The Dragon’s Daughter 
Sierra Dafoe 

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Copyright ©2006 Sierra Dafoe 


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Prologue 

Twenty-odd years of wrangling, and it all came down to the same question -- 
who would get to marry her daughter? 

Sighing, Melgara sat back and rubbed at her temples. Below, at the foot of the 
dais, the lords Hausther and Aurorea glared up at her, while their sons glared only at 
each other. 

“Allow the challenge, your Highness!” Darmon Hausther demanded, his black 
eyes blazing. He was lean, hawk-faced, with a high, arrogant forehead and one striking 
streak of silver in his jet-black hair. Behind him, his son Darrek was coiled like a cat, 
seeming ready to spring into battle the instant Melgara so much as nodded. 

Typical. 

The northern Hausther clan was eternally belligerent, the first, always, to leap to 
arms, and the last to accept an accord. Well, Darmon Hausther would accept one today, 
by the Winds. Him and that darkly handsome offspring of his -- whether they liked it or 
not. 

On the other side, Thrand Aurorea stood with arms crossed over his huge barrel 
chest, his son Rand towering beside him like a mountain. Thick, orange-red hair 
cascaded over the youth’s broad shoulders -- the very sign and mark of the Aurorean 
clan. Where Darrek was lean and fast, Rand was built like a young bull; stolid, massive, 
and enduring. Looking at him, one would never suspect the lively intellect that lurked 
beneath that fiery head of hair. 

A battle between the two young scions would be more than deadly; it could well 
be disastrous. 

The four clans of her realm were held together by only two things -- the balance 
of power between them, and the queen’s law. Her law. Let these two hotbloods at each 


other’s throats, and within weeks the entire realm would be wracked by war. Gerdain 
in the west would side with Hausther in the north, and the southlands would ally 
inevitably with Thrand. 

At times she felt it was like trying to control the Winds themselves. And yet, if 
she didn’t, they would rip the very fabric of their world to shreds. The constant 
sparring between the two clans had been bad enough, as they’d each tried to gain an 
advantage in their bid for her daughter’s hand. She didn’t dare allow it to come to open 
warfare. 

Knowing this day would inevitably come, Melgara Southerlin had watched, and 
waited, and planned. “No.” Her tone was final. 

Even Thrand looked surprised. “But, your Highness…” 

“I said no, Thrand.” 

“Then choose, your Highness!” Darmon snapped. “Choose a consort for that 
daughter who is so precious no one may even see her!” 

Melgara let just the tiniest trickle of smoke escape her nostrils and Darmon 
Hausther stepped back quickly, knowing he had gone too far. 

“Or let her choose.” The words were spoken softly, and Melgara looked up. Yes, 
young Rand. She was not surprised, though Darrek’s head jerked in shock as if such an 
idea was almost unthinkable. 

That one, she chuckled sourly, has a lot to learn. 

“She shall.” Immediately, at her words, much of the tension seemed to ease from 
the room. Melgara held up a hand. “Be warned however. The one she does not choose 
shall be banished forever from the four corners of my realm.” Rand’s blue eyes went 
wide at this pronouncement, while Darrek’s grew darker, till they glinted like obsidian 
amid the sharp planes and angles of his face. Melgara noted their reactions from the 
corner of her eye even as she kept her attention on their fathers. “Do you want the 
throne so badly now, my lords?” 

“Rand, no.” Thrand stepped forward. “I cannot allow this.” 


Rand looked down at his father with a gentleness Melgara observed closely. “If 
you command, Lord, I will of course obey. But it would grieve me greatly to not be 
given my chance. And I think,” he added, almost offhandedly, “that the lady deserves 
more of a choice than Darrek.” 

At that, Thrand gave an approving bark of laughter, while both Darmon and 
Darrek tensed in fury. Then Thrand pulled Rand close into a hug that cracked the 
younger man’s spine. 

What passed between Darrek and his father was silent, no more than an 
exchange of glances. When Darmon nodded, Darrek drew himself up and met 
Melgara’s gaze haughtily. “Bring her forth then, and let her choose.” 

Insolent whelp! Melgara stared at him, raising one regal eyebrow, until finally 
Darrek flushed and dropped his gaze. 

Yet it had been the fire and ferocity of the Hausther clan which had saved them 
all in the Zendarian wars. And someday they might well need that ferocity again. 
Melgara kept her tone mild as she replied, “She’s not here.” 

“What?” Both the older lords started forward in consternation. 

Melgara glared at them. “Darmon Hausther. Thrand Aurorea. For over twenty 
years the two of you have been at each other’s throats. Should I have let my daughter 
grow up surrounded by your petty brawling? Should I have let her become jaded and 
cynical from being used as a pawn in your power games? Will you dare tell me that you 
would not have done so?” 

Abashed, the two older men stepped back, Thrand’s shaggy head drooping. She 
eyed them coldly. “One way or another, my lords, your feud ends here.” 

Dismissing them from her mind, she turned to their sons. “You are both 
resolved?” The youths nodded. “So be it.” 

She clapped her hands and immediately an enormous wind sprang up, howling 
through the confines of the long, vaulted hall. It wrapped itself around the two young 
men and threw open the massive doors at the end of the hall with a bang. Outside, the 
world seemed to tumble away from the high perch of Wind Castle, spreading out far 


below into a tapestry of green, gold and blue. In the distance, the peaks of lesser 
mountains glinted in the sunlight. 

Under the wind’s rough hand, Rand’s hair tangled into thick, fiery curls, while 
Darrek’s streamed back, long and smooth and black as pitch. They both leaned into the 
wind like hounds eager to the scent. 

Melgara raised her voice over the wind’s keening. “It will carry you to the land 
where Elara has been hidden all these years -- a land that, I warn you, will seem very 
strange to you. You are forbidden to offer each other any violence,” she continued. Both 
of them glowered rebelliously, and she eyed them sternly. “Do not doubt that I will 
know. And if you do…” She left the threat hanging. “You may, however, help each 
other if you choose.” 

From the rolling of their eyes, it was clear the two lordlings found that possibility 
unlikely. Privately, Melgara sighed. “You shall each have an equal chance to woo and 
win my daughter. But first --” She smiled evilly, allowing herself to enjoy this moment. 
How she had waited and planned for this day! “First, you will have to find her.” 

She clapped her hands again, and the wind redoubled, whipping through the 
vast audience hall with a hungry ferocity. Under its buffeting, the two young lords 
seemed to shred, their outlines blurring, stretching, spreading until, with a last muscular 
shudder, two dragons, one deep-chested and red as flame, the other lean, black, and 
wickedly taloned, unfurled their wings and sprang from the castle into the rushing 
wind. 

Oh, my daughter, Melgara prayed as they rose, flitting through the cool, clean air, 
all my hopes rest on you. May you find joy enough now to make up for all your years of exile. 

The hall seemed preternaturally quiet after the fury of the wind. Below her, 
Darmon Hausther shifted, already impatient. “What now, your Highness?” 

“Now?” She settled back, enjoying his discomfiture, and smiled coldly. “Now, 
my Lord Hausther, we wait.” 


Chapter One 

Lara reached for her pencils, picked up a blue one, then, shaking her head, 
selected a bright orange-red. On the large sketch pad in front of her, a dragon was 
slowly taking shape. 

Outside the wind gusted, bringing with it the scent of salt and the echoing cries 
of seagulls. Lara paused a moment to listen, smiling. 

The wind was why she’d moved out here to this tiny cottage on the edge of the 
Cape. Okay, shack, really, if she were honest -- even off-season rents on Cape Cod were 
obscenely steep. There was room enough for her bed (a queen-sized, and her sole self-
indulgence), although it had to serve both as a chair for her drafting table and a couch 
when she wanted to watch TV. There were shelves for her meager wardrobe and a tiny 
kitchenette. She even had something resembling privacy in the form of scrub pines that 
enclosed the shingled cottage in a u-shaped hedge. A mere formality now that most of 
the houses in town were boarded up for the season. 

Lara loved the sound of wind and the feel of it pressing against her body with an 
intimacy that set her blood to humming in a way nothing else ever had. Not even sex. 
Oh sure, she’d done her fair share of groping in back seats, white cotton panties 
growing damp as she’d alternately leaned into and suffered through the usual 
adolescent attempts at seduction. But the few times she’d gone farther, it hadn’t been at 
all like what she’d imagined, or hoped. 

It was a lonely life, she supposed, but that didn’t bother her. She’d never felt that 
comfortable around other people anyway. Maybe it was because she’d been an orphan. 
Maybe it was just her nature. Either way, she’d gone to art school, and moved here, and 
okay, sure, sometimes she was a little lonely -- vibrators were great up to a point and all 
-- but at least she had the wind. 


And her dragons. 

All her life, Lara had been fascinated by dragons. While other girls her age had 
been mooning, preening and playing with makeup, she’d been fighting Thread from the 
back of a Pernese dragon, confronting Smaug with Bilbo Baggins, and sailing with Ged 
down the Dragon’s Run. But none of the creatures she’d found in books had ever 
seemed quite right to her. Close, but not it. 

At times, the depth of her fixation had worried her. Watching the other kids, she 
couldn’t help feeling there was something a bit wrong with her. She wasn’t really shy -- 
or at least she didn’t think so. She just didn’t seem to have anything in common with 
them. 

She’d never dared to tell her “Aunt” Dee -- the woman who’d raised her and 
who, oddly enough, she rather resembled -- exactly how bad it was. The closest she’d 
ever come was asking Dee, once, if she felt it was unnatural for Lara to be uninterested 
in boys. Dee had given her a small, mysterious smile and shaken her head. “Don’t 
worry, Lara. You’ll find the right one someday. I did.” And Dee had turned that private 
smile on her husband Rory. 

Her words hadn’t entirely reassured Lara -- but then again, Lara hadn’t exactly 
told her all of it either. She certainly hadn’t told her that not only did she fantasize 
about dragons, she… well… fantasized about them. 

Lara looked down at her drawing, considering. He was shaping up to be a 
handsome brute, massive and deep-chested, with powerful muscles that flowed in 
strong, sensuous curves. Sexy. Sexy in a way she’d never seen in a guy -- a couple of 
movie stars, maybe. But the chances of her ever meeting a movie star, even here on 
Cape Cod, were about as slim as… well, as having a dragon knock on your door. 

Smiling at her whimsy, she bent back to her work, enjoying the cool autumn 
sunlight streaming through her window, and the soft, seductive touch of the wind. 

* * * 


Tumbling, the two dragons fell, their wings straining as they fought for altitude. 
Impossibly tall buildings loomed around them, and below was a whirling mass of color 
and noise, none of it familiar. 

And people screaming. Rand recognized that sound at least. 

I don’t think they’re dragons, Darrek. 

Really? What gave you that idea? Even in mind-speak, Darrek’s sneer was 
unmistakable. His wingtip accidentally fouled Rand’s, and together they plummeted 
toward the strange black earth. It looked awfully hard, rushing up to meet them. 

At the last minute, Rand let go his dragon-shape, feeling his wings shred into 
nothingness as his body condensed. Ducking his head, he hit the ground and rolled, 
coming to his feet just as an enormous blue-and-white creature squealed in alarm and 
swerved. He and Darrek threw themselves aside and landed, panting, on a thin strip of 
white running at the base of the buildings. 

Rand sat up, ruefully rubbing an elbow. The white earth was even harder than 
the black stuff had been. Darrek was glancing around, eyes narrowed to contemptuous 
slits. 

If he’d been looking at him like that, Rand thought with a surge of dislike, he’d 
rip the sneer right off the snide bastard’s face. 

“They’re staring at us.” 

Rand looked up. The inhabitants of this place appeared much like himself -- if 
rather small and spindly-looking -- but he had the uneasy feeling that none of them had 
the vaguest idea what it felt like to spread your wings on a morning breeze. They were 
gaping, their eyes filled with shock and a sort of cold loathing, as if he and Darrek were 
bugs, or worms, something alien and repulsive. Instinctively he shrank closer to the 
Hausther heir. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“You do what you want, Aurorea.” Darrek shoved him away and clambered to 
his feet. “Go ahead then. Go on.” 

“Fine,” Rand shot back, glaring, and rose. 


In the distance he heard a new noise approaching, a sort of harsh, insistent 
blaring. It was alarming somehow. He stalked away from it, shoving through the 
crowd. They drew back as if his touch were acid. 

Which it might be to them, for all I know. 

Buildings loomed over him and Rand glanced up, his head swimming at those 
towering edifices. Everything here was so fast, and loud -- and big. He heard footsteps, 
and glanced back to see Darrek, his face set in a black scowl. “Don’t say anything, 
Aurorea. Just don’t.” 

Rand didn’t. There was no Wind in the world -- this world or any other -- that 
would make him admit that what he’d felt, when he’d heard Darrek coming up behind 
him, was relief. The idea of being alone in this alien place was terrifying. 

They reached another stretch of the black earth. The strange metallic creatures 
rushed past in an unending stream. Behind him, Rand heard a shout. “Stop right where 
you are! Police!” He had no idea what “police” was, but “stop” he understood. 

Rand halted. Glancing back he saw six burly men, though none near his own 
height, pushing through the crowd at a run as they approached. 

Beside him, Darrek swore. “By the Winds, Rand, are you daft?” 

“They said stop.” 

“And if I said go jump in a lake, would you do that too?” Grabbing his arm, 
Darrek dragged him around the corner of the building. “Now run!” 

They zigzagged through a maze of streets that left Rand’s brain in a whirl. After 
five minutes, a nagging unease began growing in his mind. He panted as he ran, 
“Darrek? Where are we going?” 

For the first time, an expression other than hauteur crossed Darrek’s face. He 
looks nervous, Rand thought. Even scared. 

The idea was alarming. 

Then, even more alarmingly, he realized, So am I. 


Wherever it was, this place stank. The noise and the constant shoving set 
Darrek’s nerves on edge. Time after time he’d had to fight back the urge to disembowel 
some fool who’d bumped into him. He could feel his muscles tensing, wanting to gather 
into dragon form and lash out in his frustration. 

Instead, he lashed out at Rand. “We? What do you mean, we? What makes you 
think I want you hanging around?” Turning a corner, he slowed abruptly to a walk, 
blending in with the flow of pedestrians. 

“Look, Darrek, I don’t like it either, but we have to --” 

“We don’t have to do anything, Aurorea. Get that straight right now.” 

He strode along the pavement, gritting his jaw. Darrek loathed the fact that he 
had to look up at Rand. Not that he himself was short, by any means -- especially not in 
this strange land where all the inhabitants appeared to be underfed shrimps. But Rand’s 
sheer size had always both impressed and annoyed the shit out of him. Even at the age 
of seven, when they’d first met, the Aurorean had towered over the scrappy, black-
haired Hausther heir. 

Darrek had hated him on sight. 

The huge redhead sighed. “Be sensible, Darrek. We’ll stand a better chance of 
finding her if we --” 

“I don’t need your help!” 

Darrek’s outraged shriek bounced off the face of the building behind them, 
piercing even the ceaseless clamor of this cursed place. Passersby stared, and then, 
apprehensively, hurried on. 

Unceremoniously, Rand shoved him back into a doorway. “By the Winds, 
Darrek, do you want everyone staring at us?” 

Darrek snarled, fighting the red-haired giant’s unbreakable grip. “Don’t… ever… 
touch me, Aurorea!” 

“Fine.” Rand let go, and folded his arms. Darrek glared, then abruptly 
shouldered past him. He hadn’t gone ten steps before he heard Rand following. 


Gnashing his teeth in frustration, Darrek scanned the seemingly endless street -- 
but all he saw was more streets, more buildings, more things that flashed and blared 
and whooped and bellowed. How was he supposed to find Elara in all this? 

A wind scuttled past, and Darrek leaned into it, longing for the comfort of 
something familiar, something known. But even the wind here was strange, scattered, 
broken into a hundred bickering bits by the buildings. 

And it was growing dark. 

He strode forward, trying to outpace Rand, stomping out his fear and fury on the 
unpleasantly hard ground. Abruptly, it dropped into another broad, black lane, and 
Darrek stumbled, reeling forward. 

One of the hideous, squealing creatures, this one with glaring white eyes, rushed 
at him. It lunged -- he screamed -- and suddenly Rand was hauling him backward to 
safety as the thing roared past. 

This was more insult than Darrek could bear. Shaking with rage, he spun, 
throwing out a fist. “I said don’t touch me!” 

Rand wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring open-mouthed at something 
beyond Darrek. In consequence, he never saw the blow coming. He staggered back as 
Darrek’s fist connected with his jaw, and fell heavily on his ass. Even so, his gaze never 
left whatever it was he was staring at. 

Darrek turned, curious. There was nothing there but a green-painted shed with a 
small, gray-haired man inside and stacks of brightly colored papers in front. “What?” 

Rand looked up at him, his eyes wide, mute. 

“What?” Darrek repeated impatiently. Reaching down, he yanked Rand to his 
feet. 

“It’s you.” Rand pointed. 

“What’s me?” 

“That. There. Oh, Darrek, don’t you see?” 

And then Darrek did see. It was a painting, so cunningly rendered he couldn’t 
even make out the brush strokes, on a canvas so thin it fluttered in the breeze. He’d 


never seen himself in a mirror, but he recognized the hooked talons, the barbs along the 
tail, the onyx sheen of the smooth, gleaming scales… 

Glancing at Rand, he saw his own excitement reflected in the Aurorean’s eyes. 
They shared one quick, conspiratorial grin -- and then they were running, Rand 
reaching out to snatch the painting as they passed, pounding down the dusky street like 
the very Winds themselves, whooping and laughing while far behind the man from the 
shed shouted after them in futile rage. 


Chapter Two 

It was hours later when Lara looked up again. She straightened slowly, easing 
her aching back. Really, she needed a proper chair. Sitting on the edge of the bed just 
didn’t cut it. 

But, looking down at the dragon she’d drawn, she smiled in delight. 

He was perfect. Just perfect. Huge and powerful and honest -- you could tell, 
somehow. A massive champion, one that protected maidens fair rather than eating 
them. 

Not that she’d mind particularly being eaten by him! Lara’s nipples tightened at 
the very idea. 

Oh, he’d sell. He’d sell like hotcakes. What woman wouldn’t want a great, 
gleaming, golden-red bodyguard of a dragon? Other than the one she’d painted for the 
cover of Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine, he was the best she’d ever done. 

Glancing up at the oil painting above her drafting table, Lara marveled once 
again at the smooth, sleek lines of her black dragon, the deadly strength in his long 
coiled tail, the dangerous curves of his spikes and talons. His scales gleamed, so smooth 
they looked almost oily, and Lara wondered again what they would feel like under her 
hand. His black eyes burned down at her with a hungry intensity she found both 
sensuous and a little frightening. 

Carefully, she pinned the red dragon up beside the black, and stepped back to 
look at them. 

Oh, they were a handsome pair. Blackie was going to have some competition in 
her fantasies tonight, that was for sure! 

Outside, the wind gusted, moaning around the edges of the cottage with a sound 
that was both desolate and yearning. Dusk had darkened into true night, and Lara 


realized she must have flicked the light on at some point. She reached to turn it off, then 
paused, her gaze still on the two dragons, and instead fumbled open the window. 

A draft of cool, clean air swept in, fragrant with the sea. It ruffled the sheer 
curtains and swirled about her, tossing her hair playfully. Lara leaned into it and closed 
her eyes, surrendering to the touch of the wind. 

What was it about that insubstantial contact that stirred her so? At times, when 
she was walking, she almost imagined she knew what it would feel like to be 
surrounded by air, rushing past her, bearing her up… The sensation was intoxicating, 
flooding her limbs like wine until, dizzy, she would fall to the gritty sand and lie, 
feeling the wind slide over her like a lover. 

There was a sense of anticipation in the night; a cool, shivery electricity like the 
air before a storm. Peeling off her clothes, Lara dropped to the bed and stretched out, 
spreading herself wide before the wind. It danced across her belly, tickling her nipples 
which hardened into nubbly pink buds under the gentle caress. A lovely, private 
warmth trickled through her veins, and Lara followed the wind’s touch with her own, 
drawing her fingers lightly over her skin. The wind caressed her, riffling the chestnut 
curls that covered her mons, then lapping delicately at the soft, moist folds of her 
opening. She shivered at that cool, incorporeal touch, and spread her legs wider. 

What would it be like, if wind were made flesh? 

Maybe that’s why she loved dragons so much -- they were children of the wind, 
after all. She looked again at the two dragons she’d drawn. They appeared to be 
watching her, their tense, coiled muscles almost ready to spring free of the canvas, the 
hunger in their eyes arousing her further. Playfully, she arched her back, displaying 
herself to their glowing gazes, and closed her eyes. 

In her mind’s eye she could see them, enormous and wild, looming over her. She 
tilted her hips, spreading herself to their view, watching their nostrils flare as they 
caught her clean, musky scent. 

What would it be like to mate with a dragon? Even in her arousal, Lara smiled to 
herself. Painful, no doubt! The logistics were impossible, of course, but hell, it was her 


fantasy. She pictured them again, standing next to each other, one dark and dangerous, 
the other a stunning, masculine crimson, as her fingers trailed closer to the throbbing 
nub of her clit. 

So, which one did she want to play with tonight? 

* * * 

“C’mon, Darrek, let me see.” Vain bastard’s still entranced by his own portrait. 
Kicking his feet, Rand watched the bright-eyed creatures rumbling past. Behind them, 
the fountain on which they perched trickled water into an enormous basin. The sound 
was soothing amidst all the honks and screeching from the strange metallic monsters. 

One of them stopped, not ten feet in front of him, and Rand stiffened as it opened 
a mouth huge enough to swallow him whole. His shock redoubled as a man, seemingly 
unharmed, climbed out and another man, rushing along the pavement, voluntarily 
jumped in. Rand heard him say something, and then the monster took off with the man 
still inside. 

“Darrek…” Reluctantly, Darrek surrendered the book -- for, however odd its 
appearance, that was definitely what it was. The lettering was familiar, though there 
were symbols he didn’t recognize. Flipping it open, Rand leafed through the pages and 
found another painting. Below it, in a box, was a picture. Clear gray eyes, incredibly 
lifelike, stared up into his. 

“Darrek! Look!” 

“That’s her?” 

“It’s got to be! Listen.” He read aloud, slowly making out the words. “The artist, 
Elara Sutherland, resides in the quaint Cape Cod village of East Wellfleet…” Rand shot 
to his feet. “Come on!” 

“Where?” Darrek was staring at him as if he’d gone mad. 

“That’s where she lives. Darrek, we’ve found her!” 

“Her name’s Southerlin, not Sutherland.” 


Rand waved aside Darrek’s objection impatiently. Darrek looked at him in 
disgust, leaned back against the fountain’s edge, and added, “So, even if it is her, how 
precisely do you suggest we get there? Or even find out where ‘there’ is?” 

Baffled, Rand sat back down, gnawing at a fingernail. It was a habit he had no 
temptation toward when in dragon form -- slicing his tongue open once had been 
enough. Another beast pulled up, yellow like the first, discharging a woman this time. 
Curious, Rand stood and moved closer. Now he could see a man inside it, staring out 
through its transparent skin. The man didn’t look alarmed. In fact, he looked bored. 

A pedestrian shoved Rand aside and made a dash for the monster. He climbed 
into the mouth, and this time Rand listened closely as the bored fellow asked, “Where 
to, Jack?” 

That’s it! Excitedly, he ran back to Darrek and yanked him to his feet. “Come on!” 

“Aurorea, if you don’t stop grabbing me --” 

Rand ignored him and rushed back to the curb, scanning the flow of creatures. 
Darrek came up beside him. “What, by the Winds, are you doing?” 

“The things -- the creatures -- the yellow ones. They take you places.” 

“They what?” 

Rand nodded eagerly. “You climb in their mouths and tell them where you want 
to go.” Darrek regarded him dubiously. But a yellow monster was approaching. Would 
it stop? They didn’t always. 

This one did. The mouth opened and a tiny man climbed out. He stared up for a 
moment at Rand, then scurried off. Quickly, before the mouth could shut again, Rand 
leapt inside, banging his head painfully against its lip. 

Why was everything in this land so hard? Rubbing his forehead, he beckoned 
frantically to Darrek. “Come on!” Reluctantly, Darrek followed him into the belly of the 
thing. 

“Where to, gents?” the man in front asked. His features were different from the 
other fellow’s, but the bored look was identical. 


“The quaint Cape Cod village of East Wellfleet,” Rand quoted. He’d always been 
proud of his memory. 

The man glanced back. “You’re pulling my leg. Cape Cod?” 

“Uh… Yeah. East Wellfleet.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. For that, I’ll need the dough in advance.” 

Dough? Rand glanced at Darrek, who shrugged. 

“I… I don’t have any dough.” 

The man stared at him. Now he didn’t look bored at all. He looked mean. “Think 
you’re funny, huh? Get outta my cab.” 

Rand’s gut sank down to his toes, and his shoulders slumped. How was he 
supposed to have known they needed bread dough? The unexpected disappointment 
was more than he could bear. 

They’d been so close! 

Then Darrek leaned forward, his eyes slitted dangerously. From his hand, four 
wickedly curved black talons protruded. Laying them across the man’s throat, he said, 
“What say we forget the dough, you take us to East Wellfleet, and I leave you alive?” 

The poor fellow gulped, and nodded. 

* * * 

The black one, she decided. She was in the mood for something dangerous. 

He twined toward her, head slung low, and Lara arched her back in anticipation. 
His black eyes glittered with impatient desire, and she could feel the heat baking off 
him like the warmth radiating from the pavement on a summer day. His breath gusted 
over her (the curtains rustled in the open window) and his slitted tongue flickered, red 
as blood, between the ivory spikes of his teeth. 

“Do you want me?” he asked, his voice a metallic whisper, low and exciting. “Do 
you want this, Elara?” 

Looking down, she saw the wicked curve of his erection, jutting from between 
the powerful haunches. It was huge, larger than any human male’s could ever be. Both 
frightened and aroused, she nodded, her eyes wide. Slowly, the dragon moved closer, 


his tongue darting now to the hot, salty folds of her cunt, its slitted end dancing, hot 
and slightly raspy, over her hard little nub, caressing both sides of her clit at once as no 
human tongue could do. 

“Oh, yes,” Lara breathed. 

His tongue moved faster, lashing up and down her clit, then snaking lower to lap 
at her flowing juices. It separated the folds of her cunt and pressed against her opening, 
and Lara spread her thighs wide, whimpering. His tongue pushed inward, both firm 
and flexible, sliding deeper than any cock ever had. Its rough surface, slick with saliva, 
tugged at the walls of her passage in a way that made her moan with delight. 

Throwing her head back in abandon, Lara stared up at him, panting, her eyes 
challenging him to take her, mount her, to slide that massive cock inside her and fuck 
her till she screamed. He tilted his head, a small, amused smile glinting in his jet-black 
eyes, and lowered himself over her till she felt his heat on her belly, felt onyx scales so 
smooth they slid along her skin like chain mail made of velvet, like iron made of silk. 

And then… 


Chapter Three 

Pine needles rustled as Darrek pushed aside a branch and peered through the 
gap at the tiny, shingled cottage. Light glowed from the window, illuminating a small 
porch that faced the beach. Beside him, Rand hunkered close, craning to see over his 
shoulder. Darrek shifted irritably at his proximity. 

“Stop breathing down my neck, Aurorea.” 

Rand moved back slightly and whispered, “Are you sure this is the place?” 

Oh yeah. He was sure. His entire body seemed to strain forward into the night. 
He could feel her, eagerly waiting for him… 

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of lying to Rand, sending him off to hunt 
elsewhere while he introduced himself to Elara. But no. It had taken both of them to 
make it this far. He owed Rand the courtesy of his chance -- but no more than that. 

As they circled the hedge and walked up the small lawn, the giant redhead 
cleared his throat, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Darrek.” 

Darrek stopped, glancing at him sidelong. “What?” 

“I just…” Rand ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the thick, coppery locks. 
“Whatever happens from here…” 

Curtly, Darrek nodded. It was all the recognition he could stand to give after 
what had happened between them in the past ten hours. From here on out, it was each 
dragon for himself. And he had no doubt whatever what the outcome would be. It was, 
after all, what he had come for. 

Then why was the image of Rand banished, cast out forever from the Dragon 
Queen’s realm, suddenly so disturbing? 

Rand had apparently been thinking along the same lines. “I’m sorry it has to be 
this way.” 


“So am I.” Darrek was perturbed to realize he meant it. 

Enough of this, he snarled to himself. He could picture his father now, his triple-
barbed tail lashing, staring at him in horrified dismay. 

Rand Aurorea, a friend? Not hardly. Brusquely, he turned away and padded up 
the worn steps of the porch. The wood squeaked softly under his feet, then squealed 
under Rand’s greater weight. Darrek turned his head to shush him, then fell silent as he 
saw what was inside the window. 

Rand, peering in beside him, froze with the same hungry intensity Darrek 
himself felt. 

Not four feet away from them, a woman sprawled naked on an enormous bed. It 
looked almost obscenely soft to Darrek. The room was bathed in light, showing clearly 
the dusting of golden freckles on the curve of her shoulders, the smooth, sweet curve of 
her breast, the flushed, crinkled circles of her areolae… Her eyes were closed, her face 
lax with arousal as she pinched the taut pink tip of one breast with one hand, while the 
other toyed with the neat brown curls covering her sex. Saliva flooded Darrek’s mouth, 
and his cock throbbed, swelling so fast he felt momentarily dizzy. 

Elara Southerlin. They had indeed found her. Whatever brief accord he and Rand 
had shared shredded like clouds before the wind at the erotic scene before them. 

The lady was obviously in want of some company. Without hesitation, Darrek 
put his hand on the windowsill and prepared to climb in the open window. 

Then an implacable hand closed around his biceps. He spun, his face silently 
snarling in fury, to see Rand shaking his head frantically. In that moment Darrek could 
have happily gutted him despite Melgara’s commands. 

But when Rand tugged, jerking his head toward the lawn, Darrek followed him, 
fuming, off the porch. Near the hedge, they whispered intently. “Darrek, I don’t think 
that’s a good idea.” 

“Since when do you think, Aurorea?” Hurt flickered in Rand’s blue eyes, and 
Darrek felt his temper slip another notch -- the more so because he felt a sudden flush of 
shame. By the Winds, was the big lummox daft? This was no game they were playing. 


One of them would win Elara. The other would be exiled. It was hardly the time for 
niceties. 

“You woo the lady however you want, Rand. Knock on her door with flowers in 
the morning. Don’t mind me.” Darrek grinned wolfishly. “I’ll just stay in her bed.” 

“Darrek!” 

Like a dark, hungry shadow, Darrek slid back up the porch steps. 

* * * 

With a fury no human could ever match, the dragon plunged himself into her. 
His cock -- hard as iron and huge, so much bigger than any man she’d ever had -- thrust 
deep into her passage, filling her utterly. She could feel the heat of it, the searing 
warmth of dragonfire, all the way inside her like a furnace in the very center of her 
loins. He rocked back, plunged in again, and Lara cried out in delight, pressing her 
fingers harder against her clit. 

Gods, why could it never be like this? Why couldn’t she meet a man who could 
take her to this blazing edge of ecstasy? 

The question intruded on her fantasy, making the dragon fade in her mind. 
Pushing it aside, she concentrated, drawing him once again in her imagination. Black 
scales sliding like liquid metal against her skin, both smooth and hard at once. The 
haughty, malevolent gleam in his eye that seemed to say he would have his way with 
her whether she liked it or not. And the self-satisfied smirk that curved his lips, 
absolutely confident that she would like it. 

As if sensing her distraction, he paused, his cock throbbing inside her. Almost 
tenderly he reached out to touch her, trailing one sharp claw over her skin, so lightly it 
almost tickled. It traced the curve of her belly, the swell of her breast -- when it brushed 
her nipple, Lara whimpered and almost came right there. The sensation of that cool, 
sharp talon so delicately wielded left her gasping, poised at the brink. 

It was that combination of strength and seduction, wildness and control, that 
completely undid her. He could rip her to pieces, yet instead he bent all that power to 
such a small, intent motion -- just the stroking of one deadly claw across the 


hypersensitive tip of her breast. His gaze was despotic, almost regally amused. He 
knew what he was doing to her -- and he liked it. He liked holding her there, trembling, 
her breath tearing in ragged gasps through her throat. He flexed his haunches slightly, 
and Lara groaned as her passage spasmed around his shaft, squeezing and releasing. 

Jesus, she thought incoherently, if he so much as breathes on me, I’m going to come. 

His tail snaked up, sliding between their bodies, and curled around to cup her 
breast, squeezing it with as much dexterity as a hand. Lara panted, feeling her body 
arch into his touch, and moaned as he seized both her breasts in his grasp, his fingers 
tugging her nipples, his lips hot against her neck as he bent to kiss her --

Wait a second. 

Even in her erotic stupor Lara was pretty certain dragons didn’t have fingers. She 
definitely knew they didn’t have lips. 

Her eyelids flew open and she saw a man poised above her, his long black hair 
sliding like silk against her cheek as he nuzzled her throat. His hands were closed on 
her breasts, sending jolts of pleasure through her each time his thumbs flicked her taut, 
erect nipples. And his cock --

Oh, dear God. 

She froze for one single second -- then something in her raged up in fury. How 
dare he touch her, whoever he was! 

Screaming like a banshee, Lara grabbed a fistful of the intruder’s hair, right at the 
crown of his head where it’d hurt. Yanking like a longshoreman, she tumbled him off 
her and, rolling with him, bent her knees, drew her feet up, and slammed them straight 
into the pit of his stomach. With a whoosh of lost breath, he tumbled off the bed, hitting 
the floor with a satisfying thump. 

Immediately, two things happened. One, Lara sprang up, ran for the kitchenette, 
and grabbed her ten-inch chef’s knife. Two, a second man bounded through the 
window and onto her bed. 

Thank God it’s a queen-size, Lara thought dumbly. The first one had been big 
enough, but this man was massive. 


“Are you all right, my lady? Did he hurt you?” 

What the hell was she going to do now? Cowering back against the counter, 
waving a knife that suddenly seemed no larger than a nail-clipper when measured 
against him, Lara screamed, “Stay away from me! Just stay away!” 

Standing, he turned to the figure sprawled, wheezing, on the floor, and kicked it. 
“Get up, damn you. I told you this was a bad --” 

“Oh, spare me, Aurorea.” The first man sat up cautiously, as if checking for 
broken bones. His complexion was an interesting shade of sickly green, and even 
amidst her confusion, Lara felt rather proud of herself. 

“Winds, Darrek, how did you think she’d react?” 

Darrek. So that was his name. Black-on-black eyes gleamed at her from under 
thick, straight ebony hair that fell almost to his waist. “She seemed to be reacting just 
fine, till you barged in.” 

Remembering the way she’d been moaning, Lara flushed and tried to look away. 
“Come on,” Darrek continued, his eyes glittering with malevolent amusement. “Tell me 
you didn’t like it, Elara.” 

“I --” Blushing fiercely, Lara realized that, one, she was stark naked, and two, her 
nipples were still tellingly erect. Her limbs trembled, remembering his self-assured, 
dominating touch, and she became aware of the undiminished wetness between her 
thighs, the way her breath rasped in her throat, not with fright, but with… “Get out!” 

Torn between embarrassment and fury, she flung the knife. It flew past Darrek, 
missing him by a hair’s breadth, and slammed with an impressive thunk into the wall. 
Both the men stared at it, their eyes suddenly wide. 

“Get out!” Fumbling behind her, Lara grabbed the first thing to hand and 
chucked it. Her sugar bowl shattered above the red one’s head, spraying them both 
with sugar and bits of broken crockery. A plate was next. Then her skillet. By the time 
she started on the teacups they were beating a hasty retreat back through the window, 
the dark one tugging at his unfastened pants as he half-climbed, half-fell, out onto the 
porch. 


Lunging after them, Lara slammed shut the window, catching Red’s last words 
as they scrambled down the porch steps. “I told you it was a bad idea!” 

Oh, it was a bad idea, all right. She wrenched the knife from the wall, and 
brandishing it ostentatiously, glared out into the darkness. 

Let them come back. Just let them try to come back, and she’d show them exactly 
how bad an idea it was. 


Chapter Four 

As the sky lightened to a soft silver-pink, Rand peered out through the scrub 
pines again. 

“She still there?” Darrek asked, his voice surly. 

Rand nodded. Behind the sheer curtains he could still make out her outline, as 
rigidly upright as it had been all night long. “Congratulations, Darrek. We’ll never get 
near her now.” 

“Who’d want to?” Hissing, Darrek felt the bruise high on one cheek where a 
teacup had caught him. “She’s a harpy.” 

“Well, she wouldn’t be if you hadn’t -- Oh, never mind.” Realizing they were 
repeating a conversation they’d already had, with minor variations, at least twenty-
three times over the slow hours of darkness, Rand broke off. Slumped on the ground, he 
stared glumly at the grass. It was thin and sharp, and prickled beneath his butt. 
Oblivious or uncaring, Darrek stretched out on it, draping one arm over his eyes. Rand 
kicked him. “What’re you doing?” 

“Taking a nap, Aurorea. She’s got to sleep sometime. And when she does, we’ll 
just sneak in there, tie her up, wake her up, and make her choose. This is ridiculous.” 

Somehow that didn’t seem like the best plan to Rand. He watched Darrek shift 
once or twice as he drifted off. His arm fell to his side and he lay, his body relaxed, 
utterly defenseless in sleep. After a moment, Rand chuckled, shaking his head. 

Twenty-four hours ago, it would have been unimaginable that Darrek Hausther 
would have allowed himself to be so completely vulnerable -- in front of an Aurorean, 
no less! Yet there he lay, sleeping like a baby, his proud head tossed back, his neck 
exposed defenselessly. 


He was, Rand had to admit, awfully handsome, the lines of his body neat and 
graceful even in sleep. His high cheekbones and glossy black hair gave him an elegance 
Rand had always secretly envied, feeling himself huge, gawky and rough next to the 
smaller, aristocratic youth. 

But he wouldn’t have chosen Darmon Hausther for a parent for anything. 

Rand smiled, thinking of his own father who stood now in his mind as he’d 
always been -- a big, burly, auburn-haired man who’d smothered him with bear hugs 
and showered him with approval. For Thrand Aurorea, it had always been enough that 
his son be exactly who and what he was. 

Looking at Darrek, he wondered if the Hausther heir had ever known that kind 
of unconditional love. Without thinking, he reached out and smoothed a wayward 
strand of hair back from Darrek’s face. No wonder Darrek was always so touchy, so 
driven. 

Darrek murmured softly and turned in his sleep, and Rand withdrew his hand 
cautiously. Why did it have to be one or the other? Either he won Elara, and Darrek was 
doomed to exile, or Darrek married Elara (a possibility which, frankly, Rand found 
exceedingly unlikely) and it would be he who was doomed never to return. 

Well, they had no one but themselves to blame. He wouldn’t mind exile so much 
for himself, Rand supposed, looking around at the deserted beach, the gleaming flecks 
of pink and orange dotting the still-dark waves, reflecting from the burnished clouds. 
But it would absolutely break his father’s heart. 

Sighing gustily, he looked back up at the cottage. You woo the lady however you 
like, Rand. Knock on her door with flowers in the morning. 

Well, he didn’t have any better ideas. And he certainly couldn’t make things any 
worse. Drawing a deep breath, Rand stood and readied himself for the plunge. 

* * * 

Why hadn’t she ever gotten a phone? For the fortieth time, Lara upbraided 
herself. They weren’t that expensive, for God’s sake -- no matter how hard she was 
trying to eke out a living from the meager paychecks her artwork brought in. 


The knife wavered in front of her as, once again, her eyelids drooped. Ruthlessly, 
she dragged them back open. In another twenty minutes, the East Wellfleet diner would 
open, and she could escape to there and call the cops. It was no use going to the 
neighbors -- all the cottages along this shore-side road were empty for the coming 
winter. 

She could still see their two outlines, crouched down behind the hedge. So the 
door was out -- they’d see her leaving. She could climb up on the sink, open the kitchen 
window, and sneak out that way. 

She only had to stay awake another twenty minutes. 

How did he know my name? That was the question that nagged at her. He hadn’t 
been just some random rapist, crawling through the window of an unsuspecting 
masturbator. He’d been there for her. 

Why would anyone be after me? 

It didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense. 

Darrek. The name suited him, at least. All dark and angular with sharp, jagged 
edges. Like her dragon, she thought muzzily -- so much like him that when he’d slipped 
in and touched her, she’d accepted it as merely part of her fantasy. Like her black, 
sharp-clawed… 

Lara sat up abruptly, and the knife, which had been sliding from her lax fingers, 
clattered to the floor. She whipped around and stared up at the red dragon’s portrait. 
Huge, protective… 

Are you all right, my lady? 

This was getting creepy. 

Lara stared, feeling dizzy. I’m in shock. I’m sleep-deprived. I’ve undergone a very 
traumatic experience. 

True enough, but still… 

A heavy footfall rang on the porch outside, and she heard the screen door squeal. 
Craning forward, she laid her cheek to the glass and peered sideways. 


The big one was standing outside her door, his hand raised hesitantly in midair 
as if he was working up the courage to knock. If he turned his head he’d see her. Lara 
ducked back -- but not before she spied the bunch of spindly, half-wilted autumn 
daisies he clutched like a bouquet. 

What on earth? 

She crouched against the wall, taking shallow breaths, listening for any sound of 
motion. His face had been a study in indecision -- maybe he’d just chicken out and go 
away. What was he so nervous about anyway? Her? C’mon. Knife or no knife, he was 
easily twice her size. If he’d meant to hurt her last night, there really wouldn’t have 
been a thing she could do about it. 

But he hadn’t. 

Lara paused, feeling indecisive herself. Curiosity warred with apprehension. 
Padding silently to the door, she yanked it open just as his hand finally came down to 
knock. 

He jumped like a startled cat, and daisies scattered across the faded gray planks 
of her porch, their petals blowing softly in the early morning breeze. Dropping heavily 
to one knee, he began scooping them up. 

At the sight, her fear fled entirely. “Well?” Lara demanded. “Where’s Tweedle-
Dee?” 

“Who? Oh, you mean Darrek.” He nodded toward the hedge. “Over there. He’s 
asleep.” 

Lucky guy, Lara thought as the rising sun seared her bloodshot eyes. She felt 
worn, bleary with exhaustion as he turned back to face her, still on his knees, and held 
out the flowers. Their petals were bent, their thin stems crushed. A few of them were 
even turned upside down. 

Lara laughed. She couldn’t help it. If he was dangerous, she was a turtle. She 
opened the door wider. “All right. I surrender. Come on in.” 

As he followed her in, ducking to avoid smashing his head on the doorframe, 
Lara wondered at the sudden lightness inside her. Maybe it was the rising sun, just 


peeking through the curtains and making the whole cottage glow like the inside of a 
pearl. Maybe it was the breeze, tossing the curtain as it gusted and sighed. Maybe it was 
the rattle of beach grass, or the hush of the waves against the sand, or the soft cry of 
seagulls somewhere above. 

Or maybe it was the man behind her, filling her space with a quiet sense of 
peace. 

His feet crunched on broken crockery, and he looked down at her abashed. “I’m 
sorry. I’ll clean it up,” he offered. 

Lara shook her head. “No, it’s okay. You’re not the one who --” She trailed off in 
confusion, and the man before her actually blushed. The moment hung awkwardly 
until Lara concluded tartly, “We’ll leave it for Darrek.” 

He grinned at that, and her breath caught in her throat. When he smiled, his eyes 
danced with light like sunflecks on water. She was suddenly acutely aware of his 
strong, solid nearness. His huge shoulders, rolling with muscle, protruded from an 
intricately embroidered vest. Beneath it, a dusting of soft auburn hair flecked his broad 
chest, and Lara couldn’t help wondering if they continued on down in a soft trail of 
copper… and if everything about him was equally massive. 

Jerking her gaze away from his crotch, she looked back up into the most 
remarkable eyes. They were a startling, almost turquoise blue. Where had she seen eyes 
just that color before? She tried to place it as she studied his face. He had a heavy, 
determined jaw, stubbled now with the same coppery red that dusted his chest. His 
thick hair tumbled halfway down his back, and she had to suppress a sudden urge to 
touch it -- it looked so soft, like waves of spun sugar. “So, Red. Who are you?” 

“Oh.” He looked startled. “I’m Rand Aurorea.” 

Maybe it was the knife she’d thrown, or that satisfying kick she’d landed in 
Darrek’s stomach, but she was feeling downright saucy this morning. “And when 
you’re not haunting SCA conventions?” she asked archly. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I mean, what’s your real name? Harold? Ned? Eugene?” 


He shook his head confusedly. “Rand. Just Rand.” 
“Uh huh. You drink tea, Rand Aurorea? I’m all out of coffee.” 
“Yes, please. What’s coffee?” 
She laughed again, and started the kettle. This guy was too much! And yet she 


felt totally at ease with him, as she might with a big, panting, overfriendly dog. 
A very handsome, overfriendly dog. 
Sternly, she repressed that idea. Seriously, maybe she had been out here too long 

alone, if strange guys that crawled through her window at night were starting to look 
appealing. “I’d offer you sugar, but it’s all over the floor. So, where are you from, Rand 
Aurorea?” 

No response. She turned, and realized he wasn’t listening -- hadn’t even heard 
her, probably. He was staring at the drawing she’d pinned up, his mouth open in shock. 
He shut it with an audible click and glanced down at her, his expression suddenly wry, 
almost skeptical. 

“You dissemble well, Elara.” A muscle rippled along his jaw as he clenched it, 
and Lara recognized that for all his seeming innocence, this was no boy she had in her 
shack. She gulped. 

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” 
“Don’t you?” 
She stared at him, confused, then glanced back at the drawing. 
His eyes! That’s where she’d seen that color before. His eyes were precisely the 


same intense blue as the dragon she’d drawn just… 
Yesterday. 
And now here he was, watching her with a steady intensity she wasn’t sure she 

liked at all. “You know perfectly well who I am, my lady.” 

“Why do you keep calling me that?” It was the first thing she could think of to 
say. He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and rather than answering her, instead tilted his 
neck, revealing a scar. 


Wide-eyed, Lara looked from him to her dragon. She remembered drawing that, 
remembered wondering why the scar on his long curved neck had seemed so right… 

Barely aware that she was moving, Lara backed away, shaking her head. “I don’t 
know what you’re talking about.” 

He followed her, his gaze fixed on her face. His voice was deep, rumbling, 
almost hypnotic. “Untruths don’t become you, Elara Southerlin.” 

Sutherland, not Southerlin. 

“Tell me, my lady, if you don’t know who I am, how do you know what I look 
like as --” He gestured at the drawing. 

That’s it, she thought frantically. He’s hypnotized me. None of this is real. None of this 
is… 

“Elara?” 

She was still shaking her head dumbly, her mouth open. Nothing came out 
though. He grabbed her arms, gently but firmly. “Elara! Look at me.” 

She did. His gaze changed, becoming softer, puzzled, then dark with concern. 
“Elara,” he whispered, “do you even know what you are?” 

Don’t say it, she pleaded silently, though what she was so afraid of hearing, she 
had no idea. He opened his lips to speak, and driven by an impulse she barely 
recognized, she closed her fists in his hair and dragged his mouth down on hers. 

She looks so like her mother, was Rand’s first, very distracted thought. 

The tall, regal Melgara had been the object of his first childhood crush. He’d 
worshipped her from afar, indulging in thrilling, ongoing fantasies during which he 
always rescued her (at great risk of life and limb) from hordes of faceless enemies, 
vanquishing them all. Then he’d hold her reassuringly, and she’d look up at him with 
wide, grateful eyes, her body quivering tremulously in his arms. And then… 

The “and then” had been pretty vague at that age. And it was in fact almost 
impossible to picture the real Melgara trembling, with fear or anything else. But there 
was nothing vague about the erection that throbbed beneath the thin fabric of his 


trousers, or the wholly adult urgency pulsing through his veins. The same heady sense 
of his own masculine strength that had stirred his youthful imagination now filled him, 
making him feel powerful, unconquerable; an unbreakable champion. Elara trembled in 
his arms, her mouth clinging desperately to his, and his blood thundered in his ears as 
he swept her close, pressing her tightly against the hard plane of his chest, feeling her 
heart beating as rapidly as a sparrow’s. 

He would do anything, he swore silently, to keep that heart safe. 

Drawing back for a moment, he gazed down at her wonderingly, and gently 
traced the curve of her cheek. “Oh, Elara…” 

Placing her fingers over his lips, she shook her head, her eyes wide as a child’s. 
“Don’t. Don’t talk. Only love me. Please.” 

Rand let his head fall back, feeling his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Every 
nerve in his body seemed to lead straight to his cock. Each sensation aroused him; the 
whisper of Elara’s hair tickling his chest, the warmth of her belly against his hard, 
throbbing shaft… She pushed her hips forward, increasing the pressure, and white lust 
roared in his mind, blotting out everything else. 

Sweeping her up, he carried her to the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around his 
neck. Her fingers stroked the corded muscles of his back, and his skin seemed almost to 
shimmer in response to her touch. His cock flexed, straining outward, and Rand’s mind 
reeled, awash with sensation. 

Gently, he lowered her down and she lay looking up at him silently as he eased 
off the strange, stretchy shirt she wore. Her breasts were beautiful, small and curved, 
the hard pink nubs at their tips almost begging to be touched. His hands trembled as he 
unbuttoned the trousers -- just like a man’s! -- that had shocked him into silence when 
she’d first opened the door. 

Sliding the tough, unfamiliar fabric down her legs, he swallowed again at the 
sight of her sex, the dark chestnut hair covering it in a tangle of curls. Her arousal was 
obvious in the swollen lips of her cunt, the erect points of her nipples, the hungry 


invitation in her eyes. Running his hand up the smooth skin of her belly, Rand leaned 
forward, barely able to breathe, and kissed her. 

At that light contact, his massive frame shook. Her lips brushed against his, and 
he panted for breath. Winds! What she did to him! 

It felt like he had dreamed of this moment forever. 

Elara’s hands slid into his hair, playing with the long, curly tendrils. Rand leaned 
into her touch, turning his head so he could rub his cheek against her palm. “Oh, Elara,” 
he whispered. Sitting back, he slid his vest off, and watched her eyes glow brighter as 
she stroked his broad chest. 

Why was he so nervous? He’d had his share of partners, indeed more than his 
share -- he was, after all, the heir of Aurorea. But this was Elara Southerlin, the Dragon 
Queen’s daughter. 

How had she known what he looked like? His eyes, his very scars? It seemed 
impossible and yet, as her hands slid over him, Rand was convinced she did know him, 
with an intimacy no woman had ever approached -- his thoughts, his wishes, his most 
secret desires. 

Her arms twined around his neck again, insistently tugging him down alongside 
her. He lay on his back, and she moved on top of him, her damp, aroused sex nudging 
against the bulge in his trousers. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed in 
enjoyment, her hair tumbling over her breasts so that her nipples peeked through the 
fall of brown hair. Rand raised his hands to caress them and she leaned into his touch, 
her hair sliding, soft and silky, against the palms of his hands. 

It was like touching a dream. He was haunted by a sense of unreality, as if he’d 
woken to find himself in his most stirring childhood fantasies; only this time, they were 
actually happening. Elara arched above him, sliding back and forth along the length of 
his throbbing shaft, and he felt his balls growing heavy, aching with the weight of 
unspent come. Each time she slid herself up, his trousers snugged tight against them, 
increasing the friction. 


Her breath was coming quickly now in little mewling yips, and her cheeks were 
flushed with impending orgasm. At the sight, his balls swelled further, sending a fresh 
wave of heat into his groin. Groaning, he pushed his hips upward, lifting her half off 
the bed as he mashed his cock against her cunt, feeling her juices soaking the fabric 
between them. She gasped and stared down at him, her eyes smoky with lust. 

Scrambling off him, she reached for the tie of his trousers. Her small, nimble 
hands brushed his cockhead, and he moaned. Hurriedly, she yanked at the string, 
freeing his cock, and her eyes grew wide as it sprang out to greet her. “Oh, wow,” she 
whispered. 

Then she did something no woman had ever done, something Rand had never 
even imagined was a possibility. She lowered her head and took his cock in her mouth. 

Fire poured through him at the touch of her lips. Her mouth was so wet and 
warm, and her tongue flicked at his sensitive tip, gently probing the slit. Opening her 
jaw wide, she sucked the entire head of his cock into her mouth, her teeth scraping 
lightly against the thick, meaty rim. He felt her swallow, and her mouth tightened 
down. Rand closed his eyes, straining for control. 

Her hair fell over his groin, tickling delicately, and he wrapped his hands around 
it. It was thick, shiny, a deep lustrous brown. Her mouth was tugging at him, faster 
now, intoxicating. Rand felt as he had the day before, pounding blindly through the 
twisting maze of streets -- dizzy, confused, overwhelmed by sensation. But where that 
assault on his nerves had been horrible, this was almost divinely seductive. 

She pulled back, and the head of his cock slipped from her mouth with an 
audible pop. Smiling at his flushed expression, she kissed her way down the length of 
it, her tongue dancing over the bulging vein. Groaning, Rand thrust his hips up, 
helpless to control the motion. In response, she sucked at the side of his shaft, and slid 
one hand between his heavy thighs to caress his testicles. Her fingernails trailed over 
their taut, furrowed surface, dragging lightly at the soft copper hairs. 

“Elara,” he groaned, and slipping his hand under her chin, forcibly raised her 
head. Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Elara, no. Wait.” 


Pushing her back by her shoulders, he sat up, his cock standing straight as a pole 
against his belly. Trying to ignore it, he breathed heavily, fighting down the lust that 
still clouded his mind. He rubbed at his face, then drew his hands through his hair, 
knotting his fists in it as he fought to think. 

This wasn’t the Melgara of his boyhood dreams. This was her daughter -- and she 
didn’t even know who she was. 

That was it. That was what was holding him back. He wanted her -- Winds, how 
he wanted her! The heavy leaden pressure in his balls practically demanded he tumble 
her backward, spread her sweetly curved thighs, and plunge himself deep between 
them… 

She was nipping at his shoulder, her hands caressing the muscles of his broad 
back. Turning, he captured her hands in his own, trapped them against the swell of his 
pecs. “Elara, listen to me. We can’t do this. It isn’t right.” 

“Why not? Don’t you want to?” Playfully, she grabbed his hands and tugged 
them to her chest instead. His fingers spread involuntarily over the firm warmth of her 
breasts, and she held his wrists, drawing his hands more tightly against them till he 
squeezed them, hard, and she whimpered in longing. 

Still holding his hands, she lay back on the bed, dragging him with her till his 
cock nudged, hard as granite, at her folds. By the Winds, she was ready for him! So 
ready it was unbelievable. He could feel her juices slicking his cockhead, teasing it till 
the sensitive skin was strained to its limit. His balls throbbed, tightening in anticipation, 
and Rand hung, his arms quivering as he held himself over her, wracked by the almost 
irresistible urge to plunge, to plunder, to shove himself inside her and fuck… 

“No!” Yanking himself away, he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat there, his 
fists clenching and unclenching as he fought to control the fire surging through his 
loins. 

Her eyes black with fury, Elara sprang up. Grabbing her shirt, she tugged it 
down over her head. “Wouldn’t you know it. One tries to have sex with me when I 


don’t want it. The other one won’t when it is what I want.” Stomping into her strange, 

heavy trousers, she glared at him. “Just a regular pair of comedians, aren’t you?” 

“Elara, no, wait. There’s things you don’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand ‘no’ well enough. Unlike your friend.” She slammed out of the 
cottage. The screen door squeaked, and banged shut behind her. 

“Elara.” Grabbing at his untied trousers, Rand stumbled out onto the porch. 
Elara was striding down the beach, her arms wrapped tight around her body. Her heels 
dug angrily into the soft sand. “Elara!” 

A gust of wind caught his cry and wafted it away like a dry leaf. She didn’t even 
turn her head. Rand leaned his fists on the plain, unpainted porch rail and stared after 
her. 

What -- how --why had he made such a mess of things? And what, by the Winds, 
was he going to do now? 

A chuckle sounded behind him. Rand spun to see Darrek leaning against the 
wall of the cottage on the far side of the door. He stood with his arms crossed lazily, one 
hip cocked out in a casual slouch, an eyebrow raised at Rand’s semi-clothed state. 
“So…” he drawled, “…the flowers weren’t enough for her?” 

Rand flushed as Darrek’s jet-black eyes flicked over his chest, his tangled hair, 
the dangling drawstring of his trousers. His jaw clenched in embarrassment. With a 
sneering smile, Darrek moved past him and padded with feline grace down the steps. 
“Where are you going?” 

“You’ve had your chance, Aurorea. Now it’s my turn.” 

Rand watched in mute fury as the smooth, handsome Hausther heir meandered 
down the beach after Elara, his straight ebony hair tangling behind him in the wind like 
a black, triumphant banner. 


Chapter Five 

God damn it! 

For the first time in her life, she’d been on the verge of having sex with a man 
who actually made her feel the way her fantasies did. Frustrated impulses roiled along 
her nerves as Lara stomped up the beach, her thoughts a steady, seething turmoil like 
the constant hiss of the waves. 

Who the hell did he think he was? The pair of them, appearing out of nowhere as 
if they’d dropped out of the sky, climbing into her bed and making her feel things no 
man had ever made her feel. 

“What’s coffee?” Hah! He could find out in jail for all she cared. If he was dumb 
enough to still be there when the cops showed up. 

Of course, first she’d actually have to call the cops -- and if that was her intent, 
why was she walking away from town? 

The wind brushed past her cheek with a feathery touch, exactly the way Rand 
had. Stroking her face so gently, as if she were the most precious thing on earth… 

Elara, do you even know what you are? 

No. She wasn’t going to think about that. She didn’t know what game the two of 
them were playing, but she knew damn well who she was, thank you very much. 

Not even the steady ocean wind could soothe her. She felt as if something had 
shattered inside her -- as if the personality she’d always regarded as hers had cracked 
like a cheap china plate, and underneath it was something wild, almost feral -- 
something that was clawing inside her, trying to get out. 

No one --no one -- had ever affected her like this. Her entire body seemed to 
blaze with a fury that was as alien to her as the curses that wanted to tumble from her 
lips. 


First one of them sneaked through her window and started trying to fuck her 
without so much as a “Hi, my name’s Darrek” -- and then the other one got her so 
worked up she practically creamed her jeans. And then he said no! 

Well, fuck the both of them. 

Lara threw herself down on a dune and wrapped her arms around her knees, 
quivering with emotions she could barely keep in check. Hot, frustrated tears coursed 
down her cheeks. It was more than just the ache in her clit, throbbing against the seam 
of her jeans, or the tender, painful weight of her breasts dragging against her shirt. She 
felt balked, somehow, stifled in a way she couldn’t define. She felt as if she was meant 
to be more than this… 

More than what? 

She didn’t know. All she knew was her body trembled with a yearning, a fierce, 
compelling need, to… 

To what? 

Lara shook her head and pounded a baffled fist against the sand. “What the hell 
are they doing to me?” 

“Nothing, yet.” 

She spun, glaring, and saw Darrek standing perhaps ten feet away, his feet, like 
hers, bare on the gritty sand. 

The collar of his soft white shirt was open, fluttering in the wind, exposing the 
firm, rippled muscles of his abdomen, the clean, smooth lines of his torso. His black 
hair, as straight and smooth as a skein of silk, fanned around him, falling halfway to his 
waist. His string-tied trousers rode low on his hips, revealing a thin line of crisp, ebon 
hair that trailed down his belly and disappeared beneath the soft fabric. 

“Why? Would you like me to?” He smirked at her easily, his hair twisting in the 
ocean breeze. Behind him, the Atlantic rolled in slow, even waves, curling over to 
shatter on the sand with a hollow, muted roar. His features were haughty, almost 
hawk-like, with thick, arched brows and high, sharp cheekbones. 


It was strange -- Lara had always considered herself rather quiet, even meek, an 
oddball who lived in her own private fantasy world and never seemed able to find the 
right words to say to people, never felt comfortable saying them even when she did. But 
there was something about Darrek that almost demanded confrontation. Standing there 
so gorgeous and self-assured, he challenged her -- how or why she didn’t know. She 
only knew that somewhere inside her was a woman who was dying to wipe that smirk 
off his face. “Are you always this arrogant?” 

If he sensed her belligerence, he didn’t show it. He shrugged nonchalantly. 
“Usually.” Ambling over, he sank down beside her, his long, lean frame folding in on 
itself with the taut grace of a cat. 

“And do you usually --” she stressed the word sarcastically, “crawl through 
windows to screw unwilling women?” 

At that, he grinned. “No. Usually they’re crawling through my window.” 

Damn him. I bet they do, too. Lara looked away. 

“Besides, you weren’t unwilling. Just surprised.” 

“What?” Lara sprang to her feet. “You arrogant bastard!” 

“You act so shocked. Are you a virgin?” His dark eyes gleamed with renewed 
interest. 

“No!” 

“Pity. Oh, sit down, Elara. I’m not going to rape you.” His black eyes studied her, 
gleaming with amusement. She’d acted like a fool, and she knew it. She’d let him needle 
her. Sullenly, she sank back to the sand, refusing to look at him. “Here.” Darrek 
stripped off his shirt and draped it over her shoulders, startling her. 

It was a heavy fabric, something like a blend of silk and the softest, finest wool, 
still warm with the heat of his body. Lara clasped it to her and tried not to stare at the 
smooth ripples of his torso, the way the muscles dimpled just above his hipbones and 
flexed along the sides of his ribcage… 

He turned his head, those ebon eyes gleaming down into hers, and Lara found 
herself gasping for breath. 


Just from his glance. Just from that. “Aren’t you… aren’t you cold?” she heard 
herself stuttering, and wondered what had happened to all the brashness she’d felt, just 
moments before. And it wasn’t the cool autumn air that was making her shiver… 

“No.” Then he grinned. “Perhaps I should have said yes. Would you have 
warmed me, if I were?” 

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Raising one long, elegant hand, he 
stroked her cheek. His fingertips were warm, almost hot, leaving tendrils of sensation 
behind. Lara gasped. His grin widened. “There is so much I could teach you, my 
beautiful Elara. So many desires you have yet to even imagine.” 

His words stung. Partly because she had a sneaking suspicion he was right -- she 
wasn’t exactly an encyclopedia of sexual knowledge. Partly, too, because what she did 
fantasize about was so totally outlandish. “You have no idea what I imagine, Darrek.” 

“Maybe you should tell me.” He cocked his head enquiringly, smiling at the 
stubborn fury she felt blazing in her eyes. “No. I guess not.” 

He leaned closer, and the musky, slightly metallic scent of him filled her nostrils. 
She could feel the heat radiating off his lean, powerful body. His eyes glittered 
dangerously, watching her with an almost predatory glee as he lowered his lips to hers, 
and she felt as much as heard him whisper, “Tell me, Elara, is it anything like this?” 

Raising a hand to her chin, he dragged her lips against his, his tongue darting, 
hard and demanding, into the moist warmth of her mouth. His other hand slid around 
her waist, pulling her irresistibly against him. She could feel the taut, bulging muscles 
of his forearms, the biceps like a rock against her back. If she struggled, she realized, it 
wouldn’t do any good. 

But she wasn’t struggling. Couldn’t struggle. Couldn’t do anything but feel his 
lips devouring her mouth, his tongue snaking against hers, the heat pouring off his 
long, hard body like a furnace, like a bonfire. It would consume her, Lara knew, but she 
didn’t care. She was dry timber, waiting for his flame. 


Her head dropped back against his arm, and Darrek drew back, looking down at 
her. His face was a mask of self-satisfied triumph. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, you want 
it bad.” 

Even in the midst of her arousal, annoyance twisted through her. Yes, I want it, 
she admitted silently, but you don’t have to look so damn pleased with yourself. He drew 
back, almost as if he’d heard her thought, and looked down at her, his lips curved in a 
small, amused smile. 

“Did I offend you, my lady?” His tone twisted the endearment into a sneer. 
“Perhaps you’re not used to hearing a man speak the truth.” 

“Perhaps I’m just not used to being pawed at by strangers.” 

One haughty eyebrow shot up. “Shall I stop?” 

Lara paused -- then cursed herself. That pause was all the admission she needed 
to make. Darrek’s smile widened, and he lowered his lips to her throat, kissing and 
nibbling at the smooth, soft flesh just above her shoulder. 

Damn him! Lara could feel her muscles turning to water as his teeth dragged 
lightly down the side of her neck. His arm tightened around her; fierce, possessive, 
demanding. 

She didn’t protest when he dragged her on top of him, settling her with her 
thighs straddling his so her ass was resting on his crotch. Slowly, teasingly, Darrek 
kissed his way down the hollow of her throat to her breasts. He nipped at them, teasing 
the nipples through her T-shirt, rasping his tongue across their hard, jutting points. 
With an involuntary whimper, Lara thrust forward, shoving one aching nipple into his 
mouth, desperate for him to suck it. 

Pushing his shirt sleeves aside, he did, suckling it through the thin fabric of her 
T-shirt with a hunger that sent flares of agonized delight burning through her. Lara 
arched her back, lost in the sensation, and he looked up at her, grinned, and drew his 
head back to let the chill breeze gust across the wet spot he’d created. 

Lara gasped as her nipple contracted further, burning with the sudden, 
unexpected stimulation. The contrast of heat and cold made her doubly aware of the 


contact of his skin, the warmth radiating off him. She could feel his erection wedged 
against the lips of her cunt, straining against the fabric between them, a hard, pulsing 
ridge that ran all the way from her clit to between the cheeks of her butt, pressing 
against her asshole. He pulled her hips more tightly against him, and she was shocked 
to feel a strange, aching hunger as her sphincter throbbed eagerly. 

“Oh, yeah.” His voice was husky with desire. “Your body knows what it wants. 
Elara, you have so much to learn.” 

And so do you, you bastard. Humility, for starters. But his hands were drawing her 
downward, pulling her with him as he stretched back upon the sand, then sliding down 
to clamp firmly on her hips. 

Watching her with that same self-satisfied smile, he dragged her up and down 
the length of his shaft with an exquisite slowness, the muscles in his forearms clenching 
as he slid her forward and back. Her clit rubbed against the inseam of her jeans, pressed 
firmly against his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, almost torturous -- 
intoxicating enough to drive every thought from her mind but the urgent awareness of 
that agonizing point of contact and slow enough to keep her hovering helplessly on the 
edge. 

Forward and back. Forward and back. His eyes like black diamonds never 
looking away. 

She would go mad if he didn’t stop. 

If he stopped, she would slaughter him. 

He wouldn’t, though -- somehow she knew that. Unlike Rand, he wouldn’t stop, 
not now, not for anything. Not even if I wanted him to. 

She couldn’t bring herself to admit the realization only made her hornier. 

Smiling, Darrek let go of her hips, as if to prove to himself -- or let her prove to 
herself -- exactly how bad she wanted it. She could jump up, run, get away… 

She didn’t. Instead, she bit her lip in concentration as she kept the same slow, 
torturous pace, teasing herself against his bulging hardness. 


What was happening to her? She’d practically tried to rape Rand -- and then 
stormed off in fury when he’d stopped her. And Darrek… Last night, she’d thrown a 
knife at him, and now she couldn’t seem to thrust her breasts hard enough against his 
clever, teasing hands. 

Darrek’s eyes gleamed in satisfaction. Sliding his shirt from her shoulders, he 
tugged her T-shirt up over her breasts, smiling lazily as he pinched first one nipple, 
then the other. Lara glanced up, suddenly aware of the silent, distant cottages. Halfheartedly, 
she tried to tug her shirt back down. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked. 

“I… People might come. Someone might see…” 

“So?” 

His casual response sent another wave of heat through her. Lara gulped and 
closed her eyes. She could just see it, some jogger plodding along the sand, catching a 
glimpse of her moving above Darrek, her breasts bared to the thin autumn sunlight, his 
hands squeezing them… 

It was so easy to imagine the surprise he would feel, the sudden arousal 
throbbing painfully in his loins. Would he creep closer for a better view? Crouch behind 
a dune, surreptitiously watching, one hand tugging at his turgid cock? Would she, 
perhaps, glance over at him as she mounted Darrek’s shaft, smiling a bit in invitation? 

Oh, my God, what am I thinking? 

But Lara couldn’t deny the frenzy building in her cunt. Her body seemed 
suddenly alien to her, violently aroused, filled with exotic, dangerous cravings over 
which she had no control at all. When Darrek whispered, “Take off your shirt,” she 
yanked it over her head with an abandon that both thrilled and terrified her. His fingers 
clamped on her nipples, tightening to a point just before pain, and she cried out, letting 
her voice ride free on the wind. 

Then Darrek was tumbling her off him, rolling her onto her back on the sand. His 
fingers tugged at her jeans, undoing the snap, struggling a moment with the zipper 
before yanking them off. She lay naked, the sea breeze drawing cool fingers down her 


flesh, a sharp, exciting counterpoint to the heat burning inside her. “That’s right,” 
Darrek whispered, his eyes fixed on her cunt, “open yourself to it. Let the wind fuck 
you.” 

Drawing her knees up, Lara spread her legs wide, letting the wind gust and 
moan between her thighs. Its unseen tongue darted between her folds, pressing gently 
into her passage with a chill that made her shiver with delight. Darrek knelt, his cock 
jutting from his pants, and Lara couldn’t keep her fingers from her clit as she watched 
him working the skin of his cock, clamping his fist around its throbbing shaft. 

“Oh, yeah,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire, “touch it, Elara. Rub 
yourself for me.” His eyes gleamed, and Lara tilted her hips, spreading her folds wide 
with one hand while the other stroked her clit. 

He moved forward suddenly, and she expected him to plunge himself inside her, 
but instead he straddled her chest, his balls nestling between her breasts as he thrust his 
cock into her mouth. His hands closed in her hair, holding her head up, and Lara 
moaned deep in her throat as a hard gust of wind pushed its way inside her even as 
Darrek entered her mouth. 

Rand’s cock had been huge, the meaty head so thick she could barely wrap her 
lips around it, let alone his shaft. Darrek’s wasn’t so impossibly enormous, but it was 
nearly as long and comfortably thick, filling her mouth nicely without stretching her 
jaw. The slick juice of his pre-come was both sweet and tangy, and Lara swallowed, 
wanting more of it. Lust roared inside her, a hot, conflicted emotion that both reveled in 
and resented his easy command of her body. She wanted to devour him, to eat him 
alive, to suck his juices till he was nothing but a quivering husk, powerless before her. 

Yes, she thought, even as she felt him grab her head harder, thrust deeper into 
her mouth, oh yes, Darrek, I will have that. Use me now, and I’ll like it. But someday, I will use 
you. And you will love it. 

With that vow, she closed her eyes, concentrating on the musky scent of him 
filling her nostrils, the way he tensed above her on the very verge of orgasm. His balls, 
brushing against her breastbone, were so taut and swollen she could feel every crisp 


hair, dragging across her skin. She swallowed again, her throat spasming around his 
shaft, and he groaned above her, “Don’t… don’t…” 

Oh, no? In her mind, she grinned evilly, and lashed her tongue across the tip of 
his cock, then pistoned her head forward, sucking hard. Writhing, Darrek fought to 
hold back but Lara clamped her lips down, and he moaned as his balls swelled even 
further. Snaking one hand between his thighs, she rubbed them, feeling the taut skin 
slide across the hard sacs within, as with her other she very lightly stroked her clit. God, 
she was so close! 

He was panting above her, his hips pistoning freely as, with eyes half-shut, he 
gave in to her insistence, unable, now, to stop himself. Lara felt her lips curve in a 
catlike smile even as he thrust between them. 

Closing her fingers around his balls, she tugged lightly. Darrek whined like an 
overeager hound. She squeezed harder, and his hips bucked, ramming his cock deep in 
her throat. His balls contracted, hard as rocks within their nubbly, furrowed casing, and 
he lunged forward, planting his palms on the sand on either side of her head as he 
slammed his cock downward into her waiting mouth. His head snapped back and he 
roared as he came, shooting wad after wad of hot, salty liquid deep in her mouth. 

He rolled off her, gasping, his trousers crumpled around his knees. Disgustedly, 
he kicked them off and turned his head to glare at her. The expression sent a shiver of 
excitement down her spine. 

“You’re going to pay for that.” His tone was low and menacing, but Lara wasn’t 
in a mood to be cowed. 

“Why?” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.” 

It better not be. Her body was still thrumming with arousal. 

“Not even close.” As smoothly as a snake uncoiling, he rolled back on top of her 
and slid between her thighs. His undiminished erection nudged the swollen lips of her 
sex, and Lara felt anticipation flare inside her. 

“The question is,” he hissed, “how much can you take, Elara?” 


Breathless, quivering on the edge of orgasm, she whispered, daring him, “As 
much as you’ve got -- Darrek.” 

He smiled then, his lips thin as a knife slash over his sharp white teeth, and for 
the first time, Lara felt a spurt of true fear. His cock pressed against her opening, then 
slid easily between her folds. 

God, it was so hot! Like liquid metal, he flowed into her, his shaft gliding 
smoothly further and further in. As he drew back, she could feel the rim of his cockhead 
rubbing against the walls of her passage, teasing the sensitive tissues. It swelled inside 
her, becoming even thicker, harder, and Darrek’s smile widened as she gasped. His jet-
black eyes glittered with triumph, and he whispered, “You are mine, Elara. Mine and 
no one else’s.” 

He flexed his hips, and Lara moaned. Then he slammed himself home, 
ruthlessly, viciously, his head raised on his neck and his black hair whipping in the 
wind as he took her. 

Lara screamed in ecstasy and closed her eyes. Her cunt was starting to spasm, 
eagerly gripping his thrusting shaft. It spread her open further each time he plunged, 
ramming into her with a brutal hunger that left her breathless, filling her so utterly she 
thought she’d pass out. His pubic bone ground against hers, rubbing over her hard, 
swollen clit, and his cock was so hot she could feel its fire pulsing through her. 

Again and again he thrust himself into her, each time harder, deeper, driving 
away everything but the awareness of his shaft slamming into her cunt, fucking her 
with a fury that left her gasping, shuddering, as the heat inside her rose to a fever pitch. 
Her nipples were searing points of fire. Her clit blazed with an urgency beyond her 
wildest fantasies. He rammed in one last time, his cock impossibly huge, hard as iron, 
and then she was falling, somewhere deep inside herself, feeling white-hot waves of 
pleasure so intense they were almost agony sear through her one after another, 
wracking her frame till she was afraid she’d go mad with sensation. 

Gasping, she tossed her head mindlessly as Darrek drove home harder, his 
weight bearing down on her, the sand shifting under the force of his thrusts. The sound 


was harsh, oddly metallic, and Lara, turning her head to one side, opened her eyes to 
see four long black talons not a foot from her face, flexing and contracting as they raked 
through the sand. 

Yanking her head back, she stared up at the enormous black chest arching above 
her, its scales gleaming like jet in the clear morning light. High, high above, the dragon 
tilted his head, gazing down at her with a merciless hilarity. 

That was when she screamed. 

A broad sweep of crimson filled her gaze, and a concussion like a thunderclap 
shook the air around her. The dragon poised over her staggered back, his enormous 
cock slipping free of her cunt, leaving her shocked and gasping at the sudden, aching 
emptiness. 

Again, that sweep of red, and this time Lara saw the second dragon, broad-
chested and massive, slam into the black dragon. The ground trembled underneath the 
impact. 

Stop! Darrek, stop! 

Above her, the black dragon reared back, his mouth opening in a fang-filled 
snarl. Back off, Aurorea. She’s mine. He hadn’t spoken -- she was certain of it. But she’d 
heard him just the same. 

Once again, the red dragon crashed into him, the broad crimson wings sending 
sand pluming over Lara. She scrambled backward, avoiding the talons that dug briefly 
into the dune and pushed off again quickly. 

Darrek! You bastard. She doesn’t know what she is.
Then I’ll show her.


That amused, haughty tone… Shocked into stillness, Lara stared upward. The 
black dragon leaned forward, tensing his haunches, preparing to spring. 

Darrek. It was Darrek. Somehow, impossibly, that black monster was --

Darrek, no! 

Wheeling on wings that seemed to span the whole sky, the red dragon plunged 
down, landing with such force the entire dune crumbled. Slipping, tumbling, Lara fell 


with the cascade of sand, and found herself on hands and knees on the cold salty shore. 
A wave crested and broke, sending icy water splashing over her, and she stumbled to 
her feet, wiping the grit from her eyes. 

Here! 

She looked around quickly at the urgent cry. She could see the black dragon 
scowling down at her, his wings like sails of smoke spread wide against the sky, his 
haunches knotted beneath him, ready to leap. Then --

There. Just ahead. The red-gold dragon, his massive head swung around on his 
neck, looking back at her, his turquoise-blue eyes sparkling in the bright sun. Here, 
Elara! Quick! 

Running faster than she’d have ever imagined, Lara sprinted to the red dragon’s 
side, leaped for his back, and straddled his neck. The great muscles heaved beneath her, 
and then her stomach flipped over as the beach fell away and they were flying, the wide 
crimson wings carrying them steadily higher, while below on the sand the lean black 
dragon shrieked in balked fury. 


Chapter Six 

Servants had brought wine on her order, and food. Neither of the two waiting 
lords did more than pick at it. Melgara herself ate heartily, thoroughly enjoying their 
mounting apprehension as the long hours dragged past. Every now and again, one of 
them glanced up at her from the chairs she’d had fetched for them, cleared his throat as 
if to ask a question, then scowled across at his rival and looked away. 

It was Thrand who broke first, as Melgara had known it would be. “Your 
Highness…” Rising, he shuffled forward to the base of the steps. 

She raised an eyebrow, pausing with her goblet halfway to her lips. “Yes, Lord 
Aurorea?” 

“Your Highness, I…” His gaze slid to Darmon Hausther, then back up to her. 
“May we speak in private?” 

“No.” She smiled to soften the word, but not its meaning. “There is nothing you 
have to say that Lord Hausther cannot hear.” 

The barrel-chested old lord stood, wringing his hands. His red hair was grizzled 
now, his beard shot with streaks of white. Melgara felt a pang at the sight. I’m using 
them so hard. And yet… and yet they’d demanded it, the both of them, with their stiff-
necked pride and endless bickering. 

And she was using them no harder than she’d used herself. 

For twenty years, she had given up her daughter. She’d given up her childhood, 
and the joy of watching her grow, find her wings… She’d had to. The two lords below 
her had left her no other choice. The anger she’d kept bottled up all those years steadied 
her now, and her eyes were cool as she watched Thrand Aurorea shift and fidget. Yet 
her heart bled for him -- she knew what he was going through. 


“Your Highness… My lady. I cannot… Please, cancel this contest. I cannot bear it 
any longer.” 

“No.” 

Her voice was like ice, sharp and cold. It cut through his hesitation, his soft, 
guarded words. His face twisted in anguish, and he cried out, “My lady, I love my son!” 

“Yes, Lord Aurorea. But you hated Hausther more.” 

Thrand Aurorea blanched, his ruddy face going pale as parchment. Mutely, he 
stared up at her, his eyes gleaming with tears. He stumbled backward blindly, almost 
falling into his chair. Picking up his wine glass, he stared blankly into its depths. 

Melgara leaned forward, carefully keeping her gaze fixed on Thrand. It wouldn’t 
do to glance at Darmon Hausther. Not now. 

Quietly, she asked, “Would it ease you to know that Elara is with your son, right 
now?” 

The old man glanced up, his watery blue eyes brightening with hope. “She is?” 

The queen nodded. Then, looking inward in the way only those born to the 
throne of Wind Castle could do, Melgara smiled fondly at what she saw there. “They’re 
flying together.” 

From the very corner of her eye, she saw Darmon Hausther nervously biting his 
lip. 

* * * 

Watercolors, Lara thought dazedly. I’d use watercolors to paint this. 

Below, the ocean sparkled, sunlight snatching flecks of light from its rippled gray 
surface. Above, the sky was streaked here and there with contrails leading to and from 
Logan Airport, high white streaks against the pure, crystalline blue. The air rushed 
around her, hissing lightly in her ears, and to either side curved crimson wings rose and 
fell, carrying her effortlessly far above the waves. 

The wind was cool against her naked back, but beneath her the dragon’s skin 
was warm, glowing with an internal fire that warmed her chest, belly and thighs. Her 
arms were wrapped around the dragon’s shoulders, her legs clutching the ribcage just 


below the powerful pectoral muscles. Tilting her head, she rested her cheek against the 
side of his neck. He had hide rather than scales, a soft, durable skin that felt like warm 
leather. Peering down, Lara could see his shadow skimming along the waves -- and 
that’s when it hit her. 

This was real. She was flying on a dragon. An honest to God dragon! 

Raising her head, she slit her eyes against the wind. It whistled past, surrounding 
her, a sensation that was both intoxicating and oddly familiar. The horizon stretched 
out before her, shining and immeasurable. “Rand?” she whispered, unbelievingly. 

Yes, my lady? The reply was immediate, and unspoken. It tolled in her head, both 
vast and silent, as deep and soft as Rand’s own voice. 

“Do you… can you read my mind?” The idea was disconcerting. 

An amused chuckle reassured her. No, my lady. It is mind-speak. Dragons cannot 
talk, they can only roar. So we mind-speak instead. It’s like conversation. 

“But…” She didn’t really understand, but never mind. There were more pressing 
questions. 

“Rand, did I… did I make you?” 

Make me what, my lady? 

“I mean, did I create you?” 

His chuckle rumbled again inside her mind. I don’t see how. 

“But I drew you!” 

There was a moment’s pause. Yes, that puzzles me, too. They flew in silence 
awhile, following the curve of the Cape northward. She could see it in the distance, 
glimmering white, off to her left. Further away she could see the mainland, nothing but 
a blur of haze and the jagged outlines of cities. Rand’s wings beat steadily, and his 
warm hide was soothing on her skin, pressing against her torso and the sore place 
between her thighs. 

So that had been real, too. 


Wonderingly, Lara replayed the scene in her head, remembering the way Darrek 
had touched her, caressed her, fucked her… She almost giggled as it hit her. Impossible 
as it seemed, she, Lara Sutherland, had actually fucked a dragon. 

What made you draw me, Elara? 

The question startled her, and she stared absently at the waves below for a 
moment. “I don’t know. I dreamed you. I’ve always dreamed about dragons.” Then she 
laughed. “I even made up a land for them, all the dragons I’ve drawn.” 

What does it look like, this land of yours? Rand’s mind-voice was curiously eager. 

“Oh, it’s lovely. Vast mountain ranges, rolling fields, big, broad rivers flowing 
through them… There’s a castle, high on one peak -- or a palace, really, all white 
columns and arches with the wind blowing through --” 

Rand checked in the air below her, his wings freezing in excitement. Lara’s 
stomach lurched as they dropped. That’s it! His shout echoed in her mind, and he 
plunged forward, his wings once again (and much to Lara’s relief) sweeping the air. 

“What’s it?” 

That’s it! Oh, don’t you see? You’re remembering it. 

“What? That’s not possible. How can I --” 

Of course you can. It’s where you were born. 

Lara’s stomach flip-flopped as a sickly sense of vertigo rushed through her. The 
world tilted, and desperately she grabbed at Rand’s neck. In terror, she clung to him, 
feeling cold, sticky sweat suddenly coat her as she stared down, down, to the waves far 
below. Slowly she realized that she hadn’t fallen -- it had only felt that way. 

“Rand, no, I --” She faltered, remembering the intensity of his blue eyes, the way 
they’d widened with sudden comprehension. 

Elara, do you even know what you are? 

Not who -- what. What she was. And what she was, apparently, was a --

Hoarsely, she whispered, “Rand, I’m not a dragon.” 

You are Elara Southerlin, the Dragon Queen’s own daughter. 


What? “Rand, no I’m not. Whoever you think I am --” Sutherland, not Southerlin. 
Only why were the names so close? “You’re wrong.” 

That chuckle again, inside her skull. Unlike Darrek’s, it was warm, affectionate -- 
but there was still an undertone of challenge in it. Am I? 

She opened her mouth to say yes, but Rand lurched underneath her, rolling 
sharply to the right. Her hands slid from his neck and then she really was falling, the air 
whistling around her, her own screams piercing her ears. 

Vainly, she clawed at the air. The wind seized her in its incorporeal grip, 
buffeting her, seeming to shred the very flesh from her bones. She beat against it, 
shrieking in her fear and fury. 

How could he do this? She’d trusted him! 

The motion wrenched her muscles strangely, sending an unfamiliar ache through 
her shoulders. She fought to right herself, her wings beating madly at the air, her tail 
lashing for balance… 

Squawking in surprise, Elara faltered in midair, tumbled further, and felt more 
than saw the massive red-gold shape dart between herself and the waves, breaking her 
fall. 

Don’t think, Elara. Just do it! 

Straining her neck forward, she spread her broad, graceful wings, feeling the 
great muscles working as she cupped them, brought them down, raised them again. 
The wind glided under them, bearing her up. 

She was flying! 

With a sigh of relief that sounded clearly in her mind, Rand veered away, his 
longer wings beating steadily beside her. Wind stroked along her long, golden frame, 
surrounding her with its intoxicating touch. Oh, she had dreamed of this, so many times! 

And now she knew why. 

Reveling in the embrace of the wind, she swooped down, feeling it rush by her in 
a delirious blaze, the massive red dragon hovering protectively nearby, but giving her 
the freedom to try her wings. With a playful flick of her tail, she shot forward, speeding 


past him and climbing higher. Casually, confidently, Rand soared to match her, not 
trying to outdo her but simply staying close. 

Turning her head, she peered at him, admiring his sturdy crimson frame, the 
strong, handsome jaw, the clear turquoise eyes. He bared his teeth in what she 
instinctively knew was a grin, and Elara grinned back. 

Okay, so I’m a dragon. 

He didn’t answer. Mentally, she pictured tapping a microphone. Is this thing on? 

Is what thing on? 

She grinned again. Just seeing if you could hear me. 

I hear you just fi --

Something shrieked past overhead, and Rand dodged instinctively. Looking up, 
Lara saw the silver underbelly of a massive 787, far too close for comfort. Glancing 
around, she saw more air traffic and realized they’d blundered into Logan’s air space. 
Rand, we’d better get down. 

Yeah, he replied shakily, I think you’re right. 

But as they turned back, Lara saw that getting down wasn’t going to be so easy, 
either. Far below, the flat green turf of the Cape Cod National Seashore was dotted with 
tiny, staring shapes, and the gray line of Race Point Road, curving north from 
Provincetown, was suddenly jammed with vehicles, looking like toys at this height. 

Now what? 

Then Lara heard the unmistakable drone of a helicopter approaching. Whipping 
her head around on her sinuous neck, she saw it, humming low over the waves, 
speeding from the mainland directly toward them. 

Shit! Follow me! 

Lashing the air with her wings, she sped forward, cutting across the tip of the 
Cape. As she did, she saw hundreds of heads swivel below like daisies turning to 
follow the sun. Rand was right at her wingtip. So far, so good. 

There were honks and the screeching thud of crumpled fenders as they arrowed 
above Provincetown, heading for the barren, deserted crescent of sand and sea grass 


that was Wood End. The squat, square bulk of Wood End Lighthouse gleamed in the 
distance, and Lara folded her wings and dove for the dunes. 

Her landing was a travesty. She thumped to the sand, fouling one wing, then 
rolled gracelessly down a dune face. Silently she swore as Rand touched down easily 
beside her. Are you all right, my lady? 

Never mind. Change! How do I change, Rand? 

Just let go. Like this. 

And suddenly Rand was standing before her, still in his trousers. 

Struggling in her mind, Lara tried to will herself back into human form. But the 
harder she tried, the more she became aware of her wings, her tail, her sheer size… 

Rand! 

He didn’t answer. The helicopter was zooming toward them, and Lara could see 
the signature peacock plume painted on its side. Damn! 

Closing her eyes in concentration, Lara thought frantically. Let go how? The 
wind tugged at her wings, and the urge to spring back into it, thrust herself away from 
the approaching helicopter was fierce, almost undeniable… 

Let go. That was all the instruction she had. Lara breathed deeply, feeling a 
sudden image flash through her mind -- some TV actor, David Carradine, maybe, 
sitting cross-legged doing belly breaths like a Buddha. The picture distracted her, made 
her want to giggle, and just like that she felt her wings shred into nothingness and her 
body condense. She opened her eyes to see Rand standing there, grinning. 

“Come on.” Hurriedly, she glanced back over her shoulder as she grabbed his 
hand. They were below the dune line momentarily, but at any second the news ’copter 
was going to appear, whirling above them… 

Crouching low, Lara ran, tugging Rand with her. Weaving between the dunes, 
she got maybe thirty yards away from where they’d landed, and threw herself down 
onto the sand. “Now fuck me!” 

“What?” Rand stared at her in consternation. 

“Or pretend to, anyway. Here they come!” 


Just in time, Rand dropped on top of her, causing her to grunt as his solid frame 
thumped heavily against her midriff. Yanking at his trousers, she got them down over 
his ass just as the ’copter appeared above them, circled once, darted a few dozen yards 
away, and then sank to the sand. A man jumped out, hauling a camera over his 
shoulder, and Lara shrieked, tugging herself from beneath Rand and attempting to hide 
her breasts behind her arms. 

“Jesus! Do you mind?” 

She glared at the camera guy who, oblivious, ran toward them, shouting over the 
beat of the helicopter blades, “Where did they go?” 

“Where did who go?” 

“The dragons! You must have seen them.” 

Lara dropped her hands to her hips and stared. “Are you on crack?” 

For the first time, the guy seemed to notice her nudity. He checked in 
consternation and glanced uncertainly at Rand, who was sitting, his arms resting on his 
bent knees, grinning up at him. 

Ask him for a tape. Lara wasn’t sure if he could hear her, but she’d heard him when 
he was shouting at Darrek, so maybe… 

His head whipped around, his eyes widening as he looked at her. 

Just do it, Rand! Relax, grin, and repeat what I’m saying… 

Lazily, Rand leaned back on his forearms and grinned up at the guy. “Hey, I’ll 
buy a copy of that tape. She won’t let me film us fucking.” 

“Oh, I, uh…” The guy backed away. “I wasn’t trying to… I mean…” 

“Yeah, right.” Lara’s voice was tart with skepticism. “Gimme that camera or I’ll 
sue your ever-loving ass off. WHDH Boston, right?” 

The guy blanched. “Lady, I swear… I can’t give you this.” The febrile excitement 
returned to his eyes. “You won’t believe what I’ve got on here.” 

“Oh, I might. Make a habit of this, do you? Hand it over, bub.” Stumbling 
backward, the guy tried to flee and Lara, naked and bristling, stalked after him. “It’s 
your ass, bozo!” 


Scrambling back into the ’copter, he signaled frantically to the pilot who grinned 
at Lara and winked before lifting back off. 

Shielding her eyes against the blowing sand, Lara watched them go, her teeth 
bared in a ferocious smile. “Okay, so I’m a dragon.” Turning back to Rand, she 
continued, “Now who am I, exactly?” 

Rand was standing right behind her, his massive arms coming down to swoop 
her into a triumphant hug. He grinned down at her. “You are Elara Southerlin, and my 
future queen.” 

His grin broadened as he bent his head to hers, his soft, shaggy mane blazing like 
sunset as it fell around her, enclosing them both in a veil of crimson. “And I do believe 
you ordered me to fuck you.” 


Chapter Seven 

She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and startled as Rand lowered his head. 
Winds! The way she’d stood before that human, naked and bristling, terrifying him into 
a stumbling retreat -- she was magnificent. He closed his eyes, feeling a thrill of arousal 
running through him as their lips met. 

She was as regal as Melgara, as fierce as Darrek Hausther -- she was truly every 
inch a dragon queen. 

Drawing back, he gazed down at her admiringly. Her eyes were closed, her 
cheeks flushed -- whether with the excitement of the chase or of the kiss, he couldn’t 
tell. He hoped it was the latter. Then she opened her eyes and grinned up at him, and 
Rand sighed in relief. 

He wasn’t sure, after he’d rejected her, if she’d still want him. Well, he hadn’t 
rejected her, exactly -- he’d just wanted to wait till she knew what was going on. And all 
he’d accomplished by his hesitation was to drive her into Darrek Hausther’s arms. 

Well, he wouldn’t make that mistake twice. Pulling her to him, he kissed her 
again. Her lips parted slightly and Rand extended his tongue, gently probing the 
warmth of her mouth. He was so conscious of her body, wrapped close in his arms -- 
the sweet curve of her bare breasts against his chest, the swell of her hips, the feel of her 
thighs, brushing against his. His arms were trembling, as if conscious of the enormous 
risk he was taking. What if she pushed him away? She’d wanted him before, sure -- but 
that was before she’d fucked Darrek. 

And now Rand couldn’t help wondering if he measured up. 

He had no doubt that Darrek would already be fondling her, teasing her, rousing 
her to readiness with those long, clever fingers… but he wasn’t Darrek. He didn’t know 


the techniques of seducing a female. For all the times he’d made love, he’d only taken 
what had been freely -- and obviously -- offered. 

But she was kissing him back, her hands twined in his hair, her tongue hungrily 
probing his mouth in return. With a groan compounded as much of relief as of lust, he 
folded his arms around her, pillowing her head against his broad chest. 

“Oh, Elara,” he whispered, staring out at the ocean, feeling her hair tickle the 
underside of his chin. His cock, which had begun to lengthen as she’d yanked his 
trousers down and bared his ass to the approaching sky-creature, now twitched as it 
thickened, hardening inside his trousers, the blood beating through it like a tidal wave. 

She felt it, apparently, for she tilted her head back, smiling up at him with that 
same smoky invitation he’d seen in her eyes that morning. His hand shook as he 
delicately brushed her hair back from her face. 

“Tell me you want this,” he asked, his tone almost pleading. He wasn’t Darrek -- 
he couldn’t simply throw her down on the sand and shove himself inside her, no matter 
how much he might want to. He had to know she wanted it, too. 

She chuckled at that, and the sound trickled through him like honey, sweet and 
warm, spreading through his chest and his stomach and down into his balls. They 
pulsed almost painfully, swelling with renewed arousal. Laughing up at him, she 
wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged his mouth back down to hers. “Oh, 
Rand,” she whispered, “can’t you tell?” 

His pulse thundered in his ears as her lips closed on his hungrily, demandingly. 
Then she slid her hands over the broad plane of his shoulders and pushed downward. 
Gulping, Rand sank to his knees before her and found himself staring directly at her 
breasts. 

They were beautiful -- not as large as some, perhaps, but nicely rounded and 
firm. The nipples were a deep dusky pink like the underside of a rose petal, and Rand’s 
cock swelled further, brushing against the flat ridge of his abs as he imagined leaning 
forward and closing his lips around one. Glancing up at her, he saw her watching from 
under half-lowered lids, her face flushed with arousal, her mouth open slightly. At the 


sight, a bolt of sheer desire shot through him, and he groaned again as, impatiently, she 
closed a fist in his hair and dragged his mouth to her breast. 

He suckled eagerly, his tongue swirling around one pink bud while he rubbed 
the other gently, his fingers playing over the nubbly skin of her areola. She arched her 
back, sighing in enjoyment, and encouraged, he squeezed her breast more firmly, then 
rolled her nipple between his fingers. 

A deep, almost painful heat pulsed in his overburdened balls, and he couldn’t 
help rocking his hips slightly, letting his cockhead nudge against her thighs. Trailing his 
hand down her soft tangle of curls, he slid his finger between them, amazed at the wet 
heat emanating from her cunt. The temperature in his groin climbed another few 
degrees as he found her swollen clit and pressed it. Elara gasped and buried her hands 
in his hair, pulling his head tighter against her breast. Opening his mouth wide, Rand 
sucked at it, hard. 

His cock was trapped between his abs and her thighs, mashed between the two, 
aching with need. Moaning, he surrendered to those twin points of sensation, feeling 
his balls tighten further as Elara pushed her hips forward, urging him to rub her clit 
faster. 

There was something uniquely stimulating about the feel of her fists clenched in 
his hair, holding him helpless at her breast, almost suffocating him as she made him 
suck harder, taking him as insistently as Darrek, he was sure, had taken her. He could 
still see Darrek towering over her, his head thrown back, his hips pistoning insistently 
forward. Her eyes had been closed, her face lax in abandoned delight, her hips rising to 
his fierce thrusts as she urged him on… 

What had that been like, to be fucked so fiercely, so greedily? 

His balls tingled at the very idea. 

And now here she was, her nipple in his mouth, the hot little nub of her clit 
pulsing under his fingers. He pressed down firmly, rubbing its swollen length, floating 
on the delirium of her small, hungry cries. He felt her grab his hair again, knotting her 
fingers in it as she shoved his head down, forcing it against her cunt. Rand groaned at 


the scent of her, sweet and tangy at once like a hot ocean breeze. Delicately, he licked, 
running his tongue over her clit, feeling her buck and shudder in response. Then he 
clamped his mouth around it and suckled like an infant. 

Dropping her head back, Lara gave herself over entirely to Rand’s enthusiastic 
ministrations, her breasts rising and falling as she panted. Her hands clenched in his 
hair as she rammed his mouth against her cunt, feeling her arousal building to a fever 
pitch. 

But it wasn’t Rand she wanted to force to his knees -- he was already so willing 
to go there. She smiled at the thought even as his flicking tongue drew another gasp 
from her throat, and a fresh spurt of wetness from her saturated cunt. He was so big, so 
dependable, so utterly, utterly sweet. 

Ironically, she’d rather hoped he’d be more aggressive, more like the dark, 
brooding, tempestuous Darrek. 

She was fully aware there was a certain incongruity between that hope and her 
desire to humble Darrek. Or maybe both desires were really the same -- the urge to 
force each of them to be more than they wanted, to do what she wanted. And what part 
of her wanted, more than anything on earth, was to have Darrek Hausther right where 
Rand was now, on his knees before her, trapped by her hands, by her will, humbled 
and horny and both hating and loving every minute of it. 

That image nearly drove her over the brink. 

No, she told herself sternly, this is wrong. Rand deserves better than to have you 
pretending he’s Darrek. 

“Rand, stop.” 

With a barely-suppressed whimper, he froze against her. Her clit throbbed in 
protest as he drew back at her command, and the sudden brush of the wind against the 
curls of her pubic hair made her cunt throb with frustration. 

Looking down into his upturned face, Lara felt a wave of tenderness so strong it 
almost frightened her. His shaggy head was bent back, his fiery hair cascading down 


his shoulders as he gazed up at her with an urgency that made her insides quiver -- and 
yet she knew he wouldn’t move, wouldn’t even so much as stroke the massive erection 
straining from his pants until she told him to. 

He does deserve more. And so do I. 

She was glad she’d made him stop. Stroking his face lightly, she whispered, “Oh, 
Rand.” Then she sank to her knees, facing him, and kissed him gently. His cock 
prodded her stomach, and she chuckled into his mouth at its hopeful insistence. “All in 
good time,” she said, and looked down at it playfully. 

Her breath caught in her throat. God, she had never seen a cock like his. The 
head was nearly the size of her fist. Its delicate skin gleamed, it was so tightly stretched. 
The dark slit at its tip gaped, and the twin curves on either side flowed smoothly down 
to the swollen rim. His shaft was so hard it was almost purple, and she could see the 
individual veins bulging along its length. The thought of commanding him to wrap his 
fingers around that huge, throbbing erection, of watching him rub it, made her delirious 
with lust. 

Oh yeah, she thought weakly, swallowing the saliva that had flooded her mouth. 
That’s me. Elara Southerlin, budding dominatrix. 

But this wasn’t the right time for that -- or the right partner. Lying back on the 
sand, she drew Rand down with her, smiling up into his earnest blue eyes. Spreading 
her legs wide, she drew her knees up, framing her breasts, and felt Rand’s enormous 
cock press gently against her. 

Holding himself over her on his powerful arms, he watched her expression as he 
slid slowly forward. 

Oh, dear God. 

Lara swallowed, feeling her body turn to water. He was so huge! His thick head 
stretched her cunt, muscling gently inward. She could feel every inch, every centimeter 
as it filled her, rigid and yet yielding just enough to slide back and forth carefully, 
working her open deeper and deeper. Grateful for his hesitant gentleness, she wrapped 
her arms around the corded column of his neck, pulling herself up to kiss him. His 


shoulders tensed, bearing her weight in addition to his, and he tightened his ass, 
prodding softly forward. 

The slow, steady pressure invading her cunt was intoxicating in a way utterly 
unlike sex with Darrek. It was like being seized by a tidal wave in slow motion, and she 
could feel every flex, every drag of skin against skin as his cock worked its way fully 
inside her. For a moment she was afraid she couldn’t take all of it, and she froze, her 
arms clenched around Rand’s neck, shuddering against him. 

He stayed motionless, only the tiniest quiver through his frame betraying the 
effort his self-control cost him, until she relaxed, the walls of her passage easing around 
him. Then, with a last small thrust, he sank in all the way, his pubic bone pressing 
against her swollen clit. 

“Oh,” she whispered breathlessly. “Oh God, Rand.” 

“I know.” His voice was rough, gravelly with need, almost a gasp against the 
curve of her neck. She clung to him as he pressed his hips downward, increasing the 
pressure on her throbbing clit, and held himself there, his whole body trembling. 

She could feel his cock inside her, could feel the beat of blood through it as the 
sheer grip of her passage brought him closer and closer to the edge. She whimpered, 
pressing her breasts up against his hard chest, and he gasped, “No, don’t move.” She 
didn’t, only tightened her arms, feeling his great heart thundering in his chest, his abs 
tense against the curve of her belly -- and that hard, steady pressure against her 
agonized clit. 

His balls nudged the lips of her cunt, huge and hard, and she felt them clench 
even as he groaned in her ear. The first wave of his come exploded into her cunt -- she 
could feel it, hot, almost searing as it pulsed into her. He strained forward desperately, 
sinking in even further, and that last overwhelming thrust mashed against her clit, 
sending her cunt into a frenzy as it clamped around his cock, gripping and releasing in 
time with the spurts of liquid fire erupting inside her. Clinging harder, she cried out, 
and at last he pulled back, slamming his cock in again and again as their orgasms grew 


to a blazing conflagration breaking over them, and he gasped in her ear, “Elara! Elara! 
Oh, sweet Winds! Oh, Elara!” 

Her own voice tumbled free, whimpering, moaning as her body trembled, 
wracked by an ecstasy so keen it was painful, as his cock pulsated, splitting her open 
with each short, rigid thrust. His balls swelled and contracted, still shooting his liquid 
deep in her cunt. 

Slowly, the tremors eased, until at last he lowered her gently to the sand and 
dropped his head to her shoulder with a deep, gusty sigh. 

Lara lay, stroking his marvelous, coppery hair, feeling their mingled juices trickle 
from her as his cock softened enough to allow passage. “Rand?” 

“Hmmm?” he murmured muzzily. 

“Rand, what if I’m pregnant?” 

Should have worried about that before, you dumb cluck. But Rand shook his head 
without lifting it from the pillow of her arm. 

“Can’t happen.” 

“Are you…” She couldn’t bring herself to ask, but he shook his head again. 

“We’re dragons. You can only get pregnant in dragon form -- and can only give 
birth that way, too. My dad scared me to tears as a kid, telling me about my mother in 
labor. Believe me, you don’t ever want to knock a female dragon up accidentally.” 

Lara grinned. “Vicious, huh?” 

“Labor pains and the ability to breathe fire? You’d better believe it.” 

That made her blink. “I can breathe fire?” 

She felt Rand shrug. “Sure. I’ll teach you.” Then he yawned. “Later.” 

“You’re not falling asleep on me, you great ox!” She nudged him, and he moved 
off her. She felt a pang of regret as his cock, still huge for all it was flaccid, slid out of 
her. He rolled onto his back, drawing her to him, and she rested her head on his chest, 
playing absently with the fingers of the hand he’d wrapped around her shoulder. 


She had the feeling she was forgetting something -- something important. It 
nagged at her even as she lay, utterly relaxed, her body awash in erotic contentment. 
Then she sat up abruptly, staring out at the bay. 

In the tumult and excitement of the past -- she squinted, noting the sun dropping 
low against the horizon -- eighteen hours she’d neglected to ask one very crucial 
question. “Rand, why are you here?” 

He blinked, his face wearing the blank, surprised look of a man who’s just 
remembered something as obvious as his own name. Then he chuckled. “Oh, my lady. I 
have so much to tell you.” 


Chapter Eight 

As soon as he’d heard the shouts and distant sirens, Darrek had had the sense to 
drop out of dragon shape and make his way back to the only shelter he knew -- Elara’s 
cottage. 

He paced the single room, irritated by the crunch of shattered crockery 
underfoot. The sirens had moved northward and now, as the silence returned and 
stretched out, growing long and thin like the late afternoon sunlight slanting across the 
floor, fury warred with apprehension inside him. 

Had he lost? Had he lost to Rand Aurorea? 

He was beginning to suspect he had. 

Glaring at the wreckage of dishes and scattered sugar, Darrek seethed at the 
unfairness of it all. Elara hadn’t been frightened when he’d crawled through her 
window. Oh, she’d acted like it, but her body hadn’t once ceased to radiate desire. He 
wasn’t wrong about that! No, what she’d been was angry -- angry and embarrassed at 
being forced to admit to her body’s hunger. 

Darrek snorted. Quite the little temper tantrum she’d thrown over it, too. Like 
they hadn’t both known perfectly well how much she’d wanted him -- him, not Rand. 
And she’d proved it, too, this morning, down on the beach. 

A self-satisfied smirk twisted his features as he remembered the way she’d held 
herself above him, completely free to leave but restrained utterly by the hot, aching lust 
inside her. It had burned in her voice as she’d challenged him. As much as you’ve got --
Darrek. 

Oh yeah, she’d wanted it then. So why, by the Winds, had she been so pissed off 
about admitting it? 

I don’t need your help! 


Darrek’s head jerked up. As sharply and unexpectedly as a slap, the words he’d 
screamed at Rand rang in his memory. Hadn’t he been just as angry, and for precisely 
the same reason? Because he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that he did need Rand’s 
help? 

Scowling, Darrek kicked at a smashed teacup, sending its cracked remains flying 
in a spray of jagged shards. That was different, damn it! 

But that wasn’t all of it, was it? Just the fact that he’d wounded her precious 
dignity? No. Because whether he’d frightened her last night or not, he’d terrified her 
this morning. He’d been angry because she’d made him lose control, so he’d tried to 
pay her back, to cow her into submission --her! Elara Southerlin, the queen’s own 
daughter! 

He could still picture the way she’d blanched, her eyes widening in stark terror 
as she’d stared up at him -- and the way she’d run, like a child to its mother, to Rand. 
Huge, handsome, honorable Rand. 

Oh yeah, he’d paid her back all right. 

Staring dully at the floor, his gaze fixed pointlessly on a shattered piece of china, 
for the first time in his life Darrek Hausther came face to face with the ugly specter of 
his own pride. Congratulations, Darrek. I think you just bought yourself a lifetime of exile. 

The thought was terrifying. He stared wildly around the cottage, as if at a prison 
closing in on him. To be condemned to a lifetime among pathetic, wingless creatures, 
meekly pretending to be one of them? Never to feel the wind in his face, the sun hot on 
his back as he glided free on the air? 

He couldn’t do it. Self-awareness was hardly his forté, but he knew himself well 
enough to know that. He would struggle, trying to contain his wildness, his pride, the 
haughty fire of his soul -- but eventually he would fail. And then they would kill him, 
he had no doubt of that. He would undoubtedly kill as well, ripping his tormentors to 
shreds as they closed in on him, giving vent to the last violent fury of his heart. 

And that would be the end. 


For all he knew, Rand and Elara could be gone already. Could have flown back 
and simply stranded him here, wondering, waiting… 

No. He might have done that, might have taken off without a word, abandoning 
Rand to his fate. But Rand wouldn’t. Not in a million years. 

Scowling, Darrek hung his head. How many times had he sneered at Rand, 
called him an oaf, mocked him for that very innocence, that almost naïve decency which 
wouldn’t allow Rand to simply abandon him? And yet, as he stood in the silence of 
Elara’s cottage, Darrek admitted for the first time that what he’d really felt was envy. 
Rand was so huge, so solid, so secure in himself in a way that Darrek had never been. 
He’d never seemed to feel the need that lashed Darrek constantly -- the need to prove 
himself, to be the best, to dominate. 

No, he’d always simply been there, huge and unassuming. Honest, 
straightforward, compassionate… 

Like the way Rand had put up with him, his sulks, his sneers, never once 
responding in kind -- not even when Darrek had hit him. And what had he hit Rand 
for? For saving his life. 

Rand deserved to win -- and that was the most bitter admission of all. 

* * * 

They’d waited till nightfall before risking the flight back. Lara had no idea what 
the State of Massachusetts -- or, God forbid, the Coast Guard -- would do if confronted 
with a dragon, but she’d had absolutely zero desire to find out. Now they flew through 
the darkness, the long curve of Cape Cod glimmering below them in the pale, thin light 
of a crescent moon, their wings flapping softly, the wind no more than a whisper as it 
slipped by. 

Lara found the silence soothing. She was appalled at the decision her mother had 
burdened her with. How could she possibly choose between them, knowing she would 
be damning one of them to exile forever? 

Could her mother really be that ruthless? The image Rand had painted of 
Melgara suggested a queen both stern and wise -- but not vindictive. He’d told her 


about the Zendarian wars, and the brave young queen who had done whatever it took 
to protect her subjects. And then, in order to end a rift that threatened to tear her 
domain to splinters, leaving it fatally vulnerable to a second attack, she’d given up her 
own daughter, sending her into hiding precisely so that Rand and Darrek would one 
day have to come looking for her. Lara knew it had not been an easy sacrifice for her 
mother to make. 

What if she simply refused to choose? No, that was too easy. And it wouldn’t 
solve the problem, anyway. 

But Lara couldn’t help feeling she was missing something. 

Whatever it was, she hadn’t found it by the time East Wellfleet appeared below 
them, its scattered streetlights casting dim pools of light along the deserted lanes. With 
no more than a rustle of wings, they glided to the wave-swept sand and quickly 
dropped into human form. 

As they padded toward the cottage, Rand took her arm, halting her. “Elara…” 
His eyes were dark with worry and strain, but his expression was determined. “Elara, 
whatever happens, I want you to know I have no regrets.” 

Feeling an ache where her heart should be, Lara studied him -- the broad, honest 
face, the turquoise-blue eyes. She opened her mouth, but Rand laid a finger across her 
lips, silencing her. 

“No. This is important. You need Darrek, Elara. And I’m not afraid of exile -- or, 
well, I am -- but I can survive it. It might even be an adventure for me.” He grinned, but 
even in the darkness she could see the bravado in it. Then his eyes darkened again as he 
added, “Darrek can’t. And I want you to take that into account.” 

Without replying, she slid into his arms, hugging his massive frame tight. He 
was so good, so gentle… How could she possibly leave him behind? 

She couldn’t do it. 

As they walked up the scrubby little lawn to her cottage, she finally made out 
Darrek’s silhouette. He was sitting on the porch steps, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 
His head had lifted abruptly as he heard them approach -- but no hope lit his eyes. The 


only expression in them was a sullen resignation. He looked nothing like the awesome, 
powerful dragon that had so terrified her this morning -- he looked, in fact, like a very 
frightened, very lonely young man. 

Rand was right -- he wouldn’t survive. He was too inflexible, too arrogant, too 
angry… 

“Came to say goodbye, did you?” His tone was sullen and futile, like the snarl of 
a caged lion that knows his roar is useless. 

Rand opened his mouth. “I… no.” 

Darrek stared at him, puzzled. Then, slowly, his expression changed to absolute 
rage. His black eyes narrowed to sharp, deadly slits as he glared at Lara. “Do you enjoy 
tormenting us, my lady?” His tone twisted the endearment into an epithet. “Does it give 
you pleasure, watching us writhe?” 

Lara shook her head, unable to speak to defend herself. Isn’t that what I’m doing, 
after all? Simply putting off the inevitable? 

“Do you like leaving us hanging, waiting to know which of us you’ll condemn 
forever?” 

“Darrek, stop it!” Rand broke in. 

Darrek whipped around to face him. “You’re defending her? Her hero, her 
rescuer -- and after everything you’ve done she’s considering leaving you here!” 

Springing to his feet, Darrek loomed menacingly over Lara, his inky hair 
whipping across his face. Trembling, feeling the blood drain from her face, she backed 
away. 

“What now? Shall we do handstands for you? What else would you care to 
examine? Our teeth? Our intentions? How well we dance?” He pounced, grabbing her 
by the arms. His grip was vise-like, his nails digging into her arms. His eyes glittered 
down at her as he whispered, low and intense. “You will choose, my lady. One way or 
another. And you will choose now.” 

“No!” Throwing himself at the Hausther heir, Rand bore him to the ground. Lara 
screamed as they rolled, thrashing and fighting, each trying to gain the upper hand. For 


all Rand’s massive strength, Darrek moved like a snake -- deadly, limber, and lightning 
fast. 

Rand grabbed Darrek’s arm as he sought to gouge out the Aurorean’s eyes, but 
Darrek pivoted on his hold, sliding from beneath Rand to straddle his back. Viciously, 
he yanked Rand’s arm upward, forcing it high between the heavy shoulder blades. 
Rand shrieked in agony, and thrust himself backward, tumbling the dark Hausther to 
the ground. Grabbing Darrek’s hair, he slammed him to his knees, one burly arm 
coming up to hammer his enormous fist home. 

“No!” Lara screamed. The two men froze, glaring at each other with murder in 
their eyes. 

“No!” she repeated and stalked forward, naked and bristling. In her fury and 
distraction, she barely saw them. There was something Darrek had said, something… 

You will choose, my lady. One way or another. 

How could she make such a heart-wrenching choice? Surely her mother hadn’t 
given her up, hadn’t sent her into hiding and set all this in motion just so that one of 
them could be exiled forever. 

Darrek was staring up at her, his hands still wrapped around Rand’s throat. 
Ignoring them both, Lara dug her hands into her hair, yanking it as she thought 
furiously. 

One way or another, my lords, your feud ends here. 

She’d made Rand tell her, word for word, what Melgara had said. Now that 
phrase rang in her mind. Instinctively, she knew her mother had chosen those words for 
a reason. 

One way or another… 

She knew what the one way was -- they all did. 

But what was the other? 

“You!” She jabbed a finger at Rand. “You said earlier I need Darrek. Tell me 
why.” 


He stared at her, panting, his face a mask of confusion. Straightening, he lowered 
his fist and turned Darrek loose. He bent his head for a moment, his thick, crimson hair 
hiding his face, his shoulders heaving as he breathed deeply, regaining command of 
himself. “Because, my lady. He’s arrogant. He’s unpleasant. But he’s also the best 
fighter in the four clans.” 

“But…” Confused, she gestured at the scene. Darrek was still on his knees, 
glowering at the sandy dirt beneath his knees, his face a mask of hatred and spite. 

Rand laughed ruefully. “This? This wasn’t a fight. This was…” He shrugged 
dismissively, reducing their brawl to inconsequentiality. “Believe me, in a real battle? 
Darrek would have torn my guts out and left me bleeding on the sand.” 

For a moment, Lara seemed to see two dragons in the air, their shrieks like 
thunderclaps splitting the sky. Rand was right, she realized -- this had been nothing. 

“If Zendar ever attacks again -- and Melgara has been certain for twenty years 
that he will -- you’ll need Darrek. Him and every stiff-necked, arrogant, violent 
Hausther.” Rand paused a moment, thinking. “I know he’s infuriating sometimes, 
but… I’ve always kind of admired that fierceness. I might not like how he goes about it, 
but Darrek makes things happen. And he’s not afraid of anything.” 

“Is that all?” she said coldly. 

“No.” He shook his head, then stared at her beseechingly, as if desperate to make 
her understand. “Darrek would like nothing better than to make everybody believe he 
doesn’t care about anything, except his own pride.” 

Lara saw Darrek’s head jerk up, his eyes glittering with both fury and a strange 
sort of dismay, as Rand continued. “But I know him better than that, Elara. He does 
care -- a lot. More than he knows, or even knows how to admit. And he will fight to the 
death to protect what he loves.” 

“No!” The word was as sharp and jagged as broken glass. It shrilled from 
Darrek’s throat as if torn from him. Snarling, he lunged at Rand, tumbling the huge 
Aurorean to the ground and straddling his chest, his hands clamping around Rand’s 


neck. “You bastard! Do you think I’ll allow that? Do you think I’ll spend the rest of my 
days burdened by your mercy?” 

Leaping forward, Lara grabbed Darrek’s hair, yanking his head back, and 
breaking his grip on Rand’s throat. “Then tell me why,” she demanded. His eyes 
burned with poisonous, febrile hate. “Tell me why I should choose Rand instead of 
you.” 

“Because!” 
“Because why?” 
“Because he’s everything I’m not!” Darrek’s voice was almost a shriek. “He’s 


kind, and patient, and good. I’m not! And I will not allow him to sacrifice himself -- you 

deserve him!” 
Darrek stared at her, panting, furious. Lara froze, staring at him in shock. 
You deserve him. 
Not he deserves you, but you deserve him. 
Lara’s hands flew to her mouth as her eyes widened in sudden comprehension. 

Could it be that easy? Could the rage and enmity between these two really be that 
simple? 

She stared down at them. Then, as the implications of what Melgara had set in 
motion sank in, she felt an evil grin slowly spreading behind her fingers. She started 
chuckling -- she couldn’t help it. 

Oh, Darrek was going to hate this! 
“I’m glad you find this so amusing --my lady.” 
The sneer in Darrek’s voice made it easy to wipe the grin off her face. Dropping 


her hands, she managed a stern glare. “I don’t. Now get off him.” 
Darrek’s eyes narrowed, but he pushed to his feet. “There. Are you satisfied?” 
“No.” 
He cocked an arrogant eyebrow at that, and suddenly Lara didn’t need to feign a 

single ounce of indignation. “No, Darrek, I am not satisfied. Do you remember this 
morning, on the beach?” He flinched, and his gaze slid away from her. “Look at me.” 


There was absolutely no pretense to her rage now. “Do you remember what you said?” 
He opened his mouth, but she steamrolled right over him. “You said, ‘You are mine 
now, Elara.’ Well, I am not yours, Darrek, and I never will be!” Stalking to him, she 
slapped him hard across the face. “How dare you? Do you know who I am?” Letting 
her eyes blaze with rage, she ignored his mute nod. “I am Elara Southerlin -- your queen, 
Darrek Hausther! And you will obey me!” 

He stood, his face drained of color, his black brows raised high in stupefaction. 
He swallowed once and opened his mouth as if to speak. She cut him off. “If that’s an 
apology, save your breath and help Rand up.” 

His expression shifted back to a glower, but he turned and extended a hand, 
helping the Aurorean to his feet. Lara nodded. “Good. Now kiss and make up.” 

“What?” Darrek whipped around, his eyes blazing in fury. Behind him, Rand 
looked equally horrified, his turquoise eyes going almost silver with alarm. 

Lara had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. But she had the 
whip hand here -- she knew it, they knew it. And she had every intention of using it. She 
frowned harder, instead. “You heard me, Darrek. You too, Rand.” 

They glanced at each other, Rand’s face going deathly white, while two bright 
pink spots burned high on Darrek’s pale cheeks. Lara practically purred as she said, 
“Unless you’d prefer exile, of course.” 

Glowering, jaws knotted, the two men glared at the sky, the ground -- anywhere 
but at each other. An unspoken accord seemed to flash between them and, awkwardly, 
they shuffled toward each other, their eyes averted as they leaned in. 

“Oh, and make it count,” Lara added sweetly, seating herself on the steps of the 
porch. For the first time, she realized she’d been standing on her back lawn stark naked, 
screaming at two fighting men. Hedge or no hedge, she was instantly uncomfortable. 
Thank God it’s autumn. And the middle of the night. She didn’t dare interrupt this moment 


-not even long enough to grab her robe from inside. 

Screwing their eyes shut like children swallowing cough syrup, the two men 
braced themselves, leaned forward… 


Automatically, Rand raised his arms to slide them around Darrek’s waist. Wait -- 
what was he doing? Blushing furiously, he dropped them. 

He could feel the heat pouring off Darrek’s body, the shorter man’s chest 
brushing lightly against his own. He didn’t know why Elara was forcing them to do 
this, but… 

Suddenly he remembered how the Hausther heir had looked sprawled asleep 
beside the hedge -- and the way he’d reached out to stroke Darrek’s hair back. With that 
same innate tenderness, Rand lowered his mouth and gently brushed Darrek’s lips with 
his own. 

Darrek tilted his head back, enraged by the fact that Rand had to bend down to 
kiss him. What game did that bitch think she was playing? He stood quivering with 
fury as Rand kissed him -- lightly, delicately, considerately, as if Darrek were as precious, 
as fragile as a girl. 

Bastard! How dare he? 

That was the last straw, the final indignity. Grabbing the Aurorean by the scruff 
of his neck, Darrek dragged his head downward and kissed him, hard, raking his lips 
over Rand’s fuller ones. 

Make it count? Oh, he’d do that, by the Winds! 

Rand gasped in shock, and Darrek took advantage of the motion, forcing his 
tongue between Rand’s teeth and lashing the inside of his mouth. 

Rand stood, his chest heaving, unable to do anything but let Darrek savage his 
mouth. He was uncomfortably aware of the erection thickening inside his trousers. 

What if Darrek felt it? 

He tried to move away, but Darrek’s hands were clenched in his hair, restraining 
him unmercifully as his long, agile tongue darted deep into Rand’s mouth. Rand 
groaned -- he couldn’t help it. Darrek kissed him harder, jabbing his tongue between 
Rand’s lips, and Rand whimpered as his cock flexed painfully, becoming fully erect. 

Winds! How could he be wanting this? 


With a shock that jolted him, running from his balls straight up his spine, Rand 
realized, No, the question is how long have I been wanting this? 

Darrek nipped viciously at his neck, and rasped in his ear, “You like that, 
Aurorea? You like it rough?” 

Only from you, Rand thought incoherently. His hands hung awkwardly at his 
sides, and he had to suppress the urge to slide them around Darrek’s slim waist. 
Darrek’s mouth lifted again to his, licking and biting at his lips, and this time Rand was 
unable to stop himself from kissing Darrek back. Hesitantly, he probed with his tongue, 
and Darrek seized it between his lips, sucking it deep into his mouth. Rand felt his 
knees buckle as his pulse thundered in his ears. 

Then Darrek was grabbing him, yanking him close. Rand stiffened in 
apprehension as Darrek’s sharp hipbone brushed against his erection. His eyelids flew 
open in alarm, and he stared down into the hot midnight blackness of Darrek 
Hausther’s gaze. 

Darrek’s cock was as erect as his own. 

Oh, I’ll fuck you, you bastard. Darrek grinned into Rand’s soft blue eyes as he 
thrust his hips forward. Fuck you harder than you’ve ever dreamed… 

All his pride, all his envy, boiled up inside him. He ground his shaft roughly 
against Rand’s thicker one. I’ll fill your ass with my cock, your mouth with my come, I’ll tease 
you till you beg me for it, you big ox… 

He slid one hand from Rand’s hair, grabbed his ass tightly instead. Pistoning his 
hips, he slammed his cock against Rand, feeling the other’s heat even through the cloth 
separating them. He reached for the drawstring of Rand’s trousers -- and a cold, 
commanding voice pronounced one single word. 

“Stop.” 


Chapter Nine 

It had taken every ounce of willpower Lara had to utter that one word. She had 
never in her life been as horny as she was right now. The look on Rand’s face as Darrek 
had dragged his head downward, thrusting his tongue furiously into his mouth, was 
the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. 

How long had these two been in love with each other? Years, she suspected. And 
yet the way Rand had touched her, and the hunger with which Darrek had fucked her, 
hadn’t been in the least bit feigned -- what they felt for her was equally real. But this, 
Lara was certain, was the defining passion of their lives. 

Had her mother known? Yes, she rather thought Melgara had known quite well. 

But desire wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. And that’s all she was seeing in 
Darrek’s expression -- lust, and rage, and pride. 

She didn’t want to break him -- pain in the ass or not, the sight of him violently 
kissing Rand reminded Lara sharply of how incredibly arousing his arrogance could be. 
But if she couldn’t find some way to rein in the savage wildness of his nature now, there 
was no hope at all she’d be able to control him later. 

For once in his life, God damn it, Darrek Hausther was going to admit there was 
something he needed. 

“Rand!” 

The Aurorean lifted his head and she saw that he was blushing furiously. 
Embarrassed? No -- or at least not just embarrassed. Lara stood, and jerked her head. 
“Come with me.” 

He pulled away from Darrek as she walked up the steps. Darrek started to 
follow, but Lara glared at him. “No. Not you.” 


Going inside, she let the screen door fall shut behind her with a satisfying 
thump. It creaked open again a second later, and Rand entered quietly. “Close the 
door,” Lara said, and flicked on the light. 

The cottage was spotless. No debris littered the floor. The sheets had been 
smoothed on her queen-sized bed, and she could see her broom propped neatly in the 
corner by the fridge. 

“He cleaned it,” Rand murmured. “I don’t believe it.” 

Lara grinned. “Maybe there’s hope after all.” 

“Elara…” 

She turned. “What is it, Rand?” 

He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly “Elara, what just happened… 
I…” 

She smiled gently. “No. Don’t apologize. You didn’t know?” 

He shook his head, his eyes wide and wondering. Then he added, “But… What I 
feel for you is just as --” 

“I know.” Sliding into his arms, she lifted her chin, and with a sigh of relief, 
Rand kissed her. She could feel his cock, still erect, throbbing against her belly, and his 
kiss grew more demanding as he pulled her against him. 

Lara dropped her head back, and as he bent to kiss her neck, he slid one hand to 
her breast. Arching her back, she strained against him, fitting herself more snugly 
against his huge, rock-hard body. God! Watching them kiss had left her panting like a 
teenager. She was acutely conscious of the wetness between her thighs, the aching sense 
of emptiness in her cunt longing to be filled. Her hands slid over Rand’s back as he 
licked at her earlobe, feeling the rolling muscles, the smooth, velvety skin. 

Her cunt was pulsing with hunger, and she nuzzled his neck, enjoying the salty 
tang of him even as she whispered hoarsely in his ear. “Rand? What would you do, if 
you could both come back with me? What would you be willing to do to make that 
happen?” 


He pulled back abruptly, staring down at her, his eyes wide with unexpected 
hope. “Anything,” he whispered. “Anything at all.” 

“Then kiss me, Rand. Kiss me hard.” 

He did, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her to him, his mouth 
closing firmly on hers as he plunged his tongue between her teeth. Deliriously, she 
clung to him, but even as she did she tugged him slightly forward, taking two steps 
back till they were right by the bed -- and right in front of the big picture window. 

Outside, crouched just beyond the edge of the porch, Darrek scowled as he 
watched Rand’s hands moving over Elara, his biceps flexing as he pulled her closer. 
Holding his great, shaggy head in her hands, she guided his mouth downward, and 
Darrek gritted his teeth as Rand’s lips closed on one taut, pink nipple, suckling it with a 
look of such lust… 

Damn her! Damn them both! 

When she’d told -- no, ordered -- him to wait outside, Darrek’s first impulse had 
been to let his body expand into dragon form and shriek his fury against the night sky. 
Rage thundered through him, too hot, too overwhelming for this human form. His 
second impulse had been to spin on his heel and stomp away. 

But, like a lonely orphan on the edge of a playground staring hungrily at a father 
playing with his son, Darrek hadn’t been able to tear himself away from that bright, 
warm light pouring through the window, or what might be his final sight of the two of 
them inside. 

She’d chosen, obviously. And she’d made the right decision -- it was Rand who 
deserved to go back, Rand who should have a life, a future. Darrek watched him avidly, 
storing up every shift of expression on that broad, mobile face, the quick flash of his 
open, artless grin, the way his jaw went lax with arousal as Elara untied his trousers, 
sliding them down his muscular thighs, and wrapped her fingers around that huge, 
throbbing cock. 

Jealousy flooded through him -- he couldn’t help it -- as her hands glided up and 
down, working the skin over Rand’s thick, rock-hard shaft. She was kneeling now, one 


hand guiding his cock to her lips, while the other curved around Rand’s balls. Winds! 
They were enormous. Swollen with come, they filled her hand to overflowing, as 
oversized as everything else about him; his cock, his shoulders… 

His heart. 

Grimly, Darrek clenched his teeth against the hoarse, ragged sounds that were 
coming from his throat. This was the way it should be, he told himself fiercely. Rand 
would go back with Elara, and he… 

He should leave now. Now, while they were distracted by their pleasures -- 
what, after all, would be the point of goodbyes? 

But he couldn’t make himself move. He seemed rooted to the spot, his gaze 
devouring the two of them. Groaning, he knotted his hands into fists, watching as 
Rand’s fingers slid through Elara’s brown hair, pulling her head gently against him, 
watching her tongue dart over the tip of his cock, probing lightly at the slit, dancing 
over the red, engorged rim. She opened her jaw wide, closing her lips around his 
cockhead, obviously unable to get more of it in her mouth. 

Rand’s balls were tightening now, drawing up against his groin as his shaft 
swelled even further. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back in ecstasy, the corded 
muscles standing out in his strong neck as he panted, his broad chest rising and falling 
with his impending climax -- and then she stopped. Simply pulled away abruptly, 
leaving him hanging there, quivering on the edge of orgasm. His hand slid toward his 
cock -- Elara said something -- he froze, his face a grimace of agony as he dropped his 
hand to his side. His erection strained upward, so distended Darrek could see the large 
vein pulsing along its formidable length. 

Darrek felt a curious ache at the base of his tongue. Jutting it out slightly, he 
closed his eyes and pictured placing it where Elara’s had just been. Opening his mouth 
and curling his lips over his teeth, he could almost feel that massive shaft sliding 
against them, bruising his lips as it pushed inward… 


Sobbing with longing, he clung to the edge of the porch. His groin was on fire, 
his balls so heavy they felt made of lead. His cock pulsed against his abdomen, and he 
could feel the first drops of come leaking from it, smearing over his swollen tip. 

Stretching herself out on the bed, Lara tried to ignore the insistent throb of her 
clit as she listened intently. Yes. There. She heard it again -- a harsh, agonized groan, 
outside the window. 

There was such need in it, such yearning, that it tore at her heartstrings. Looking 
up at Rand, Lara realized he’d heard it, too. His gaze strayed toward the window, and 
she whispered quickly, “No. Don’t look.” His eyes were haunted by shadows as they 
focused back on her face. 

She breathed deeply, trying to contain the welter of emotions assaulting her -- 
compassion, a vague, restless guilt, and sharper and more demanding than either, 
desire. But underneath them beat a fierce determination, not at all like the resolve she’d 
felt when she’d vowed to herself that she would humble Darrek. No, this was a force of 
will she’d barely known she possessed, an almost ruthless ferocity that would do 
whatever it took to accomplish her goal. 

She would not leave either of them behind. 

Writhing on the bed, panting with arousal even in the midst of her reflections, 
she said, “Pretend you don’t even know he’s there.” Then she smiled, feeling a 
resurgence of her earlier, mischievous glee. “And now you can touch yourself.” 

She arched her back, thrusting her breasts up toward his gaze, and watched as 
Rand stroked his fingers over his cock, working them around the enormous tip and 
down the underside of the shaft. He rubbed it hard, right at the base where his cock 
joined his sac, then wrapped his hand around it and squeezed. 

Holding it like that, he stood, his face rigid with concentration, and Lara felt a 
wave of lust flood through her as his cock pulsed in his grip, flexing up against his 
almost brutal hold with every beat of his heart. 


“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered, staring at that club of a cock, which was turning 
slowly purple as Rand tightened his grip. Frantically, she thought, Darrek better break 
soon. Because I don’t know how much longer I can last. 


Chapter Ten 

The great hall was silent. Torches flickered in sconces, and the candles had long 
since burned low. Thrand Aurorea sprawled, fast asleep in his chair. Melgara smiled 
fondly, looking at the old lord, then shifted her gaze to Darmon Hausther. 

He sat motionless in his chair, every muscle as tense as a spring coiled in on 
itself. His long, elegant hands were wrapped around a silver wine goblet, and Melgara 
noted with satisfaction the whiteness of his knuckles. His eyes, hard as obsidian, were 
the only thing that moved -- they flicked to her, every so often, but Melgara remained 
silent, her face impassive, and that black, febrile gaze flicked away. 

Then, tossing back his head in a motion that precisely mirrored his son’s, 
Darmon raised the goblet -- but his fingers trembled as he did so. Scowling, he set it 
down, his nostrils flaring as his chest rose and fell. His hands clenched the arms of his 
chair, his body arched as if straining against the prison of his will. 

Melgara watched his struggle from under half-lowered lids. She could see the 
tension mounting through him, the way the cords stood out on his neck, the way his 
shoulders shook slightly… 

“Your Highness,” he whispered hoarsely, “have pity. Tell me there is hope.” 

At that, Melgara opened her eyes fully and gazed at him coldly. But she made no 
reply. 

“My lady… Melgara, please!” 

The moment when his battle was lost was painfully visible. His shoulders 
slumped. His proud head drooped, his gaze falling to the floor. His hands went lax on 
the arms of the chair, and he sobbed, twice, bitterly. Then he was silent. 

After a long pause, he raised his head. His usually pale face was utterly white. 
His black eyes, dull now with despair. “Call it off, your Highness. I beg you.” 


She raised an eyebrow, not smiling now. He was a father in the clutch of a 
parent’s most terrible fear -- she would not mock that. 

“My lady, I was wrong. And you have every right to punish me. But not my son! 
Not that. Oh, my lady, please, not that!” 

A tear trickled down one high, sharp cheekbone. Still, Melgara said nothing. 
Dropping his chin, Darmon Hausther said, “There is nothing more important to me 
than my son. Not the throne. Not my pride. Nothing. Your Highness, I will do 
anything, I will give -- anything.” 

He slid from his chair, dropping heavily to his knees. “Please, my lady, let me 
have my son back.” 

* * * 

Crouched in the darkness, hidden by the shadow of the porch, Darrek rocked 
back and forth, his hands clamped over his mouth. Winds, what was wrong with him? 
Every nerve in his body seemed to blaze with fire, and his heart burned in his chest, 
lacerated by emotions he couldn’t begin to contain. 

He should leave. Right now. Just make himself walk away. 

Only he couldn’t. 

Remembering how he had kissed Rand, Darrek blushed in shame. Why had he 
been so fierce, so angry? He’d done everything he could do to humiliate the Aurorean 
heir, and now… 

Now I would give anything just to touch him one last time. 

Leaning his head back against the edge of the porch, Darrek let the tears roll 
down his face unregarded. How many times had he showered Rand with contempt? He 
couldn’t even begin to count them. What would he give for a chance to take it all back? 

You could do that, you know. 

Darrek froze at the thought. 

You could simply walk up there, knock on the door, and… 

And what? another part of his mind sneered in reply. Walk in there, abase yourself 
before them, beg their forgiveness? What would it change? 


Nothing. Nothing at all. 

But nevertheless that was what he was going to do. 

Trembling, terrified, he crept up the steps, feeling his heart thunder in his chest 
and his breath, loud and harsh, rasp in his throat. At every step, that grating, scornful 
voice echoed in his head, calling him a weakling, a coward, a fool, until finally Darrek 
screamed back at it. Shut up! Just shut up! 

His eyes cleared, and he found himself staring at Elara’s door. The night 
stretched, black and endless, behind him. He raised his hand to knock -- and couldn’t 
do it. It wasn’t pride this time that immobilized him. It was fear, pure and simple. 

What if they don’t want me? What if they laugh at me? What if they won’t even open the 
door? 

He stood, paralyzed by indecision. Now he really was a fool, standing on a 
doorstep too afraid to knock! He sniffled, wiped away his tears with the heel of one 
hand -- and stared at that mute, closed door with a longing that cut deeper than 
anything he’d ever known. 

How much had he thrown away for the sake of his pride? 

Everything, the wind whispered back. Everything. 

Bowing his head, Darrek turned away -- and heard a soft voice call from inside 
the cottage, “Come in.” 

* * * 

When he opened the door and stood blinking in the doorway, it was all Lara 
could do not to throw her arms around him. His face was so pale, his eyes shadowed 
with terror and loneliness. But she stood where she’d placed herself -- in the middle of 
the floor, with Rand standing behind her. 

She leaned back against Rand, feeling his comforting bulk behind her, and did 
what she had to, no matter how her heart bled. “Come here,” she commanded coldly. 
Shuffling, his gaze cast downward after that first, vulnerable glance, he did. “Is there 
something you would say to me?” 

“Elara… Rand… I --” 


“On your knees, Hausther!” She barked the command, and he dropped like a 
stone, his shoulders heaving as the sobs he could no longer contain burst from him. 
Lara waited silently until they eased. Finally, Darrek looked up at her, his eyes 
streaming with tears. 

“I was wrong,” he whispered hoarsely. “Oh, Elara, I was so wrong. You are not 
mine -- I am yours. I, and Rand, we are your subjects. And he is everything I cannot be, 
everything you deserve. I would not change that, my lady. I only wanted to say 
goodbye to you both.” 

Bowing his head again, he stayed motionless before her, his long, straight black 
hair gleaming like pitch. Reaching down, she stroked it gently. With a cry, he leaned 
forward, wrapping his arms around her waist, and resting his head like a child against 
the warm curve of her belly. 

“Please, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely, and at the raw agony in his voice, she 
relented. Sliding her fingers through his silky hair, she drew him closer against her. He 
kissed her belly blindly, then slid his mouth lower, burying his face with a sob against 
the warm cleft between her thighs. 

Lara felt Rand holding her as her muscles went lax. Dear God, the things 
Darrek’s tongue was doing! Fervently, he licked at her clit, his tongue dancing over it 
with a hunger that paled anything she’d ever imagined. Clamping his mouth over it, he 
suckled with the urgency of a starving man. She could feel the warmth of Rand’s breath 
on her neck as he stared over her shoulder, watching Darrek eat her cunt, and his 
erection pulsed furiously against the cheeks of her ass. His hands rose to her breasts, 
cupping them, tugging at her nipples as Darrek’s mouth tugged at her clit. 

Her whole body arched, and fire lashed through her, running from the hard little 
nubs Rand pinched between his fingers to the hot, throbbing spot that Darrek worked 
at unmercifully. The lips of her cunt were so swollen and thick she almost wanted to 
beg them to fuck her, to pierce their aching fullness. Instead, she reached back with one 
hand, and guided Rand’s cock down between the cheeks of her ass. He bent his knees to 


accommodate, and slid his cock between her thighs. With the other, she tugged 
Darrek’s head back, forcing him to look up at her. 

“You will do whatever I tell you, Hausther.” It wasn’t a question, but he nodded 
anyway. Rocking her hips back, Lara felt her cunt dragging across the enormous shaft 
of Rand’s cock. It was so long it protruded from between her thighs and, with a smile, 
she guided Darrek’s head to it, watching avidly as he wrapped his lips around the 
huge, purple tip. Behind her, she felt Rand stiffen, and plunge his hips forward. The 
motion tugged at her clit, and drove his cockhead deep into Darrek’s waiting mouth. 

Eagerly, Darrek craned forward, his breath searing her clit as he worked at 
Rand’s cock, sucking it with a frenzy that made Lara dizzy with desire. He drew back a 
bit, and she could see his tongue gliding over the taut, gleaming skin, flicking at the 
swollen rim and then jabbing hungrily at the gaping slit in its end. Panting, she asked, 
“Do you want that, Darrek? Do you want to taste his come?” Rolling his eyes upward, 
his mouth filled with Rand’s cock, he nodded, and Lara felt her knees buckle as her 
desire spiraled upward even further. Burying her hands in Darrek’s hair, she dragged 
his head forward, impaling his mouth with Rand’s cock. Rand groaned and slid his 
hands to her hips, grabbing them as he pushed hard between her thighs. 

Twisting Darrek’s hair through her fingers till her fists were clenched against his 
skull, Lara raked his head backward and forward along Rand’s shaft. Darrek 
whimpered, and she felt Rand tense behind her, his cock teasing her from asshole to clit 
as he pounded forward, meeting each thrust as she dragged Darrek to her. 

Each time Darrek’s lips brushed her clit, Lara felt her frenzy growing. Harder, 
faster, she yanked him to her, fucking his mouth furiously with Rand’s massive cock. 
Then she felt the first pulse as Rand started to come, his cock flexing and jerking against 
her asshole as the first spurts of his semen flooded Darrek’s mouth. Hungrily, Darrek 
moaned and thrust his head forward, the motion of his lips as he tugged at Rand’s cock 
teasing her clit unbearably. Shoving his head back, Lara watched as Rand orgasmed, 
shooting pearly-white streams of come into Darrek’s open mouth. The feel of his shaft 


throbbing against her was too much, and panting, her mind whirling, Lara let herself 
peak. 

As the first shudders hit her, Darrek groaned and leaned forward, lapping at her 
clit with his come-covered tongue. Its hot, slippery caress sent shudders deep through 
her, and Lara mashed his face against her, feeling her knees give way as wave after 
wave of ecstasy filled her. Rand held her up, his arms wrapped tight around her waist, 
as Darrek devoured her cunt, sucking deliriously at the juices spilling from her. 
Shuddering, moaning, Lara held Darrek there, her hands fisted in his hair as the last, 
agonized quivers pounded through her, leaving her shaking and drained, limp as a rag 
doll in Rand’s powerful arms. 

Darrek tilted his head back, looked up at her with eyes soft with gratitude. 
“Thank you, my lady. I couldn’t leave without letting you know… without letting you 
both know --” 

“Oh, you cluck,” Lara replied impatiently. Behind her, she felt Rand’s chest 
quiver with laughter. “Do you think there’s any way I’m going to leave you here?” 

At the look of blank astonishment on Darrek’s face, she started laughing too -- 
she couldn’t help it. 


Epilogue 

The tall wooden doors at the end of the hall thumped open. Thrand Aurorea 
startled blearily awake. Darmon Hausther raised his bowed head. And Melgara 
Southerlin, queen of the dragons, felt her heart leap with a longing she’d suppressed for 
twenty years. 

Keening triumphantly, a wind swept through the room, blasting around columns 
and dousing the torches guttering in the thin morning light. When it passed, Melgara 
saw two dragons crouched on the broad marble floor, one red and one black. 

And between them stood her daughter, Elara. 

Naked, resplendent, she tossed her head back and raised her gaze challengingly 
to her mother’s face. “Mother, I have come. But I will not allow either Darrek or Rand to 
be condemned to exile. If you force me to choose, I will leave now, and never return.” 

At her words, the two dragons started in shock, and suddenly Rand and Darrek 
stood there, their mouths opening to protest. Elara, she saw, raked them each with a 
stern glance, and they subsided immediately. Turning back to Melgara, she added, her 
tone softer, “I cannot do without either one. Mother, please -- don’t make me choose.” 

Smiling, Melgara stood and opened her arms. A fierce, overwhelming gladness 
burst through her as Elara ran to embrace her. Stroking her daughter’s hair, Melgara felt 
tears leaking from her eyes. Brushing them away, she smiled down at Elara. “You do 
realize, of course, there was a test for you here as well.” 

Elara raised her head, her gray eyes puzzled, and Melgara explained. “If you 
hadn’t been able, whether by guile or stratagem or sheer strength of will, to force an 
accord between these two, one of them would have had to be exiled. I could not have left 
my kingdom to be ravaged by them. Forgive me, my daughter?” 


Elara nodded. Then, in a burst of joy, she threw her arms around her mother’s 
neck. “Oh, Mother, I do understand.” Then she grinned. “And guess what else? I can 
fly!” 

* * * 

Almost stumbling with weariness, Lara pushed open the door of her new 
bedchamber. It had been a long, very tiring, very exciting day. The two old lords had 
gladly accepted her decision, happily abandoning their hopes for a royal marriage in 
their joy at their sons’ return. Through all the festivities her mother had beamed at her 
proudly, and Lara, who really had not been sure what the result of her decision would 
be, had felt both relief and an unexpected pride in the beautiful, resolute woman sitting 
beside her. 

Lara yawned widely, realizing with astonishment that it had only been forty-
eight hours since Darrek had first crawled through her window. 

On the carpeted floor of the enormous room, two dragons sprawled, their limbs 
intertwined. Their massive chests rose and fell steadily as they slept. Darrek’s sinuous 
neck was draped over Rand’s gleaming red back, their muzzles almost touching. She 
smiled fondly. The only question left was, which one of them did she want to play with 
tonight? 

Elara Southerlin smiled to herself. Why, both of them, of course. 


Sierra Dafoe 

Sierra Dafoe imprinted early on the one, the real, the only Robin Hood (and we 
all know who that is!) and has been in love with the heroic adventure story ever since. 
She branched out from there into fantasy and science fiction and even a few forays into 
horror, but still has a deep-seated weakness for those cocky, handsome rebels. 

Rather unsurprisingly, Sierra lives in northern New Hampshire’s White 
Mountains -- which is good, because nothing short of their beauty would likely ever 
drag her away from her keyboard! After years of publishing short stories, she’s thrilled 
to be with Changeling Press, and would love to hear your feedback. Visit her at her 
website, www.darkerdesires.com, for excerpts, contests, freebies, and more!