Hidden Dragons
Hidden Dragons
Emma Holly
Digital edition
Copyright 2013 Emma Holly. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission of the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This story is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. It includes sexually explicit content that is only appropriate for adults—and not every adult at that. Those who are offended by more adventurous depictions of sexuality or frank language possibly shouldn’t read it. Literary license has been taken in this book. It is not intended to be a sexual manual. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons living or dead is either fictitious or coincidental. That said, the author hopes you enjoy this tale!
Hidden Dragons
is an approximately
92,000-word novel
.
eISBN-13
: 978-0-9888943-2-7
Discover other exciting Emma Holly titles at
http://www.emmaholly.com
cover photos
: istockphoto.com/Geber86, shutterstock.com/Shukaylova Zinaida
Table of Contents
The Prince With No Heart
The Assassins’ Lover
Steaming Up Your Love Scenes
(how-to)
The Billionaire Bad Boys Club
~
Hidden Series
Hidden Talents
Hidden Depths
Date Night
Move Me
The Faerie’s Honeymoon
Hidden Crimes
Winter’s Tale
Hidden Dragons
DO you believe in dragons? Werewolf cop Rick Lupone would say no . . . until a dying faerie tells him the fate of his city depends on him. If he can’t protect a mysterious woman in peril, everything may be lost. The only discovery more shocking is that the woman he’s meant to save is his high school crush, Cass Maycee.
Half fae Cass didn’t earn her Snow White nickname by chance. All her life, her refusal to abuse fae glamour kept men like Rick at arm’s length. Now something new is waking up inside her, a secret heritage her pureblood father kept her in the dark about. Letting it out might kill her, but keeping it hidden is no longer an option. The dragons’ ancient enemies are moving. If they find the prize before Rick and Cass, the supe-friendly city of Resurrection just might go up in flames.
“I have fallen in love with Emma Holly’s
Hidden
series and all its characters.”—
Joyfully Reviewed
available in ebook and print
The Last Dragon
THE great bronze dragon circled the red desert, leathery wings spread to block the stars. Her name was T’Fain, and her sinuous, whipping tail was longer than her body—though that was long enough. Twenty grown men could stand on her dorsal ridge, assuming they had the stones. Black spines as sharp as razors thrust from her supple back, each worth more than a king’s ransom to poachers. No armor known could withstand the piercing power of these spikes. When crushed to powder for a tincture, they counteracted illness and poisons. The dragon’s tail was another marvel. If severed, it—and all her limbs—would regenerate.
Then there was the fiery breath
draconem magister
could produce. If used in conjunction with certain spells, water could not quench these flames, only magic of equal strength. What they touched would burn up in instants or smolder on for days—a gruesome passing, by all reports. Though dragons didn’t possess the level of sentience of man or fae, their minds were wonders too, capable of executing complex strategies without oversight. Understandably, the beasts had played a role in all the realm of Faerie’s important wars.
What few understood was that
draconem’s
greatest value lay in its loyalty. The phrase “faithful as a dragon” was not empty. Where dragons loved, they loved with all their hearts. They would not betray their masters or let them come to harm. Many dragon keepers claimed to love their beasts better than their wives.
Despite being a woman, this was a sentiment Queen Joscela understood perfectly.
At a signal from its trainer, the dragon she watched tonight dropped silently to the arid plain. The fact that T’Fain was the last of her kind lent her grace poignancy. Puffs of dry dust burst up—first from the deadly back claws and then the front. The huge scaled body dwarfed the man who’d called her, but the fae was in no danger. The beast hunkered before him as obediently as a dog, glowing ruby eyes fixed lovingly on the being who’d imprinted her as a hatchling. She lowered her scaly head to bring her gaze level with the man’s.
The dragon could not anticipate the sacrifice that would be asked of her.
The dragon master was aware. As a member of the secretive Dragon Guild, his family’s bloodline was as pure—if not as royal—as Joscela’s. At the moment, his face was masklike, his movements stiff and self-conscious. Dressed in fireproof leather from hood to breastplate to hip-high boots, he stretched a gloved hand to rub the dragon between her eyes. T’Fain let out a
chirr
of pleasure, wisps of steam trailing from her nostrils. The trainer stepped back, his attention shifting toward the king to whom his family owed allegiance.
King Manfred was the fae of the hour—of the century, to hear him. Hundreds stood behind him in quiet ranks, soldiers for the most part. As if these troops weren’t enough for his dignity, a traveling throne splendorously supported his royal butt. Elevated on a platform set on the sand, the seat glistered with electrum and precious jewels. For five decades, ever since this last dragon had been hatched, Manfred had badgered the High Fae Council over how he thought the precious resource should be employed. Finally he’d won his way. As regally as if
he’d
trained the dragon, Manfred nodded toward his sworn man.
Queen Joscela watched all this from above, from the deck of her floating ship. Magic and not hot air buoyed the vehicle’s black and tan striped balloon. Keeping her company at the rail were her personal guards, her hand servants, and her most trusted advisers. Though this was an important night, no wine casks had been opened. She most definitely hadn’t triumphed in the long debate with the High Council. This, however, didn’t mean she was willing to miss the show.
Those royals who felt a similar reluctance bobbed in the airspace above the plain, each elaborate vessel declaring the uniqueness of its sponsor. Here was a ship that resembled a daffodil, there one entirely formed of gears. All were lit by torches or faerie lights, but not all were festive. Some of Joscela’s peers had sided with Manfred and some with her. She consoled herself that few would actually delight in the pompous bastard’s ascendency.
Of course they’d abandon her quick enough, now that his star had eclipsed hers.
“If Manfred’s head swells any bigger, it will explode.”
This comment came from her Minister of Plots. Ceallach stood closest to her shoulder, a smooth and handsome male who’d been her lover for many years. He served in both capacities very well.
“We should be so lucky,” she murmured back.
“It’s not too late to arrange for a hell dimension door to open and swallow him.”
The plain below was dotted with portals, this being the best place in Faerie for forming them. Most were invisible, created too long ago and used to seldom to be active. Others were so popular they had duplicates throughout the realms. These glimmered on the edge of vision, ghost doors to alien existences. Despite their proximity, it was too late to shove Manfred through one—as they both were aware. Joscela’s opposition to her rival’s plan had been too public and impassioned. Should any ill befall the ruler, suspicion would fall on her.
She touched Ceallach’s hand in thanks for his support. “With the way my luck’s run lately, we’d send him to a bunny realm.”
She sounded bitter. Ceallach squeezed her fingers.
She appreciated that, though her hatred for the puffed-up sovereign knotted darkly inside of her.
I won’t let resentment consume me
, she swore. Manfred didn’t deserve any more victories.
A stir rippled through the crowd at her vessel’s rail.
“Oh joy,” Ceallach said. “The idiot is rising to make his speech.”
Manfred was a handsome faerie: black-haired, black-garbed, with flashing silver eyes and a sensual mouth. His greater than normal height—further raised by the throne’s platform—commanded attention. Then again, if he hadn’t known how to present himself, he couldn’t have bested her.
“Countrymen,” he began in a resonant spell-enhanced voice. “Neighbors and fellow fae. Tonight is a momentous occasion, one many of us fought long and hard to bring about. Tonight we undo the narrow-mindedness of our forefathers, who saw only the backwardness of the human realm and not its value. They closed the door between our worlds, but tonight we re-open it. Those who were stranded among the humans can now come home. Those who wish to visit the human world will have that option. The reason for this is simple. Tonight we do more than our ancestors ever could. Tonight we create a Pocket behind the portal, half fae and half mortal—a place of stability, immune to the magical anarchy that threatens our less fortunate regions. Plodding though they are, humans anchor reality, a service the wise among us know we can no longer live without. I do not exaggerate when I say the Pocket is our future.”
“Well, it’s certainly his future,” Ceallach observed dryly. “And that of anyone who likes conditions exactly as they are.”
Joscela pressed her lips together but did not speak. They’d talked of this before. Ceallach knew she agreed with him. The dragon master must have believed Manfred’s argument. No matter if he were Manfred’s vassal, she couldn’t see him going along with this otherwise.
A gust of wind buffeted her ship, forcing her to grip the rail or be knocked off balance. Ceallach’s arm came protectively around her back. Because flashing one’s wings in public was bad form, hers were flawlessly spell-folded beneath her gown. Ceallach knew they were there. His bicep tightened, reminding her of the pleasure of having him stroke them. His fingers were capable of great delicacy, his tall body fair and hard. Joscela shuddered at the memory of many intimacies.
“Cease,” she whispered as his hand squeezed her waist. She didn’t need the distraction. Events were progressing down on the plain. Manfred’s cupbearer jogged across the sand toward the dragon master, a ceremonial chest tucked beneath his arm like a suckling pig. Going down on one knee, the youth extended it toward the man.
Not wanting to miss a detail, Joscela whispered an invocation to extend the focus of her vision. The magic snapped into place with spyglass clarity, bringing the scene closer. A muscle ticked in the keeper’s jaw as he stared at the cupbearer’s offering. The chest was electrum and heavily enchanted, the alloy of gold and silver good for retaining spells. When the keeper opened the flowery lid, slender beams of light spoked out.
Involuntary gasps broke out as people identified the object the beams came from. Nestled within the padded red velvet was a quartz crystal sphere. Joscela would have given her right arm—at least temporarily—for ten minutes alone with it. That clear orb contained the blueprint for the proposed Pocket: the magical rules by which it would be governed, its capacity for expansion. As Manfred’s staunchest opposition, Joscela hadn’t been invited to participate in planning. He and his cronies wanted to stack the new territory’s deck in their own favor, to suit their own agendas. Though this was to be expected, the exclusion offended her more than any of Manfred’s slights.
To ignore the genius of a mind like hers was criminal.
Manfred was too enamored with his grand experiment to consider how dangerous humans were. The race seemed weak and easily dazzled compared to fae, but their very susceptibility to fae glamour seduced their superiors. Mixed blood children brought shame to proud families—nor were Joscela’s concerns theoretical. Just as fae had been trapped beyond the Veil when it dropped, humans had been trapped here. Her sensibilities rebelled at the results. Pure humans could be useful, but halves? And quarters? They were a mockery of what fae were supposed to be, always causing trouble or getting into it.