Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) (20 page)

The tunnel was short, quickly opening into an expansive cavern. To one side, he saw the remains of the clutch—empty now. Way ahead, the sea opening had teeth of ice, but the sun shone through with a beauty that should have been astounding. Instead, he saw Natiya, her back to him as she stretched her arms out as if embracing the light. She seemed to be humming, her entire being vibrating with the sound, which the cavern picked up and echoed through his body, his mind, his soul. It made his hands shake as he pushed off his trousers. He'd discarded his boots at the tunnel entrance.

He barely felt the cold against his feet. His skin seemed to be on fire for her, but more than that, it felt sacrilegious somehow to enter this cavern while covered. He approached Natiya from behind, the humming echoing louder and louder. He gave no thoughts to his actions, only did what his body demanded. What the magic demanded.

Stepping behind her, he grasped her breasts with both hands. They were full and pointed, and as he felt them, she arched into his hold, dropping her head onto his shoulder and pressing her hips backward against him. Together they made sounds, hungry, needy moans that rolled through his senses like a tidal wave.

He let his hands slip down, across her flat belly, outlining her overly large belly jewel, which seemed to throb with her—with him. Then with both hands he pushed her thighs apart, letting his fingers dip into her moisture, and she purred with contentment. There was a scent—a thrilling, musky scent that was all hers—but when he touched her it became all-consuming, as if it had sunk through his skin into his very blood.

With a growl of hunger he pushed her forward. She went willingly onto all fours like a beast before him. Part of him somewhere objected. Part of him had wanted this to be beautiful and tender. But he had no restraint, and she was pushing back against him.

After that, he had no control at all. Grabbing hold of her hips, he sunk himself into her, mounting her like the dog he was. He barely felt the barrier of her maidenhead rip. Mostly he heard her gasp in surprise, but it was too late and she felt too good. He pulled out only to push into her again and again. Around them the cave continued to pulse with its own eerie light, and around him she became unbearably tight.

Sweet Amia, she was tight. And he was hard. He rammed into her again and again while her body tensed beneath him. He heard her gasp, her body quivering like a bowstring released. And then, goddess, she climaxed.

Her body gripped his prock until he nearly lost consciousness. Her grip was that tight. And then she began undulating, her whole body milking him. It was a climax, and yet it was more. So much more. He heard her scream, and his own roar mingled with the sound, echoed in the chamber. Still he rammed into her while she writhed beneath him. His release finally quaked through him, bursting him open while she continued to contract in wave after wave of ecstasy.

It had taken only moments, and yet they were the best damn moments of his life. And still she did not stop. When he stumbled, falling backward in his exhaustion, she followed him. How, he did not know, but she did, spinning around to straddle him with a quick, urgent motion.

The ground was sandy and surprisingly soft, but her thighs were hard where they gripped him. She looked down, her eyes reflecting an eerie light, and she kissed him deep and forcefully. She was the one who pressed his hands to her breasts. She was the one who pushed herself down onto his again ready prock.

How he was ready again, he hadn't a clue. Probably the dragon magic. Whatever the reason, he thanked the Father that he was. She slid around him, breaking her lips away from his enough to command, "More."

So he gave more. While she bucked atop him, he pushed into her. Her first climax was fading, the contractions slower, and she whimpered in frustration. He released a breast to sink a hand lower. With his wrist twisted awkwardly, he pressed his thumb into her. She growled in pleasure or need; he wasn't sure which. But he knew she arched into his hand even as he pulsed up into her.

Then it came upon them again: the rush and the explosion, again detonating in their bodies while the hum, the damn hum pushed him to greater depths, greater lengths of stamina and hunger and animal passion than he had ever imagined possible.

How long did they couple? They rolled around the cavern floor, joined over and over. He could not get enough, and she was insatiable, her climax unending. And whenever she began to flag, all he needed to do was press a finger into her or shift his hips against her, and it began for her again. And for him.

For them.

Delirium. Rhapsody.

Ravishment.

At last exhaustion claimed them both, and they collapsed, still joined, still pulsing, still reeling as the cavern hummed, unconscious.

* * *

Kiril woke to the sound of giggles. Not nice ones, not even soft, sweet, womanly ones, but coarse, male giggles. He jolted upright, but his body ached from head to toe and he collapsed backward with a soft moan. Dimly he realized he still cradled a soft, warm woman—Natiya—on the sandy bed that was the clutching cave. His sword was outside, lying on the ground along with most of his clothing. He was naked, as was she, the cool air drifting gently across their skin. He opened his eyes.

The giggling had come from soldiers. A dozen of them, all smirking, but nonetheless alert as they held their swords in their hands. He could tell by their uniforms that they were Dag Racho's personal guard, and he knew without looking that they were seasoned soldiers of unimpeachable loyalty to their Emperor. All around them the clutching cave continued to pulse with a yellowish-orange light. Then, just to his left, he heard a snort like the exhale of a great bellows, and his blood grew cold. It couldn't be, although he knew it was.

Twisting slightly, he saw the great Copper dragon lounging nearby with the large mouth pulled open just enough to reveal a grin of blackened teeth. Nearby stood Dag Racho, sword sheathed, his manner tense with excitement.

Not a good sign. In fact, a very bad sign, especially as the man sauntered forward, his eyes gleefully trained on Natiya's naked body.

"You're even better than I thought. Excellent work, Governor. Excellent work indeed."

Kiril resisted the urge to cover Natiya. It would be a silly, useless gesture, especially since he had nothing with which to cover either of them. Even so, he glanced down, looking for something, some way to ease her humiliation.

That's when he saw it: large and planted in her belly, a golden yellow-orange shape that pulsed, creating the light that reflected through the chamber.

The Queen dragon egg! Natiya had been the bearer all along.

He saw his own stupidity in a long series of flashes, a litany of failure. It had begun when Natiya first danced before him, her tiny red belly jewel flashing as she undulated with unnatural grace before him. No wonder he and everyone else had been mesmerized. Her dancing had been dragon-enhanced.

The second thought centered on his lust for her, unnatural and all-consuming—like in battle, he had once thought to himself. Except, he had never fought a female dragonborn, and so he had confused the energy of dragon-battle with lust.

How could he have been so stupid? He had held her, touched her, stroked her in every way possible, and yet he had never noticed how her belly jewel had grown. He had ascribed their lust to the nearness of the caves, to her attunement created when she was a child, his from battle and dragon blood. And yet, it had been beyond that. If he had spent two beats thinking, he would have realized it was more than simple nearness to the caves. Many souls lived near the caves. They did not go mindless with lust. Not unless they were a dragon-bearer near to hatching.

Natiya was stirring, and Kiril was fast running out of options. Dag Racho would surely kill her now. She was the last threat to his power. Kiril winced at that, but saw no way to avoid it, no way he could save her.

He had to focus on what he could do. Did Dag Racho know the danger the Queen egg posed to his own Copper? Could Kiril take the egg from her body while Dag Racho and his men were here? He needed that egg—or at least the pieces of it—for his and Sabina's plans. But wouldn't one of the guards be bright enough to wonder why Kiril collected the scattered remains of a dragon egg?

Meanwhile, the hatching magic was still moving full force. Natiya stretched languorously along his side. Still nestled against her bottom, his prock leaped to attention, if in fact it had ever been fully asleep. To his dismay, Dag Racho growled, a low sound echoed by the Copper, then echoing throughout the pulsing chamber. And all the while the soldiers shifted uneasily, no doubt feeling their own interest peaking, though clearly less strongly than for Kiril and the Emperor.

Kiril had to get Natiya out of there. He had to have time to think and to separate her from her egg, even though he knew it was already too late. No, with the hatching process started—though it still might take many days—Natiya was too bound to her egg to be separated. The umbilicus would be too buried in her body. It would kill her now to rip it out. And he could not see her die. Also, the thought of her violation—for surely that was what Dag Racho intended—made him growl his own warning of bestial territorialism. His body tensed as he shifted away from Natiya, readying to fight his Emperor.

All around him, the soldiers stared at him in shock. They had never seen anyone openly defy Dag Racho. Certainly not one in so vulnerable a position. Dag Racho, too, paused, though his expression was one of malicious delight.

"A fight?" he said. "Little Kiril, you do surprise me."

And at that, Natiya abruptly leaped to her feet, taking everyone by surprise. While Kiril was on his back, still growling at Dag Racho, she had been merely pretending to sleep. So she sprang to her feet, neatly avoiding the soldiers, who were caught flat-footed. But the Copper was not so dazed, nor so small. He easily blocked her exit while the now-alert soldiers closed in from behind.

There was nowhere for her to go, no way for her to fight. But she did so anyway, and Kiril admired her for it. He admired her so much that he intended to leap to her aid, though it was suicide for them both.

He never got the chance. More than one sword teased his throat, his belly, his bare ass, before he could do more than roll to a crouch. Meanwhile, Dag Racho continued to giggle—a low and nasty sound like a parody of his own Copper.

Kiril froze, unable to do more than watch helplessly while Dag Racho waved his men backward. Natiya was caught between the Copper and Dag Racho—the bastard Emperor's exposed prock clearly leading the way. She spun around, facing her oncoming doom, her eyes wild.

Then she saw Kiril, who tensed again. Their gazes met—just for a moment—and an infinity of agony passed between them. There was nothing he could do to save her; the soldiers wouldn't even let him stand.

The Emperor shifted, drawing his sword with the ringing sound of metal on metal. His blade was a heavy, jewel-encrusted monstrosity that only a man with dragon strength could wield. At least Natiya's death would be quick.

Kiril's thoughts spun, his soul twisting in pain as he tried to think of something to do, some way to save Natiya. But the soldiers were taking no chances and their blades still pressed against his skin. He couldn't so much as twitch without being impaled. And all the while, the Emperor's sword was raised higher and higher.

Kiril watched as Natiya tensed, though there was nowhere for her to go. Even if she avoided the blade, one quick burst of fire from the Copper and she would be engulfed in flame. As would Kiril and most of the soldiers, though only Kiril seemed aware of the danger.

Dag Racho had reached full extension, his sword tip seemingly kissing the cavern roof. And then, abruptly, the Emperor dropped to one knee. He bowed his head before Natiya, his every gesture... reverent?

Kiril blinked, not believing what he saw. But the sight remained: Dag Racho on one knee before Natiya. Even the Copper had lowered its head. The soldiers, too, seemed equally baffled; and then, once again, Kiril understood. Too late. Too slow.

"You're not going to kill her," he muttered to himself. And Dag Racho's next words confirmed it.

"Normally I would not take anything touched by a servant," he drawled, his tone low and husky. "But I understand about the hatching lust, indeed I do." He reached out, stroking his hand down Natiya's belly while her stomach rippled, the egg's light shifting weirdly through the cavern. "I understand," he crooned, "and I swear you will be satisfied, my Queen. But not here. Not now." He glanced disdainfully back at Kiril and his men. "It is too open." Then he abruptly pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around Natiya's nakedness.

She meant to struggle. Kiril could see it in her eyes, but Dag Racho's sword remained within a baby's breath of her neck. Any untoward movement and she would be skewered. So she stayed frozen and afraid while Kiril crouched on his knees.

Moments later, Dag Racho had her mounted before him on his Copper, a possessive arm wrapped around her waist, already fondling not her but the golden egg. Then, as the Copper began to turn, Dag Racho spared a moment for Kiril.

"My thanks, dragon-killer, but your services won't be needed this time." Then he grinned. "I cannot blame you for enjoying your pursuit, but you need not have gone through the ruse of imprisonment and rescue. Given time, she would have come to me." He nuzzled her neck while Natiya shrunk away. "A woman needs her mate."