Queen of Dragons: Steamy Fantasy Erotic Romance (Dragon nights Book 1) (6 page)

She felt strange
sitting next to him. The situation reminded her of when they used to sit under
her thick bed sheets in the winter, telling each other scary stories and seeing
who could terrify the other the most. There was an energy about him that had
never been there before, and it worried Viviana far more than any of those
childish ghost stories ever had. His strength and determination almost radiated
from him. It was ludicrous to think that a few outlaws and deserters high up in
the mountains could overthrow the highborn and undo two-thousand years of
history, but if anyone could make it happen she felt it was him. Sitting by his
side feeling his masculine power she felt very small and feminine.

“Christian,” she
said, he turned to look at her but said nothing. “I’m sorry,” she continued
“I’m sorry for what you went through, what they did to you, what my people did
to you.” He still said nothing. “And I’m sorry that my father owned your
father, it’s not the way the world should work. It’s not fair that drunken
idiots like Sir Robert Herriot can own hard working honest men just because he
happened to be born to the right mother. I want to fight with you, I want to
help make a new world.”

Christian leant
towards her, his face just inches from hers. “Then we’re going to have to
destroy the old one.” He said, and he bent forward to kiss her hard on the
mouth. Viviana never knew that a kiss could carry so much passion, she was used
to the limp approaches of highborn boys at society balls, their kisses had been
flabby and tasted of cognac and cake, but Christian kissed her hard, as if he
wanted to devour her, she couldn’t sense love in his actions, just an
overwhelming desire to break her like the old-world relic he still regarded her
to be.

The force of his
desire pushed her head back, and at first she kept her lips pursed tight
through the shock, but as Christian slid his hands up under her fur vest she opened
her mouth and instinctively began to kiss him back, her mouth reacting to the
warm lips as though it had no connection to her brain. Her senses felt
heightened, she could taste the sweat on his upper lip, and smell the aroma of
wood smoke and warm bodies that filled the snow cave. She heard the fire
crackle in short burst as a pine-log took light, and pulling her head back saw
Christian’s taught body bathed orange in the flickering light. 

As he kissed her
Viviana wondered if this was secretly what she had wanted in all those years he
had been away, for him not to come back as friend but as a lover. Maybe that’s
why she had never been able to truly give herself to another man, why she had
acted so cold and driven them away. She tried to banish the thought from her
mind, it was ridiculous, there had never been a romantic element to their
friendship and she realised that if she wanted to regain the relationship they
had once had she needed to break away from his embrace. 

“Christian stop we
shouldn’t.” She said weakly, not sure she meant it at all. He took no notice
and pushed his mouth back down onto hers, one of his arms was around her
shoulders the other made its way up her vest to caress her breasts. Viviana was
certain this was going far too fast, she had only experienced one suitor
previously, and it had taken them many months of dining and conversing before
they tentatively made love. She could sense that this was going to be
different, that Christian wanted to dominate her, not to ride her gently then
apologise. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to stop him even if she wanted
to.

He lifted her vest
over her head and pushed her down onto the furs, his hand behind her head,
forcing her mouth onto his. He moved on to kiss her neck and she closed her
eyes as she lay back and felt his long dark hair on her chest. She gasped in
pleasurable pain as he took her nipple into his hot mouth and bit it gently.
His mouth making a line of little kisses as it travelled down her sternum, over
her belly to the top of her trousers.

Viviana had never
felt so alive, each kiss seemed to last for an eternity and awaken nerve
endings she never knew she had. She felt her body responding in an ancient way
that was completely divorced from her intellect. She was moving to an older
more primordial rhythm, like something animal had been awoken in her. She
raised her hips as Christian put his hands her waistband and slowly started to
pull off her trousers. Once they’d been added to the pile of discarded furs
Christian began to kiss his way back up the inside of her naked thighs. It
briefly flashed through her mind that this muscular man, who was so strong and
determined to have his way with her, was her childhood friend, and that she
should not be doing this, but her body took over and she felt her hands eagerly
pulling Christians head up towards her centre.

Viviana had never
been pleasured in this way before, her last suitor had touched her down there,
but his fingers had been inept and clumsy and he had hurt her. He kissed the
tops of her thighs and worked deliciously inwards until she was biting her lip
with anticipation. Finally his knowing tong flicked onto her womanly nub and
she cried out. Despite the obvious power in his body, and the anger in his mind,
It didn’t feel like anything Christian could do would hurt her, he seemed
intent on her pleasure, running his tongue in longs strokes up her cleft to
circle her sensitive clit. She dug her fingers into his long dark hair and
heard herself moan, a ragged sound she didn’t know she was capable of
producing. The shimmering roof of the snow cave seemed to dance in front of her
eyes as she lay back and gave in to pleasure.

Her noises and
writhing only encouraged Cristian. He reached out one of his large tanned hands
and placed it on her neck pushing her chin up and her head back as he worked
with his mouth. She cried again, it was almost too much to bear, she was so
sensitive. Her back arched, pushing her breasts towards the ceiling of the snow
cave, she tried to wriggle away from him but his hand pinned her to the furs,
she was going to explode. She shouted out as she felt herself dropping into
orgasm, her legs shook and eyes rolled and at that exact moment Christian
raised himself above her and thrust himself inside her, taking her in one long
exquisite stroke.

Looking up she saw
Christian’s lithe muscular chest above her and the tensed outline of his strong
jaw, he did not smile and seemed to grimace as he thrust into her. He reached
out and grabbed one of her wrists pinning it up behind her head, then did the
same to the other. With her arms held outstretched behind her head and his
weight on top of her there was no way she could move. She put her chin to her
chest and looked down her body to where it joined with his. His movements
became more powerful and Viviana got the feeling he was pounding away at ten
years of anger and resentment towards the highborn, as if by overpowering her
he could destroy all the class barriers that had been put in his way. There was
a relentless need to the force of his fucking, she was thankful that she was so
wet with desire or she would have struggled with his size and ardour.

She could feel the
stone of the snow-cave’s floor through their rugs as he pushed into her with
all his weight. “Take it, take it, take it.” He said through his teeth it was
not a command she was in any position to disobey, she was powerless in his
arms, her head banging against the fur covered stone as she threw it back, the
deep well of pleasure inside her welling over once more. Christian let out a
roar and she felt him release himself inside her. For a split second he stared
deep into her eyes before collapsing onto her, his heart beating wildly.

He fell asleep still
on top of her, beside their roaring fire as the blizzard raged outside. Viviana
stroked his hair and let him rest. She got the feeling it was a very long time
since Christian Gardner had felt at peace. After a while she heard his breathing
slow and deepen as he drifted into sleep. Very gently, careful not to wake him,
she reached out and pulled open the drawstrings on the leather bag. The inside
was filled with fresh, sweet smelling hay, she reached down through the dried
grass until her hand touched something smooth and cool. She pulled the covering
away and very nearly screamed in surprise. An elongated sphere, almost as big
as her head, with an iridescent rainbow surface like the mother of pearl inside
and oyster – a dragon’s egg.

Miranda Carter sat
in front of the mirror brushing her long red hair and thinking about the five
months she had spent in captivity. It had been such a shock to see poor Kit
have to run off naked like that, especially when they’d been having so much
fun, and she hated being forced to watch David and Chris hung in the village
square. There poor little legs jerking around like that in sunshine. It had
been a horrible day all round, and that night they’d taken her back to castle
Brookmere, Sir Robert Herriot’s ancestral home. She didn’t know why they were
taking her there, but from the comments they made, and the way they handled her
she had been certain that Matt Tindall and his sons were going to force
themselves on her, just like they’d tried to do to Kit’s poor sister. She
wondered what had happened to them, she pleaded with the Captain to tell her
every day, but he just wouldn’t budge.   

When they arrived
at the castle Miranda’s fears had proved to be unfounded. Captain Bates had
turned out to be a perfect gentleman. He had insisted she have a proper
chamber, with a proper bed, and had kept the thugs away from her, even striking
one of Matt’s sons hard across the cheek when he tried to fondle her. That first
night she had been questioned for hours, about where Kit had gone and what his
plans were, and about what Harper was doing in the tavern. She’d felt so sorry
for herself, sitting there in that hard chair trying to answer questions she
knew nothing about. She’d told them that she didn’t think Kit had any plans, he
was just a bit of fun, that if he did have any plans she certainly didn’t know
what they were, and that Harper was in the tavern because Alexandra had taken a
fancy to him. Eventually Miranda had broken down, tearfully shouting that she
didn’t know any more, and could she please go home now. The captain had stroked
his moustache and looked deep into her eyes with his cold blue stare, she felt
he was probing her soul, but eventually he had told her “I believe you.”

She’d asked if that
meant she was free to go, but the captain had told her that it was truly a
regrettable state of affairs, but that she was still considered a potential
subversive by the crown and by Sir Robert, and that she would have to stay in
the castle under arrest. Captain Bates had reassured her that he would
personally do everything he could to ensure her comfort during this unfortunate
confinement, and that he would petition the capital to have her released. He
had been true to his word and she’d eaten well, each meal accompanied by a
glass of wine from Sir Roberts’s cellar. And after dinner Captain Bates had
visited her every night, to chat about his day; the militias he had organised,
or the subversives he had arrested - Miranda couldn’t believe there were so
many in Amvale. Sometimes they’d play a game of chequers and he’d talk about
all the steps he was taking to get her released or he’d tell her about his
childhood - growing up the third son of a minor noble, knowing he’d never
inherit any land or power so he had to go out and get it for himself. Over time
she had grown used to her captivity, her pail skin whitened away from the sun
and she spent hours every day in front of the mirror, brushing her dark red
hair to a brilliant sheen.

She found the
hardest part of her confinement the lack of physical contact. Miranda knew that
the women of Amvale considered her a loose woman, someone not to be trusted
around their husbands, but she just saw herself as a very tactile person, she
liked the touch of other people, and if that touch happened to be particularly
intimate then so be it. Locked in the small room she spent a lot of time
thinking back to some of her past experiences, back to the pair of blond farm
boys she’d met one summer, or the buxom blacksmith’s daughter who had taught
her the way around another woman’s body. She even thought of Kit and his weird
hobby of pretending to be a horse. Every time the handsome Captain had come to
see her she longed for him to reach out and grab her, to throw her roughly on
the bed, or kiss her softly on the lips. She had spent hours wondering about
what his trim little moustache would feel like on her soft delicate skin. When
he came into the room she always made sure that she showed him a little
cleavage, or that her skirt was rucked up high on her leg, but he had never
once made a move to touch her.

Turning away from
the mirror she slipped on one of the new dresses that Captain Bates had
provided for her and waited to hear his key in the door. He’d been teaching her
to read using an old manuscript illustrated in vellum, and she was exited to
tell him about a story she’d read that day about a knight and a dragon. When
the door finally swung open she turned around to meet him and her bright smile
dropped, instead of the elegant Captain she saw the leering Matt Tindall. He
stepped inside the small room and Miranda rocked back against her dresser,
shocked at his rank smell, for five months the only person she’d had any
contact with had been the elegantly perfumed Captain, she wasn’t used to the
more everyday smells of old beer and sweat that Matt carried in with him.

“What are you doing
here Matt?” She asked.

Matt leered at her,
drinking in the curves of her body under her thin dress. He had discarded his
agricultural worker’s clothes and now wore some sort of uniform, a grossly
sloppy imitation of the elegant black leather one worn by Captain Bates, he
couldn’t pull it off nearly as well as the blue eyed officer, Miranda thought
to herself.

“I’m to take you
down stairs.” He said in a gruff voice.

“You mean I can
leave the room?” Said Miranda excitedly, it was the best news she had received
in months.

“Yes,” said Matt.
“But you’re to wear this.” He held up a thin strip of black material.

“What’s that?”
Asked Miranda.

“It’s a blindfold
my lovely.” He said before striding over to her chair and tying it securely
round her eyes.

Miranda did not
know where Matt was taking her, he guided her through corridors and down
flights of stairs with a series of rough shoves in the small of the back. She
had tried to create a mental map so she could find her way back to her small
secure chamber, but they had taken too many turns and double-backs for her to
keep a track of. She felt the air getting colder and damper as she descended,
and guessed that she must by now be down in the roots of the castle, below even
Sir Roberts’s capacious wine cellars. Eventually Matt told her to stop and she
heard the sound of a lock turn in a door. The room she was pushed into was
obviously not well used, the door creaked open on its hinges, and when Matt
shoved her inside the air tasted stale, like it hadn’t known a breeze in
centauries. Matt pressed down on her shoulders and she found herself sitting on
a hard stiff-backed chair.

“Hands behind your
back.” He said abruptly. Miranda complied and felt her-hands being tightly
bound together and tied to the back of the chair.

“What are you doing
to me?” She shouted, she couldn’t bear the feel of this room, the atmosphere
was cold and cloying, and she could feel the damp all around her. “Take me back
to my chamber at once Matt Tindall, or you’ll answer to Captain Bates.” She
said, trying to stand but finding that the chair was bolted to the ground.
“Take me back upstairs Matt, I don’t like it here. I don’t want to stay here.”

She heard Matt’s
laugh as he walked through the door and closed it behind him leaving her tied,
blindfolded and alone in the dark chamber. “Matt come back, let me go!” She
shouted. He said nothing but she heard the click of the lock sliding back into
place. Matt whistled jauntily as his footsteps faded away from her down the
corridor. “Captain Bates!” she shouted “Help me!” but there was no reply, she
was alone in the dark.

Viviana sat on a
mossy log, taking a break from her pole-axe training. For the first time in
months she could feel some warmth in the weak, low sun. It had been a tough
winter. At first the rebels in their mountain valley had refused to accept her
and her friend Alexandra. They said that women in the camp would cause
conflicts among the men, that they’d distract them from their work and lead to
fights. But after Alexandra had shown them what she could do with a stew-pot
they had agreed to let the two women stay, on the condition that they lived in
separate accommodation from the men, and on no account conducted any romantic
relationships within the camp. Harper and Alexandra had looked pained when they
agreed to this condition, but Viviana was upset to see that Christian agreed
without hesitation.

It had been tough
for all of them in different ways. Christian had been shocked when they had
walked down from the snowy pass and found out that the rebel camp consisted of
twenty-three outlaws huddled around a collection of shabby huts. Viviana could
see the disappointment etched on his brooding face. He had been expecting a
huge and battle-ready army that would thunder down the mountain like an
avalanche, sweeping all before it. Instead he barely had enough men for a game
of kick bladder. For months he had been in a terrifyingly black mood, and Viviana
had hardly dared go near him.

 Over the
course of the winter two more had joined them. Viviana had been delighted to
see her loyal page Hugh who had staggered into the camp few weeks after them on
unsteady and bleeding feet. He had said that he was going to serve his lady
whether it be at Loxley Hall or a hut in the mountains and Christian had
shouted at him and said that no one was serving anybody up here, and if they
wanted to stick to the old order they should both leave the camp at once. The
second new arrival had come as the snows began to melt in the pass, he a
brought horrible news from the village where Captain Bates and his men were
cracking down on anyone they thought might be a subversive. Apparently Matt
Tindall, drunk on power, had beaten one of the blind men from The Bull Tavern
half to death in the village square for laughing at Matt’s new title - Chief
Keeper of the Peace - and King John had levied a new flat-rate tax across the
nation, having found his coffers bare after the long war. Christian had cheered
up at each piece of bad news, reasoning that the more disheartened the people
were, the more likely they were to support his rebellion.

Viviana had arrived
in the shabby camp with no knowledge of cooking and no intention of learning,
so she had spent the winter training in combat with the men, leaving Alexandra
to prepare mouth-watering casseroles and breads with the scant ingredients
available in the outlaws’ stores. At first Viviana had found the men in the
camp ridiculous, they were so zealous and passionate about their revolutionary
cause that they had turned the highborn class into monsters in their
imaginations, into a mythic group of people who existed only to bring pain and
suffering to the common-man. When she heard them talk about the supposed plots
of the feudal lords to further humiliate and disenfranchise the serfs Viviana
thought about her peers, about Sir Robert Herriot, and knew that the
revolutionaries were wrong. The landowners didn’t want to make their lives
worse, they just didn’t care about them. To a highborn the simple people were a
resource like livestock – better if they were healthy, but if a herd had to be
slaughtered occasionally then so be it.

She looked down at
her forearms resting in her lap, over the course of the winter they had grown
strong and muscular from hours of wielding her axe. She knew that if she were
to look in the mirror know she would not recognise herself as the highborn lady
she had been. Her once lustrous hair was tied back in a rough plat and her face
was caked with dirt. Viviana realised that for the first time in her life she
felt strong.

She heard a screech
echo between the high peaks and looked up in time to see the leathery wings of Vultonis
as he flashed in front of the sun. At first those in the camp were certain that
the egg would not hatch, that it was too cold in their mountain pass, but
Viviana had told them about the dragon’s nests on the high peaks and reassured
them that the egg stood a better chance than anywhere else. No one knew how
long ago the egg had been stolen, or for how long it had lain in the treasury
of the pretender king, perhaps a century or more, but the move to high altitude
once more seemed to do it good, and it had begun to vibrate.

Viviana had watched
over it for long weeks, in turn with the others, they were all terrified that
it would be carried off by one of the large grey wolves that haunted the pass.
In the end she was the only one who had been around to witness the hatching. She
had hardly dared breathe as the shell fractured and a small sharp tipped snout
forced its way out, followed by a large golden eye which had locked immediately
on to hers.

In the early days
they worried the miraculous baby dragon, the first seen in the Borset Mountains
for three generations, would slowly starve before their eyes. It would not take
any food, and lay on its side mewing weakly, barley the size of a house cat.
Finally in desperation Viviana had ripped up a rabbit from her bare hands and
hung strips of it, raw and bleeding, from her mouth. the dragon, now named
Vultonis had bent its head on its long scaly neck and snatched away the flesh.

 
The dragon,
already the size of a large dog, flew out of her sight over a large stone bluff,
she wondered if she should call him back using the special whistle she had
developed, but decided he was big enough now to deal with any animal he might
encounter in the mountains, and
she turned her
attention back to the debate that was going on around her, it was one that she
had heard a thousand times over the course of the winter, about how they would
start the uprising when the time came for it.