Page 103 of Eternally Rare
“Pl— ease,” he begs, and I cover my mouth to hide a whimper, tears falling down my face as the dragon screams in agony.
Flames cover his body until no more screams are heard. Silence rings in my ears.
And all that is left is a pile of ash.
“Does anyone else wish to defy me?”
“No,” the deep voices say in unison.
“No, Prince Dovenyx.”
Nyx rolls his neck, cracking it before tucking his wings. “Take his ashes and spread them across the firegrass,” he orders, turning around, then squatting to become eye level with me. “Are you okay, My Darling Jewel? Did the heat get to you?”
I shake my head, remaining silent, shocked, a bit scared, and a little turned on. I shouldn’t be turned on by him killing another, but it was the possessiveness, the protection he exuded for Cailian, for us that acted as an aphrodisiac.
“Did I hurt you? Did the flames get to you?” He grabs my arms, turning them to assess the damage, but there is none.
“No, no. I’m fine. I’m just shocked. You can do that? You can burn them where they stand?”
His lips form a grim line. “I don’t like to. I haven’t done that in many centuries, but I will when it comes to my firebonds.” He holds out his hand to offer me help up and I take it, sliding my fingers across his massive palm.
Electricity crackles between us as he helps me to my feet.
He cups my face, tilting his chin down to look at me. “I would never hurt you. I would rather burst into flames myself and turn to ash than ever do anything to harm you.”
I lean into his touch, taking a deep breath to calm my heart. “So I guess that breakfast didn’t go over too well?”
Nyx tiredly chuckles before sighing. “It went as well as I thought it would.”
“Nyx?”
We both turn to Raiden and next to him is an older female dragon. She’s short, her scales wrinkled, and her hair grey. Her wings have gone from onyx to an aging silver to match her age, rolling in a large trunk behind her.
“The clothsmith is here,” he announces, giving a strained smile.
“I apologize for the mess. My dragons and I had a small… disagreement,” Nyx states. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Anything for the crown, Prince Dovenyx,” she bows the best she can. “I have brought all my finest materials. Where shall we begin?”
Nyx’s hand lands on my lower back. “If you will give me five minutes. I need to check on my other firebond. Raiden will bring you to my chambers and we will do measurements there. Raiden, offer our clothsmith a drink. Make her feel at home, please.”
“Yes, Prince,” he bows, guiding the clothsmith to the kitchen.
“Let’s go check on Cailian. On top of being bombarded, I don’t think he feels very well. Come on.” He laces his fingers in between mine, tugging me through the den to get to the steps.
Like always, I’m in awe of this old castle. I never know where to look. The den is my favorite spot. It’s a huge circle with couches, pillows, and blankets where the dragons come to either sleep or hang out. Everything is stone except for the low obsidian wall in the circle. I glance up to the opening where the dragons fly out to see a few soaring in the sky, blocking the moon.
There are so many different wings in the castle that lead to hundreds of rooms where the dragons stay. Unlike the elves who have a village, this castle is everything to the dragons. Other dragons do not live outside of it unless they run a specific business, like the clothsmith.
I take one last look at the den, a dragon coming down the chute lands in the middle of the circle. He shifts into his humanoid form, giving me a brief wave before sitting on the pillows with his hand tucked behind his head.
The windows surrounding the den give the perfect view of the firelands. The flaming grass, the smoky air, the darkened sky, the embers blowing in the wind. You would think it wouldlook like hell, something sinister and unforgiving, but it is oddly beautiful and brings me the same peace the tundra does.
My attention is ripped away from the beauty of the old castle when Nyx tugs me up the stairs to the bedroom. The lamps attached to the wall glow, the wick igniting, allowing us to travel down the corridor. Every few feet there are low-hanging lights, but they aren’t chandeliers like the elves have. These look like black tree roots swinging down from the ceiling and on each end is a flame.
Nyx pushes the doors open to his room and Cailian is just now getting out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist.
A snarl has Cailian looking over at us, his wet hair sticking to his arms.