Mate of the Dragon
Mate of the Dragon
Her Dragon’s Bane
(Book Six)
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Note from the author:
My books are written, produced and edited in the UK where spellings and word usage can vary from U.S. English. The use of quotes in dialogue and other punctuation can also differ.
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All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written consent of the author or publisher.
This is a work of fiction and is intended for mature audiences only. All characters within are eighteen years of age or older. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, actual events or places is purely coincidental.
© 2015 Harmony Raines
Silver Moon Erotica
Kindle Edition
Tara leaned back against Dòmhnall’s broad, toned chest. His arms slipped around her waist, and with one hand, he hitched up her long skirt, bunching the fabric up over her knees and then higher. His hand moved to her thigh, stroking upwards, finding the small bundle of nerves that throbbed to be touched, making her gasp with pleasure.
Leaning forward, he placed his hand in the crook of her knee and lifted her leg. His intent was clear as he placed her foot on the chair in front of the desk. Tara held her breath in anticipation. His fingers slid back along the length of her thigh, the throb of her clit stronger than her heartbeat. Dòmhnall sighed against her with pleasure. He had given himself better access to her, and now he intended to make her come. To drive her to the edge of reason with his hands and mouth.
Lips sucking on her earlobe sent shivers along her spine, but his thick middle finger slipping inside her wet sex overshadowed this exquisite excitement. It was what she had longed for: after keeping her at arm’s length for so long, he was finally admitting his desire for her. And, pressed against her back, his thick, hard cock proved his intense need for the woman who was his dragon mate.
Deeper, he plunged his finger, slick wet sounds as he moved in and out, his thumb rubbing her clit, inching her closer and closer to her needed release. His other hand crushed her breasts, fondling them, squeezing them, his thumb and forefinger tweaking her nipples, increasing her arousal until she leaned back against him, her knees weak with wanton desire.
What an image they must make, a witch and a dragon lord in the throes of passion. Not caring who saw, only that their bodies were about to consummate their bond. Her voice rose, a fever taking her as he thrust another finger inside her and roughly plunged them in and out. The moment was so close; she would come around his fingers, and then he would bend her over the solid wooden desk and fuck her for the first time.
“Tara!”
“Damn it,” Tara cursed at the abrupt ending to her daydream. “What?”
“Open the door, I need to talk to you,” Dòmhnall commanded. Did the man have no idea how to talk without it sounding as though she should jump to attention and do his bidding? Why did he have to be her bonded mate?
Even worse, she mused as she went to the door, knowing he would probably knock it down if he thought she was ignoring him, it seemed the only time Dòmhnall remembered he was her bonded mate was when she was expected to do as he wanted. Yet he offered nothing in return.
Would he never consummate their bond? Then there was the matter of his dragon heart, or his heart stone. It would grant her immortality, to allow her to live for an eternity with him, but he chose to keep it to himself. She knew he had his reasons, that he had already been cheated out of it once. However, he also knew this time he had found the real thing, his real true mate. Every day that passed took another day from her youth, and he could stop all that if he would only accept the inevitable and let her join with him. Forever.
As she opened the door to him and saw his dismissive expression, Tara wondered if she really wanted to spend forever with him.
“Why was the door locked?” he asked accusingly, looking past her into the room beyond, trying to see what she had been doing.
If only he knew
.
“To stop you and those great lumbering beasts of yours interrupting me.” The other dragons happily went wherever they wanted; privacy was not a thing they understood.
“Those beasts are older than time itself. Do not talk about them as though they are dumb animals.” His voice held its normal arrogant edge.
“Only yesterday Kier came in while I was putting the last drops into a potion. He nearly made me blow the Stronghold up. I would call that pretty dumb.” She turned to walk away from him, hoping he couldn’t see the flush of arousal across her cheeks. Then she remembered he didn’t take any notice of her at all, apart from if he wanted a spell cast or someone’s future read. She was a slave to the great Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord of Spellholm. When she should have been his woman, his mate and his equal. Her mood worsened.
“Why are you here, Dòmhnall? A wart that needs removing, a spell to make your scales shine brighter in the sun, or have you just come to vex me?” She began to put her books away, knowing she would need to get outside into the forest and walk off her bad mood or she might find herself making a poison to add to his dinner. Nothing fatal, but perhaps one that would make him flatulent. That would be a fine thing for a dragon lord, uncontrollable wind.
“I have been summoned by the dryads,” he announced.
Trying not to let him see her interest, she kept her back to him and asked, “And what does that have to do with me? What do you want, a spell to put you in a good mood while you visit them? I can tell you, if I knew how to do that, I would use it every day.”
He sighed. “Can you drop this verbal abuse for one day?”
She blushed, feeling like a chastised child. It was her way of dealing with the situation, dealing with him. If she made herself believe he was a miserable, commanding oaf, then she wouldn’t feel so bad about him not wanting her.
“I suppose I will survive one day, as long as you don’t expect me to be nice to you.”
“I do not believe you know how to be nice. Especially not to me.” He walked into the room, coming closer, making her whole body sing, her flesh sensitive to his close proximity, her hairs standing on end to catch the electrical current he seemed to emit.
“I could be. But what fun is that?” she asked, running her finger along the edge of the desk, her mind blocking out her earlier fantasy as her senses went into overdrive. “Oh, I forgot, the great Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord of Spellholm, doesn’t know what fun is.”
“Tara, I do not have time to rise to your comments, so I will come straight to the point.” He sounded a little nervous, which piqued her interest; nothing fazed Dòmhnall.
She turned to face him, her haughty expression that of the most powerful witch in Spellholm, which she was, in her opinion anyway. “Tell me.”
“They have asked for us both.”
“Us both?” She raised her eyebrow; no one except for the other dragons and their mates knew that they were a bonded pair. To most other people and creatures in Spellholm, she was simply an abrasive woman whom they avoided at all costs.
“Yes, will you accompany me?” he asked. Dòmhnall never asked, he commanded. What was so special about the dryads?
“I have plans,” she said lightly.
“Tara, the dryads keep themselves away from everyone else. For them to ask to see us must mean there is a problem I am unaware of.”
“And the
mighty
Dragon Lord should be aware of every problem in Spellholm.” She sounded sarcastic, as she often did around Dòmhnall.
“I wish to build a relationship with the dryads, if for no other reason than they hear things through the trees that the rest of us are never even aware of. They range from the very edges of Spellholm to the very centre, a place of very powerful magic.”
Tara knew what he was trying to do. Tempt her with power: he knew she craved all the knowledge she could get her hands on. Tara wanted to be the most powerful witch in Spellholm, a thing she knew Dòmhnall wanted and feared in equal measures.
At present he could control her, especially if he went all dragon, her magic was no match for him. But one day she would gain the knowledge she needed to at least be his match. Then she would most definitely be the most suitable mate for him, and he would have to accept her. Or risk losing her—she was tired of being taken for granted.
Sadly, that was her main reason for accumulating the knowledge. Not for herself or for the power she would have over other people, but because he would have to sit up and take notice of her if she was capable of destroying him.
This knowledge made her feel weak, like a pathetic, lovelorn fool.
As she turned to face him, to reluctantly tell him she would find the time if it was
that
important, she hoped he couldn’t see that to win the love and respect of the great Dragon Lord, she would trade her soul.
Or maybe he did see it and that was why he kept his distance.
“Dòmhnall, if you wish me to go with you, I will. I won’t lie and tell you their magic doesn’t fascinate me, but that is not the reason I am agreeing to go. Nor is it because the dryads have requested our presence.” She took a deep breath. Sometimes she was as fed up of these little games they played, scoring points off each other, as he must be. “I will go because you want me to. No other reason.”
His eyes narrowed. She hated the way he was always trying to tell if she was manipulating him. But she could understand why. Because manipulating people was what she had been doing her whole life.
She drove him to despair, and distraction: hell, sometimes she drove him so close to his own destruction he could feel the lifeblood in him trickling away. And that scared him, that a woman,
his woman
, could make him feel like this. He wanted to claim her and banish her from his sight, all in one heartbeat.
“Thank you, Tara,” he said, his mind racing through all the reasons she might have to say that to him. As usual, he settled on the one reason why Tara normally did anything: there was something in it for her. The dryads didn’t appear for just anyone; you could walk the forest of Spellholm your whole life and never see one. Being invited there was a great honour, something that worried him almost as much as Tara saying she was going there for him.
Devious women, especially those who used magic. After a witch had stolen his heart stone several centuries ago, he had struggled to trust a witch or anyone else, really. Only the other dragons in the Stronghold had his trust, but they had sworn a blood oath to him, so he didn’t have to rely on his own judgement as to where their loyalties lay.
“When do we leave?” Tara asked.
“At dusk.”
“Dusk?” she asked. “Why dusk? It is a full moon tonight. I should be celebrating with a ritual, not gallivanting around on the back of a dragon.”