Mate of the Dragon (2 page)

Or I could claim you on the Moon Altar so that we can make a child, an heir to the Stronghold
. Right now that seemed so appealing. Damn, it was near impossible not to give into the urge to take her right now.

He came closer to her, and he saw how her body reacted to him. She wanted him; he had smelt her sweet-scented arousal when he entered the room. Now her body sent out signals, telling him how much she wanted him. Her pupils were slightly dilated; she continually licked her lips as if she could feel his upon them; and her breasts were swollen with desire, her nipples hard buds of need.

“Don’t play with me, Tara, I know how much you love to spread your thighs and ride me. What greater power is there than to be astride a dragon’s broad back.” His lips were close to hers, she flicked her eyes down to them and there was the tip of her tongue once more, moistening her lower lip, waiting for him to kiss her. And the temptation was incredible. Only once before had he allowed himself to give in to his desire for her; he could still taste that one kiss. And now it took a sustained effort to not take her to his bed and fill her with his cock.

In fact, if she had his senses, she might be able to tell he was just as turned on as she was. If not more. “I will meet you in the courtyard at dusk, it is only a short flight. I look forward to our evening together, Tara.”

Then he turned and swept out of the room, sensing her waver, her knees so weak she had to place her hand on the desk to steady herself. Maybe he could conquer her after all; maybe tonight after they had spoken to the dryads, he could lay her down in a sacred grove and finally consummate their bond under the light of the full moon. Surely, a bond forged in magic would be unbreakable.

But their first coupling needed to be on the stone altar in the moon room; it was a form of sacrifice, after which he needed to mate with her at every opportunity for the next five days to complete the moon rite and create a dragon child.

Every opportunity
. Yes, he liked that idea; so too did his dragon. Maybe it was time to stop playing games and make her theirs.

“What exactly do you think they want?” Charlotte asked Tara.

“I have no idea,” Tara answered, handing a book to Charlotte. “But I want you to keep hold of this for me. Just in case.”

Just in case. Was that how her life was always going to be lived? She didn’t trust anyone, not human or otherworldly. To Tara everyone was after something for themselves, except maybe Charlotte. It was why Charlotte, although young, was the closest Tara would ever probably get to a friend. They had met when Tara had helped rescue her from a man, Samuel, who was using her as bait. In order to free her, her sister, Serena, was supposed to take control of a dragon’s soul.

At least that was what Samuel had thought. In reality, Tara had seen the future and knew things were not going to work out that way. The sisters were bonded to dragon brothers Connor and Zoah, but no matter how she tried to make it work out differently, it was only through suffering that the sisters would be joined with their dragon mates.

Serena had not exactly trusted Tara after that. It had taken time for them to build up any kind of friendship. That was Tara’s problem. Often being a seer seemed like a curse, and people never actually appreciated her way of doing things.
Manipulative
was the best way to describe her actions, yet always Tara acted with so much thought and care towards the outcome.

It was like walking over a frozen lake. One false move and it will crack under your weight and send you plummeting into water so deep and cold you would certainly perish. So you test the different routes, until you find the one that will get you to the other side. Only the cracks that appear as you place one foot down in front of another are really pain and hardship. A thing no one liked to endure, even if it was for the common good.

“Tara?” Charlotte’s voice broke through her reverie.

“Hmm?”

“What is it? You seem distracted.” Charlotte clutched the book to her chest, and Tara was thankful she seemed to understand just how precious it was.

“I don’t really know.” She was silent for a moment. “It’s the first time Dòmhnall has ever actually asked me to do something. Not without commanding me first and then us going through a game of cat and mouse until he just does what he should have done in the first place and asks me civilly. You know how much he likes to flex those dragon muscles of his.”

“Maybe this is more important to him than he is letting on?” Charlotte looked awkward and then added, “Or maybe he is just coming around to the fact that sooner or later he is going to have to give in to the bond that is between you.”

Tara laughed sarcastically. “The day Dòmhnall realises he has to give in to anything is the day his blood will freeze in his body.”

“I thought you said it was already frozen. Oh, that was his heart,” Charlotte laughed.

Tara should have laughed too; she normally did. But it was getting old, just as she would get old and die before he succumbed to the mating instinct and took her to his bed. If he never consummated their bond, she would never have a chance to make him love and trust her enough for him to give her his heart stone. The heart stone of a dragon transferred long life to his mate.

Charlotte had been given her mate, Zoah’s, heart stone and her sister, Serena, had been given Connor’s. Serena and Connor had a son, whilst Charlotte was heavily pregnant. Tara had hoped all these signs of procreation might have turned Dòmhnall around. Shouldn’t a dragon lord crave a son and heir?

“I wish he would change, you know?” Tara said, going back to tidying her workspace. “If I don’t return tonight, can you come in and turn this?” She pointed to a small egg timer filled with some light blue fluid.

Charlotte knew better than to ask what potion was contained in the vial. “Sure. Do you expect to be away for a few days? Can’t you
see
what the dryads want?”

“No. It’s all a blank. I had no idea until Dòmhnall knocked on the door and asked me. You know how my gift works; I can’t see anything about my personal future.”

“You can’t see anything connected to the dryads?” Charlotte asked.

“No, there’s nothing. But they could just be protecting themselves, I suppose. They have deep Earth magic, the kind I don’t fully understand.”

“You might after you’ve visited them. Perhaps they intend to share some of their ways with you. After all, you are Dòmhnall’s mate.”

“I doubt they know I’m Dòmhnall’s mate. He doesn’t exactly broadcast it or make it legitimate, does he? I’m like some dirty secret he wants to hide in the corner.”

“Tara, he just needs time. You know how deep his betrayal ran. It will take him a while to take the plunge. For a big, bad dragon, he is running scared.” Charlotte put her hand on Tara in comfort, and the witch had to fight her reflex action to shrug it off. She wasn’t used to sympathy and never really knew how to deal with it.

“Thank you, Charlotte,” she said and moved away, hoping she had allowed Charlotte’s hand to remain in place long enough that she didn’t cause offence by letting it slip off her shoulder.

“You know where I am if you need to talk when you return. I would love to hear about what happens, so please don’t keep me in the dark.”

“I won’t,” Tara said. Girly chit-chat was not her thing either. She liked to keep everything to herself. In some ways she made the perfect mate for Dòmhnall; neither of them liked to let their defences down. And letting people in was near to impossible.

As she said goodbye to Charlotte, Tara knew that the chances were she was going to die an old maid, with Dòmhnall forever out of reach to her heart. She might have to live with nothing but her fantasies, that or conjure him up out of the full moon’s glow as a spectre on All Hallow’s Eve. But nothing would ever be like the man himself.

***

What a man he was. He stood tall and proud, his tight breeches tucked into long leather boots and a dark blue tunic over it, tied at the waist by a leather belt. She smiled. Give him a bow and arrow and he would look as though he had stepped off the movie set for
Robin Hood
. But she loved the way he dressed, old fashioned, no jeans and T-shirt here.

“Ready, Tara?” he asked, turning towards her as he approached.

“Yes, although for what I have no idea? I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to bring anything?”

“Only yourself. I have packed a gift for the dryads, so if you are ready, we can leave.” He indicated a pack, which would be attached to his back when he had transformed into his dragon.

This was her favourite thing to watch. She stood back, sensing the shift in the air as he transformed into his dragon. For a moment, he disappeared from this world and then he returned, in dragon form. Emerald green, his scales catching the last rays of the sun as it set beyond the forest, making them shimmer. She reached out and touched them, always fascinated by this creature of myth that was hers. So strong, so powerful, magnificent beyond compare.

She stood patiently, admiring the dragon, while Marcas attached the makeshift saddle, hooking the pack over it, and then Dòmhnall bent his leg so that Tara could climb onto his back. Settling herself down, getting comfortable as the heat from his body crept though her skin to warm her bones, she let the thrill of being astride her dragon fill her.

Then he eased his body down to the floor; she held on tight and prepared for him to take off. With one smooth movement, he leaped up into the air and flapped his wings in a downward beat to leverage himself up high out of the Stronghold. They cleared the castle walls with inches to spare and then climbed higher, the moon rising at the back of her. It called to her, begged her to come and dance naked under its silvery rays, but she had other business and the moon, no matter how beautiful, did not compare with being this close to Dòmhnall.

They swooped low over the forest, the red gold of the sun tingeing the leaves where the last of the daylight clung on before the night took hold. Tears of pure joy trickled down her cheeks: in this moment she felt alive. Being one with her dragon made all the other crap worth it.

She wanted to raise her hands above her head and whoop! What would the old-fashioned dragon think of that? Her mind switched back to him standing before her in his sexy breeches. Damn, she would whoop even louder if he decided to let her peel those off him tonight.

He breathed in the evening air, letting the scent of Tara mingle with it as it caressed his taste buds. She made his mouth water. And he didn’t mean in a flesh-eating dragon type of way. But his dragon longed for them to claim her, to make her his. It was the human part of Dòmhnall that held back. The fear of allowing his heart to be entrusted to another was too strong; he could not yet conquer it.

Beneath him, Spellholm was coming to life. His dragon senses were aware of all the animals scurrying around the forest floor. Mostly ordinary creatures, but mixed in amongst them were those with two sides, man and beast combined. Under tonight’s full moon, the beasts were set loose to enjoy the freedom of the night.

They looked up as the dragon passed overhead. He was a creature of awe and wonder; there were so few dragons left in the world that he always drew a stare. It was something he loved, to be special, unique. A uniqueness that would die out if he didn’t take Tara to his bed and create his son and heir, a child to carry on in his place, but it had never been the right time.

The moon rose behind them, and images of Tara lying naked beneath the trees on a blanket of soft grass while he made love to her was so inviting, he nearly landed on the ground instead of going to the dryads. But he had given his word they would make this journey, and he had no wish to create a rift between dragons and dryads because of his sudden need for her. No, it could wait until later. His usual excuse for them still being apart.

The home of the dryads drew near; he could sense them gathered for the meeting. More than he had expected. Soon he would know what they wanted—he only hoped it did not involve a vampire or two; he had done battle with them before and had been expecting some kind of retaliation.

As he came into land, the clearing seemed empty. Only when his big dragon feet touched the ground did the first of the tree folk appear, as though morphing from the solid trunk of an ancient oak tree. She stood before them, bowing to him. Dòmhnall, always aware of his station as Dragon Lord, bowed back rather theatrically, by bending one short stumpy leg. He heard a snort of laughter from Tara and wished she would show him at least some respect. He chose to ignore her.

“Welcome Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord. And Tara. We have longed to meet you for some time now. Since you came to our home we have felt your presence.”

Tara sat very still. He could sense her surprise, and for once she didn’t use her smart mouth to offend anyone. Instead, she said, “I am honoured that you even know who I am.”

“We know so much about you. More, perhaps, than you know of yourself. The trees whisper from thousands of miles away; there is nothing that does not reach us, even tucked away in the thick forests of Spellholm.”

Around them, more dryads appeared, beautiful women in flowing dresses, flowers in their hair and the scent of perfume on the air. Jasmine for the most part, mixed in with lilacs and honeysuckle. The whole clearing was filled with a life force. His dragon could feel it, making him feel alive in every sense of the world. Strong, powerful, invincible, he practically purred.

Maybe it was time to get down to business; he was unsure of the effect these magical creatures might have on him, so the less time they spent here, the better. As if she could tell what he was thinking, Tara slipped down from his back.

“We are honoured you have come to see us. The mighty Dragon Lord and Tara, a witch beyond compare.”

“What can we do for you?” Tara asked. He was surprised she hadn’t milked the flattery for longer.