The Dragon's Lover (5 page)

And with that comment, she lowered her head further
and placed her mouth on the warm wetness of her lover, causing
Weynild to jerk with the intense shock of pleasure. The comment was
sardonic because in that moment, Raine acted the servant kneeling
between her legs, but Weynild might as well have been her slave so
skillfully did the girl drive her to passion. Weynild clutched the
furs with one hand while the other reached down to caress the
girl's head. She had used that hand as guidance for those less
skilled in this act, but this girl was mastering her with no
guidance whatsoever. She felt as if she was going to climax
immediately, but Raine eased her motion and changed her pressure
ever-so-slightly, driving Weynild to an even higher plane of
tension and pleasure. She did this multiple times until Weynild
felt she would explode, and at the moment she felt she could take
no more, the girl pushed her over the edge. Weynild's hips rose and
fell in a violent, bucking, seemingly-endless rhythm until there
was nothing left for her to give. She collapsed, utterly spent.

Raine pulled herself up to her former position, again
in the crook of Weynild's arm, her head on her breast. She listened
to the powerful heart beat thunderously in the chest, then slow,
and then settle into a deep, ponderous beat.

Weynild shifted so their bodies were in perfect
alignment, then pulled a fur to cover them both. Sleep was
overtaking her quickly, and she sensed the youngster as well.

“One of us is a monster,” the dragon murmured as she
drifted into sleep, “and somehow I don't think it's me.”

Weynild entered the cottage unsurprised to see Raine
still asleep in the bed. She was on her stomach, her head resting
on her arm. Furs were draped over the lower half of her body but
her naked back was exposed. Weynild moved closer to examine the
intricate, filigreed markings, the deep blue interleaved with gold.
She sat down on the bed next to the sleeping figure and slowly
began to trace the markings.

Raine stirred and raised her head slightly. “I see
you're up early, right at the crack of—”

She paused glancing at the ample light streaming
through the curtained window. “—midday.”

Weynild had paused when Raine stirred. “I wanted to
let you sleep. You earned your rest.”

With this comment, she again lowered her fingers to
stroke the markings, and Raine inhaled sharply at the touch.

“These are sensitive?”

“Yes,” Raine said, “odd since they are little more
than decorative scars.”

“I understand the ceremony is brutally painful.”

Raine's response was very matter-of-fact. “The entire
purpose of the ceremony is for the Scinterian to experience pain so
immense it will dwarf all felt subsequent in life. If you have
survived pain that makes you long for death, there is not much you
fear from that point on.”

She shifted slightly on the bed, propping her chin on
her arm.

“My uncle at first refused to let me attempt the
ceremony. He was afraid I would not succeed or even survive because
of my 'mixed' heritage. Arlanians are not known for their
fortitude.”

“No,” Weynild murmured, tracing the markings, “they
are known for a completely different set of talents.”

“But I did survive, and when he saw that I sustained
the markings on my back without so much as shedding a tear, he told
them to carve the markings on my forearms as well.” She turned her
wrist to look at the gold and blue interleaved beneath her
skin.

Weynild stroked the pattern on her back and the
sensation was so wondrous Raine sighed her name in one long
breath.

“Talan'alaith'illaria.”

Weynild again paused. Although many had spoken her
name over the centuries, no one had ever said it quite that way
before, rolling it off the tongue as if the sound itself gave her
pleasure. Raine cocked her head to the side to look at her.

“So you are worshiped by the wood elves?”

“Hmmph,” Weynild said with a tone of disdain. “The
forest people are always too quick to take a knee.”

“Well, obviously I worship you as well. Did you not
see me on my knees?”

“Yes,” Weynild said, “I remember it quite clearly.
But there was nothing obsequious about that worship. In fact,
although you may have been on your knees, I don't know that I have
ever been so dominated in a sex act before.”

“Well we shall have to do that more often then.”

Weynild continued to trace the pattern, leaning down
to put her lips on the raised outlines. This caused Raine to let
loose another sigh of pleasure. Weynild particularly liked to look
at these markings when the girl was writhing beneath her, the lean
muscles in stark relief, when Weynild was “mounting” her as Raine
had so lyrically put it. She was just about to comment on this fact
when a woman's scream pierced the air.

Weynild paused, but neither had much of a reaction.
If anything, Weynild was mildly irritated and Raine mildly
resigned.

“I should probably go check on that.” Raine said.

“Hmm,” Weynild said, disgruntled, “yes, you probably
should.”

“I can hide these as well,” Raine said,
concentrating. Weynild watched with fascination as the intricate
markings disappeared, seeming to dissolve into the skin. “Unlike my
eyes, I cannot hide them for very long, so I generally just wear
clothing that will cover them.”

It was an interesting and useful trick, Weynild
thought. She had wondered how Raine had kept both her identities
secret for so long. But if her eye color could be controlled and
her markings hidden, it would not be so difficult, especially since
all thought that both races were extinct.

Raine stood and Weynild was distracted once more by
the supple form in front of her. A second scream split the air,
this one just as successfully dampening the mood as the first, if
not more so for its closer proximity.

“I am not in the habit of rescuing maidens,” Weynild
said with ill-temper, “I generally devour or deflower them, if not
both.”

“Well I hope not in that order,” Raine said absently,
pulling on her shift, pants, and boots. She did not bother with her
armor.

The response brought a short laugh from Weynild,
soothing her temper. The utter confidence of the reply, no jealousy
or insecurity within the words, was amazingly attractive. Weynild’s
armor formed about her body.

“Hmm,” Raine said, assessing her choice of weapons.
She eschewed the more elaborate weaponry and settled on her sword.
“I think this will do.” She walked out the door, the sword dangling
from her hand carelessly, and Weynild followed.

Both stood on the crest of the hill looking into the
valley below, perusing the scene before them. Neither spoke for a
long moment and it was Raine who broke the silence.

“Hyr'rok'kin,” she said, stating the obvious.

Weynild did not take her eyes from the pack of
monsters chasing the woman on horseback. “Yes,” she said, her tone
as even as Raine's. “I did not expect them this far east.”

Raine counted a dozen of the hideous creatures. “It
is a scouting mission. But I agree, they should not be this far
east this soon.” Raine's expression remained impassive, but Weynild
could sense her foreboding. Even so, her manner was completely
relaxed, as if it were the larger meaning of the Hyr'rok'kin
presence that disturbed her, not their actual presence. Weynild
prepared to transform to her larger manifestation.

“I've got this,” Raine said, sensing her intent. A
smile played at the corner of her mouth and she could not have been
more unconcerned. “I thought you might enjoy seeing me in a
different type of action.”

Weynild paused, her golden eyes gleaming. “I think I
would enjoy that very much.”

The woman on horseback was getting closer, still
screaming in terror. The malformed pig-like creatures chasing her
were gaining on her, some running upright and others going to
all-fours to increase their speed. They were Horde Shards, the
festering foot soldiers of the Hyr'rok'kin army. Raine started
casually down the hill toward them to close the distance.

The presence of another woman increased the frenzy of
the pack and they quickened their pace. Hyr'rok'kin were not known
for their intelligence, but even so, the leader of the pack had a
flicker of unease at the approaching figure. She was not large, was
not wearing armor, carried only a sword, and seemed to be dressed
in pajamas. But there was not the slightest sense of fear about her
and her features communicated nothing beyond a calm
anticipation.

The pack, the woman and horse, and the approaching
figure all converged. A Shard closest to the horse leaped upward
with a great, muscular movement, thinking himself in range to drag
the horse down by its haunches. And he would have been close enough
had his flight not been interrupted by the tip of a sword that
pierced his armor, pierced his rough hide, slipped between his ribs
and stabbed his black heart, killing him instantly.

Raine swung the sword around, violently dislodging
the impaled carcass and sending it into two other marauders who
went down in a crunch of broken bones. The sword came around again,
graceful, effortless, wickedly sharp, flitting through the air and
slitting the throats of the two with a single blow.

The pack howled in rage and turned all their
attention to the stranger in the pajamas. But she just laughed and
danced out of the way, cutting three more down with the sword that
swung through flesh as facilely as it did air. One sought to behead
her from behind but she ducked as the war ax missed its mark and
took advantage of her attacker's over-commitment, thrusting the
sword behind her and killing him without bothering to turn around.
Another approached from the front, striking downward in a
tremendous wood-chopping motion, but the aggressor might as well
have been a statue so slowly did he move compared to his opponent.
Raine stepped to the side as the battle ax sunk with a dull thud
into the wet earth, then with a fluid swing, decapitated him.

The fight was over as quickly as it had begun, with
one side utilizing overwhelming force. Eleven of the twelve
Hyr'rok'kin lay bloodied at Raine's feet and one was attempting to
flee back down the hill the way it had come. The Horde were
blood-thirsty when in packs but cowards when alone. Raine did not
feel like chasing him so she pulled the battle ax from the earth
and gauged the distance. She flung the ax with stupendous force and
it spun through the air, landing in the back of the Shard with a
solid “thwack.” He went down with a cry of pain, quivered for a
moment, and then went still.

Raine had little reaction to the melee and did not
even appear out of breath. She walked back up the hill, carelessly
swinging her sword much as she had on the way down. The woman on
horseback dismounted near Weynild and stared at Raine in wonder.
Raine ignored her. She sensed Weynild was greatly entertained by
the exhibition and even somewhat aroused.

“Impressive,” the dragon said, the sensuality in her
tone unmistakable.

Raine bowed with mocking chivalry. “I am honored to
entertain you.”

The woman looked from one to the other in
bewilderment. She had just witnessed an extraordinary fight and
these two acted as if it were little more than a joke. Or even more
bewildering, that it had been little more than foreplay. The
powerful attraction between the two was evident. The older woman,
the one with the beautiful skin and strange golden eyes, turned
toward her.

“And why is it you trespass on my land so far into
the lowlands?”

Without really knowing why, the woman went to her
knee. The influence of true royalty was too great to resist. “I beg
your forgiveness,” the woman said, “I've been lost and wandering
for three days.”

“Where are you from?” Raine asked, thrusting her
sword into the soft earth.

The woman named a small village on the edge of the
wilderness, near the swampland. Raine knew the place.

“Did you see any other Hyr'rok'kin?” she asked.

“No,” the woman said, trembling. “I couldn't believe
my eyes when I saw them. We heard rumors, but we thought the empire
would protect us.”

Weynild snorted and Raine hid a smile while the woman
amended her statement.

“Or at least we thought it would be a year or so
before the Hyr'rok'kin came.”

Raine glanced down at the dead bodies below. Swarms
of flies were already beginning to gather. “This is a scouting
party and I'm sure the army is far behind. But you’re wise to be
concerned. They are coming.”

Raine turned her attention to the next matter at
hand, which was to get rid of the woman as quickly as possible. She
let loose a high, thin whistle and a young wolf came trotting from
the nearby forest. She knelt down, rubbed the fur on his neck, then
held his head in her hands.

“I want you to take her to Havershire,” Raine
instructed the wolf. He cocked his head to one side questioningly,
and she pointed to the southwest in exasperation. “That way.”

The wolf yelped his understanding, then went and
stood next to the woman. She watched this latest exchange in
astonishment, now certain that she was in the presence of some
forest deity. What a story she would have to tell back at the
inn!

“He will lead you home,” Raine said. “In the future,
I would advise you to stay out of the lowlands.”

“Yes, your,” the woman flailed about for a title,
“your grace, I don't know how to thank you!”

“Just go,” Weynild said, her patience at an end. The
wolf bounded off and the woman pulled herself awkwardly onto the
horse and began following the canine. Raine watched them disappear,
then turned to the bodies once more.

“You,” she said politely, “you don't want that, do
you?”

Weynild grasped her meaning and laughed. “It is true
dragons will eat almost anything, but not even I can stand the
taste of Hyr'rok'kin.”