Dragon Wytch

Though I doubted that my dragon lover would shift form in the bedroom—or at least I prayed he wouldn't—a little niggle of fear still squirmed inside me. Better push it aside, girl, I told myself. No need to even go there.



"Camille," he whispered again, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he strode toward the barrow. I'd never seen the inside of Smoky's home before. Nobody had that I knew of. Curiosity made me want to jump down and nose around, to see what kind of home he kept. But stronger than my curiosity was the feel of the arms that held me, the hands that cushioned my legs and back, the musky fragrance of arousal that lightly drifted off of his skin to mingle with the scents of spring moss and damp woodland.



As we neared the barrow mound, still blackened with scorch marks from his dragon fire, a door opened, and he stooped his head to enter. At six four, Smoky was too tall for the archway. As we crossed the threshold, a crackle of energy shot through me, and I jerked, looking around nervously. Lines of pale blue lightning framed the arch.



"What the…"



"Just a portal." Smoky gently deposited me on the floor. "Guaranteed to keep intruders out… and guests within." He gave me a long look that said more than his words ever could.



Was it a warning? My senses had shifted to high alert as we entered the barrow. There was ancient magic here, with its beginnings lost in the mists of time. It wove itself around us, a cloak of stars and shadows.



I turned back to look at the door. I could still see the trees and the clearing, but the pale sunlight of spring lingered outside, not crossing the doorstep. As I approached the arch, Smoky cleared his throat, and the door slammed shut by itself.



"Don't try to leave the barrow without my help. You aren't strong enough to negate my wards and bindings. You could hurt yourself."



"So I'm trapped here?" I glanced up at him. Once again, I realized that I really didn't know him very well, for all the time we'd spent together.



He silently swung around behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, leaning down to trail kisses along my shoulder. Damn, his lips were soft. "It would seem that's about the size of it."



The real question was what about the size of him? A brief thought that I'd bitten off more than I could chew ran through my mind as he pressed hard against my back. It dawned on me that Smoky could do whatever he decided he wanted to with me. Nobody around here had the power to break through that barrier covering his door.



As my eyes adjusted to the dim glow—about the same level as a reading lamp on an autumn evening—I realized that the barrow mound was cavernous, far bigger than it looked from the outside. Eye-catchers provided the light, the glowing orbs hovering near the ceiling.



We were standing in a human-size living room, complete with leather sofa and chair, old heavy walnut tables, and a bookshelf. But instead of a back wall, the tiled floor ended at the edge of a chasm, where I could see a staircase leading down into the deep cavern, the bottom of which was filled with coiling mists.



There would be plenty of room down there for Smoky to change shape in and easily maneuver around, and the sound of splashing water signaled an underground stream flowed somewhere in the rocky ravine. And if I wasn't mistaken, there might be a waterfall down there, too.



I backed away from the edge, looking for any signs of a kitchen or bedroom, but only saw two doors, one to either side of the living room.



"So this is your home," I said, more to break the silence than anything else. What else do you say when a dragon has coerced you into his lair and effectively trapped you until he's ready to let you go?



"I'll give you the tour," Smoky said, then let out a low laugh that echoed through the chamber. "But first…" And his eyes shimmered, diamond dust falling in them like snow in a snow globe.



"First…" I repeated, shivering. An updraft from the cavern swept past, and the temperature plummeted.



"First…" He took a step toward me, never letting me out of his sight. I stepped away, barely able to breathe.



"Camille, come." He held out his hand, and I swallowed my fear. The compulsion to obey was stronger than any fear or doubt, and I slowly walked toward him. When I reached his side, he leaned down to stare in my eyes.



"All mine," he said softly, then silently led me toward the door on the right. It opened as we approached.



The room reminded me of some ancient king's chamber, with a four-poster bed carved from marble and a step stool leading up to thick mattresses piled high with silver and blue bedclothes. A dresser, dark walnut, and a matching armoire graced one wall, and a rocking chair sat near an alcove that was sheltered from view with a full-length trifold screen of Japanese design.



The walls were covered by tapestries, scenes of dragons winging on the sky, attacking villages, woven from silver and gold threads.



Propped in the corner, a shield caught my eye. Polished to a high sheen, the front of it was formed of lapis lazuli and reminded me of a coat of arms. Yet the aura surrounding it told me it had seen use in battle. It felt older than Smoky, older than even Queen Asteria.



Engraved on the center, a dragon glanced over his shoulder, nine silver stars shooting out of his mouth into the sky. Over the dragon, in silver relief, a pair of foils matched blades, and beneath the dragon, a trail of nine silver snowflakes fell from the sky. The shield was edged with a wide border of silver, and two perpendicular lines of silver engraving wove in a knotwork to the left side of the dragon.



I slowly approached the shield and reached out, not touching. The years rolled off of it, ten millennia and more. For over ten thousand years this shield had stood watch. All this unfolded in my thoughts as I stared at the armor.



Smoky rested his chin on the top of my head as he leaned over my shoulder. "This is my family crest, my family shield."



Swallowing abruptly, I realized that he was inviting me into his life—a rare honor from a dragon. "It's seen battle, hasn't it?" I kept my voice low, hesitant. I didn't want to press too far, ask too much.



"Yes," he said softly. "My father carried it, and his father before him. And someday I may, too, carry it into battle. I am the ninth son of a ninth son of a ninth son. I carry the family history in my blood, in my memory. In my very bones, marrow, and hide."



I wasn't sure what this meant—numbers were magical, but I had no idea exactly how dragons divined them—but the significance was rife in his words. Smoky wasn't just any everyday dragon. "What battles did your father fight? And why would a dragon need a shield?"



"My father saw several battles," he said, easing beyond me to caress the lapis of the shield. "But none were as catastrophic as the one my grandfather fought in. As to why we need a shield… There are times my family has stood beside humans on the field. Tight quarters require us to shift out of our natural form, hence the shield. The leather that covers the metal beneath the stone was taken from the body of the first of my lineage. The lapis was mined from the walls of the first dreyerie built by my ancestors."



"Dreyerie?"



"Lair… nest."



I stood perfectly still, staring at the shield. There was so much about Smoky that I would probably never know. He would outlive me and my sisters, and many generations to follow. I was barely a blip in his life.



"What war did your grandfather fight in?"



He closed his eyes and, as if he were reciting a poem, said, "My grandfather fought alongside the Lord of Ice and the men of the north against the fire giants, who were led by Loki and his great wolf child. The frost drove the fire giants back to the depths, out of the Northlands. Then the northern shamans covered the world with a sheet of ice to keep them at bay. By the time the ice age had vanished, the giants had forgotten the battle and were off creating havoc elsewhere."



"This was before the Great Divide?" I asked, already knowing the answer.



"Long before. We had little keep with—or knowledge of—the Fae back then. The Northlands are a harsh realm, and only your Snow Queen and her Court were able to take refuge there."



Bleakly, I thought that Smoky might yet see a battle to match his grandfather's. If Shadow Wing broke through, we'd be facing the war of all wars. Smoky must have sensed my mood, because he spun me around to face him.



"Enough talk of war and battle and death. Kiss me, Camille."



Shivering, I raised myself on tiptoe and draped my arms around his neck. He caught me up by my waist, lifting me so that we were eye level, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.



As I gazed into his face, the tides of time rolled past. His features were frozen forever young, and his skin was as smooth as my own, but his eyes… They were the eyes of a god, the eyes of one almost immortal, the eyes of a dragon. He searched my face, and I leaned in, stomach burning. I wanted him more than I'd ever wanted anyone or anything.



Cold fire sparked between us as he softly bit my lip, worrying it with his perfect teeth. As his tongue gently sought entrance, I opened my mouth ever so slightly, just enough for him to pry his way in. His arms held me fast, so close I could barely tell where he left off and I began.



Shaking in earnest now, I could only close my eyes as the storm bore down, a wave of passion so dark that I didn't even know it existed. Lost in his kiss, I went spiraling under, caught by the riptide, swallowed by the glacial floes that lingered in his aura. He spun me around, his lips never leaving mine, in a dance so old that the Moon Mother herself had witnessed its birth.



As if in a dream, broken images wove together as I let myself flow into our meeting. His lips sought refuge on my neck, my shoulders, across my face, down my breast, and my bustier went flying. Perhaps he'd unlaced it, perhaps I merely wished it off, but my breasts were free, and he lifted his thumb and forefinger to gently caress my nipple, cupping my breast in his palm, squeezing just hard enough to shoot a line of flames to rage between my thighs. And then I was standing again, and his shirt was off, his milky-white skin shimmering in the dim light of the bedchamber.



I pressed my lips to his chest, kissed his heart, let my lips follow down the line leading to the center of that perfect V hidden beneath his jeans.



Head back, he gasped, a kaleidoscope spinning in his dragon's eyes. He lifted me to my feet, gently, and with one hand unzipped my skirt. I fumbled with the snaps on his jeans. As they popped open, I forced myself to breathe.



"Take them off," he said, and his word was my command. I slowly eased the white denim down over his hips, and there, found myself facing his desire, incredibly silken and smooth and…



"Great gods, you have the biggest…" I bit my tongue, not wanting to break the mood, but he laughed and snatched me up, tossing me on the bed. With another laugh, throaty and wild, he pounced, landing beside me on his hands and knees. He stretched out on his side and slid one hand over my breasts. His feral smile made me catch my breath as I caught a glimpse of him in dragon form, mounting a silver dragon. Their bellows ripped through the sky like thunder. Startled, I tried to pull away, but he held me fast.



"Going somewhere, my Witchling?" he whispered, and in a flash he was straddling me, on hands and knees, staring down.



"I… I…" I couldn't speak, for over his shoulder rose the ghostly image of wings and smoke.



"Ssshhh… don't speak," he said, pressing one finger against my lips. "Not a word. Don't move. Let me explore you."



Frozen, I couldn't move, yet every nerve in my body blazed. He leaned down, letting his tongue do the talking, and traced one nipple, tugging at it with his lips, the barest tips of his teeth biting. And then I felt a light finger gliding down my stomach, tripping over the skin, setting off minor explosions with every touch. With a quick brush of his hand, Smoky parted my legs and slid his fingers between my thighs.



I shifted, trying not to focus on where he was headed, yet unable to tear my attention away. A whisper of another touch startled me and, surprised, I glanced to the side. A lock of his silver hair, free and hanging loose to his ankles, had risen like a snake and was caressing my shoulder. To my left, another tendril of silver strands coiled around my nipple, tickling me gently. As other locks wound themselves around my ankles and wrists, pulling my arms and legs wide and holding them taut, he slid his fingers inside me, beckoning me, playing gently against nerves in my body I hadn't known existed.



"Do you like this?" he whispered. "Do you like it when I touch you? Answer me."



"Yes." I gasped, barely able to speak. I felt like I'd been holding my breath for hours. Pent-up, I was poised near the brink, but Smoky wouldn't allow me to fall into the chasm. He pulled back each time right before I neared release. Frustrated and terribly aroused, I tried to clench my thighs together, tried to stem the tide of moisture that his touch had coaxed from deep within me.



"Trying to keep me out?" Smoky asked, leaning between my legs, his hands resting on my bent knees. His hair still held me prisoner. He was primed, ready, and by the musky fragrance that cloaked his body, I could smell just how much he wanted me. "Too late to turn back, Camille."



"No, no… I don't want you to stop… I just… please…" I shivered, praying he wouldn't stop.



"What? Say it." He leaned down to kiss my lips. "Ask me, and I'll give you everything."



A moan slid out of my throat. I needed him in me; I ached for the feel of his body pressed into mine. A hunger rose up, so fierce it threatened to overwhelm me. "Inside, please. I need you. I need you—fuck me."



"No."



"What?" I looked at him. After all this, was he just going to tease me, to toy with me? Dragons could be cruel, that I knew, but surely he wouldn't leave me hurting, aching. "Don't you want me?" Tears welled up in my eyes, and I struggled against the manacles of silver hair.