Soulfire: A Dragon Fantasy Romance (Nightwing Book 1) Page 14

  “Congratulations. I wish you both a long and happy life together.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m sure you understand how special Jessen is, but I want you to know she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I must warn you, if you ever hurt her, I will do my best to make your life a living hell.”

  Yes, she was much braver than her parents would ever know. I doubt Lucius had been threatened by so diminutive a person before.

  With no hint of mockery, he took her small hand in both of his. “I am glad to know my mate has such a dear friend as you. And I vow I will never hurt her. It would be the same as cutting out my own heart.”

  She beamed a bright smile. “Good.” She gave me a quick kiss and hurried out.

  “This is quite a party.” Sorcha sauntered up, stopping next to Lucius. Lorian was a step behind, leaning against a bar. His gaze hooked onto her with predatory speed. “I didn’t know you Morgons owned street-level reception halls.”

  Lucius smiled. “We thought it wise to expand our business into the human market.”

  “Smart man. Our family’s marketing firm would be happy to assist you if you ever need.” Leave it to Sorcha to make business sound like pleasure. “After all, you’re now married to my dearest friend.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, whispering, “There are some seriously hot men here.”

  I gave her a look as she tilted her shoulders back provocatively. Lorian’s eyes drifted down Sorcha’s body. Catching his gaze, she angled her hips and torso in such a way that screamed sex. Lorian scowled deeper, knocked back his drink, and stormed off.

  “What’s wrong with your big, bad brother?”

  Lucius sipped his beer with a devious grin. “He’s not too fond of…aggressive women.”

  Sorcha’s mouth tilted wickedly. “Oh, really.” She set her beer on the bar. “Oh, how I love a challenge.” She then bee-lined in Lorian’s wake. Swinging her curvy hips in a skin-tight red dress, her wild, dark-cherry tresses swishing in tandem. She was a seductive flame burning her way across the room. A silver-winged Morgon spilled his beer watching her pass.

  I blew out a breath. “You shouldn’t have told her that.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s nothing Sorcha loves more than a good challenge.” I amended my statement. “Other than great sex.”

  Lucius shook his head. “Poor, Lorian.”

  Sorcha sauntered up to flirt with Paxon Nightwing, leaning against a column in a seductive pose. Pax happened to be standing right next to Lorian who now had a perfect view of Sorcha’s back. The poor man nursed another beer, obviously fighting the urge to stare at her ass and was failing miserably. His gaze would scan the room for two seconds before inevitably dropping to the delectable target in perfect view.

  Sorcha possessed the kind of body that gave men one idea. Even her husky voice and the way she lilted her words made you think of dark rooms and naughty things. No man was impervious to her sensuality. Except for Lucius, who’d been staring at me the entire evening.

  I leaned toward him. “Would you stop?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Looking at me like that. Like you’re undressing me with your eyes.”

  He leaned close, a wing caressing one shoulder, lips brushing the shell of my ear as he spoke. “I’d rather be undressing you with my hands, and licking you from top to bottom.” He nipped my ear. “Especially bottom.”

  I shivered, a little moan escaping.

  “I’d like to make you do a lot of licking, too.”

  “Stop it,” I whispered, feeling my cheeks flame hot.

  A glint of mischief and a smug smile was his only response. Just like that, I was ready for the wedding reception to be over and get to the honeymoon.

  I stood on the balcony, gazing up at the full moon, remembering the night not so long ago when I’d snuck out by moonlight in search of excitement. Little did I know, I would find more than I bargained for. The object of my thoughts wrapped around me, strong arms banding my waist, wings arching to shade me, like the painting that captured my heart. He pulled me back to lean against his chest. His lips grazed and caressed the spiral mark at my shoulder.

  “I was wrong,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

  “About what?” I looked at him over my shoulder.

  “You are a goddess.”

  I gave him a teasing smile. His face remained serious, pensive as he continued. “Some sort of ancient moon goddess. Your skin.” A bronzed hand moved over my shoulder and down my arm, his eyes following the path. “It glows like you swallowed it whole.”

  I turned in his arms, lacing my fingers in his hair. His eyes shimmered darkly in the shadows, but I knew the heat they held. His hands roved over my hips, sliding over my satin gown, up my waist to cup my breasts, kneading softly. I hitched in a breath.

  “I want you.” Gruff words, his lips found my throat, licking at my pulse. “Right here. In your wedding dress. Under the moonlight.”

  His fingers teased and circled my breast through the satin. My body responded, arching into his touch.

  “Why don’t you take me then.” A husky challenge.

  That was it. His hands were under my hem, hiking it to my waist. Fingers stroked between my legs, finding me more than ready. With a growl, he ripped off my panties and lifted me to the balcony ledge. With frightening speed, he unbuckled and opened his pants, then thrust inside me. The joining sucked the breath out of my chest. He was so thick and hard, I gasped at the sensation. Holding me flush against his body, I let my neck arch, my hair fly in the night wind. He marked me with possessive intent—hard, raw, and deep. Hanging over a precipice that would mean my death if I fell, I’d never felt more free and more bound. My soul soared while my heart remained captive by this man—my husband, my mate.

  His lips found mine, searing me with the desperate need simmering through us both. I moaned. A familiar surge of ecstasy poured down my throat. Only Lucius and soulfire could burn through me in such a delicious way. His lips left a hot trail down the column of my neck as he thrust into me, again and again. His breathing ragged, he dipped his mouth near my ear. His words came on a rasping groan. “I love you.”

  Our hearts beat in unison just as our bodies merged as one, falling over the edge together. I came with a cry, unable to hold it in. No answer came but the twinkling of stars hanging above us—a beauty too far to touch except in this moment of perfect harmony.

  “And I love you.”

  We clung to one another, still and quiet in one another’s arms. The melting sensation of soulfire flickered through my veins. A cool wind blew over the terrace. My mind drifted to the Morgon tale of Princess Morga and her dragon king, knowing their love had been true and deep. I smiled up at the stars. Fate had bound the dragon and princess as one, sealing their hearts with soulfire. Just as Fate had tied me to the man cradling me in his arms.

  My gaze shifted to Lucius. He met mine. I swept a soft kiss against his lips, whispering the word that was branded on my heart.

  “Forever.”

  Dear Reader, I’ve included in this updated version of SOULFIRE the true story of the night Princess Morga meets her dragon love, King Radomis. I hope you enjoy this bonus tale…

  The Tale of Princess Morga and King Radomis

  Princess Morga held her arms straight out at her sides, the silken folds of her white gossamer gown billowing in the night breeze. Seven torches encircled the sacred pool, representing the seven bright stars shining over the human kingdoms of the West.

  Her two most loyal handmaidens stood on either side of her. They pushed up the sleeves of her gown and massaged the perfume-scented oil down her arms to her hands and finally to her fingertips. Sharah, her most devoted handmaiden, stepped behind her and unpinned her hair. The heavy mass tumbled over her shoulders and down her back.

  It was the last full moon of winter, the hallowed night when every betrothed princess must bathe in the pool of stars to ensure a fertile marriage. Steam hovered over the surface. She
dipped a toe into the water, finding the temperature wonderfully warm from the hot magma that roared deep under the earth, stemming from the great Mount Thanatos. It would be a luxurious dip if she actually planned to perform the ritual. But she did not. She planned to never have a child with Prince Kadenstar. Because she planned to never marry him, a man of ruthless cruelty if the rumors were true.

  Sharah swept Morga’s hair over one shoulder, unbuttoning the top of her gown.

  “Wait, Sharah.”

  Morga turned, eyeing the five royal guards stationed within the circle of the clearing. All five faced her, but kept their eyes to the ground to give her privacy. All but one. Rolf, the black-eyed favorite of her father, who always watched her steps too closely.

  Lifting her chin with a confident air, she commanded, “I will perform this rite in privacy. Leave this clearing now.”

  Rolf smiled, sending an eerie chill up her spine. “But, Your Highness. The king has ordered us to accompany you for your safety.”

  “You may guard me from a distance.”

  He propped his hand on the hilt of his short sword casually. “Your father wants us to fully observe the rite.”

  Heat flushed her bosom with an angry sting. “As of tomorrow, I will be the queen of the most powerful kingdom of the west. And for my wedding gift, I will request your head on a spike outside my door if you do not obey me now.”

  He flinched. For he knew that it was true. Prince Kadenstar would one day rule all of the land, and his power could easily extend to grant his bride’s every wish, no matter how grotesque.

  “I will order this one last time, then I will take the matter to my betrothed. Leave this clearing. Now.”

  The four who had remained obediently averting their eyes swiveled at once and vanished into the shadows of the woods surrounding the pool of stars. Rolf smiled again with a bow that seemed a mockery.

  “As you wish, Your Highness.” He spun and marched into the woods where they would surely stake a perimeter to keep guard. The palace was not far. Even now, the golden lights twinkled in the tower that jutted up out of the darkness over the wood.

  Morga waited until she was sure all of the guards were a safe distance away before she turned to Sharah. “Now,” she whispered.

  The three of them skirted the water’s edge into the brush just beyond the rocky outcropping that crowned the pool. Sharah immediately yanked up the heavy cloak folded on a rock and began helping Morga into it.

  “Sit, Your Highness,” said Hannah, her other handmaiden as soon as Morga was buttoned into her cloak.

  She did. Hannah and Sharah helped her into the thick, fur-lined boots that laced up to her knees. Sharah then slipped the small pack of food, coin, and a change of clothes onto her back. Hannah tugged the cloak’s hood up over her head. The three of them said not a word as they hugged one another one last time.

  With a tight nod and a smile to her servants, and her friends, Morga crept swiftly away through the woods toward the peasant’s path. There she would hurry to the next village where Sharah had arranged for a horse to be saddled and packed and waiting outside the fishermen’s tavern.

  Morga’s breath came out in white puffs. Her breathing was labored more from fear than the exertion. She was fortunate there was a cloudless sky tonight for the luminous moon shone brightly through the trees, seeming to light her way. She glanced up at the starry heavens and smiled. A shadow flickered in her periphery, but when she looked toward the north, nothing but stars twinkled.

  With a determined step, she moved faster through the dense foliage and nearly cried with joy when she caught sight of the peasant’s path up ahead, the one leading from the village to the palace. The moment she set a foot there, a sudden scream broke the silent night. Sharah. Shouting of men and another scream.

  Morga ran, praying they did not harm her handmaidens, wishing her feet would fly faster. As if fate wanted her to escape, the moon shone on the winding lane like a white ribbon leading her to freedom. She ran with all her might, not even daring to look back. For soon, she heard the pounding of boots upon her trail.

  “Stop, Princess!” yelled one of the guards.

  She refused and pushed her legs harder, knowing good and well she could not outrun the royal guards. But her heart would not relent. She refused to give in.

  Out of the shadows to her left leapt Rolf who grabbed her around the waist and picked her off her feet.

  “No!” she screamed in fury and protest, flailing and kicking.

  Rolf carried her off of the lane into the woods and to the nearest thick tree, the remaining guards gathering around. He planted her on her feet, yanked off her pack and tossed it to one of the guards then backed her against the trunk.

  “Now, Your Highness,” he said mockingly, panting, the glint in his black eyes wiping away her anger with a new sensation of dread. “What will your father say when I tell him what you’ve done? That his precious eldest daughter planned to run away and not do his bidding. What will Prince Kadenstar say, I wonder? That his darling bride would rather flee like a criminal in the wild than stay and marry him.”

  Morga said nothing, panting out white breaths. She could see the lecherous wheels in his mind turning.

  “I say, the least you can do is let us get a peek at what you denied us was our right.”

  He ripped open the cloak and yanked it off her shoulders, exposing her in the gossamer gown that was nothing more than fine sheer linen, her body bare beneath.

  “You’re a pig,” she spat out. “You have no rights to see me.”

  “Oh, but I’m afraid that I do. As part of the ritual, there are always exactly five guards, chosen by the king, to oversee the ritual from beginning to end.” He grinned, his crooked smile turning her stomach. He lifted a lock of her hair. “I’d been looking forward to it for a full month. But you took that away from us and then you ran like a frightened deer.”

  Morga slapped him so hard, his head knocked to the side. “You will step away from me and escort me back to the palace. Immediately.”

  He gripped her throat and pushed her flush against the tree, the bark scraping her shoulder through the thin material. “Now you listen to me,” he grated out. “You stole our show then forced us to chase you through these bloody woods.” His lusty gaze raked her body. “How about this? We promise not to tell about your little run, and in exchange we get to see what we missed.”

  “No,” she whispered, then his fist tightened around her throat so that she couldn’t even speak. She grabbed his wrists, trying to loosen his grip.

  He leaned in close to her ear, his breath hot when he whispered, “Better yet—“ he mounded one breast and squeezed on a groan. “I think I deserve a taste for all you put me through. No protest, Your Highness?”

  She couldn’t make a sound with the grip he had on her throat, her pulse throbbing in her head as the blood rushed up. She gouged her nails into his wrists, but he had her in an unbreakable vise.

  “Rolf, you shouldn’t—”

  “Shut up! I’m the senior officer. You four report to the road and do your duty.” He swung his head to the left to the young guard who spoke against him. “I gave an order!”

  Morga heard the officers tromping back through the brush, but she could see nothing. Spots hazed her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut, barely able to hold herself upright.

  “Oh, yes, Your Highness.” His words slithered as if over a serpent’s tongue. “Now I’ll get what’s owed to me.” He squeezed her breast again then let go to grope between her legs and cupped her sex. She whimpered with only the thin fabric of her gown between his disgusting hand and her body.

  A strange swooping sound then a sudden waft of ice-cold wind blew against her. A loud, monstrous roar shattered the night. Rolf let her go and leapt away, unsheathing his sword with a zing of metal on metal. Morga fell to her hands and knees, gasping for air.

  Then the earth shook with a powerful crash as if Mount Thanatos had finally awoken and erupted. Ce
ntury-old trees cracked and fell around the guards on the lane like a mighty storm had snapped them in half. But the guttural growl vibrating so close told her it was not an earthquake, but something far more sinister.

  “A dragon,” she whispered, her voice broken.

  He was magnificent. Black scales shining silver under the moonlight, the beast’s jaws opened and he roared again. One of the guards attacked like a fool, sword drawn. The dragon swiped a claw and knocked the man into a tree where he fell prostrate to the ground. Two more attacked at once, coming at him from the sides. He opened his great wings and twisted his body, clearing one to the ground with a wing, the other with his mighty tail. The young one who had tried for a brief moment to stop Rolf dropped his sword and ran for his life toward the peasant’s village. The dragon let him go.

  “Come on, you devil!” shouted Rolf, sword in the air. “Don’t be a coward. Show us who you really are!”

  The dragon swiveled toward him, and then Morga, before he slammed a clawed foot down, crushing the brush along the path with a resounding boom. The beast had brilliant blue eyes glinting like silver medallions. His gaze found Morga, still where she’d fallen then he narrowed back on Rolf. His thunder-deep growl resonated in the air, vibrating along her skin, tingling like a lover’s caress. Such a strange visceral response.

  “That’s right, devil bastard! Fight me like a man.”

  Morga had never seen a dragon. She had never met one of their race nor met another who had. They never strayed from their northern realm. Yet here was one, standing before her, mightier and more lovely than any creature from a fantasy.

  The dragon snuffed, then opened his jaws but without any violent movement. With a long, soft huff, he blew out a billowing cloud of smoke. It filled the night air, rolling up to Rolf’s knees. It wrapped around Morga, slipping over her like a cool mist. Her heart leapt with excitement, not fear, as the embrace of dragon’s breath encircled her. She fell back and pushed against the trunk of the tree.