Dragon's Untamed Tribute E-Book

Alana Church

• Herausgeber: Boruma Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Every year, a maiden is sacrificed to the mighty dragon Jarvallen. This year, Kinzi Hayfield's name was chosen. But what will she do when she finds that she is expected to be not a dragon's meal, but a dragon's lover? Kinzi is not a woman who bows her knee to anyone, man or beast. But when her land is invaded, she discovers that the changes in her life are only beginning!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

She took a step back, her lips curling into a smile. "If you want me, Lord Dragon, you must claim me." She sank to the furs gracefully, curling her legs under her, then sprawled on her back, enjoying the way Jarvallen's eyes watched her every move. "I hope you are skilled in the bedchamber." She ran a hand down her side, then up the inside of her leg, teasing him with a view of her womanhood. Her lips were hot and slick, and her sheath pulsed with need. "Of course," she went on, "with no other men to compete for your ladies' attention, you may have let your abilities...falter."

A tiny smile creased his lips, making her heart lurch in her chest. How had she ever thought him cold and uncaring? "You play with fire, little spark. Take care. You might burn yourself."

Gracefully, he stood on one leg, then the other, pulling off his boots. Catching her eyes, he set his hands at the buttons of his trousers, his eyebrows lifting questioningly. Kinzi swallowed through a dry throat, but nodded. She could not bear to be naked while he was not. She wanted him, all of him, to be on the furs and pillows beside her.

The sound of his buttons being loosened was as loud as a thunderclap in the room. It suddenly dawned on Kinzi how quiet it was, here in Jarvallen's home. There was no sound of wind, no animals, no murmur of conversation from outside her bedchamber. The only sound was her breath, coming in rapid pants, and the soft whisper of Jarvallen's breeches being lowered to the floor.

Oh. My. Goddess!

Leseprobe

Dragon’s Untamed Tribute

By Alana Church

Copyright 2021 Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

The farmhouse was quiet.

At the big table in the kitchen, lit by the glowing lanterns suspended from the roof-beams, Kinzi Hayfield sat, surrounded by her family. But the meal, made especially by her mother and containing all of her favorite dishes, tasted like ashes in her mouth. A pall of gloom hung over them all – her parents, her older sister Lizbet and her husband Velden, even the irrepressible twins, Finch and Lark.

They all knew what would happen tomorrow.

And that Kinzi would never be coming home again.

Lizbet cleared her throat. In the silence, broken only by the scrape of forks and knives over wooden plates, it seemed as loud as a clap of thunder.

“Surely,” she said, her voice quavering. “There’s something we can do?”

No one spoke. At the head of the table, her father shook his head, the movement heavy and slow with grief.

“It’s the law, Kitten.” In the gloom, his shoulders hunched, and Kinzi could sense his frustrated rage. “How can we flout it, after we have prospered under its protection for so many years? I didn’t hear you complain when the girl from Greenspring was chosen last year. Or the one from Knightsbridge the year before that. Or the one from Northcliff the year before that.”

“But…”

“But now it’s our turn. Our village that was chosen when the Great Wheel was spun last wintertide. And our household, out of all the ones in Broadfield, was chosen by the gods, or the fates, or simple ill-luck when the lottery was held.” His face, when he lifted it, was haunted, suddenly old, and his hands clenched into impotent fists on the heavy table.

“But why? Why did the old kings make a bargain with a dragon in the first place? And why don’t they…why don’t they tell the dragon we’ve changed our mind?”

“Why, Lark? Because our country is small and weak and poor. We don’t have wide swathes of rich farmland, or deep harbors for trade. Or mountains full of gold and silver and jewels. All we have is our wits and our bodies.” Her mother’s voice was tart. “And the northern tribes could take us and sell us all into slavery, if they ever united under one chieftain. If they weren’t terrified of Jarvallen, that is. We’re only four days from the border. One raid…” she waved her hand, “and all this could be destroyed.”

“But…but why does a dragon want a girl?” Lark’s face was confused, and Kinzi had to remind herself that she was only seven years old. “One girl a year?”

I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.

Oh? She bit her lip in black humor. Too bad. If you were still a girl you wouldn’t have to worry about this. Jarvallen only takes women of childbearing age. No younger. And no older.

“No one knows, sweetling.” Her mother’s voice was gentle and patient. “But that is the price he demanded when King Frozzus came to him a hundred years ago, and begged for his help when Esor the Black was at Serpentine Pass, prepared to launch an invasion which would crush us.

“The dragon kept his bargain.” Her mother’s voice was grimly approving, as if even though Jarvallen was a terrifying beast who was about to carry off her daughter, at least he bore a trace of civilized behavior. “And we keep ours.”

“But I don’t want Kinzi to go away!” Lark wailed.

Alone in her misery, Kinzi’s lip twitched. That makes two of us, child.

“Enough, now!” Her mother stood up. “I’m not going to have Kinzi’s last night spoiled by all of you. You might want to sit around like a bunch of bullfrogs with no pond, but I’ve made sugar-apple pie. If you don’t want to eat it, I will.”

Taking the hint, the adults forced smiles onto their glum faces. From a table near the fireplace, her mother whipped a cloth off of two pies, the scent heavenly. Despite her gut-wrenching fear of the morning to come, Kinzi’s mouth watered.

“There. That’s better.” Her mother cut a thick slice and deposited it on her plate. “Eat up, child,” she said, for all the world as if she were ten years old again. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

*****

This isn’t happening.

Kinzi stood in the market square, her family beside her, waiting for the dragon’s emissary to claim her. Above, the sun stood high in a sky of a dark blue, dotted with clouds like puffs of cotton. A gentle breeze swept in from the west, filled with the scent of new grass and fresh-tilled earth. Outside the village, she knew, the farmers were hard at work with their plows, breaking ground for the planting season to come.

But inside the village, all was muted silence. Even the smithy was quiet, as if the blacksmith grieved along with the rest of them. The few people who were forced to come out of their houses, on one errand or another, hurried past, not raising their heads, as if by ignoring Kinzi and her family, they could pretend that she wasn’t a sacrifice on the altar of their safety.

Maybe he won’t come. Maybe he was delayed. Maybe the dragon is dead. Maybe-

A hand touched her arm. “Dearest. He’s coming.”

Maybe piglets will fly out of my bum.

He came walking up the south road, his long legs eating up the ground in a deceptively long stride. His chest was bare, but he wore a crimson cloak, pinned by a gold brooch, that lay over his broad shoulders and cascaded down his back. His legs were covered in black leather trousers, belted at the waist, and he had sturdy leather boots, calf-high, on his feet. He bore no sword, as a noble would, but only a dagger on a leather sheath at his belt. On the other side, a large purse swung in time to his footsteps, bumping at his hip. His body was well-muscled without being bulky, being instead slim and wiry. She was sure he would be dwarfed by her large, bear-like father, but he held himself with a kind of casual, careless grace which made her think he was a warrior trained.

Stopping a few feet away, he waited, still as a marble statue in the temple. As Kinzi looked at him, her heart hammering in fear, she noticed that his eyes were an arresting shade of gold, glinting out at her like coins.

He seemed to be made out of primary colors. White skin, gold eyes, black hair, lips that were red and sensual. His face could have been carved out of stone for all the expression he held.

The emissary was, Kinzi thought, quite the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life.

And she hated him. Utterly.

“Kinzi, daughter of Willik Hayfield?”

Unable to speak, she nodded, one quick jerk of her head.

“I am here on the dragon’s behalf.” His eyes raked her from crown to toes, seeming to measure her, turn her inside out, and leave her empty. She shivered. There was something flat, something inhuman about that gaze. But, she thought, she should not expect civilized behavior from a man who chose to serve a man-eating monster.

His eyes caught and held, focusing on her hair. “Ah.” Serpent-quick, his hand reached out, his fingers catching one of her red tresses and running it between his fingers. “He will approve of this.”

She stepped back, anger giving her shaking voice strength. “I belong to him,” she spat. “Not you!”

The show of temper seemed, oddly, to please him. A small smile bent his lips. “As you will, Lady Emberfire.