Dragon's Blood: a Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “This is the last time we’ll be alone together,” he panted. Dareena whimpered as he sank his teeth into her earlobe, then sucked on it. A bolt of need went through her, and she clawed at the buttons of his deep blue tunic, sending them flying every which way. His skin was hot and smooth beneath her fingers as she pushed the fabric back, his muscles flexing as he carried her to the bed.

  “Yes,” she hissed as he entered her in one long, firm stroke. Hooking her legs around his hips, she clung tight as he rocked into her, shaking the bedframe with the force of his thrusts. Running her fingers through his thick, dark hair, she kissed his face, his neck, his collarbone, each press of her lips against his skin a benediction, a prayer that the dragon god would keep him safe while she was gone.

  Somehow, they would figure this out. And when she returned, she would have all three of them in her bed so they could renew their bond together.

  “I love you,” Drystan said hoarsely as his thrusts grew harder. Power hummed in the air around him as he drew strength from her, his skin glowing faintly. Dareena arched her hips, pulling him in deeper, urging him to take more, to take it all. This was the last time she would be able to offer this to him, and she gave herself fearlessly, selflessly, digging her nails into his broad back as the orgasm ripped through her. The sound of her name on Drystan’s lips shook the walls as he came, his hot seed rushing into her, and afterward, she cradled him, stroking his sweaty back and murmuring sweet nothings as their heartbeats gradually returned to normal.

  A knock on the door interrupted the bittersweet moment of bliss. “Dareena?” Alistair called through the door.

  “Come in,” she called back, tightening her arms around Drystan as he began to move. What did it matter if Alistair saw them together?

  Alistair opened the door, and his eyes flew wide. “I wasn’t quite expecting to be greeted by the sight of your arse, brother,” he said dryly as he nudged the door shut behind him.

  “I tried to spare you, but the lady is refusing to let go of me.” Smirking, Drystan slid his arms beneath Dareena, then rolled over so that she was on top of him. “Is that better?”

  Alistair sucked in a sharp breath, and Dareena hid a smile. She knew exactly how she looked, naked and glistening, her legs open as she straddled Drystan. The space between her thighs warmed, and for a moment, she was tempted to invite Alistair to join them.

  “As much as I’m enjoying the view, I’m afraid you’ll have to get dressed,” Alistair said ruefully. “The duchess is impatient to get back to Elvenhame with her prizes.”

  “Of course she is,” Drystan groused, sitting up. He gently pushed Dareena off, then went to retrieve his clothing.

  Dareena gave him a wistful look, then went to clean up and fetch a simple traveling cloak and dress from her wardrobe.

  “Here,” Alistair said as she began to unbutton the back of the dress. “Let me help you.”

  Dareena nodded, wordlessly handing him the dress. She could tell by the way Alistair’s fingers twitched that he was itching to touch her bare skin, but he merely slipped the dress over her head, then smoothed it over her ample curves. Quickly, he buttoned up the back of her dress, then secured the cloak around her shoulders with a simple gold pin. He was dressed similarly in a brown tunic and cloak, and sturdy boots not unlike the ones he helped her pull onto her feet.

  “There,” he said, smoothing her hair. “You’re ready for an adventure.”

  Dareena laughed. “That’s what I told Rona to console her,” she said. “That we should think of this as an exciting adventure.”

  “Try not to make it too exciting,” Drystan said. He slid his arms around Dareena’s waist and pulled her in for one last kiss. “You have to come back to us in one piece, after all.”

  “I will,” she said against his mouth, “so long as you and Lucyan can make nice with the elves.”

  “Lucyan and I will pay whatever ransom they demand,” Drystan promised.

  “How is Lucyan?” Dareena asked Alistair a bit anxiously. “He looked like he was about to faint when the servants helped him out of that chair.”

  “Sleeping,” Alistair confirmed. “He passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Do you want to see him before we go?”

  Dareena bit her lip, considering. “No,” she finally said. “He’ll wake up the moment I enter the room, and he needs his rest.” Squaring her shoulders, she took Alistair’s hand. “Let us go before I lose my courage and bury myself under the covers.”

  Alistair smiled gently. “I highly doubt that will happen,” he said, brushing a kiss against her temple. “You may be small, Dareena, but you have more courage than many of the soldiers I’ve trained with.”

  Dareena hoped he was right. She had a feeling she was going to need all the courage she could get to make it through the trials ahead.

  4

  After they finished their goodbyes, Dareena and Alistair went down to the entrance hall, servants in tow to carry their trunks. The duchess waited for them with a sly smile on her face, flanked by a bevy of elven guards. Two of them took the trunks, while another four closed ranks around Alistair and Dareena.

  “This is hardly necessary,” Alistair said stiffly, eyeing the wall of shiny armor surrounding them. “We are not planning an escape.”

  “I never thought otherwise,” the duchess said smoothly. “The guards aren’t here to restrain you. They’re here to protect you.”

  Protect us? Alistair frowned.

  A familiar buzz grew louder—the sound of a large crowd. Alistair tried to peer over Lady Valenhall’s graceful shoulder, but the front doors were closed, and from where he stood, he could see nothing through the windows.

  “The townsfolk have heard about your unfortunate situation,” the duchess explained. “They have come to see for themselves if the royal crown has fallen so low they are forced to give up their Dragon’s Gift.”

  Alistair clenched his jaw.

  “You are a horrid woman,” Dareena snapped, her green eyes sparkling with anger. Alistair admired her willingness to stand up to the duchess even as part of him wanted to step between them and shield his mate. “Is it not enough that you are getting everything you want? You must humiliate us as well?”

  “It isn’t about what I want,” the duchess said, “but what my king wants. And after what Dragomir has done, he wishes to make an example of you.”

  She waved an elegant, long-fingered hand, and the doors opened. Alistair wound his fingers through Dareena’s and held her hand tightly as the guards nudged them into the open. Sure enough, half the town had turned up to see them—every square inch of the courtyard was packed with people, and they all seemed to turn as one to gawk at Alistair and Dareena. Thankfully, there were plenty of guards as well, and they forced the crowd back far enough to make a path to the waiting carriage and horse-drawn cart. The masses clamored as they descended the steps, shouting questions and hurling insults.

  “How can you abandon us now?”

  “Have the elves really won the war?”

  “Who sits on Dragonfell’s throne now?”

  “Take your brothers with you!” one woman shouted, sounding particularly vehement. She tried to force her way toward Alistair, but a guard held her back. “We’ve had enough of dragons and their meddling in this country!”

  Alistair said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. He could see from the corner of his eye that Dareena looked stricken, but to her credit she held her tongue, instead focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

  “Almost there,” Alistair said to her under his breath, and she gave him the barest of nods.

  The driver opened the door of the green and gold carriage and helped the duchess inside. Alistair gently pushed Dareena forward so she could enter behind her, but the footman shut the door, blocking her way.

  “I’m sorry, but this carriage is for the Lady Valenhall,” he said in the snootiest tone imaginable.

  “Excuse me?” Alistair asked, highly af
fronted. “Where do you expect us to sit, then? Atop the carriage?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the driver said. “Why do you think we brought the cart?”

  Alistair scowled. He’d assumed the cart was for the luggage. He glanced at Dareena, who was looking back at the crowd. The shouts were turning into jeers. Blast it. He couldn’t waste time out here arguing with the driver—that would only make them look even worse.

  “Very well,” he said. “The cart it is.”

  He took Dareena’s arm and guided her to the old cart, which looked like it belonged on a farm. There were two wooden benches: a high one for the driver, who was already seated and waiting, and a lower one facing the back of the cart for passengers. He helped Dareena into the cart, then hoisted himself up.

  “Your hands,” one of the guards said once they were seated. Dareena’s eyes widened at the sight of the rope in his hands, but she dutifully held out her wrists, and the guard bound them, and then Alistair’s. Alistair knew that the bonds were more ceremonial than anything else—they were fairly loose, and he could escape them with ease. But the crowd watched, and to them they looked like two trussed up prisoners being carted off to Elvenhame rather than “guests.”

  Once everyone was settled, the elven guards mounted their horses, and they set off. Their caravan rolled slowly through the courtyard and down the drive, giving the crowds ample time to watch them pass and shout more questions and insults.

  “Good riddance!” one man cried. He was wearing a black cloak with the hood up, and he hurled a tomato directly at Alistair’s head. It smashed into the wall a few centimeters from Alistair’s elbow, spattering his cloak with red juice. Alistair gritted his teeth as he plucked the ruined vegetable from the bottom of the cart, tempted to hurl it back at the offender. “At least now we won’t have to pay those absurd taxes anymore!”

  “It’s okay, Alistair,” Dareena said, laying a hand on his arm. Her voice soothed him, and he lowered his arm before he did something he would regret. “Don’t pay them any mind. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

  “Maybe, but they will still be here,” Alistair said bitterly. “Do they really hate our kingdom so? I know Father has been heavy-handed of late, but I did not realize there was quite so much discontent.”

  Dareena sighed. “You wouldn’t, cooped up in the castle as you have been,” she said. “There are those who resent dragons and dragon born for treating humans like second-class citizens. The Hallowdale family, from my hometown, certainly was that way. They were dragon born, and considered themselves better than anyone else, including the other upper-class families.”

  Alistair frowned. “Well, that certainly doesn’t help our case. And with Father raising taxes…”

  Dareena nodded. “There are many who aren’t happy with that. Even so, most are content to let the dragons rule, as they want the continued protection of the dragon god over their lands. Someone must be stirring them up.”

  “The Black Cloak Brotherhood,” Alistair said. “That man must be a member.” There had been rumors of a growing cult of anti-dragon citizens, but Alistair had never come across one until today. He looked around. Quite a few black-cloaked citizens were in the crowd, shaking their fists at Alistair and Dareena and chanting, “Good riddance!”

  “This is not good,” Dareena said, huddling closer to Alistair. He let her lean against him, suddenly feeling guilty for letting her console him rather than the other way around. Blast these confounded ropes—he couldn’t even put an arm around her with his hands tied like this. “Unless we turn matters around in a dramatic fashion, this civil unrest will only continue to spread. It’s going to be very hard for Drystan and Lucyan to bring the people to heel if they believe we are the cause of their problems.”

  “My brothers are strong and resourceful,” Alistair assured her, burying his own worries. “If anyone can figure a way out of this, it’s Lucyan. And Drystan will hold the fort down and make sure everything runs smoothly in our absence. We’ll be back in Dragonfell before you know it.”

  “I hope so,” Dareena said with a sigh. Silently, they watched as Dragon’s Keep gradually dwindled away into the distance and wondered exactly what kind of reception they would get once they arrived in Elvenhame.

  5

  When Lucyan next woke, it was as if someone had placed anvils over his eyelids and stuffed his mouth with cotton. Groaning, he pushed himself upright in bed and squinted around, hoping someone had the foresight to leave a glass of water. Thankfully, someone had, and as he downed it greedily, some of the lethargy left his limbs.

  What in Terragaard had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was the battle in the throne room. His father had smashed him into the wall with his great, spiky tail…

  Oh. The rest of the memories rushed in, his heart aching. The elves had come. They’d killed thousands of their soldiers and taken Dareena away in exchange for returning the thousands more they’d taken prisoner. Lucyan’s hands fisted in his sheets as he remembered the guilt and horror written all over Dareena’s face—she’d felt personally responsible, even though this was in no way her fault.

  No, it was Lucyan’s fault. And Drystan’s, and Alistair’s, for not figuring out a way to stop their father sooner. For allowing things to get so bad that their kingdom was only a breath away from annihilation. Dareena was not to blame, and yet she was the one suffering. They’d been too stupid to do anything about it until it was too late.

  Frustrated, Lucyan pushed back the covers and rang for his valet to come and dress him. His ribs still smarted some, but a quick glance in the mirror showed no bruises on his face.

  “Your Highness,” Baromar, his valet said, alarm on his square face as he entered the room. “You really should be abed—”

  “I have no time to lay about like an invalid,” Lucyan growled. “Not when we are at war. Now fetch my razor.”

  Baromar did as Lucyan asked. Twenty minutes later, Lucyan walked down the hall, albeit slower than normal, to his brother’s office. He might still be in pain, but at least he looked good, clean-shaven and in fresh clothes. He’d pay a visit to the healers later today and take another draught of that foul-tasting but highly effective potion. With any luck, he’d be right as rain tomorrow.

  Speaking of the healers, they seemed to be out in full force today, rushing from room to room along with most of the servants, carrying bedding and supplies back and forth. He imagined they were readying all available rooms for the influx of wounded soldiers that would be arriving in the next few days.

  “You there.” He snagged a servant by the elbow as she was rushing past. “Tell the healers to use my suite.”

  “Huh?” The servant blinked up at him in confusion.

  “My suite,” Lucyan said impatiently. “I have a large bed, and several couches and settees. The wounded will have far more use for them than I. Tell the healers they are welcome to them.”

  “I will. Thank you, Your Highness.” The servant bowed, then rushed off to finish her task and do Lucyan’s bidding. Some of the tightness eased from Lucyan’s chest—it was a small thing, giving up his quarters, but if it could help ease some of the soldiers’ suffering, he was glad to do it.

  “Lucyan.” Drystan shot to his feet as Lucyan entered his office. “You ought to be—”

  “In bed, I know,” Lucyan groused. He gingerly made his way over to the small cabinet behind Drystan’s desk, where his eldest brother kept a stash of liquor.

  Sighing, Drystan took the bottle of brandy from him, then fished out two glasses and poured a healthy dose for both of them. He didn’t look like he’d slept well. There were circles beneath his eyes, and his skin had a wan look to it.

  “I can’t believe she’s been gone a full day already,” Drystan muttered as he lifted his glass. His amber eyes were dull, as if some vital spark had been stolen from them.

  In a way, it had.

  “I should have been there to see her off,” Lucyan said as he flopped into one of the
visitors’ chairs. Drystan downed his glass in one go, and Lucyan followed suit. The liquid scorched his throat, warming his stomach and taking some of the edge off his pain. “Instead I was passed out in my bed like a useless fool.”

  “Dareena didn’t want to wake you,” Drystan said. “She was worried that if she came to see you it would rile you up again, and you needed your rest.”

  “Yes, well, as much as I appreciate everyone’s concern for my well-being, I don’t need you fussing over me anymore. A few cracked ribs are the least of our problems. We need to access the treasury and find out how much gold we have before the elves come demanding their ransom.”

  “Do you know how to get the door open?” Drystan asked. “I tried to get into the treasury yesterday, but I couldn’t find the key.”

  “Of course,” Lucyan said with a wave of his hand. “I figured out where father kept his keys years ago. How do you think I always had enough gold on hand to bribe the guards when we were children?”

  Drystan snorted. “I should have known.” He pushed himself up from his chair. They made their way to their father’s suite, which was located in a tower at the end of the west wing. A strange sense of longing overcame Lucyan as they stepped into their father’s rooms—there was a time when he’d sit on his father’s knee in the winged armchair by the fireplace, where the king often liked to sit and think in the evenings, or perhaps read a book. Or where he would have barged into the bedchamber in the middle of the night, plagued with nightmares, and his mother would lift up the covers and let him climb into bed with them.

  “I miss them too,” Drystan said quietly as a fierce longing ripped through Lucyan. They stood together in silence for a long time, letting their childhood memories wash over them—memories from a time when they had been a happy family instead of the fractured, embittered mess they had become.

  “There’s a false wall behind this painting,” Lucyan said, crossing the room. Drystan gently took down the heavy, framed canvas, which depicted a wild, stormy sea, revealing a large hole in the stacked stone wall. Lucyan reached in and grabbed a cedar box, then opened it and fished out the key to the treasury.