunged into a long explanation of the fine points of mopping. Morrigan was soon distracted as she worked up a sweat, tediously sliding the mop where she had swept moments before.

“This really is hell,” she muttered when Mirox wandered off to the kitchen to switch out the mop water for her. “Ualan’s gods have a strange sense of humor putting me as his wife.”

“My lady?” Mirox called, not hearing her.

“I think these floors are done. We don’t need more water,” she yelled back.

“
I
quit right now
,” Morrigan said firmly, eyeing the toilet. “I did not spend six months dredging through the Luxes mudlands to clean that. Haven’t you ever heard of a space-port? They clean themselves, you know. It’s why we call it social advancement.”

Ualan chuckled, hiding around the corner of the bathroom as he listened to his wife and Mirox fight. Mirox had diplomatically reported that she was a stubborn one, never complaining—well grumping, but not complaining. Ualan had translated that to mean she was refusing to do anything at all and expected to see Mirox strung up by his toes over the fire pit with his furniture ripped to shreds. He’d actually been pleasantly surprised to find his house in such great shape.

“My lady,” Mirox tried to sound reasonable, but Ualan heard the irritation in the man’s tone.

“No,” she stated darkly. “I’ve done everything else that you have asked me to. I’m tired. You can tell your lord to…”

Ualan smiled as he came around the corner to look at her. Her face flushed red in embarrassment but she quickly caught herself. Even disheveled, she was beautiful.

Mirox bowed instantly, “My lord.”

“Mirox,” Ualan returned. “Why don’t we let the slave take a break? She is looking rather worn.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mirox bowed, moving to leave. “I will be back in the morning, my lady.”

When they heard the door closing behind the man, Morrigan frowned. “Don’t do me any favors, master.”

To Ualan’s surprise, she grabbed the toilet brush and started furiously scrubbing the porcelain bowl. Hiding his laugh, he shrugged his shoulder and left her to her work. His wife had spirit, he’d give her that.

When she came out of the bathroom nearly an hour later, Ualan was sitting on the couch with a book. To his surprise, he saw her eye it with interest. Then, catching him watching her, she turned her attention away as if she didn’t care.

“It’s a theoretical account about my ancestors, put together by historical scholars. Would you like to see it?” he asked softly, angling it toward her in hopes of a truce. It was not to be.

“I can’t read your accursed language, master,” she snarled. “And I have no wish to learn.”

Ualan sighed. It seemed “master” was taking the place of “caveman”. Her lie was obvious. She had a curiosity that ran deep. He saw it in her eyes as well as felt it in her. He kept himself closed to her. He’d tried to open up to her before but that had not gone well. She couldn’t take the rush of himself he had given her. It was too much too soon.

“I know you’re interested, Rigan.” He motioned for her to sit next to him. “Take the book. I’ll teach you to read it.”

He might as well have offered to give her the blue plague. Ualan almost cringed at her heated look, though he should have expected it. She was beautiful when she was angry. Part of him believed that with enough commanding he could wear her down. It worked on the warriors he and his brothers ruled, and she was as stubborn as any Draig solider.

“I don’t want to read your stupid book,” she denied, though her gaze did dip to it again. “I don’t want anything to do with you, master.”

Unable to help himself, he gave her a seductive smile. Morrigan inhaled deeply. She might try to hide it, but she wanted a lot to do with him.

“Oh,” she huffed, turning away to walk back to the bathroom. “You are the most incorrigible…”

The rest of her insult was lost in a mumble. Ualan chuckled, secretly glad he didn’t have to hear the full brunt of her words.

M
orrigan should have locked
the bathroom door. She knew she should have, but the water of the natural spring was too inviting and by the time she remembered it she was already soaking in the tub and it was too late. Now Ualan was standing in front of her, his eyes narrowed in unabashed interest.

“Don’t even think it,” she warned preemptively. She sank deeper into the bath, trying to hide.

“What?” He grinned, leisurely trying to see into the bubbling water.

“You will be bathing yourself tonight, master.”

“No gift then?” Ualan sighed, turning away from her.

Morrigan’s relief was short lived for he began disrobing. “You’re not getting in here. You can wait until I’m done.”

“It is my home, slave,” he answered. But he didn’t step into the water with her. Instead he went to the shower, quickly washing.

Morrigan found herself staring as he showered. She couldn’t pull her gaze from him. The image mesmerized her neglected body. The mere sight confused her emotions, making her sex respond with a liquid fire as she remembered all too well what his skin had felt like against her hands. Water ran in tiny rivers down his back—slow, soapy, seductive rivers. One of those trails flowed down the center of his back, following the spine to a more than perfect ass. What in the universes did he do all day to stay so sculpted? It almost wasn’t fair to give one living creature so much allure.

Morrigan ran her finger across her bottom lip. He might not be touching her, but he was doing it again—stirring her passions to boiling without ending her suffering. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from the tight muscles of his hips long enough to form the thought. By the time he was finished, she still had not moved.

Flicking his hand, he shut off the water and reached for a towel. Holding it before him, but not wrapping it around, he turned to her and winked. Morrigan quickly looked away in mortification to realize he’d been aware of the show he was putting on for her. He wiped off his dripping face.

“See that you don’t boil yourself, slave. You look a little flushed.” He strode naked and wet from the room.

Morrigan watched him leave before remembering to answer. She yelled at the top of her lungs the only thing she could think of. “Stop messing up my floors!”

“Spoken like a true wife!”

Morrigan made a low noise of frustration and swore, if she ever got her hands on a knife, she would cut his sorry tongue from his barbarian mouth.

C
leaning was bad
. But this,
this
was intolerable.

“I’m not wearing that,” Morrigan stated, brows raised, hands on her hips. “And you can’t make me.”

She looked at the costume the dance instructor was holding out for her to try on. If the outfits of the Breeding Festival had been bad, these harem garments were simply horrendous. From what she could see, the thing would barely cover her most private of parts—and
nothing
else. Was that string supposed to go up her…? No way.

Cordele, the dance instructor who had been sent to teach Morrigan the traditional wife’s dance of pleasure, looked at Mirox in confusion.

Mirox sighed. Turning to study his charge carefully, he said, “His lordship instructed that if you did not wish to learn our traditional dances today, that I was to have you re-clean the entire house—starting with the bathroom.”

Morrigan balked. Those were her options? As she considered it, dancing sounded so much better than cleaning the entire house again. She would do almost anything to avoid that task. Her muscles were only a little stiff this morning, thanks to the hot spring, so how hard could wiggling around be?

“I didn’t say I wasn’t dancing. I just said that I wasn’t putting that on.” Morrigan pointed at the skimpy outfit Cordele held. “I’ll wear what I have on.”

The woman lowered her arm with a shrug that said suit yourself.

Cordele flicked her hand over a music box unit on her wrist. Instantly Qurilixian music sounded in the home. The woman lifted her hands and began to sway them, along with her hips, nodding at Morrigan to do the same. With an unenthusiastic sigh, she obeyed. She didn’t care much for the dance’s name, but once she got into it, the dance wasn’t too bad. She might even call it fun.

Her instructor wasn’t allowed to speak, except to issue commands like a drill sergeant, which made for a long day of lessons.

“I don’t know why he wants me to learn this,” Morrigan said at one point to the observing Mirox. She dipped forward, copying Cordele. She had taken off her apron and rolled up her sleeves. She could see why the skimpy outfit would have been more comfortable on her heated flesh, but she was too stubborn to change into it now.

“It pleases a husband to have his wife dance for him,” Mirox answered as if such a thing were common knowledge. “You are doing very well.”

“What if I told you, Mirox, that I don’t really care about pleasing Ualan?” Morrigan laughed when Mirox actually slid off the couch in shock.

“My lady,” he scolded as he righted himself. Shaking his head at her, as if she were an insolent child, he said, “You should not say such things, even in jest.”

Morrigan’s grin widened as she flicked one wrist and then another. Cordele nodded in approval. Tilting her head, she queried, “The other day, why did you say that being a slave was a noble thing for me to do? It doesn’t feel very noble. I mean, I’m a slave.”

“You purge your reputation, my lady,” Mirox answered. Then, seeming to understand her confusion, he said, “The slave is the lowest rank, a very hard position to be in. Most would agree to be a servant. We respect you for choosing the hardest path. It shows you have self-discipline and will make your husband proud.”

Morrigan didn’t think correcting Mirox on the technicalities of her relationship would solve any of her issues, so she let the reference to her having a husband slide.

“It is a cleansing time, a selfless time,” Mirox continued, absently scratching the scar on his nose.

Her journalistic curiosities were piqued. When this was over, she might even be able to sell a better upload program to Galaxy Brides and make some real space credits.

“How do you mean?” Morrigan leaned to the right, arching her back as her hand circled above her. She then folded her arms about her chest and wiggled her hips.

“Well, you deny yourself bodily pleasures. A slave cannot partake of the common meals, cannot be spoken to except in rare instances, cannot copulate or be given pleasure.”

“You mean no sex whatsoever?” Morrigan furrowed her brow, thinking of her overly denied body. She turned away from the man and then back again.

Cordele stopped the music, shook her head, and made Morrigan try the move again.

When they resumed the dancing, Mirox said, “To do so would insult the slave’s chosen station and their reason for denial. It is our law and is considered a great lack of honor to the person giving them pleasure.”

“And what happens if you are caught breaking this law?” Morrigan asked, a plan of blackmail forming in her brain.

“The person will be stripped of title and be made a slave themselves until they have repented and been forgiven. The master becomes the slave.”

“And if the slave gives the master pleasure? Does the slave become the master?” Morrigan asked, completely enthralled with the custom she stumbled upon.

Mirox cleared his throat, embarrassed by the forward question.

If she could control Ualan and make him a slave…

She grinned. There were a lot of things she would want her little slave to do for her. First, he’d finish what he’d started for once. Desperate arousal had become an all too constant reality. Yes, she took care of it herself, but that only eased physical tension for a very short time. Then, she’d make him finish it again, and again, and again…

Oh, yeah, and she’d make him break up with her too.

And clean every toilet she could find.

And help her find a ride home.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she forced herself to hear the answer.

“It is allowed,” Mirox said, almost too delicately. “And it is a great honor for the master to receive such a gift.”

“So they can’t demand it?”

“No, they cannot,” he confirmed. “If the master is particularly persuasive, he can convince the slave to please him. But he can never force her.”

“If what you say is true, then your law does not apply to royalty?”

Mirox furrowed his brows, not following her.

“I mean, if the queen is displeased with her slave and can make the slave whore for the soldiers…what?”

Mirox choked on his own tongue, coughing violently.

Morrigan knitted her brows at the look he gave her.

“Chosen women could never be made to whore,” he whispered, as if unsure he should even speak. “No woman could ever be made to whore.”

Cordele clapped her hands for attention, saving Mirox from the conversation as she waved him away from her student. Morrigan sighed, following a twirl. Mirox had given her a lot to think about. If she could just enslave Ualan, then she could make him let her out of the house.

Cordele smiled at her student and informed Morrigan that she was doing rather well, for a beginner. Directing her words at Mirox so as not to break the rule of not speaking to Morrigan, she said. “Her husband should be pleased with her efforts. With a little practice, she will be ready to dance for him in the common hall for all to see.”

“Oh, yes!” Mirox agreed. “That would be a great honor for both if she did it well.”

Morrigan’s spin faltered and she tripped over the side of the couch.

“
Much
practice,” Cordele amended, eyeing Morrigan on the floor.

There was no way she was performing for the common hall. Dancing might be great exercise, but not even Ualan would see her talent firsthand.

M
orrigan couldn’t have been more
wrong.

Standing, barely clad in the disgustingly skimpy dance costume, Morrigan scowled in displeasure. It seems Mirox neglected to tell her that at the end of the lesson, she was supposed to give a little dance recital for her husband to prove she had been working and paying attention to her lessons.

“I should have chosen cleaning,” she grumbled bitterly.

The costume was no more than a pink gem-studded bra and matching hot pants that formed at sort of G-string in the back. A long veil was pushed into her hair to hide her backside—that was until she swished her hips back and forth.

“I’m not going out there like this.” Morrigan told Cordele who was smiling at her like a fool.

Cordele didn’t answer as she placed a music bracelet on Morrigan’s wrist.

Morrigan frowned. She was going out there. She knew she was. Ualan’s decree had been clear and there had been just enough threat in his gaze, daring her to disobey. Hmm, maybe dancing would be a good thing. She would just have to keep her wits about her to put her plan into motion. Making him her slave would have its privileges, as long as he finished what he stirred so easily in her body. Maybe then she would not be tormented by thoughts of him. He would be out of her system and she could really leave this place behind her—one more story in a collection of assignments.

Become the master,
Morrigan chanted silently.
Make him the slave. Then you will make a deal for your freedom.

Morrigan watched Cordele leave and peeked through the opening door to where Ualan waited for her on the couch. From what she could see, his clothes were comfortable, hugging carelessly to his strong flesh. She never in her life saw a man who made clothes look so…so delectable.

She made a face at the back of his head, sticking out her tongue and rudely mocking him with silent curses. Taking a deep breath, she hesitated. She wished she could have been more confident, but her hands were shaking now she was alone. It angered her that she cared about his approval.

Become the master,
she chanted again like a mantra meant to give her strength.
Make him the slave. Then you will make a deal for your freedom.

She grew empowered. Soon, he would be eating out of the palm of her hand.

U
alan was already tense
. He knew this was going to be one of the longest nights of his life. He’d caught a glimpse of Morrigan’s shaking waist when he came home. The image was enough to make him second guess what he was forcing her to do.

When Morrigan disappeared into the bathroom to change nearly a half hour ago, he had dimmed the lights and set the mood. He had changed into loose cotton pants with a drawstring tie in the front. The dark charcoal color was a nice contrast to the lighter cotton shirt he wore, and would help to hide his already growing reaction to her.

She’s got to learn her place as my wife if we are to have any chance at a happy marriage,
he told himself.

You’re an idiot
, his self answered.

“She will be out in a moment,” Cordele whispered in the Qurilixian tongue. Her words were well pronounced, but the accent of her birth still resonated within them.

Ualan nodded. His throat was too dry to thank the woman as she left.

He sat facing the center firelight. His bare feet flexed in front of him, and his arms lifted to the back of the couch. If he had anything to do with it, she would be repenting her slavery tonight. There was only so much sexual torture a man could sanely take and he’d pretty much hit his limit five seconds into meeting her.

By all that was sacred, he wanted her. She haunted his dreams with the memory of her lush lips. She haunted his days with the persistence of her stubborn fire. Ualan was fast learning that he wasn’t a patient man. He wanted her and he meant to have her.

Ualan nearly jumped up in anticipation when he heard footsteps. He froze, forcing himself not to spin around to see her.

“Should we get this over with?”

Lifting his hand, he motioned her forward with the tilting of his fingers. “Come.”

Coming before him in the center ring, but not too close, Morrigan waited. His eyes stayed with the fire, as he tried to brace himself to look at her in a dance costume. He tried to feign boredom, but it was hard.

“Ready, master?” she asked, her tone filled with a husky sweetness.

Ualan’s neck almost snapped as he turned to look at her. The sound of her voice was seductive on its own. Seeing her scantily clad was…well…it was… By all the gods he was going to dishonor himself.

The firelight outlined her body, haloing around her barely clad hips, sparking like stars off the crystals of her bodice and panties. Her feet were bare, as was tradition. The little dancing lights hypnotized him and he stared at her chest and waist with an intense male hunger raging within him. His cock, which seemed to be in a constant state of half-arousal at all times anyway, gladly stirred as it hardened to torment him with lust.

She looked at him in expectation. He swallowed nervously, unable to form any words. Her lush lips parted in even breath, tempting him to her. He held back. He had to.

“Proceed,” he answered, the word barely able to escape his tight throat. He couldn’t have spoken more if he wanted to.

Morrigan narrowed her gaze to study him, as he felt his eyes shifting with liquid gold. He caught himself, stopping any more of a shift. First things first. Let her get used to him as a man before he introduced her to the dragon.

Ualan’s feet lounged forward crossed at the ankles. He wished more than anything she would kneel before him and run her fingers up his legs.

“Dance,” he whispered, aware of the sparks between them. His arms stayed over the back of the couch and he gripped his hands tight to keep them there.

Morrigan smiled, as if she couldn’t help herself, and ran a finger over her wrist. Music sounded softly, an archaic, primitive rhythm that easily set the mood for seduction. At first she appeared nervous and her movements were stiff. She closed her eyes, her lips moving as if she counted to herself. By small degrees, her body loosened as if she felt the seductive music inside her, stirring up a primal passion. When she again looked at Ualan, it was with confidence.

He was frozen, his chest heaving in animalistic pants. As she turned away from him to shake her hips in undulating motions, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Her nearly-bare backside teased from the sides of the long veil, causing his head to automatically bob in the opposite direction for a better peek. His fingers gripped into tight fists, the talons of a partial shift puncturing the couch. He quickly snapped his jaw up and loosened his hands before she could see his enthralled expression.