Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition (18 page)

W
hen Ualan emerged
from his bathroom, his hair wet and his body wrapped in a towel, it was to the ringing of his wife’s laughter. Morrigan hadn’t greeted him when he came in the door and he didn’t even know if she realized he was home. For a moment, his heart soared at the sound. It was so light, so feminine. It left him longing to hold her. The knowledge that he couldn’t left his chest feeling hollow.

Looking up, he saw the dome curtains were closed to make his house dim. It would be approaching the evening hour, though outside the world would be cast with daylight, albeit, the hazier daylight of dusk. Drawing his hand past the torches as he walked, he absently lit them to cast a soft, romantic glow over the front hall.

Quickly moving to his bedroom to dress, he found he was excited to see Morrigan. Agro’s advice lingered in his head. He would not have thought of a softer control over the harder side he showed the fighting men. A softer handling. It was such a simple concept. Trust that a man already married would come up with it. The chemical theory was new to him, but it made sense. He knew he felt better when she’d given him release and was desperate to return the favor.

In one fluid motion, he tore the towel from his naked body. He scratched his stomach as he went to retrieve his clothes. Choosing a relaxed outfit of dark blue cotton, he tugged the shirt over his head and slid the loose pants over his hips. He tied the drawstring at his waist, not bothering with underwear. His house clothes were much more casual than the tunics he’d been wearing.

He took the stairs two at a time with his bare feet. As he neared the dining nook, his stomach growled. His meal was already laid out for him on the table.

Mirox was the first to leave the kitchen. Ualan smiled at the man. If the smell was any indication, he had done his job well. His smile faded when he saw the man’s expression. It was pale and drawn. Bowing before him, the servant whispered, “I apologize, my lord. If you must contemplate my punishment, please remember you did not inform me that her ladyship knew nothing about actual cooking, but only that I should instruct her how to prepare a traditional feast.”

Ualan watched, quizzical, as the servant quickly left his home.

Unable to resist, he stepped into the doorway of his kitchen. Morrigan was bent over wiping crumbs off the floor. Her luscious ass was to him, straining beautifully against the soft gray material of her gown. The passions of his dreams renewed themselves in full force. He must have groaned because she jolted in surprise and spun around. Having been caught staring, he shrugged, grinning like a greenknight.

Morrigan eyed him nervously. He pushed a strand of his wet hair back away from his face. For a long time she stood, barely breathing, barely moving. The bulk of her hair was tied into a knot at the base of her neck and he frowned, making a mental note to get her something prettier to hold back her locks. Ualan was the first to look away. He wondered what Mirox was so worried about. His kitchen was as spotless as when she started and it smelled of food.

“I put the food on the table,” she said needlessly. Her gaze wavered, as she nervously tossed the towel into the sink. Wiping her hands on her apron, she said, “It’s done. You should probably eat it before it gets cold.”

“Join me.” The request unintentionally came out like a hoarse command. Her eyes dipped down the length of him before darting back up. If she kept eyeing him like he was the main course, he might just throw her down on the table and indulge her.

He pulled out a chair by the table, waiting for her to sit. Morrigan looked at him warily as if she expected he would yank it out from under her. He didn’t, of course, and she relaxed.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any liquor? Something that doesn’t require me to lose my complete free will?” she asked.

It took him a moment, but Ualan realized she was making a joke. He grinned. He liked that she was being so agreeable all of a sudden, but he would have to tread carefully.

She filled the plates with food. Ualan glanced at the thick slice of wilddeor she gave him. Its color was a little off, but he could attribute that to the low lighting. When he looked at Morrigan, her face was so open, so watchful that he knew he couldn’t decline to try it.

“I could really use a drink,” she said, giving him a small smile in return.

Ualan nodded. Going to the wall by the kitchen he ran his hand over an offset stone. The wall parted and opened, revealing a bar.

Morrigan gasped. “Do you happen to have a food simulator hidden somewhere in here?”

His grin widened at her excitement. “Never found the need for one.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the table. “You should consider it. Your next wife might want one.”

Ualan’s expression faltered, but he didn’t rise to the challenge. He had decided he would kill her with kindness, even if it destroyed him. He never wanted to see fear in her face again, not directed at him. He glanced at her neck, remembering how he had threatened to strangle her. Before Agro pointed out his treatment of the knife blades, he hadn’t given the incident as much thought as he should have. He was sorry for it, but that is how the warriors acted with each other. However, now, it was very apparent just how little contact he’d had with human women in his lifetime. He tried to picture it from her side. Guilt forced him to look away.

“What would you like?” he asked.

“New Earth scotch,” was the instant answer. “Tall glass, no ice.”

He gave his bar a quizzical look. “I don’t think I have that.”

“Not surprising. If you had a food simulator I could at least have the fake kind. I’ll just take a whiskey or rum, whatever you have that’s stiff and strong.”

Ualan suppressed his laughter, not letting her see. It took everything in him not to respond that he had something stiff and strong for her between his legs.

Oh, this was going to be another long night.

M
orrigan didn’t feel
like eating. Mirox had insisted on placing two plates on the table, but she found that seeing food in its raw form and smelling it for hours was more than enough to take away her appetite. She did, however, want that stiff drink.

When Morrigan looked at Ualan, all half-baked plans in her head fell flat. Only the fact she’d spent the last four hours cooking kept her from leaping forward and begging him to keep her. She would not spend the rest of her days feeding him for one night of mindless, world blowing, galaxy destroying pleasure.

Nope, it didn’t tempt her at all.

Liar!
her brain scolded.

Damned if he wasn’t a persistently handsome suitor. What was he up to now? There was something to the way he watched her tonight. It was almost…gentle. She’d have to be careful.

Looking at his firm backside, as he reached forward, she insisted, “tall,
tall
glass.”

Dressed in comfortable clothing, he appeared so warm and inviting. The flowing material hugged each curve just right when he moved. She leaned to the side to get a better view. Grabbing a bottle, he turned and smirked to see her eyes on him. “How about this? It’s a Qurilixian wine and will go well with wilddeor.”

Morrigan nodded. “Fine, so long as I don’t fall in your…”

She stopped, glowing pink with embarrassment. She really needed the scotch, a full bottle to knock her unconscious so she would be free of the feelings brewing inside her. Ualan took two goblets from the cabinet before motioning it closed once more.

Morrigan had to turn away. If she wasn’t careful, he would have her on the floor foolishly begging for his attentions. No thank you. Not again.

The silver metal of each goblet was etched with a dragon spitting fire. Morrigan chuckled inwardly. Ualan was obviously obsessed with the dragon motif. Trust a man to pick out such décor—not that her company spacecraft was anything to brag about. At least he had décor.

“Mirox mentioned I might have a title,” Morrigan said, trying to erase her last words. “What am I considered then? Besides a slave.”

Ualan hesitated. His hair had begun to dry into soft waves, framing his masculine features in the torchlight. He didn’t look at her as he filled the goblets and set one before her. Taking a deep breath, he said, “A princess.”

Morrigan smirked and shook her head. She didn’t believe him for an instant. “All right, I deserve that.”

Instead of answering, Ualan examined his plate and lifted the utensils. Morrigan watched his face carefully for a reaction. She held her breath. He cut off a piece of meat and slowly placed it into his mouth. The first taste was the last. The piece immediately launched across the table and over her shoulder. Morrigan jumped in shock. She turned to look at the partially chewed bit on the floor before frowning in irritation.

Ualan didn’t seem to care about what he had done as he grabbed the wine and began gulping. Finishing his glass, he took the wine bottle and chugged it down. Red rivulets ran down his neck, staining the cotton of his shirt.

Morrigan would have laughed if she weren’t so hurt. Staring at him, she demanded, “Stop it. You’re just being dramatic.”

A string of curses flew out in his native tongue. He panted heavily and his accent became thick, as he accused, “You’re trying to poison me. It’s not even cooked all the way and you put a whole bottle of liquid Qurilixian pepper onto the meat. No one ever uses more than a drop.”

“I should poison you, you big baby. Fine thanks I get after working my fingers off all day to cook for you. I did everything Mirox told me to do—
everything
.”

“Oh, yeah?” Holding up a forkful, he challenged, “Then, you try it.”

Morrigan looked at his flushed face, then at the red wine trailing over his neck. Slowly, she leaned back and shook her head in denial. Hurt flooded her at his words. Tears entered her eyes. Through stiff lips, she whispered, “No.”

Taking a deep breath, he sat back down. Looking guardedly at the ruined main course that a moment before had seemed so promising, he turned to eye the bread. It was a little lumpy but didn’t appear too bad. Taking a slice up, he sighed before biting into it.

Morrigan sat down and watched him, almost flinching in horror as he chewed.

Closing his eyes, he stopped eating and froze.

“Well?”

Ualan took his napkin and spit it out more politely than he had the meat.

“That bad?” Morrigan asked, dejected. She looked at her untouched food and pushed it away in despair. She’d worked so hard kneading the bread. Her arms were still sore.

“Better than the meat,” he said. “I apologize for reacting the way I did. I can tell by the look on your face, you did not mean to set my mouth on fire. It took me by surprise and I responded poorly.”

She nodded accepting his apology. “Tell me honestly. What did the bread taste like?”

“It’s an interesting combination of bitter and sweet,” he answered dutifully, but she could see he didn’t want to have to say the words.

She looked at her failed cooking attempt with a touch of mortification. In all fairness, she had warned him. Still it was disappointing, and frankly embarrassing, to have spent so many hours on something that turned out to be horrific. Weakly, she offered, “I didn’t make all of the salad.”

Ualan didn’t look ready to chance it. Standing, he threw his napkin down and held out his hand to her.

Morrigan eyed it despairingly and took his roughened palm in hers. “Are you going to give me to the soldiers?”

Ualan chuckled. “Not a chance. Come on. Let’s see what we can scavenge from the kitchen.”

“
W
hat do
you want me to make now?” Morrigan asked in dejection, as he led her behind him to the kitchen.

Ualan turned to look at her and thought,
Not on your life.

“You can keep me company,” he answered more diplomatically.

Not touching her he walked toward her, forcing her to back up into the countertop. When she was trapped, Ualan grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up onto the counter. He held her like that for a spine-tingling instant. He caressed her lightly, before releasing her and turning to the refrigerator.

Ualan felt her eyes on him and he winked at her. Morrigan sat up straighter.

When he returned to the counter, he sliced fruit. Morrigan suspiciously watched him working for a long moment, before saying, “So are you a chef, then? That’s your job. You have excellent knife skills.”

“I will let you decide.” When he finished, he quickly mixed a stiff dough with his pinching fingers and patted it into a flat bread. Turning on the stove, he lightly toasted it. Morrigan watched, clearly amazed he knew his way around a kitchen.

“Who taught you to do that? I thought only women cooked here. You keep talking about wife duties.”

“This is a planet of men,” Ualan said. “We have to learn to fend for ourselves.”

Morrigan shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. You actually seem to like cooking.”

Ualan finished toasting the bread and went to retrieve a can of cream from the refrigerator. When he came back, he started heaping piles of fruit and cream onto the top of the bread.

She lifted her fingers and brushed back a strand of his hair so she could see his face. “Ualan?”

His name was heaven to his ears. It was searching and tender all at the same time. Her expression was vulnerable. She didn’t readily say more, but she didn’t need to.

Something had happened to Ualan the moment he saw her vulnerability at the table. Agro was right. His vixen of a wife wasn’t as tough as she tried to be. She wasn’t immune to him. In fact, looking at her now with her trembling gaze full of unsure feelings, he would swear she had been very terrified by his actions in the past, though she had hid her fear amazingly well. Being a woman who claimed to have had many men and spoke with bold confidence, this surprised him. He would have thought she could handle his arduous onslaught. It wasn’t as if she had no idea of what she was getting herself into when she looked at him with her big, round eyes.

Were Earth men as inept as rumored?

Could it be she didn’t understand the game they played as well as he first thought?

“Here,” he murmured, lifting up a piece of cream covered fruit. “Try it.”

Morrigan blushed. He ignored her outstretched hand and fed her himself. Taking the fruit, he rubbed the cream sauce over her lips.

She held very still, watching his eyes as the fruit slid between her lips. His finger briefly followed, dipping beyond the edge of her teeth to pull out slowly. Morrigan chewed and smiled. “Delicious.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm,” she confirmed, her words muffled by the bite. She dipped her finger into the cream, about to taste it again. “Really good. You should try some.”

It was all the invitation Ualan needed.

It took Morrigan several seconds to realize what she’d implied. The realization dawned in her expression as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her cream covered finger pointed up, falling to the side so as not to land on him. Smoothly, he licked her lips of the cream, trailing his tongue over them with a painfully unhurried speed, all the time staring into her eyes to gauge her reaction.

Her lids fluttered closed, and she inhaled deeply. After trailing the inside rim of her lips in the same fashion, he dipped forward to swipe a deeper taste. The exotic pleasure of the fruit came between them as he stole her breath. When he pulled away, his eyes sparkled with the primitive golden mischief that he didn’t bother to hide. “Delicious.”

“Ah, um, well, yeah,” came tumbling incoherently out of her softly battered lips.

Ualan, seeing that the hand frozen in air was beginning to drip, treated her finger with the same careful exploration. His thumb moved to test her pulse as he stroked his tongue to her flesh. Instantly, it jumped beneath her skin. She didn’t move. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Ualan?” she asked when he stopped kissing her hand.

He waited, seeing what she would do if he didn’t prompt her. To his disappointment and further amazement, she shyly pulled her wet finger from his grasp.

Looking over his shoulder, she mumbled, “Please.”

“Please?” Ualan whispered back, sure she was going to ask for him to continue. He knew she wanted it.

“Please, stop, I beg you. Don’t do this. If you do this to me again, it will destroy me.”

“You have the power to end it,” he whispered. Neither one moved.

M
orrigan took
her time studying him. His strong hands were so precise and sure in their movements. His light brown hair held streaks of blond, as if burnt by the sunlight. It had fallen forward over his shoulders while he worked. His bronzed skin tightened and pulled naturally with each movement of his neck. Not for the first time she thought that this was a man who was built by physical exercise, not created by expensive body-enhancing machines. There was a definite difference in the way he carried himself—so primitive and sure. His was the kind of body that would follow each and every one of his orders to perfection.

Morrigan was lost. He amazed her. This was a side of him that she would never have guessed at. She expected him to yell at her for messing up his dinner, not turn around and cook for her instead.

Her hands pressed into the countertop, refusing to touch his silken hair that spilled temptingly over his shoulders. When had his kisses become so tender? When had his eyes begun looking at her in worship instead of dominance?

You have the power to end it.

Morrigan couldn’t ask him. She thought about begging him to make love to her, but to again say the words aloud would embarrass her. It would force her to accept that she wanted him. It would leave her open to his continued rejection. It was a chance she couldn’t take, even with the tentative truce between them.

Picking her up, Ualan slowly put her on the floor, letting her feel the strength of him as he lowered her down. Sweeping her into his steady arms, he carried her to the couch before the dim fire.

“Please,” Morrigan begged, too weak to jump up and fight. She didn’t know what she was asking of him. Please kiss me. Please stop. Please just let me go home. Please keep me prisoner forever.

“I cannot give you that, slave.” Ualan lowered her onto the soft cushions that had been her bed since her arrival to his home, only to sit next to her with distance between their bodies. “Not until you are pardoned. It is impossible.”

“You mean you don’t want to be my slave, don’t you?” she whispered, curling her feet under her thighs.

“You’re right, I would not indenture myself to you like that,” he said. Their words were softly spoken, without their usual malice. “I would dishonor us both, and that I will not permit.”

“You have to always be the master.” She managed a wry smile, but she didn’t feel pleasure. Sadness filled her.

“Is that so bad?” Ualan asked, his Qurilixian accent thicker than usual. “Do you not wish for a husband who can make you proud? Men who are ruled too easily by women are not real men. Such a man could not protect you, provide for you and give you strong sons.”

Her entire being trembled. He did not relent. His eyes glowed gold in the light, the liquid depths more than just a reflection of the fire.

“Tell me, Rigan, would you be proud to have a weak man as husband? A man who would hide behind your skirts when danger struck? A man whose sword arm would quiver at the first sign of battle? Would such a man bring you honor? Would he make you proud?”

Morrigan shook her head in denial.

“Then why do you resist your destiny? Why do you resist us? Do you think I would dishonor you in such a way? Do you need me to prove my worth to you?”

To Morrigan, it was a stupid question. “Ualan, I know your honor is not lacking and with the right woman I know you would make a dutiful—” His look narrowed. “No, let me say this. I know you would make a wonderful husband. But I don’t think this is my destiny. These last days should prove we are not meant to,” she paused, “I have a life…”

How could she explain?

“You mention this life and yet you do not live it. Why did you agree to be a bride?”

Morrigan wasn’t sure how, but he had moved closer to her. She could feel his heat, smell his scent. It was as if he were in her head, making her answer truthfully.

“I wasn’t…I didn’t…” Morrigan tried to pull away. “It’s not like that.”

“What is this job you hold so dear?” He edged forward.

“It’s…it’s freedom. How can you expect me to give that up to be your sla—?”

“Wife,” he inserted firmly.

“Either way, Ualan, you would want me molded to your will—cooking, cleaning. It will drive me insane to be a housewife. I need more than that. I need…”

“Marriage is about compromise, Rigan. If you promise to try, I will promise to honor you as you are. A wife can enslave her husband in other ways. You do not need to be named my master.”

He smiled, a devilishly handsome look. The idea had plenty of merit. She thought of strapping him to a bondage throne and making him plead for mercy like he’d done to her.

The walls inside her heart might have had cracks in the mortar, but the bricks could still hold. “Will you let me go? If I truly wanted it, will you let me go?”

“No.” He didn’t even take time to consider. “Never. We were chosen for each other.”

Morrigan wondered how chosen they would be in a few years when he grew tired of her independent ways. How would he feel after she’d spent every second of a week on a writing binge, forgetting to eat and sleep? How about in forty years when her looks faded and her body parts sagged and he no longer could desire her? Or when she was thick with his sons, sore and bloated and emitting strange smells as she heard pregnant women often did? Where would his attentions be then? And what would she be left with?

“Then I have no say?” she asked.

“Not in this. Knowing or not, you bound yourself to me. It cannot be undone.”

“Why did you torture me that night in the tent?” If she were to agree to his role for her, then she had to have this one question answered. She already knew that in the tub he could not return her pleasure. But what about the tent? If she allowed him to get close again, she had to know he wouldn’t keep hurting her.

“Torture?” he asked, clearly perplexed by her choice of words.

“I understand the other night in the bath,” she said. Instantly a blush heated her features, but she forced it back. “But why in the tent? Why was I being punished?”

“I thought you wanted me to.” Ualan furrowed his brows in thought. “Amongst my people, when a woman is chosen, it is up to the man to prove himself. We aren’t allowed to use our words until the mask is lifted and we are deemed worthy of speaking, because—”

“Actions speak louder than words,” she finished wryly, “and talk is cheap.”

“Yes, precisely,” he nodded, obviously glad she understood. “And when you did not remove my mask and accept me, it was up to me to continue. If you would have taken my mask off right away, we could have talked through the night, ate, bathed, whatever you wished. Breeding is not allowed during the festival. It is a sign of bad luck if you do. It angers the gods and is bad for the marriage. Though we would join eventually, in essence we were still strangers until the crystal was broken.”

“But I heard the others in their tents. I saw…” This time she did hide her face in the couch cushion as she remembered the couple before the throne. Had she really stood there and watched?

“Certain discoveries are allowed.” Then, as if reading her memories, he said, “And married couples are not hampered by this rule. They can do whatever they wish on festival night.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, wrinkling her nose.

“You have no need for this embarrassment.” He stroked her hair back, trying to see her face. She kept it buried in the couch. “You can say anything to me, Rigan. You can ask me anything. I will always be honest with you.” When she made a sound that said she highly doubted it, he added, “That night was torture for me, too.”

It was a good explanation and made sense. From what she knew about his culture, it fit. Her voice muffled into the couch, she said, “Fine.”

Ualan tilted his head, and she felt him lean closer to hear.

Morrigan turned to look at him. Drawing a deep breath, at how close he was, she said, “Fine. I’ll be your wife.”

A grin spread over his features. Morrigan’s expression was more guarded. When the time came to leave, it would be hard. Since he would never let her go on his own, he left her no choice but to deceive him. He’d admitted as much and she had given him chance after chance to prove his words wrong. No, this man of duty and honor would not recant his word. The only way for her to get her freedom back was to take it, by any means necessary.

“But I’m not promising—” Her words were cut off as he yanked her forward. He kissed her with a swift passion that left her weak and breathless. When she tried to further the embrace by touching his face, he pulled back.

“We can’t,” Ualan said. “You need to be pardoned.”

“How—?” she began, not sure her body could stand another moment of waiting. She stirred restlessly on the couch.

“The royal celebration.” Ualan smiled. “It’s in a few days. I would be honored if you attended it with me.”

Oh, but it was a gorgeous smile. Morrigan stared at the fire, doing her best to block her every emotion from him. It would not do for him to suspect her plan. She knew she could never stay, but the idea of leaving him was killing her too.

Morrigan thought of her assignment. It would be the perfect time to take pictures of the royal couples and learn their stories. Her editor would be thrilled—four princes at the cost of one marriage of inconvenience. Gus might even forgive her for not checking in after the ceremony like she was supposed to. She inhaled a nervous breath.