He doesn’t bother to don underwear, however, and I get a very nice view of his rock-hard cock as he puts it away, silken, long, and fully erect. But the Storm King’s gaze is still on us—and so is his energy. I turn to Rhennic, as Mikkel does.
Ready for an earful from the King of the strongest Dragon Lineage in the world.
It doesn’t come, though. Instead, relief takes Rhennic’s eyes, that he got here just in time to stop our near sex without any fight. As Rhennic sweeps to me now, gathering me into a massive bear hug in the way of our family, I clutch him back, hard.
My elder by a few decades but still young by dragon standards, Rhennic is elegant; it shows now as he and I peck cheeks in the French fashion, effete.
He’s a warrior to his marrow, however, as his energy roars. I can’t recall my origins right now, thanks to my cursed Excommunication by the Black Dragon Knights, but I know we’ve been like siblings since I was young.
Chambord feels like home, and Rhennic is the core of that home for me. A knight in shining armor for those he loves, my cousin is tall with broad shoulders, but of a slender build from his late mother.
Drop-dead handsome, his high cheekbones, cut jaw, and level brows are arresting like a Storm Dragon, but his gladiator-short, wavy gold-blond hair and trimmed reddish blond beard are all Blood Dragon.
Not a Storm Dragon color, Rhennic’s vivid lavender eyesflicker with intense lightning now at what nearly happened here, even though he puts on a calm, cordial face out where watchful eyes are in public.
My cousin is not just a monstrous brute in a fight, he’s also smart, and was a cunning battle general for his late mother, the former Storm Queen Justine Toulet. It’s partly how he secured his position as King; he doesn’t let his emotions drive him, and knows when to talk about things in private, so it doesn’t impact the relationship his people have with any other dragon Lineage.
Especially when things involve the family of another notable Dragon King.
“Rikyava, cousin. Good to see you,” Rhennic says amiably now as he stands with me, not a trace of ire in him. My cousin’s deep baritone is a soothing rumble, purring with the slightest French accent, though some trick of the magic-imbued amphitheater carries his voice to every vault and ear. “You’ve provided a lovely demonstration of Blood Dragon skill in battle this afternoon, but this fight-rotunda is needed now, unfortunately, to be readied for a specialaurumglowevent this evening. If you both would accompany me? I’d love to get a bite of dinner before I’m needed for the show.”
As he speaks to me and my Third Bloodmate, I’m highly aware of the fact that Rhennic just stopped me from doing something not just embarrassing, but truly against my nature. He’s giving us the most elegant out now, not even mentioning what was about to happen, but brushing everything off as a demonstration of Blood Dragon prowess.
Though thunder still rolls through the clouds from eager Storm Dragons watching the spectacle, he’s even excused his interruption as nothing more than a need to ready this hall for some Storm Dragon event later. It’s impressive, and I’m reminded again of why Rhennic is King.
Not just for his battle-might, but for his vast wealth of smarts.
His forethought shows as he gives me a kind smile now, taking up my hands; though his blitzing purple eyes tell me the truth of why he interrupted us today. Rhennic is a white knight, and he was protecting me.
Not from Mikkel—but from myself.
It makes me realize then that Mikkel’s bond has done something to me. Not just to my magic, driving it dark like his, but making me careless in the way that only utter wrath can.
The fact is, I nearly did something here today that I never would have permitted before. As I glance at Mikkel now, I see his dark eyes shine without remorse.
He doesn’t give a damn. Not only would he kill anyone who opposes him, and has, he has zero scruples about where and when he fucks, or with whom. I’m far more private, and that’s bad news if his power is driving my choices.
Far more than mine is driving his.
The only thing that gives me hope as I stare into his dark eyes now, is how I saw him shine so brightly, just a moment ago. For one brief moment, I saw the better man Mikkel truly is, or perhaps could be, way down deep beneath his poison.
When he shone vivid copper, rather than the vicious chartreuse of his dragon, I felt a yearning in him, a buried desire to be good. It’s the only thing that keeps me from cutting him loose from my Bloodbond now, even though Aesa’s Truthstone sings hard upon my chest to keep him.
Because Mikkel has power, and it’s power we need if we’re to go up against the Black Dragon Knights, not to mention the Black Dragon itself, plus our enemy Bone Mages directing it.
But it’s power that comes with a price—a price I’m still not sure I want to pay, as I nod to Mikkel and take my cousin’s hand.
Letting the Storm Dragon King lead me from the hall like the proud warrior I am.
3
FORGET
Rhennic and I exit the vast amphitheater, and Mikkel trails us. As we move out through the hall’s towering archways, into the dappled shade of the late afternoon, I can hardly enjoy all the beautiful summer fruit trees, berry fields, and grape arbors of Chambord.
Because I’m stewing that I nearly made a spectacle that would go down in Storm Dragon infamy from my uncontrolled magic. It puts me in a dark place now, as my cousin leads me towards the palace, away from that near debacle in the fight hall.
My darkest power roars, furious that I didn’t get to consummate things with Mikkel. I churn now, as I feel Mikkel’s own darkness at our hijacked mating push through our bond, coiling into mine.
