Lord Dragon's Conquest (2 page)

Chapter Two

As soon as the woman—Keltie—was out of sight and earshot, Larkan strode toward the massive creature. It arched a long serpentine neck, faint light gleaming on blue-black scales. Massive batlike wings unfurled with a leathery whisper, filling the cave yet more shadow. The only relief was in the twin fires of its golden eyes. As Larkan neared, the dragon bared its fangs with a rattling hiss.

“Who gave you permission to leave the den?” Larkan demanded in the dragon tongue, taking a quick glance behind him to be doubly sure Keltie was safely gone. Her absence was a comfort. His body was still tight and hot, as if being near her had ignited embers within his flesh. He had wanted an afternoon’s escape, some time alone to think about the upcoming festival day, but now he wanted to turn and follow wherever she had gone.

As he’d tried to tell her, the cave was full of perils. For him, a woman like that might just qualify. There was no place in his existence for an outsider. His role was clear: he was first among the Flameborn. Keltie Clarke was not one of them.

Distraction was a mistake. The dragon snapped, saber-sharp teeth slicing the air just inches from Larkan’s face. Larkan grabbed one of its pointed ears—not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to show he meant business. “Calm down.”

The dragon let out a whine—or as close to a whine as a lizard the size of a bear could manage. A puff of steam curled from the flaring nostrils, but Larkan held fast. “That’s enough!”

The creature made a grumbling noise. Shimmers of greenish light played over the dragon’s hide as it began to shrink, the wings folding into its back, the lashing tail disappearing in a wisp of sparkling mist. Larkan caught a sharp, cool scent like snow on herbs, and then suddenly the light was gone. Where the great lizard had been, a boy of about seven squirmed in Larkan’s grip. He was gangly and dirty, and completely without clothes.

“Mickel,” Larkan growled. There were few things under the mountain as troublesome as an adventurous juvenile. He released the boy, who scampered a few steps away and then turned to glare at Larkan. The next moment, Mickel seemed to think better of that plan and scowled at his bare feet instead.

“Does your master know you are here?” Larkan asked, already sure that the answer was no. Dragons did not leave the mountain—not since ancient times, when the Old Ones had returned to the Summerland through the rift. At the same time, the priests and lawgivers had ordered those who remained behind to go beneath the earth, and for centuries none had seen the skies. Now an exception was made for only the strongest of the warriors. Someone needed to guard the mountain, and for the time being that someone was Larkan.

Mickel looked up, and in his face Larkan now recognized a mix of hero worship and defiance. “I wanted to see the outside. I want to fly like you.”

The words made something twist in Larkan’s chest.
What would it be like to have a son of my own?
He softened his voice, mixing a little kindness into its habitual steel. “The first rule as a warrior is to obey orders. You were told to report for chores.”

Mickel’s face fell. He scuffed the floor with one grubby foot. “Can’t I just look outside the cave?”

Larkan felt a stab of sympathy as he put a hand on the youngling’s shoulder. The outside was glorious, with crystal-blue skies and thrusting mountains, but there were complications even Larkan barely understood. He thought again of the woman, with her large, dark eyes and the heat she had brought to his aching skin. No human had ever drawn him in that way, and he prayed none would again. “I promise I will take you out when you are a little older. You have to fly fast and strong out there.”

Mickel stopped squirming and looked up from under his brows. “You will? Really?”

“I promise, and I wouldn’t promise unless I meant it.”

The boy thumped into Larkan’s legs, giving him an awkward boy’s hug before leaping away in one elated bound. “We will fly and fly and fly!”

Mickel’s glee caught at his heart, but Larkan took a mental step away. According to ancient law, dragons belonged to the earth.

“Fly, fly!” Mickel crowed, sticking out his arms and zooming around in a circle.

“But not today, boy. Not yet,” Larkan said gently. “Now get moving. Back to your chores. And don’t leave the den without permission. There was a human in the cave.”

“Was I scary?” Mickel asked with gruesome satisfaction. “I should have roared.”

“Go.” Larkan gave Mickel a light push toward home.

With a heavy sigh, Mickel trudged forward. The cave with the paintings narrowed, feeding into a passageway set deep into the stone. Larkan strode to the end of the passage and pushed against the blank wall, speaking a word in his own tongue. There was a slight grating sound, and the wall slid away on a perfectly balanced mechanism. Beyond it was a stairway hewn into the stone.

A moment later, the wall slid closed behind them, leaving no trace that anyone had been there.

* * *

Keltie pounded back into the caves, hoisting the branch in one hand and the light in the other.

But it was empty—no monster, no Larkan. She stopped, winded, her lungs heaving for air as she looked around. A breeze skittered dry leaves along the stones behind her, a dead, hollow scrape that echoed weirdly along the walls. “Hello?” she called out softly. Her voice came back to her, sounding lonely.

Cautiously, she took one step and then another, shining the light into every corner and behind each of the huge boulders, dreading that she would find Larkan sprawled and mangled, or that she would find blood. Nothing. There was a layer of dirt and stray pine needles on the cave floor, but it wasn’t enough to show clear footprints.

Keltie found another passage angling away from the back of the cave. It was only a dozen yards long and dead-ended in a lump of stone. This was where the Thing
had
to have come from, but how? And where had it gone? Cold fear squeezed Keltie’s ribs, but her mind grew sharp and clear. She was a scientist. She
would
find answers. There had to be a hidden passage somewhere.

Swearing softly, she retreated through the string of caves, tossing aside the branch she had been carrying. She would have to return to the camp and get help. No one would believe a crazy tale of strange men and monsters, but the paintings would make up for it. Switzer would sneer, but then again, he always did.

Keltie paused, just for a single heartbeat, before the artwork. She was about to surrender it to the world, and she only had that instant to keep it all to herself. A wave of awe rushed through her, almost like the choking pain that came with tears, but she swallowed it and turned to leave. There were more urgent things than even her beautiful discovery.

And she walked straight into Larkan. Leaping back with a gasp, she bumped into one of the boulders strewn across the floor. She stumbled, dropping the flashlight. The sudden darkness made her cry out. He grabbed her upper arms to steady her. “Be careful.”

“You’re a fine one to talk.” The words came out snappishly, but her heart was pounding with fright. She’d let herself forget her surroundings, allowing him to sneak up on her. He might have been the monster, jaws gaping to eat her alive.

“You are displeased,” Larkan said, sounding amused.

“I thought you were dead. Dragged away to be eaten by that monster.”

Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light of the cave. He smiled, but his amusement was fading into something more quizzical. “Monster? I’m clearly not dead, and yet you are still upset.”

“You scared me, and now I feel like an idiot.”

“How am I responsible for that?”

Keltie started to pull away but stopped, deciding she liked the feel of his hands. Now that the emergency was over, she felt strangely limp, not to mention annoyed. “I followed you because I thought you were in trouble and might need help.”

Shock widened his eyes. “You came back to save me?” He sounded incredulous.

“You have a problem with that?”

“No. But I am sorry to have alarmed you. It seems our peril was just a large bat after all.”

“A bat?” Keltie couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. “Are you sure about that, cowboy?”

He did a bad job of looking innocent. “What else would it be?”

“I dunno, but it made Godzilla look like a munchkin.”

His mouth turned down. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“Yes.” And yet there wasn’t much conviction in the word. Whatever she’d seen in the cave was receding from her mind. Larkan held her so closely that mere inches were between them. Inches of what felt like super-heated air.

Keltie tried to read the look on his face. “What’s the matter?”

His mouth curled, a wry half smile that made her swallow hard. “I’m not accustomed to being rescued.”

“We all deserve it now and then.”

His breath escaped in something between a laugh and a sigh. “Is that so?”

“It is.” After all, he’d stood between her and danger. That had been a dizzying moment, as if her existence had suddenly reshaped itself right there in the clean, snow-tinged air. “And besides, there was the painting to think of. I couldn’t have an overgrown bat bumping into it and destroying the paint.”

Larkan lifted a brow. “Then I was only part of your motivation?”

“I’m a professor looking for tenure. A find like that means everything to me. And apart from all that, it’s a piece the world needs to see. Regardless of its historical importance, it’s beautiful artwork. The use of line and color, the vision of the painter...” She trailed off, frozen by the confusion on his face. “You’re not big on art, are you?”

“I understand beauty, but I rarely hear people speak of drawings like that.” There was admiration in his tone, but it was also marked with caution.

“ Freedom of expression truly is a natural right.” Keltie felt her skin grow warm as her enthusiasm rose. “ No matter when this painter walked the earth, he or she had something to tell people—maybe about hunting, or about some deity who was important to his or her kin. And their work still has the power to speak to us now.”

“You live in a very different world than I do,” he said softly.

“Then visit mine.” She wasn’t sure where the words had come from. Maybe straight from some part of her that had more hutzpah than her waking mind.

“Very well.” Larkan looked at her, his deep green eyes half-hooded, almost sleepy. He bent so gradually that Keltie wasn’t sure at first what was going on, but then his lips were on hers.

She had been kissed, but had never been
kissed
. Not like this. Not like she was suddenly changing states from a solid to a shimmer of pure light. His mouth was hot and amazingly soft against hers—and surprisingly tentative for all that heat, as if he was unsure of what she might do.

Hesitation made sense. Larkan was a stranger. He had no business kissing her, much less the way he was doing it, like he might melt her from the inside out with just his touch. Keltie hovered on her toes, part of her wanting to bolt because the kiss had been so unexpected. He wasn’t forcing her, but she was still nailed to the spot with surprise.

And then one kiss turned into two, the second an expression of pure hunger. Her first instinct was to argue and reason, but her words died unspoken. Her sudden scorching awareness of her needs had little to do with everyday logic. She ran her hands from his arms up the hard strength of his shoulders, easing herself closer until they stood like a single figure in the shadowy cave. And they kissed, and kissed again.

When they broke apart, Larkan still didn’t let her go, and she was more than fine with that. And yet, with a pang she could feel his mood shift from pure desire to something like sadness. When she murmured a protest, he moved one hand to her forehead, as if she were burning with fever. His touch was gentle but intrusive, as if somehow it exerted pressure on her very thoughts.

“You do not want to return to this cave, Keltie Clarke.” His voice was filled with regret.

Her response was immediate. “What are you talking about?”

“Hush.”

Now she was angry. “Of course I want to come back! Those paintings...”

“Hush.” He pressed his palm harder against her forehead. “Don’t speak of them to anyone else. It’s very important that you keep silent.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” She tried to push away, but now he was holding her fast.

His mouth turned down, hard and unhappy. “Don’t speak of me. Don’t tell anyone of this place or bring anyone here. Forget me and don’t come back.”

“No!” And yet her anger was shredding to wisps, her will turned gossamer and useless. What Larkan was demanding broke her heart, and yet somehow she couldn’t feel it. It was as if he’d wrapped her mind in soft cotton, but not enough to blunt her curiosity. “Why not? This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Her question hung in the air, echoing against the hollows of the cave walls. Did she mean the paintings, or him, or all of the above? She wasn’t sure.

Larkan fixed her with his green gaze. Something far more powerful than an ordinary man looked down on her. “I want to fly through the moon and stars and sky all day and every night,” he said. “Sometimes what we want just isn’t possible.”

Chapter Three

Larkan received his summons late the next day. He strode down the passageway to the queen’s chambers, unsure what to expect. The young queen did not summon a warrior of the Flameborn unless she wanted one of two things: his death, or someone else’s.

Politics and petty intrigues
. Queen Nadiana liked her entertainment. She was little more than a girl, but she was already well-steeped in the ways of the dragon court. Frustration and a touch of dread made him quicken his pace. He was a creature of sword and fire and didn’t like games—and he was sick to death of bowing and kneeling to the queen. Keeping his head down gave him nothing but a view of the floor. Dragons were meant for the sky.

They were hunters, made of wind and fire. As first among the warriors, he had enjoyed more than a taste of that delicious freedom, but it was unlikely to last forever. One day he would no longer be the strongest. And a much more immediate threat was that the queen would finally take a consort and put him in Larkan’s place. He couldn’t let that happen. He refused to be chained like a prisoner in the darkness forever, losing the entire outside world.

Without willing it, he thought of the stolen kiss in the cave. He had already lost the feast of Keltie’s lips, and that was hard enough. The memory of her had plagued him all through his sleeping hours. Now he understood the legends about dragons devouring human maidens—except that she had tried to rescue him. Definitely there was spice in that sweetness. Forbidden? Yes. It was a delicacy he would never taste again. His magic had seen to that.

Regret sang through him, deep as an ancient bell. He’d been sorry to send Keltie away, but it was safer for them both. Dragons and humans did not share the same world. If they had been caught, it would have meant death for her, dishonor and imprisonment for him. And prison is the same as death for one who has seen the stars.

Larkan kept walking, his bare feet all but silent on the cool floor. This part of the den was deep inside the mountain, and a forest of shadows danced between torchlight and stone, sliding over Larkan’s skin as he passed. Even though he was the Flame’s chief warrior, he wore little more than loose leggings of finespun cloth and the armband of beaten gold that marked him as a captain. He carried no weapons. None were permitted in Nadiana’s presence.

Two warriors stood before the door of the queen’s chambers, their long-handled axes crossed to bar his path. Larkan stopped before them, a wave of irritation passing over him. He was their captain, for Flame’s sake.

“I have been summoned,” he said a hard voice. “The queen demands my presence.”

“Yes, my lord,” said one of the guards.

With ceremonial slowness, the axes raised. Impatience burned through Larkan, making his fingers curl into fists. Then without waiting for the guards to open the heavy door, he pushed through.

He got three steps into the chamber and stopped. White-robed priestesses lined the room like graceful statues. Queen Nadiana, veiled and silent, sat in their center on her throne of carved white bone. He’d never seen her face—no male had—but he knew who she was. Unlike the rest, she was dressed in silks of brilliant green.

Larkan fell to his knees, bowing low. The scent of females surrounded him with a heady perfume. From the time they left their mother’s nest, every female of the Flame became a priestess, every male a worker or a warrior. The only times they came together—the only times they flew free—were the four feast days of the calendar, and even then it was solely to fill the priestesses’ nests with young. Long ago, dragons had mated for life, but once they entered the mountain, that mating need had been sublimated to the demands of the festivals. No male knew, after the chaos of those nights, whether any of the newborns were his.

Two of the priestesses flanked the monarch, their faces, like the queen’s, hidden by veils sewn with glittering jewels. The taller of the two stepped forward and spoke the words of formal greeting. “Hail, Lord of Dragons and warrior of the Flame. You kneel before Nadiana, daughter of Yssandra, scion of the House of the Earthen Flame. Remember that you are worthy, lest you be tested. The queen is not known for her mercy.”

Larkan clenched his jaw. He’d already been tested when he met Keltie the day before—and she was but a human. To be in the presence of so many females of the Flame at once, so unexpectedly, flooded him with an aching need. It had been a long time since the last festival. He did his best to shove the burning aside, pride and caution keeping him from drowning in desire.

The tall priestess spoke again. “Larkan, first among the Flameborn, you kneel before us for a grave purpose.”

“My lady, I live to serve.” Larkan waited, every muscle tightening with dread. The Flameborn were the quickest and strongest of the males. The warriors existed because they were good at fighting. They protected the den against the nameless things that dwelled deep inside the mountains. There weren’t that many other
purposes
to choose from. Kill or be killed.

The priestess continued. “The quarter festival draws nigh. I am sure you are aware of that?”

By the Flame! It was a ridiculous question, but Larkan only nodded.

“Good.” It was the other priestess who spoke this time. “Then please answer why you permitted strangers on our doorstep? It is inevitable that we are weakened as the festival of pleasure draws near, our sentinels distracted and our warriors scattered in their wits. Even more to the point, we must be guaranteed our privacy on that night.”

“My lady?”

“There are humans in the valley.”

“Yes, my lady,” Larkan replied.

“You are the guardian of the mountain. What is their purpose here?”

“They arrived two moons ago with tents and vehicles. They are looking at the site of the old village. I don’t know why.” He only knew that Keltie had talked with passion about her work, and that had drawn him to her as surely as if her hands were knotted in his hair. For a moment, he was lost in the memory of her dark, liquid eyes, so unlike anything found among the dragon kin.

“This morning the humans were in the cave beyond the hidden entrance.”

Larkan stiffened with shock. He bowed his head, hoping to hide his reaction from the eyes of the priestess. That couldn’t be. He had tried to use his powers to keep Keltie away, but clearly he had failed. She was stronger than he had guessed. But how could he have known that dragon magic did not work on humans? They were never allowed to mingle.
Just as well
, he thought, as a splinter of guilt sank into his heart. Keltie had run back to the cave to save him, and he’d repaid her with deception.

The priestess went on. “The humans must be purged from the mountainside before the festival.”

Purged? The image of Keltie’s face, eyes wide and soft with longing, filled his vision. Rage mounted with volcanic force.
I
will not harm her.
He had to unclench his teeth before he could speak. “Are you asking me to use force against them? To reveal myself in dragon form?”

“If necessary. But do not leave witnesses if you take that course.”

“They have done us no harm!” It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. The destruction of innocents went against everything in the Flame’s code. It went against everything in
his
code.

The tall priestess opened her mouth to speak again, but Queen Nadiana interrupted in a clear, ringing voice. “It is not your place to speak. It is a warrior’s place to obey his queen.”

Larkan had been keeping his head down, watching the speakers with stolen glances, but this brought his gaze up to lock on the glittering veil that hid the queen’s features. The two priestesses looked equally surprised at the queen’s sudden outburst. She rarely spoke, and when she did it was only to her chosen handmaidens.

“Humans are tricky, vile creatures. They possess devious devices. So say our lawgivers and our priests.” The young queen’s voice dropped a notch in volume, but it grew cold as the mountain’s highest snows. Her youth did not equal weakness. “This is the time of our mating. This is the time when we ensure younglings fill our nests. I will not leave our doorways at risk.”

“The risk is not there,” Larkan replied. “It is an impossibility. The door will only open with a spell.”

“And what of the fact that there will be human eyes to see the dragons fly? What then? Their curiosity will bring them here. They were already on our doorstep earlier this day.”

Larkan was silent. There was no answer to that.

“Do you question the orders of your queen?” the tall priestess snapped.

It was madness—and murder. And yet it was true the dragons were in danger of being seen when they flew. Such a disaster had not come to pass since they had delved beneath the mountains. But what kind of creatures were they if they killed unwitting bystanders? This was folly.

In one surge, he rose to his feet, towering over the young queen. It was an act of utter defiance, and though none of the silent watchers in the room uttered a word, he could hear the rush of indrawn breath. Nadiana rose to face him, fury sharpening every line of her veiled form.

“Think, my queen, what you are asking me to do,” he gentled his voice, as if she were any other young girl. He should have saved his breath.

“Burn them if you must. They are of no more consequence than the mountain goats.”

“If that is your answer, then as first among the Flameborn, I must question you,” said Larkan. “There has to be another way. Give me time to find it.”

There was little the queen could do. Larkan was strongest among her males, and was not easily cast aside. Still, the next words she spoke were of the blackest ice. “I give you until tomorrow to find your solution. After that, use your flame. I mean to fly in this festival and take a consort. If you fail, if you displease me, you can rot under this mountain forever, Larkan Flameborn.”

Her words shocked him, his vision going dark while he tried to suck in breath. Nadiana was young, barely of the age to take a mate, but her first festival had to come eventually. And that brought with it an avalanche of consequences.

Her consort would take his place as captain of the warriors. If he wanted to keep his freedom, he would have to do battle for her hand.

He had never imagined fighting for something he wanted so little. Larkan bowed, every muscle knotted with alarm and fury.

Nadiana turned her back, her frame slim and straight as a blade. “Get out of my sight.”

At last she had given an order Larkan was happy to obey.

* * *

Hours later, Keltie sat cross-legged on her cot, camera balanced on her lap. She was the only one in the tent she shared with two of the senior students. The chilly night was already dark, and she just had one lantern hanging on the pole above. She could hear the conversation around the fire outside—laughter and chatter and the occasional snatch of song.

Keltie had delivered the news about the cave the moment she’d gotten back to camp. Dr. Switzer, along with everyone else, had immediately started up the mountain to see her discovery. He’d brought far better equipment than she had, and he’d spent the better part of the afternoon documenting the find. Thankfully Larkan had been nowhere in sight.

Now the students around the campfire were celebrating both the end of the dig and the finding of the paintings. For once, Switzer wasn’t complaining about the students’ noisy high spirits. Keltie would join them soon, but she needed a moment alone to think.

She was still smarting from her encounter with Larkan, who had tried some stupid hypnosis trick to keep her away from the cave. Who pulled that sort of stunt? Who did he think he was?

Incredulous outrage bubbled up inside her, but it had nowhere to go. The effects of his mind trick had quickly faded to a headache and a desire to kick him clear down the mountainside if they ever met again. Larkan was probably a rival from a foreign university hoping to scoop her discovery for himself.
Nice try
,
tall dark and...and really good kisser.
After enduring Dr. Switzer’s so-called mentorship, some dude playing caveman was the least of her problems—even if it felt like more.

She held up the camera and peered at its tiny, bright window, flicking from one image to the next. Impatient to get to the few shots she’d taken of the site, she scrolled past what felt like hundreds of photos of the dig. A fresh chill ran up her arms as she savored the flow of the stark images. The bird was just made of simple lines, and yet somehow she could feel the wind rushing past its wings in the pure, free abandon of flight. Whoever had drawn them had few tools to work with, but they had understood beauty—and freedom.

Keltie reached the last image and then switched the camera off, sliding it back into her backpack. Paper crumpled. She’d printed a few of the best shots on Switzer’s equipment, and now she pulled the pages out of her pack and folded them into quarters, tucking the wad of paper into the pocket of her jeans. Call it infatuation or superstition, but she didn’t want to be separated from the images for a moment. They’d quickly become her lucky charm, proof that she could someday fit in with the rarefied world of academia and stop feeling like an amazon with mud still clinging to her boots.

The noise of the campfire conversation stole into the tent, promising companionship. The students at least were good people. Suddenly lonely, she edged her way through the cramped tent and out into the mountain night. The stars were a dizzying blanket above, the air sharp with assurance of a brief, blazing autumn.

“Miss Clarke.”

She froze in her tracks, Professor Switzer’s voice stiffening her shoulders. He should have called her Doctor—she’d earned the title—but he’d never shown her that much respect. Turning, she searched for his tall, thin form in the shadows, finally finding him in the space between her tent and the one next door. His lined face, as always, was pinched with faint disapproval. “Professor?”

“I was just coming to speak with you. There are arrangements to be made, and very little time to get things in place.”