Mina didn’t know what she had expected, what she had hoped would happen the first time she laid eyes on a dragon, but this wasn’t it: Perhaps she had expected an interrogation or a sharp, condescending diatribe, outlining exactly what was expected of each girl, what would and would not be tolerated. Perhaps she had expected the dragon to snarl when he spoke or to radiate cruelty with his eyes, to regard them with hostility or disdain, even vulgar innuendo—after all, they were his to do with as he pleased—but this, this casual disregard and quiet dismissal, it was truly beyond the pale. After six long years of servitude—living, working, and training in utter desolation at the Keep—after nearly a decade as nothing more than a ward of the kingdom, Mina had expected something more.
Anything.
More.
Somehow, Mina had at least expected to be acknowledged as alive.
Just then, Dante turned around in the doorway, and his severe eyes met hers. It was as if he had heard her thoughts—was that even possible?
“Mina…” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. “There are two horses saddled in the courtyard, a black stallion and a white gelding. The stallion is my personal steed; the gelding is now yours. Take your mount.” His voice was as enchanting as the night sky and just as dark. He didn’t await a reply. He simply sauntered out the doors.
Mina’s stomach turned over in sudden waves of nausea, and she locked her gaze on Tatiana’s—the girl’s face was positively ashen—before turning her attention to Pralina. “Governess?”
Pralina scowled. “Go, girl.”
Mina winced. She looked down at her attire—she was wearing a calf-length, flowing tunic of emerald green and opal white over a tight-fitting undergarment that hugged her hips, thighs, and legs. “Should I not change first?” Dearest goddess of light, what did Dante want with her? Had he truly overheard her private thoughts? And if so, what then? Or had he actually overheard her prior insolence with Pralina before he entered the room? Was he going to take her into the woods and dispose of her?
Or worse?
“I…I don’t understand.”
Pralina took a menacing step forward, her frigid body drawing so close to Mina’s that their noses almost touched. “Which part of this is giving you pause? Your lord has given you a command. Go.”
Mina swallowed her apprehension and nodded. This was what she had wanted, right? To be acknowledged as alive? Suddenly, the idea seemed utterly preposterous: Dante Dragona, the firstborn son of King Demitri and Queen Kalani, was a dragon, a supernatural being with untold power, no matter how human he seemed. The last thing Mina wanted was to be alone with him.
She clutched the leather pouch around her neck, an amulet given to her by her mother before she was taken to the Keep: It contained a lock of her mother’s hair, a likeness of her sister, Raylea, drawn by her father on an aged piece of parchment, and the petals of a tulip, one Mina had grown as a child in the family’s humble garden; and it usually gave her strength.
Usually.
Today was altogether different.
“Of course,” she finally mumbled, feeling more than a little bit queasy. Gathering her courage, she headed for the door.
Chapter Two
Mina forced herself to place one foot in front of the other, to simply keep her eyes on the cobblestone path before her, as she stoically made her way toward the white horse. A deep, guttural sound brought her up short—was that actually a growl?—and her eyes shot to Dante. She took an unwitting step backward. “Milord?”
“You’re bleeding.” He licked his full lips before waving her forward with his hand. “Come to me.”
Mina’s heart began to race in her chest. She glanced down at her wounded arm and quickly covered it with the palm of her other hand. “It’s…it’s nothing.”
His voice dropped to a sultry purr, devastating in its intensity. “I said, come to me.”
Mina gulped. She raised her chin, took a slow, deep breath, and tentatively stepped forward.
“Closer.”
She took another step forward. And then, with a wave of impatience, Dante narrowed his eyes on her feet, his pupils flashed burnt orange or crimson—it was too fast to tell—and she was suddenly standing before him, their toes nearly touching. Blessed Nuri, Lord of Fire, the dragon had moved her body with his mind. She quickly dismissed the thought; it was more than she could grasp.
“What happened?” he asked, as he reached out to take her arm.
Mina fought not to pull it away and tuck it behind her back. “Nothing.”
He smiled faintly, but there was no joy in the expression. “Six years at the Keep and you still do not understand authority?”
She assumed the question was rhetorical, but she answered anyway. “No…I mean yes…milord.” She watched him as he studied the wounds on her arm.
“I’ll ask again: What happened?”
“Pralina,” Mina whispered. When he glared at her angrily, she added, “She snatched my arm and dug her nails into my flesh.”
“Why?”
“I…because…in response to my insolence.” She bit her bottom lip.
He nodded. “Pralina…” And then he began to caress the wound absently with his thumb. He rubbed slow circles over the jagged incisions as he studied them more closely, and then he pressed his own thumbnail into the deepest of the cuts.
“Ouch!” Mina flinched.
“Shh, be still,” he whispered, and then he did something as strange as it was unexpected. He slowly bent his head, his midnight hair falling forward in a silken frame that shielded his eyes, and lapped up the blood in three slow strokes of his tongue.
Mina gasped. She drew back her arm and stared at him in morbid fascination. She looked down at her arm and shuddered—the wounds were all gone.
He gestured toward the horse. “Your mount, Mina.”
Mina took a courageous step toward the beautiful white gelding and reached for the sloped leather horn, and then she froze.
She had thought she could do this.
Heck, she had been trained for six long years to do just this, but the reality of the Dragons—the reality of Dante—was far more foreboding than she had expected. Nothing she had been taught had prepared her for this first real-life encounter, the overwhelming presence of the preternatural male standing so close beside her, the way he watched her with those eyes, the way he appraised her with barely concealed ferocity in his gaze. And she wasn’t at all sure she could go through with it, that she wouldn’t end up being executed for disobedience before the encounter was over.
She reached once more for the saddle horn, willing her body to comply with the prince’s command. After all, what was the big deal? How hard was it to go for a ride on horseback? She was as sure in the saddle as anyone—all the Sklavos Ahavi were—they were trained to be so. Just the same, her hand trembled, and she could barely remain steady on her feet. She released the saddle horn and wiped her sweaty hand along the front of her tunic. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, hoping to distract him while she regained her composure.
Dante measured her thoughtfully. He glanced at the horse, assessed her trembling hands, and then looked off into the distance, as if giving her a moment to collect her wits. “I am going to show you the castle grounds, the land around the settlement, and you are going to commit it to memory.”
Mina nodded. That sounded innocent enough. “Why?” she whispered. “I mean, why me?” She waited with bated breath.
Dante grew motionless, far too still, and he stood like that, like a granite statue, for what seemed like an eternity before reaching out to take her by the arm and spin her around to face him. “Look at me, Ahavi.”
Mina looked up into his bottomless dark eyes and almost faltered. His face was haunting in its perfection yet terrifying in its subtle brutality. There was something unidentifiable lurking just beneath the surface of those eyes, something ancient, wise, and deadly. They held fire and ice; war and blood; passion and pain in their depths.
<
br /> Power beyond imagining.
Mina tore her gaze from Dante’s and studied his features instead: His cheeks were chiseled, as if in stone, the harsh, unyielding angles just shy of cynical and cruel. His nose was straight and noble, sculpted at the tip as if by the hands of an artisan, and his brows were perfectly arched, not too straight, not too thin…not too full. His chin was strong; his mouth was sultry; and his skin was as smooth as the day he was born. Do dragons age? she wondered. How long do they really live? Legend had it that they were nearly immortal, and if that were the case, what would become of her, Tatiana, and Cassidy as they grew older?
Again, the thought was too unsettling to ponder, so she dismissed it.
Forcing herself to meet his steely gaze, she asked, “Are you going to answer me?” She wished her mouth would just stay shut.
Dante held her gaze, unblinking, until she finally turned away. And then, he raised his right hand to touch her nose with his index finger, a light tap on the tip of her flesh. “Don’t ever question me like that again, Mina.” His voice was cold and uncompromising. “You may ask questions if you’re curious, but don’t ever insist upon an answer.”
Mina’s eyes grew wide. Oh, hell’s fire, she knew better. What was happening to her? Her knees grew weak in fear of retaliation. “Forgive me,” she whispered, not so much because she regretted breaking the rules, but because she understood all too well just who and what he was. She closed her eyes. “Apologies, milord.”
He clasped her by the chin and gently tilted her head upward. “Open your eyes.”
She obeyed, half expecting him to strike her.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, slowly releasing his hold. “Now then: I am taking you on a ride around the grounds so that you will know which areas are safe and which are forbidden. I will show you the best places to find fruit…and flowers…and the best places to hide should the fortress be attacked.”
Mina’s head was spinning, her thoughts swirling around like rain in a nor’easter wind. He wanted to show her where to find fruit…and flowers…and where to hide? What was he? A lover or a sadist? She stood, motionless, waiting for him to continue.
“As for why you?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Because you are the Sklavos Ahavi I have chosen for my mate.”
Mina’s mouth dropped open. She tried to gather her thoughts, but her fear got the best of her. Was he kidding? What did he mean he had chosen her as his mate? It was way too soon! He hadn’t even looked at the other girls in the foyer. In fact, he knew nothing about her beyond Pralina’s initial introduction. And besides, the witch, Wavani, had to make the final recommendations. “The choice is your father’s,” she blurted in a rush, “the king’s.” Oh great goddess of mercy, she could not be wed to this fearsome creature.
Dante smiled lazily, his countenance unperturbed. “Mm, perhaps that is true, but I am the king’s firstborn. He will respect my wishes.”
Mina gasped. “But you just met me! You haven’t even spoken with Tatiana or Cassidy yet.”
Dante reached out to twirl a lock of her hair through his rugged fingers, and he sighed. “Your hair is like mine, as dark as the midnight sky.” He ran his thumb along the side of her jaw. “Your eyes are the color of emeralds, as rare as they are exquisite.” He clasped his hands behind his back and studied her from head to toe, without apology. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, “and our sons will be strong.”
Mina gasped and took a step back, grasping at straws. “But…but…” The words wouldn’t come.
He placed his open palm against her heart, his thumb settling far too close to her breast. “And you have fire in your soul, Mina Louvet. More than enough to feed a hungry dragon.”
Mina tried to remember her place, to restrain from removing Dante’s hand from her chest—she really did—but the terror was beginning to overwhelm her. Brushing his hand aside, she held both palms up to usher him back. “Please, my prince. Don’t touch me like that.” She felt her body begin to tremble, and she might have given vent to tears if she hadn’t been so deeply opposed to giving him the satisfaction.
She waited quietly then…
To die.
Dante stared at her with a disapproving gaze, but there was no hint of retribution in his eyes. His brows didn’t furrow, and his jaw didn’t stiffen. He didn’t grow scales or fangs. Only, his eyes, those glorious, dangerous eyes; they glowed with the reflection of flames in the centers, a dragon’s fire barely restrained. “Take your mount, Mina,” he growled, turning away to gather his stallion’s reins.
Mina exhaled in relief, stunned that she was still standing.
Still breathing.
Loosely grabbing the reins, she reached for the horn on her saddle, set a foot in the stirrup, and started to hoist herself up. Yet, and again, her trembling grew unmanageable. Cursing herself for her weakness, she froze where she perched and simply tried to take in air, one breath in, one breath out. “Inhale deeply, Mina, then release it,” she whispered beneath her breath.
Dante was instantly behind her, his massive frame towering above hers. He placed one hand on either side of her waist, pressed his chest blatantly against her back, and bent to her ear. “Relax, Ahavi. The beast can smell your fear.”
Mina looked up at her horse. He was beginning to snort and prance in place, and she knew her emotions had transferred to the intuitive animal. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Of course. I don’t mean to frighten the horse. I’ll try—”
Dante rested his chin on the crown of her head. He nuzzled her hair and sighed, his body growing noticeably tense. “I wasn’t referring to the horse.”
Mina dropped the reins. She quickly stepped to the side, eyed the pasture just beyond the courtyard, and then, without thinking or reasoning, she took off running, her legs moving faster than they had ever moved before. Her arms pumped furiously and her lungs burned like fire as she glanced repeatedly over her shoulder, awaiting the dragon’s pursuit.
Dante stood by the horses and watched as she placed more and more distance between them. He didn’t call out to her, and he didn’t shift into whatever form a dragon took. He simply watched her run as if she were putting on a show for his amusement. Finally, he said something to the animals and began to walk in her direction.
Mina picked up the pace, frantic to get away.
She scanned the surrounding fields, searching for a place to hide, while Dante just kept walking.
When, at last, she reached the edge of the woods, he made his move.
He jumped.
Or flew.
Whatever it was, she couldn’t be certain, but it propelled him forward at enormous speed.
Dante Dragona was no longer a man, yet he wasn’t a dragon, either. He was simply a blur of motion, an impression of light, traveling faster than time or space should allow, hurtling toward her with lethal purpose. “Stop!” The force of his voice brought her up short as surely as if he had bound her hands and feet in a pair or iron shackles.
Mina tugged against the invisible binds, the mystical power that held her in place like an unseen hand. “Release me,” she pleaded.
“Be still,” he barked.
Mina struggled mightily against…against…against what? She was desperate to break free. “Please, Dante. I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this.”
“To do what?” He encircled her from behind, again. Only, this time, he clamped his powerful arms around her waist and pulled her back against him, the tops of both hands brushing indecently against the sides of her breasts. “Do what?” he repeated. “This?” He tightened his hold.
“Yes,” Mina cried. “Please.”
“Please, what?” he repeated.
She ceased her struggles. “Please, let go.”
He bit her on the neck, just between the juncture of her throat and her collarbone, and his teeth felt much sharper than they looked. He held her like that, like a lion restraining a cub, until at last she froze beneath him, and he let go. “You
will not question me, Mina,” he growled. “You will not tell me when I may touch you and when I may not.”
Mina grimaced. She tugged at his hands to no avail. “It’s my body, milord.”
“No,” he whispered coldly. “It is not. It is mine.”
Mina could hardly believe her ears. “But you haven’t even considered Tatiana or Cassidy. All I’m asking—”
“You will not ask this again,” he warned her. “Just breathe, Mina. Relax.”
She sighed in exasperation and more than a little defeat, and then she continued to stand perfectly still. “Please, just move your fingers down…a little…please.”
He grasped her tighter and moved them higher. “No.”
She trembled, but she didn’t fight him.
“That’s it, sweet Mina. Just breathe. And relax. And listen.”
Her chest rose and fell like a turbulent ocean tide, fluctuating with every breath.
“If Damian had chosen you, you would be dead right now.” His voice was an icy rebuke. “Do you understand what I am saying? He is not a patient dragon. He is not a moral prince.”
Her ears perked up as she tried to process his words. “Is he crueler than you?”
Dante laughed, and it was a haunting, wicked sound. “Damian would just as soon behead you as wed you. What he would have already done to you in this field would take months to recover from, if, indeed, you ever did.”
Mina cringed. “And Drake?”
“Drake is not Damian. He is as noble as our kind can be, but he has no heart for war, no mind for elaborate strategy, no imagination for the schemes of our enemies. He cannot protect you from the threats within this realm, and there are many.”
Mina shivered. “And you wish to protect me?” she scoffed.
“I wish to possess you—it is one and the same for a dragon.”
Mina shook her head, still struggling to remain calm, to understand what he was trying to tell her: How could he possibly make a distinction between himself and his brothers? “You are all dragons.”
“Yes,” Dante agreed. “And that is why you must proceed with caution.” When she didn’t respond, he continued: “When you run, sweet Mina, the dragon gives chase. When you tell him no, he imposes yes. When you tell him he cannot have you, he needs to dominate you. He is not human. He does not think or reason. He is master of this realm, and if you tell him he is not, he will show you otherwise. Do you understand what I am saying?”