Dragon’s Heir 
Sierra Dafoe 

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Copyright ©2006 Sierra Dafoe 


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Prologue 

Lara had always loved the wind, the sense of it caressing her skin as it swept past 
her, setting her blood to tingling in a way she’d never quite been able to explain. Now, 
of course, she knew why it had always delighted her so. 

She wasn’t, as she’d always thought, simply Lara Sutherland, the struggling 
young artist who’d eked a living from painting pictures of the dragons she’d always 
fantasized about. In fact, she was Elara Southerlin, daughter of the Dragon Queen 
Melgara who sat on the high marble throne of Wind Castle, and the reason why she’d 
always fantasized about dragons was the same as the reason she’d instinctively loved 
the wind -- she was a dragon herself. 

At times, Lara could hardly resist the urge to pinch herself. How good could life 
possibly get? 

Flexing her shoulder muscles, she swept downward, intensely conscious of the 
keen mountain air beneath her wings bearing her up as tangibly as water rushing under 
the hull of a ship. Behind her, Rand flew steadily, his massive red wings sweeping the 
air in powerful strokes. On her left and a dragon length above, Darrek knifed, as black 
and deadly as a hawk, through the cerulean sky. 

Just for fun, Lara darted ahead, grinning at the scowl in Darrek’s onyx eyes as, 
with the merest flick of her wings, she shot past him. 

Until Darrek and Rand had shown up at the door of her modest rented cottage 
on Cape Cod, Lara had had no idea who -- or what -- she was. In a ploy to end the 
decades-long feud between their two clans, Melgara had hidden her infant daughter on 
Earth and then, twenty years later, had sent the dark, tempestuous Hausther heir and 
the massive, redheaded Rand to find her and compete for her affections. The one who 
won her would become her husband, while the other would be banished forever. 


That had been the plan, anyway. 

Lara chuckled to herself as Darrek, unwilling to be outdone in anything, arrowed 
after her. Dancing on the wind, she glided before him, banking on a thermal to cut 
directly across his path. She laughed as he fumbled midair, swerving awkwardly to 
avoid her. The blade-like barbs running the length of his spine bristled in irritation. 

Below them, Rand continued steadily on, watching their antics with a fond, 
amused eye. 

Spreading her wings, Lara soared higher into the glistening sky. Behind her, 
steep, forested mountainsides rose northward toward the harsh, craggy ranges of the 
Hausther domain, where she and Rand had just spent the past fourteen days with 
Darrek’s clan. And before her, the river Andida sparkled, snaking its way through the 
verdant central hills of Djarera, with here and there a lake gleaming in the distance. 

There was a wildness in flying, a heady exhilaration that stirred her to her very 
core. Feeling the wind stroke along her body, she wondered, and not for the first time, 
what it would be like to mate as a dragon -- to couple midair, feeling her lover thrust 
into her with every mighty beat of his wings. 

The idea was intoxicating, almost hypnotic. She could feel him, the phantom 
dragon who mounted her, his wing strokes matching hers as together they glided, 
soaring on the winds of a passion so intense it left her breathless with desire… 

It wasn’t Darrek with her in that vision. Or Rand. Oh, she loved them, both of 
them. Absolutely. And she loved making love with them -- Darrek with his fierce, 
haughty temper; gentle, massive Rand, always so eager to please. She loved feeling 
their arms around her, their hands rousing her -- and each other -- to peaks of delight 
she’d never experienced with a human male, their lips gliding over her hot, naked 
flesh… 

But she wasn’t in love with either of them. 

Who was he, the shadowy lover of her dreams? Was he only a fantasy? As heir to 
the throne, she’d been presented to the four clans, meeting -- or so it felt -- every dragon 


in Djarera in the process. But whoever he was, the mighty lover she sensed hovering 

behind her like a storm over the horizon, he wasn’t among them. 

If he even existed. 

Once again, Lara felt the daydream teasing along her thoughts. She gave herself 
to it, losing herself in the fiery eroticism of that soaring, yearning flight. Desire flooded 
through her, breathtaking in its suddenness, encasing her in a world of wind, heat and 
wildness where she saw nothing, felt nothing but his breath upon her neck, his fierce, 
demanding thrusts… 

Damn! 

Darrek shot past, twisting his neck as he flew to flash her a sly, triumphant smile. 
Lara scowled. Darrek! No fair -- I was thinking! 

Oh? And what were you thinking about so intently, Elara? My kisses, perhaps? 

No, she mind-spoke back with a sharp, teasing edge to her tone, I was thinking 
how well you suck Rand’s cock at my command. 

Without replying, Darrek whipped his head forward and slashed the air with 
furious strokes of his wings. Lara grinned in triumph -- although it was hardly fair to 
needle him, she supposed. He was probably never going to be comfortable with that 
side of himself, or the obvious delight he took in Rand’s huge, muscular body. 

Oh, she did love them. Just as she loved Djarera -- the world the dragons 
inhabited -- and flying, and, well, everything. 

The erotic daydream slid away, and she felt the cool mountain air rushing past. 
Throwing herself into it, she arced like a falcon against the sky, following the curving 
range southeastward toward the towering central peak upon which Wind Castle stood. 

In delight, she swooped in the air, painting her exhilaration upon the wind. Her 
life was perfect. Absolutely perfect. She couldn’t imagine anything that could spoil her 
joy at being here, at being alive, at being exactly who and what she was. 

* * * 

From a perch on a cliff that was not, strictly speaking, really there, a cold, 
determined consciousness watched the young princess in flight. Her hide gleamed like 


warm honey in the sunlight, and she darted through the air as easily as a swallow, so 

playful, so carefree. 

So very young. 

Iron-hard talons scraped furrows in the stone -- stone which existed in a plane 
separated from Djarera by a tissue-thin membrane, as tenuous and permeable as a 
cloud. He could see the sunlight pouring down, streaking the hills and little lakes with 
its life-giving warmth. 

But it could not touch him. 

Here, everything was cold, so cold that the very touch of the ground seared like 
fire, and the stones upon which he crouched held not one scrap of life -- not a twist of 
grass, not even moss. There was not so much as a trickle of water or whisper of wind to 
mar the dead, leaden stillness. There was nothing. 

How he hated this prison, this half-life! This shadow world to which the bitch-
queen had consigned him, locking him away in this timeless void! Rage beat along his 
icy veins, tensing his corded muscles, his huge, virile strength. 

For he was strong, strong as the bones of these barren, twisted mountains. Strong 
enough to tear a passage back to Djarera -- he was certain of that. He could do it. 

Only to be shut away again, as he had been before. 

In twenty years, his fury at that defeat had diminished no more than his strength. 

He was tired of this world. Tired of these shadows. He was cold, cold to the icy 
marrow of his being. But he would not risk escape prematurely. Not when Melgara 
could still lock him away as she’d done the first time. Not till he was sure. 

His gaze returned to that graceful, golden form. 

So this was Elara, the long-hidden princess. He smiled -- a motion of his lips that 
failed to lighten his inflexible, heartless gaze. Enormous fangs, designed to rend and 
devour, gleamed hungrily in his massive jaw. 

She was his key, he knew it. Knew it in the frigid marrow of his bones. That 
shining, carefree creature flitting on the wind… 

Yes. 


He would have her. And he would have Djarera. And it -- and everything in it -- 
would be his. Including a certain young princess who shone like the very sun itself. She 
was warmth, and flame, and fire -- but he had learned one thing, in the frozen confines 
of his prison. 

He had learned that only ice endures forever. 


Chapter One 

“What?” Elara stared up at Melgara in shock. “No way! I’m not marrying 
Darrek!” 

“Rand, then.” 

“No! I don’t want to marry either one of them!” Folding her arms, Lara glared up 
at her mother, her chin jutting rebelliously. “Mother, we’ve been through this!” 

“No, we haven’t.” Melgara sighed, and smoothed the long white fabric of her 
skirt. Having this meeting in the throne room had been a mistake, she realized. It made 
everything she said sound like a royal order. 

“Yes, we did! When I first came, I told you --” 

“You told me you’d go back to Earth and never return if I exiled either of them.” 

“No, I told you I refused to choose.” 

Melgara nodded. “I can appreciate that, Lara. And I am proud of you for 
managing to end that pointless feud. But it is your job to safeguard your subjects, your 
land, and that means, among other things, providing an heir to the throne. Surely you 
must see --” 

“I do see. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” In an abrupt change of mood, Lara 
sank to a chair, propped her chin on one hand, and stared glumly at the ground. 

She looked so young at that moment, both furious and miserable, her lower lip 
pooched out like a sulky child’s, that Melgara couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret for 
all the years they’d lost. Rising, she descended from the dais and drew up a chair 
alongside her daughter. “None of this has been fair to you. First I send you to be raised 
on a foreign world, ignorant of everything that you are, and then yank you back 
without so much as a by your leave --” 


“It’s not that. I love being here.” Lara shrugged, dismissing her apology. “It’s 
just…” 

“It’s just that you’re not in love with either of them.” Lara looked up at her, 
surprised. Reaching out, Melgara stroked the soft chestnut mass of her daughter’s hair. 
“Oh, Elara. If you want, I’ll bid every male dragon in Djarera to Wind Castle for you to 
choose from. But if neither Rand nor Darrek can capture your heart, I can’t imagine who 
will.” 

The defiant glint was back in Lara’s eyes. “But why do I have to marry now?” 

Melgara dropped her hand to her side. “Because whoever you mate with will 
become heir to this kingdom until your children are grown. And,” she continued, 
holding up her hand to forestall Lara’s interruption, “you don’t have forever to choose.” 

Something in her tone caught Lara’s attention. “Why not?” 

Melgara bit her lip, lightly. This wasn’t easy to talk about. “Because unlike 
humans, dragons go into season. Into heat. Do you understand?” 

Lara’s eyes widened. Then she shrugged. “So put me in a kennel for two weeks.” 

“It’s not that easy.” Standing, Melgara turned away. Her voice was low, tense. 
“Khef, we call it, the mating frenzy. And it does not pass. It grows stronger, and 
stronger, until you would shatter the walls of any prison I could devise. With us, sex in 
human form is a pleasure, a diversion. The drive to procreate is something else 
altogether.” 

She turned back, fixing her daughter with a piercing look. “You are grown, Elara. 
And soon you will begin to feel the urge to mate as a dragon -- if you haven’t already.” 
She peered closely at her daughter, and Lara blushed. “I see.” 

Shadows were creeping slowly through the long hall. Moving to a wall-sconce, 
Melgara blew gently on the unlit torch. Flames sprang up, casting flickering light over 
her face. As she spoke, her thoughts turned inward, back toward a memory of such 
incandescent passion that not even the passage of a quarter of a century could pale it. 

“It will get worse. Eventually the need will become irresistible, until you would 
rut in the mud with any toothless, drunken, wing-broken imbecile, if that’s what was 


available.” Turning to face her daughter squarely, she let the crudity of her words sink 
home. 

When Lara blanched, Melgara felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. When 
had she gotten so… so heartless? But as much as she sympathized with Lara’s plight, she 
wasn’t about to let her daughter put the entire kingdom in jeopardy. Melgara kept her 
voice cold and steady. “Nor is that all.” 

“What else?” Lara asked faintly. 

“When you enter khef, every unattached male within a hundred miles will fight 
tooth and claw to have you if you’re still unclaimed. Is it your wish to watch Rand and 
Darrek rip each other to shreds?” 

Her daughter knotted her fists in her lap. “All right! I get it.” 

But by the clenched, stubborn line of her jaw Melgara could tell she hadn’t. Not 
really. 

She would, though. Let the real pressure of full-fledged khef hit her, and she’d 
understand all too well. 

If only she didn’t understand too late… 

Surely Elara wouldn’t let it come to that. Her daughter, who had already proven 
herself to be both brave and resourceful, would realize her responsibilities and do what 
was proper. Studying her, Melgara couldn’t resist trying to reinforce that message, 
although her daughter’s sulky demeanor was discouraging to say the least. “Elara, one 
day I will not be here.” 

“I know.” 

The words were sullen, muttered. Melgara ignored them and nodded at the high, 
carved seat at the top of the dais. “On that day, you will have to ascend to that --” 

“I know.” 

“-- and it will be your duty to make sure that the one who follows you to the 
throne --” 

“I know!” 

“-- will prove as capable and responsible as I’m sure you will be.” 


With a last, meaningful glare, Melgara spun on her heel and strode from the 
room. 

* * * 

Quivering with fury, Lara stomped down the hall. To her right, graceful arches 
carved with birds, vines and flowers opened onto the clean, silent evening, looking 
westward to where the last blaze of sunset was fading rapidly into night. 

How could her mother deliver such a scathing reprimand with what appeared to 
be a compliment? The contrast between her words and the meaning behind them had 
flayed Lara to the core, making her nerves sing with adrenaline that, since her mother 
had then stalked out, was left with no outlet. 

God damn it anyway! She hadn’t even disagreed. She understood well enough 
what Melgara was saying. But --

But something inside her could feel itself dying. A dream, a vision… And it was 
breaking her heart. 

But what if that’s all it is, Lara? A dream? A fantasy? 

She scowled at the traitorous thought. Surely --surely the yearning inside her 
was more than just wishful thinking. The vision of passion and fire that haunted her 
more and more frequently… 

No. She wouldn’t let go of it. Not yet. Not now. There had to be another answer. 

She was in a fine, foul mood by the time she reached her own room -- an 
enormous, Byzantine chamber that was larger than some art galleries she’d been in. A 
shallow declivity some two feet deep took up over half the floor space, lined with 
cushions and thick, soft rugs -- a sort of sleeping pit, large enough to accommodate a 
full-grown dragon. Or two. 

Or three, she thought wryly. Though they hadn’t tried that particular experiment 
yet. Her species was only fertile in dragon form, and, having had no wish to find herself 
pregnant, Lara had been quite happy to restrict her lovemaking to human shape -- so 
far. 


Rand and Darrek were sprawled companionably, both completely naked -- 
Darrek in the pit, his lean, sculpted form draped across a pillow almost as large as he 
was, and Rand lying on his stomach on the edge with his chin resting on his folded 
arms. The rolling muscles of his shoulders and powerful swell of his ass caught gleams 
of light from the torches around the walls, and his thick, wavy hair fell like a tumble of 
fire down his back. 

At the sight of them, Lara completely forgot her intention to slam the door in her 
pique. They were so handsome! Each of them in his own way an ideal of male beauty -- 
Darrek all alabaster skin and arrogant cheekbones and midnight-black eyes, as chiseled 
and graceful as a statue come to life; Rand as huge and rugged as a mountain, all rolling 
muscle and heavy, masculine features, but with an easy smile that lit his turquoise eyes 
like sunlight, softening the line of his strong, broad chin. Every time she saw them they 
took her breath away. 

Why couldn’t she be in love with one of them? It would make life so much 
simpler. 

They looked up as she entered, and Darrek’s black brows shot up at the tension 
in her face. Rand immediately drew himself into a sitting position on the rim. 

“Elara, what’s wrong?” 

She’d stormed through the door, fully intending to tell them -- and now she 
couldn’t. She just couldn’t. What would it do to them, to the friendship they’d built up 
over the past seven weeks, to know that once again they were rivals, both in 
competition for the dubious prize of her hand? 

Muttering “I don’t want to talk about it,” she slumped to a seat on the floor of the 
pit, leaning back between Rand’s massive thighs. Darrek regarded her warily, but Rand 
dropped his hands to her shoulders and began massaging them. 

Lara dropped her head back, sighing, feeling the knot in her stomach begin to 
unclench as his strong, heavy fingers worked over her muscles with a gentleness one 
would never expect by looking at his size. 


Darrek tilted his head, and his hair, as smooth and straight as corn silk, slid like a 
veil across his sharp, hawk-like features. Lara loved his hair -- it fell almost to his waist, 
so glossy black it looked wet even in sunlight. He peered at her intently from behind it. 
“So I take it the happy homecoming wasn’t so happy.” 

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” She didn’t even want to think about it. Not 
now. Not tonight. 

Later. 

He studied her a moment longer, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Grasping her 
ankle, he tugged off her boot and stroked one long, aristocratic finger along the curve of 
her arch, making her foot twitch. 

“Darrek!” She tried to yank her foot away. All she wanted was to relax into 
Rand’s soothing touch, but Darrek held her foot tighter, and did it again. “Damn it, 
Darrek!” 

She kicked out viciously, shoving him back off the pillow. Rand chuckled, 
behind her. “It isn’t funny, Rand!” 

The two of them glanced at each other. Darrek smiled, his thin lips curving like 
the edge of a saber. Rand’s turquoise-blue eyes sparkled with merriment. 

“She’s in a temper, Rand.” 

Rand’s chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Can’t have that, can we, Darrek?” 

“Guys, if you even think you’re going to --” 

Too late. With a deceptively quick motion, Rand slid down into the pit and 
grabbed her wrists. Pinioning them behind her, he tugged her back against him while 
Darrek -- Darrek the traitor -- seized her thighs, straddled them quickly, and dug his 
long, agile fingers into her ribs. 

Flailing futilely, Lara shrieked, twisting against Rand’s unbreakable grip as 
Darrek tickled her relentlessly. Her nerves, already strung tight by the argument with 
her mother, blazed with outraged sensation, and the laughter torn from her throat made 
her gut ache. “No!” she gasped. “Stop it! Dar --” 


Instead, he tickled her harder. Lara’s blood pounded in her ears, and tears 
slipped down her cheeks as she writhed and shrieked, her body racked by torment. She 
thrashed, tugged, rolled, until she was choking with fury and exertion. Finally she 
snapped her head back and screamed, “Stop!” 

Mercifully, he did. Lara kicked at him once, feebly, then collapsed back against 
Rand, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed. The warm, sturdy feel of Rand’s broad 
chest behind her was soothing -- not that she was forgiving him for his part in this any 
time soon! 

Almost apologetically, Darrek gently tugged off her other boot, and she closed 
her eyes as he began massaging her feet. She could feel Rand’s breath, warm on her 
neck, and his hands slid beneath her shirt to stroke her soft belly. Her nerves jangled 
and twitched, still preternaturally alert from the torture they’d subjected her to, but 
slowly her heartbeat eased, leaving her with a strong desire to cry. 

It wasn’t fair. It totally wasn’t fair. She loved them both so much… and yet not 
enough. Not the way she should have if she was going to marry one of them. 

She was hardly aware of Rand’s hand sliding upward until it grazed her breast. 
The soft touch sent a jolt along her oversensitive skin, and she gasped, opening her eyes 
to the velvety darkness of Darrek’s midnight gaze. 

Darrek’s focus slid past her to Rand, and a smile curved the thin, finely shaped 
line of his lips. “What do you think, Aurorea?” he asked. “Does she still need cheering 
up?” 

Immediately Rand’s burly arms slid around her again -- but this time she had no 
energy to fight him. And no wish to, either. She was suddenly aware of the heat of his 
erection pressed firmly against the small of her back, and didn’t struggle when he 
pulled her upward, half onto his lap, so that her ass was a few inches off the floor. 

Lara watched, feeling a sudden anticipation unfold in her belly as Darrek undid 
the belt of her trousers (she doubted she’d ever become comfortable with the long, 
flowing skirts her mother wore) and slid them off. The heavy silk of his hair trailed over 
her thighs as he bent, lowering his mouth to the vee of her crotch. 


His tongue darted out, brushing the soft, chestnut curls covering her mons. An 
electrifying quiver shook her, like the first salvo of a fireworks display, and she arched 
her back. Rand took advantage of the motion and quickly tugged her shirt off, then 
clamped his hands on her hips and pulled her more tightly against him. 

Lara stared downward, her eyelids heavy with arousal, as Darrek caressed her 
thighs lightly, spreading them open, then lifted her legs and draped them across Rand’s 
outstretched ones. She felt like she was sitting in a warm, living, muscular chair -- a 
chair with hands, she thought dizzily as Rand slid his palms upward, along the sides of 
her ribcage, then curled his fingers inward to caress her breasts. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Darrek lowered his mouth again to her cunt 
even as Rand closed his fingers on her aching nipples. She moaned, and felt Darrek’s 
lips spread in a smile. Then, hungrily, he jabbed his tongue at her clit, making her buck. 

Rand followed his lead, squeezing her nipples fiercely, then playing his fingers 
across their erect surface in a feathery, teasing touch. Already she was gasping, her 
strung nerves painfully sensitive to each shift of pressure, each stab of arousal. The heat 
from Rand’s cock, snugged against the curve of her ass, seemed to penetrate her skin, 
sinking inward to some hot, aching point behind her tailbone, and she was acutely 
aware of the empty space under her ass, a void that seemed to thrum with unspoken 
possibilities. 

Somewhere within her was a strange, yearning emptiness she didn’t know how 
to fill. A low, aroused growl thrummed in her throat, and she leaned harder against the 
plane of Rand’s broad chest, pressing her shoulders back and raising her breasts to his 
fingers, urging him to squeeze them harder. 

Instead, he traced slow, lazy circles around her aching nipples, and licked her 
earlobe as he watched Darrek taste her cunt. 

Darrek licked at her inner folds, stroking playfully over the hot, damp opening 
between. She wanted him to stab his tongue inward, penetrate that throbbing entrance, 
but instead he merely traced its perimeter, groaning with satisfaction at the taste of her 
trickling juices. 


Delicately, like a cat, he lapped them, following their path down to the smooth, 
tender skin between her cunt and her ass. The emptiness inside her throbbed, growing 
stronger even as the heat from her clit flared like a bonfire. Then Darrek spread her 
thighs wider and buried his face against her cunt. 

Desire flooded her groin, and she hung, boneless and unresisting, in the curve of 
Rand’s arms. His hands savaged her breasts, squeezing their fullness, then gripped her 
nipples in a vicious pinch that sent a bolt of white hot lust ripping through her. 
Whimpering, she let her eyelids fall closed, and light exploded behind them as Darrek 
clamped his lips around her clit, suckling it as intently as a nursing calf. His tongue 
lashed across it, making her head loll as she moaned, drowning in the waves of 
sensation beating through her. 

It wasn’t enough, though. She wanted more. More what? She didn’t know. 
Something was unfurling inside her, something tense and feral, like a panther 
preparing to spring. Something voracious, demanding… 

Following its urging, she pulled herself from Rand’s arms and rolled onto all 
fours. Feeling Darrek rise to his knees behind her, she arched her back, mewling like a 
cat, and the thing inside her smiled in triumph at the sound of his low, agonized groan. 

Reaching out, she grabbed at Rand’s hip, tugging him to his knees, and guided 
his shaft to her mouth. 


Chapter Two 

She adored Rand’s cock. It was, in fact, a marvel, so huge and thick she’d frozen 
in amazement when she first saw it. Hung like a horse? Hell, Rand was hung like a 
dragon. 

He tasted of velvet and salt, sweet and metallic all together. She licked the 
swollen purple curve of his glans, wanting to devour him, to swallow him whole. 
Opening her jaw as wide as she could, Lara slid her mouth around his erection, feeling 
it swell against her lips as she engulfed its tip. 

Slowly, rocking back and forth on her hands and knees, she took him deeper, 
inch by inch, feeling his whole body quiver in his effort to remain still, to resist the urge 
to plunge himself into her in one hard, choking thrust. 

His tip pressed against the back of her mouth and Lara paused, feeling her throat 
spasm reflexively. Her jaw tightened as she swallowed, and Rand groaned at the 
pressure. The first, precipitate spurt of his semen flooded her tongue, and she sucked 
hungrily, voraciously, breathing through her nostrils, loving the taste of it and wanting 
more, more… 

Her whole body ached with unfamiliar desires. It was as if a huge, nebulous void 
had unfolded inside her, an uncharted land begging to be explored. She was suddenly 
aware of Darrek’s hands massaging her ass cheeks, stroking slowly between the sodden 
folds of her opening and then trailing lightly up the delicate pathway between her cunt 
and her ass, over and over. He caressed the small, tight band of muscle between her 
upthrust cheeks, spreading her body’s juices over it, prodding it gently. 

She froze, a wave of desire roaring through her so strongly her arms trembled 
beneath her, and her breasts seemed to swell with arousal, heavy and full. 


Yes. Yes, she wanted this. She wanted them to fill her, to fuck her in every way 
possible. She wanted to bring them, over and over, to the point where they couldn’t 
take any more. 

Tilting her hips, she arched her back wantonly, and heard Darrek’s breath hiss 
through his teeth. Closing her eyes, she imagined what he saw, looking down -- her ass 
tilted up, her cheeks spread wide, beckoning, welcoming… 

With a harsh, grating moan, Darrek rocked his hips forward, pressing his 
throbbing cockhead against her. 

Grabbing her ass, he spread her cheeks wider, pushing ever so gently against 
that tight, yearning opening. Fire washed through her as he eased just the very tip of his 
cock inside, and she nudged back against him, urging him on. 

His cock prodded inward, as hard as steel, as hot as molten lava, and Lara 
shuddered at the intensity of the sensation. Lubricated with her own juices, his shaft 
invaded her, sending a tremulous delirium flooding through her as his cock penetrated, 
inch by inch, filling her in a way his fingers could never do. The pressure was 
intoxicating, spreading her open, slowly pushing deeper, deeper… 

Darrek paused, his body rigid with lust, and she hung suspended between them, 
feeling herself on the brink of some unknown chasm, some secret valley deep within 
herself. Moaning, she swirled her tongue over Rand’s swollen tip, begging him 
wordlessly. Gasping, he responded to the plea in her tone with a gentle flex of his hips 
that forced her jaw wider. 

Yes, she thought wildly, oh yes, that’s right, fuck me! Fuck my mouth, split me open, 
fill my throat with your come… 

She hadn’t meant to mind-speak, but he heard her anyway. The ragged, gravelly 
groan that escaped his lips made her close her eyes in delight. Burying his hands in her 
hair, he rocked forward, sending his cock deeper than she’d ever imagined possible. 

Bracing herself on one arm, she raised a hand to his scrotum, tracing her fingers 
over the rock-hard swell of his balls. They were huge, distended with come, the pebbly 
skin stretched tight over their heavy, swollen mass. Egging him on, she closed her hand 


around them, squeezing them lightly, and was rewarded by a deep, animal growl as he 
bucked in reaction. 

That’s right, Rand. Fuck me hard. Come on, give me more! 

She squeezed again, harder, and his growl changed to a groan so full of need it 
sent her own arousal into a conflagration. 

They were hers. Hers. They were helpless, both of them, trapped utterly by the 
force of her desire. 

Tilting her hips, she drove Darrek just the merest fraction deeper inside her. He 
trembled, his thighs pressed against hers, his hands spasmodically squeezing her ass as 
he fought for self-control, and the wild thing inside Lara grinned in triumph. Nothing, 
nothing in the world, could make him pull away from her now. 

He reached down between her thighs, running his fingers between her juice-
soaked lips and spreading a fresh trail of moisture around her tight opening. Rocking 
back slightly, he coated his cock and, slick with renewed lubrication, pushed in again. 

She arched to meet him, ramming her hips backward till she took him to the hilt. 
She heard him gasp aloud -- a sound that was half snarl, half plea. At the same time, she 
grabbed Rand’s balls and dragged him forward, taking him as deep as she could, until 
her jaw was stretched so wide it burned. She held them there, Rand in her mouth and 
Darrek in her ass, feeling them arched above her, drawn tight as bowstrings, quivering 
with agony. 

They would have died for her before. Now, they would kill for her -- without a 
second’s hesitation. 

Something deep inside her -- something savage and vital and greedy -- reveled at 
the thought. 

Rand groaned, barely able to restrain the pulsing in his balls. He panted, trying 
desperately to resist the urge to plunge into her, fuck her mouth until his juices 
exploded outward, filling her, feeding her… 


Something was wrong here. But the white-hot lust roaring through his mind 
made it very hard to think. 

Tearing his gaze away from the sight of her lips, stretched tight around the 
turgid thickness of his shaft, Rand raised his head and found himself looking, instead, 
at Darrek. The Hausther heir’s head was bent downward, his long, dark hair falling 
around his pale features and cascading over his taut, marble-smooth shoulders. His 
black eyes were half-lidded in erotic abandonment as he slid his cock with excruciating 
slowness in and out of Lara’s tight ass. 

Winds! 

At the sight, Rand felt a rush of saliva inside his gaping mouth. His balls 
throbbed, growing even heavier. They dragged like lead at his groin as he bit his lip 
fiercely, trying to contain his involuntary cry. 

His gaze fixed on Darrek’s long fingers, digging into the sweet curves of Lara’s 
hips as he thrust, grinding his cock deeper and deeper. His lean, chiseled torso flexed 
and tightened, the muscles in his chest gleaming with sweat. An almost overwhelming 
urge to lean forward and lick Darrek’s tight, erect nipples filled Rand’s mouth, and he 
groaned. 

Darrek looked up at him, and Rand was trapped in the midnight blackness of 
that gaze, like a velvet vortex sucking him down to some dark, fiery plane where he 
seemed to see himself, propped on his knees as Elara was now, feeling Darrek plunge 
into him, feeling those lean, cool hands clenching his ass. 

Rand felt his jaw go loose as a moan escaped him and, unable to stop himself, he 
rocked his hips forward, thrusting into the hot, damp embrace of Elara’s mouth. 
Darrek’s eyes burned into him, seeming to whisper in his mind, You like that, Rand, don’t 
you? You want that. You want me to fuck you, shove my cock deep inside you, shred the flesh 
from your bones, split you open till you scream… 

Winds, yes. 

And Elara, below him, was urging him on, sucking hungrily at his shaft as she 
dragged his cock deeper, devouring him, consuming… 


But she was… distant somehow. So was Darrek. There was a disquieting 
detachment in their eyes, an aloofness, as if Rand could have been anybody. As if they 
could have been anybody. 

Rand’s hips pistoned forward, beyond his control, caught in the sheer erotic force 
pouring off Lara, whirling around him, seizing him, consuming… 

No, he thought again, somewhere deep in his mind, this isn’t right. This is… 

Khef. Elara was entering khef. 

And Darrek, responding instinctively to the mating violence growing within her, 
was trapped in its frenzy. 

And you’re not? 

Yes. No. Yes… 

No! 

With a jerk, Rand yanked his cock free, thrusting himself back from Lara, and 
tumbled to the cushions. She hissed, baring her teeth at him, glaring. Then her 
expression changed, twisting into a sly, mocking grin. Her eyes burned into his as she 
thrust back against Darrek, impaling herself on his swollen shaft. Once, twice, a third 
time she pushed backward, slamming her ass against his hips, and Rand saw all 
consciousness drain from Darrek’s eyes as his features went lax, imprisoned utterly by 
the mindless ecstasy flooding his body. 

Then, as if something had taken him over, his hands clamped down on her hips 
with an urgency that left Rand breathless, unable to move as he watched Darrek fuck 
Lara with a savagery that made Rand’s head swim with desire. 

Lara’s cries spiraled upward. Her gaze flicked at him again, beckoning him to 
her; she was irresistible, utterly desirable. It should be him inside her, her eyes seemed 
to say, him crying out as her body clenched around him, dragging at his shaft, 
squeezing his cockhead… 

Rand felt a black rage pulse in his brain as Darrek pistoned into her -- who was 
he? How dare he touch her? She was his, his! And by the Winds, he would have her! 


Roaring, he sprang forward, leaping past Lara to grab at his rival. Burying his 
hand in that black, silky hair, he hauled backward, trying to snap Darrek’s neck. But 
Darrek rolled with him, snarling, his talons raking Rand’s side. 

Rand shrieked in pain and fury, his form shredding, swelling into dragon shape. 
Thrusting himself up, he swiped at the puny two-legged creature before him, but 
already it was darkening, lengthening… 

The other’s tail lashed behind him, the iron-hard barb at the end shattering a 
column as he spun to face Rand, his black eyes narrowed in hate. Rand sneered, 
regarding his rival. Quick, yes, and barbed along spine and tail -- but he was the 
stronger. 

Rand roared in anticipation. 

“NO!” 

Lara shrieked, the sound so high and shrill it lacerated her throat. She stared up 
in horror at the two bristling dragons, poised on the verge of throwing themselves at 
each other. 

Is it your wish to watch Rand and Darrek tear each other to shreds? 

No. God, no. 

Lara gasped, fighting back tears. 

When Rand had wrenched Darrek out of her, the shock had jolted her first into 
fury and then into horror as she watched their shapes ripple, expanding. Their eyes 
were glazed with hatred and arousal, both of them ready to spring at each other… 

Panicked, not knowing what else to do, she darted between the two towering 
dragons. With shame and despair washing through her in sickening waves, she 
screamed at them like a mouse chittering at two charging bulls… 

But it worked. Or maybe it worked. She saw Rand hesitate, saw a flicker of doubt 
in his turquoise eyes. Throwing herself before him, she whirled to face Darrek, glaring 
into those onyx eyes as if daring him to leap. She almost sobbed with relief as she felt 
Rand shift behind her, resuming human form. She sagged back against him, grateful for 


his huge, steady strength as he supported her. Looming over her, Darrek screamed with 
rage and tried to swipe at Rand. 

Wrapping her arms protectively around the Aurorean, she mind-spoke 
desperately. Darrek, no! No! It’s Rand! This is Rand! 

Darrek lunged forward, reaching past her -- and Lara did the only thing she 
could do. Letting go of the shape that was all she’d known for twenty years, she thrust 
herself upright, feeling her muscles thicken, her bones grow heavier. 

Immediately, lust slammed against her mind, a fierce, almost intolerable craving, 
as pitiless and unstoppable as a tidal wave. The urgency she’d felt in human form was 
nothing in comparison -- a twig, a spindly branch. This was a battering ram, a massive 
fist that hammered relentlessly at every cell in her body. 

Khef. The mating frenzy. 

Oh God, what was she going to do? 

Already it was lashing at her, eroding her resolution. She shrieked, baring her 
fangs, her wings scraping against the thirty-foot ceiling as she unfurled them, wanting 
to spring into flight, to provoke, to torment… to mate. 

No! 

She felt Darrek’s excitement quicken, and thrust back her own. Raising her 
forepaw, she slapped at him brutally, rocking his muzzle back with the force of her 
blow. 

Darrek, listen to me! Don’t do this! Change! Change back now! 

Looking at the madness in his eyes, she wasn’t sure he could do it. Feeling the 
frenzy blazing in her own, she wasn’t sure she could. 

But she had to. 

Closing her eyes, she concentrated, let go… and found herself standing in front 
of Rand, facing a black dragon who wavered like smoke… and shifted to the lean, 
handsome, haughty-looking youth who had once climbed through her window in the 
middle of the night. 


Her knees gave way in sudden relief -- but neither of them noticed. Darrek stared 
past her at Rand, the blood draining from his face. The pleading in his eyes was as 
obvious and incontrovertible as the cracked chunks of marble scattered across the room. 

“Rand…” 

In three steps, Rand crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms 
around the Hausther heir. They clung to each other, quivering. Then Darrek raised his 
head, and the redheaded Aurorean bent down to him, gently brushing Darrek’s lips 
with his own. 

The flush sprang back to Darrek’s high cheeks, or maybe it was simply that the 
rest of his face grew even paler. Standing there, still as stone within the loose circle of 
Rand’s brawny arms, he looked more like a statue than ever. Cold, cold and still -- but 
the lifeblood beating in his cheeks told anyone with eyes to see exactly how deep -- how 
deep and how fiercely controlled -- Darrek Hausther’s passions ran. 

Rand had always been far easier to read. His broad, handsome features had an 
almost childlike transparency, even beneath the copper stubble shadowing his heavy 
jaw. He was one book you could judge by its cover -- honest, warm-hearted, and 
fundamentally decent. 

I guess it’s true what they say, Lara thought with an edge of bitter humor, opposites 
do attract. 

Looking nervous as a teenager, Rand lowered his full, soft lips again to Darrek’s 
thin ones. His hand trembled as he reached to brush a black, silken strand of hair back 
from Darrek’s cheek. 

Fighting back tears, Lara saw in her mind’s eye a dark, windy beach; two angry 
young men lit by a pale October moon. “And make it count,” she whispered to herself, 
feeling hot, heavy tears slide down her cheeks. 

Darrek quivered, his entire frame shaking with what could be easily mistaken as 
rage. Then the tremors ran out of him, and he opened his mouth just a sliver. Rand 
moaned as Darrek’s sharp, pointed tongue prodded between his lips. 


At the sound, Darrek’s hands came up, burying themselves in the thick, wavy 
mass of Rand’s fiery hair, pulling him fiercely downward, his tongue plunging deep 
into Rand’s waiting mouth. Mindlessly, overwhelmed, Rand slid his hands over 
Darrek’s hard, muscled back, caressing his arms, his neck, his shoulders. 

Oh, it was there. It was all there -- the rapture, the longing, the way their bodies 
arced together as if starved for each other’s touch. Darrek driven, demanding; Rand 
soft, accepting, yielding, bending all the strength of his brawny frame to Darrek’s 
demands, Darrek’s desires… and even as she watched, Darrek raised those long, pale 
fingers to trace a possessive trail down the length of Rand’s throat. 

That was passion. 

That was love. 

That was everything she was never going to have. 

“So,” she said softly, the naked pain in her voice shearing through their desire 
more effectively than a shriek. They dropped their hands guiltily, pulling away from 
each other with a reluctance so tangible it made her throat ache. She smiled bitterly. 

“So which one of you do I get to marry?” 

Rand bent his head, his shoulders slumping as if a burden had just dropped 
upon them. Darrek’s chin came up, his sharp features deathly pale again. Lara dropped 
her head to her knees, her shoulders quivering with the sobs she refused to loose. 

Rand knelt beside her, patting her back awkwardly, his voice low and soothing. 
“It’s all right, Elara. It’s all right. It’s just the way it has to be -- it won’t change anything 
between us.” 

Us. He meant himself and Darrek. But it was too late -- everything had already 
changed. 

Khef, Lara thought bleakly. 

Mating frenzy. 

All right! I get it. 

Remembering her angry, headstrong words, she flushed with shame, seeing 
again the two of them roaring, ready to tear each other to bits… 


No. She hadn’t gotten it. She hadn’t gotten it at all. 

Furiously, she swiped at her tears, tightening her jaw against the agony that tore 
at her insides. And her body still thrummed like the bottom string of a harp, low and 
humming in the back of her mind. 

Khef. 

“Maybe you’d better tell me exactly what’s going on.” 

Rand and Darrek glanced at each other, then looked away. Rand blushed 
fiercely. Darrek studied the ceiling. 

You’d think I just asked them to explain a girl’s period. Lara’s lips twisted in a sour 
grin. Then she realized that, in a very real sense, she had. “Oh for God’s sake, you two. 
Sit down, get over it, and tell me what I’m in for.” 

They did. As she listened, Lara felt all traces of humor, however bleak, slip away. 

Most dragons settled on a spouse long before khef began, specifically to avoid 
what she was now facing. At the first stirrings of the mating frenzy, they coupled in 
dragon form for as long as it lasted, a period that Lara supposed could be compared to 
a human honeymoon. As soon as the female became pregnant, khef started to ease -- and 
as she almost invariably became pregnant on the first try, the most violent ravages of 
khef were thus avoided. 

Pale and distracted, Darrek told her of couples who had resisted those early 
urgings, seeking the heightened thrill of the later stages of khef, often at a tragic cost. 
And when a female dragon was entering khef -- an occurrence that might happen 
anywhere from one to four times during her lifespan (although Rand told her one 
apocryphal tale of a female who had been said to enter khef twice a year, much to her 
exhausted husband’s dismay) -- having sex in human form only exacerbated her 
condition. 

“And you can’t change into dragon form, either -- it only makes it worse.” 

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Lara muttered, drawing her legs up 
and wrapping her arms around them. Hot, angry tears stung her tired eyes, and she 
wiped them away impatiently. 


It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. 

She knew she was being immature about this -- hell, plenty of women would 
happily rip her eyes out to have either Darrek or Rand. But… 

But it wasn’t just her own heart she’d be breaking. 

“All right, you two,” she said. “I think you’d better find somewhere else to sleep 
tonight.” 

They glanced at each other uncertainly, their love and worry for her so palpable 
she felt her throat close with tears again. Roughly, she added, “I’ll be all right. In fact, 
I’m a lot more likely to be all right if you two aren’t here.” 

Reluctantly, they gathered up their clothes and moved toward the heavy door. 
Rand glanced back, his soft turquoise eyes so full of concern for her that Lara gritted her 
teeth against the howl she could feel rising inside her. Somehow, she mustered a smile 
instead. “Go on. We’ll figure it out in the morning.” 

Ducking his head, Rand followed Darrek out, and closed the door behind him. 

Even now, Lara didn’t give into the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. Bad 
enough that her body was forcing her to give up her own dream of a passion strong 
enough to pale even the lovemaking she’d shared with Rand and Darrek. She wouldn’t 
sacrifice their passion, too. Not if she could help it. 

Just because she couldn’t have love -- or maybe precisely because she was never 
going to have that -- she wouldn’t rob them of it, too. 

We’ll figure it out in the morning. 

Lara grimaced at her words. They were a lie. 

In the morning, she wouldn’t be here. 


Chapter Three 

Darrek strode with grim determination down the long southern corridor, but 
Rand kept looking back. There’d been something in Elara’s face, something that had 
made him think of his mother who’d died when he was eight. That same brave smile, 
that same silent grief in her eyes… 

Rand shook his head. Lara shouldn’t be left alone, not tonight, not when so much 
had happened. But she’d been right -- their presence would only exacerbate her 
discomfort. Reluctantly, he turned to follow Darrek. 

They found a disused chamber, its wall-brackets empty of torches. Grimacing, 
Darrek fetched one from the hall, stuck it into a bracket, and curled up on the meager 
comfort of a dusty cushion. Silently, awkwardly, Rand settled with his back against the 
door, watching him. 

There was so much he wanted to say. 

When Darrek had stared at him after the fight, back in Elara’s room, something 
had thrilled through Rand as clearly and unmistakably as the sound of a gong. The 
anguish in Darrek’s eyes, the mute pleading for forgiveness… 

Nothing within him could have resisted such a plea. 

Rand closed his eyes, remembering the way Darrek had kissed him, so deeply, so 
fiercely, as if, for that one moment, nothing in the world existed except their mingled 
breaths, their intertwined limbs, the touch of their lips… 

He wanted that, Rand admitted. He wanted it more than anything in the world. 

And now it was impossible. 

When wasn’t it, Rand? he asked himself. But for one shining minute, his body had 
blazed with hope -- with more than hope -- with certainty. 


And if it were true, if what he’d believed so strongly for that one moment was 
right… 

“Dar?” 

Darrek opened his eyes, and Rand flinched. Darrek’s eyes burned with such 
rage, such contempt, that the words Rand wanted to say died on his lips. Fumbling, he 
reached for them, but they came out awkward, stilted, limping in their inadequacy. 
“Darrek, whatever happens… whichever of us marries her…” 

“Oh, it’ll be you.” Darrek’s voice was thin with scorn. “Don’t worry about that.” 

“I’m not.” Rand struggled, choking on his inability to simply say what he meant. 
“That’s not… It’s not what I want, Darrek. It’s not what --” 

“Spare me, Aurorea. It’s what you wanted since before we even found her. It just 
took you this long to finally win.” Rolling onto his back, Darrek draped an arm over his 
eyes. 

Rand would almost have preferred Darrek to slap him. “No, Dar, it’s not. I’m 
telling you, I don’t care! I would rather have you marry her than… than…” 

Than have you hate me. 

He couldn’t say it. Futilely, he beat his fist against one massive thigh in 
frustration, breathing heavily through his nostrils -- if he opened his mouth, he knew, 
he’d moan like a wounded animal. 

Darrek didn’t move his arm, didn’t open his eyes. But after a moment he shook 
his head. “I don’t want to. Besides, she’ll be better off with you. We both know it.” 

Rand couldn’t help it -- he did moan. Salty, stinging tears slid down his face, 
catching in the coppery stubble that shadowed his cheeks. His jaw clenched, trying to 
bite back the grief that wanted to rage out of him. 

“Dar… Darrek, please!” 

“Please what?” The contempt in Darrek’s voice cut like a knife, slashing Rand’s 
shattered heart. Sobbing, he stumbled to his feet, desperate to find some way to convey 
all the things he couldn’t find words for. As he collapsed to his knees beside Darrek, the 
Hausther heir sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury. 


“What do you want, Rand? Do you want my blessing? Do you want me to say 
I’m happy for you?” 

Mutely, Rand reached out, tears pouring down his face. Darrek slapped his hand 
away. “Don’t touch me, bastard!” 

The word lashed at Rand, and he jerked backward, raising his gaze to Darrek’s 
clenched, bloodless face. Darrek’s eyes were shining with tears. Rand stared at them 
mutely. How strange, he thought, how very… 

Then Darrek’s face seemed to crack, his jaw suddenly falling open as he gasped, 
his chest heaving, and dropped to his knees. Great shuddering sobs shook him, and the 
expression he raised to Rand was filled with the pure, straightforward grief of a child. 

Gently, Rand gathered him close, something like exultation flooding his veins 
even as he bent with tender pity to lay his cheek against Darrek’s black, shining hair. 
Darrek’s hands tugged desperately at his shirt, pulling it open and then clenching in 
Rand’s crimson mane, holding him immobile as Darrek sobbed against his chest. 

Rocking him softly, Rand murmured, not knowing what he said, not caring, 
letting his hands, caressing Darrek’s shoulders, speak for him. 

Darrek nuzzled against him, his lips moving heedlessly across the swell of 
Rand’s pecs, and Rand gasped as Darrek’s tongue grazed one dark, tight nipple. Then 
his mouth dragged lower, kissing and licking a path down to Rand’s navel, and Rand 
closed his eyes, swallowing the saliva that immediately flooded his mouth. 

“Dar…” he whispered. “Oh, Dar.” 

He wanted to move, wanted, obscurely, to stop him -- but Darrek was already 
tugging at the string of his trousers, sliding them down his hips, revealing the erection 
that jutted forth from his groin, thick and eager. With a low, wordless cry, Darrek 
wrapped his lips around it, sucking hungrily at the smooth, engorged swell of Rand’s 
glans. 

Rand felt as if his very bones were melting under the searing embrace of 
Darrek’s mouth. His knees were like water. His head swam with desire, so different 


from what he had felt earlier with Elara. That had been harsh, almost violent in its 
intensity. This, while no less intense, was gentler, more intimate. 

As tenderly as a mother holding her child, Rand cupped Darrek’s head between 
his strong hands, feeling the Hausther’s long, satiny hair slide against his palms as 
Darrek nursed greedily at his shaft, sucking it deep into his mouth. Darrek’s eyes were 
closed, his face lax with arousal. His jaw worked as he suckled, his tongue jabbing at the 
delicate underside of Rand’s rim, tickling and teasing until Rand’s cock pulsed in his 
mouth. 

Groaning, Rand pressed his hips forward, and Darrek reacted eagerly, sucking 
him harder. Winds, was this what Darrek wanted? With great daring, Rand closed his 
hands, twining the silken mass of Darrek’s hair through his fingers. 

Darrek responded with a high, hungry whine. 

Immediately, the tenderness inside Rand spiraled up into lust. Hesitantly, he 
thrust once, and Darrek’s lips clamped around him, his head straining in Rand’s grasp 
as if egging him on. 

Oh, sweet Winds. Carefully, he pulled Darrek’s head forward, tightening his grip, 
and Darrek opened his eyes and gazed up at him with a look of such abandon, such 
bone-deep hunger, that Rand could no more resist it than he could Darrek’s kisses. 
Clamping his fists in Darrek’s hair, Rand dragged his head to him, thrusting his hips at 
the same time. Darrek tilted his chin, straightening his throat, and with a rush of white 
heat Rand felt his shaft slide in deeper, penetrating until Darrek’s lips encircled the very 
base of his cock. 

Agony flared deep in his groin, a pulsing, aching fire that was pain and ecstasy 
combined. “Oh, Dar,” he whispered, feeling his cock flex and throb in the searing heat 
of Darrek’s mouth. “Please -- please tell me…” 

Tell me you want this. Tell me you… 

Reaching inward, Rand sought for Darrek’s mind-voice. Darrek gazed up at him 
from under half-closed eyelids, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he groaned, deep in his 
throat. 


The sound vibrated against Rand’s shaft, caressing it, and the urgency in 
Darrek’s black gaze flared like a beacon. He clamped his lips harder around Rand’s 
huge cock, his tongue lashing eagerly -- and Rand felt his hesitation crumble. His fists 
closed tighter, pinioning Darrek, clenching the silken mass of his hair. With a roar that 
reverberated through the empty room, Rand slammed his hips forward, fucking 
Darrek’s mouth with a need he’d never before admitted -- a need to take, to hold, to 
claim. 

For this one night, if never again, Darrek Hausther would be his. 

Roughly, almost viciously, Rand seized Darrek’s head, yanking his hair 
heedlessly as he forced Darrek to take him deeper. Tears started from the corners of 
Darrek’s eyes -- whether of pain or of pleasure, Rand suddenly, for one glorious 
moment, didn’t care. 

Dragging his cock out of the hot velvet wetness of Darrek’s mouth, Rand 
plunged in again, hammering his shaft home. 

Darrek whined like an animal, rousing him further. His balls clenched, and he 
froze, straining against his incipient orgasm -- he wanted this to last, last forever, he 
wanted to spend the rest of his life right where he was now, with his cock buried deep 
in Darrek’s moist heat. 

But Darrek whined again, a high, pleading sound that wrenched away the last 
vestige of his self-restraint. Ruthlessly, he plunged between Darrek’s stretched lips, 
pounding out his fury and grief and longing with every frantic thrust. Darrek’s jaw was 
strained to its limit, and still Rand drove savagely into his mouth, feeling the fire in his 
groin grow into an inferno, beyond thought, beyond regret -- far, far beyond control. 

Heaving, he towered over the black-haired Hausther heir, his hips pistoning 
with a ferocity he couldn’t stop if he wanted -- but Darrek met his every thrust, sucking 
him deeper, claiming his shaft even as Rand claimed his mouth. He stared up, tears 
streaming from his eyes, his expression both exultant and pleading. 

Take me, Rand. The words whispered in his mind. Oh, please take me. 


With a last, grating roar, Rand threw back his head, the muscles in his arms 
bunching as he pinned Darrek with his hands and slammed his massive cock home. 

His roar twisted up into a hoarse cry as his orgasm burst through him, shooting 
wave after wave of his seed deep inside Darrek’s mouth. Darrek’s throat worked 
convulsively, milking him dry, swallowing every drop of his juices until Rand’s knees 
buckled and he rolled to his side and lay there, quivering. 

“Oh, sweet Winds, Darrek,” he gasped, his lungs burning, his chest heaving. He 
felt Darrek touch his shoulder gently. Rolling, he pulled the slimmer man to him, 
wrapping him in a fierce hug, feeling his heart thunder in his chest as his shudders 
slowly eased. 

Then gently, tenderly, he lifted Darrek’s chin, licking at his hot, pointed tongue 
and tasting his own come upon it. 

His cock twitched at the taste, and Rand stared down wonderingly into the black 
depths of Darrek’s eyes. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “Tell me, and I’ll do 
it. Anything. Anything at all.” 

Darrek only looked at him. 

Rand couldn’t help it -- he dragged Darrek against him and kissed him urgently, 
sucking Darrek’s tongue deep into his mouth, sliding his own tongue between Darrek’s 
teeth. His cock was already hardening again, lengthening against the firm weight of 
Darrek’s thigh. 

Darrek rolled onto his back, and Rand followed him, refusing to release Darrek’s 
sweet mouth. Covering his lean body with his own larger one, he felt Darrek’s erection 
throbbing against his belly. Reaching down, he closed his hand around it, reveling in its 
hardness. Tightening his fingers, he moved his fist upward, and Darrek arched below 
him, pressing himself tight against the thick swell of Rand’s cock. 

Rand could feel Darrek’s balls, tight and full, dragging heavily against his own. 
The sensation made him gasp, and the ache in his groin returned, hot and ready. He 
squeezed Darrek’s cock harder, working the skin up and down the long, rigid shaft, and 
heard Darrek’s harsh breathing. Wetting his fingers, Darrek slid his hand downward, 


then put his arms around Rand’s chest, pulling him close. His thighs wrapped around 
Rand’s hips, and Rand groaned in heedless longing as his cock glided on the slickness 
of mingled saliva and come. 

Flexing his hips lightly, he could feel the throbbing muscle of Darrek’s tight 
entrance against the very tip of his cock. His blood roared in his ears, drowning the 
world in a crescendo of lust. 

Through that pounding haze, he heard Darrek whisper, “Take me, Aurorea. Take 
me deep. Fuck me hard. This one night, make me yours. This once, and never again.” 

With a cry that sounded in his ears like the last snapping of his heartstrings, 
Rand pushed himself slowly into the searing embrace of Darrek’s ass. Impossibly hot, 
almost painfully tight, Darrek’s passage gripped him as if it would never let him go. 

* * * 

As soon as the door shut, Lara moved. Tugging on her clothes, she tied her boots 
together by their laces and slung them around her neck. Then she swung her leg over 
the sill of an arch and gingerly let herself down. 

Wind Castle was perched like an aerie high on the peak of Mount Anduth. There 
was no courtyard around it, no pathway curving up -- everyone who approached it did 
so in dragon form. 

But the palace itself was only one story tall -- it needed no additional height. You 
could see all the four corners of the realm from its many arches, from the glittering 
eastern sea beyond the Aurorean lands, to the vast golden plains of the southlands, the 
deep, endless forests of Gerdain’s dominion… 

You could also see, if you craned your neck downward, the broken, tumbled 
sides of a steep valley, running down Anduth’s western face to the lower peaks below. 

Lara was less terrified of that precipitous descent than she was of the mating lust 
beating in her loins. She’d rather risk the climb than feel that madness battering her 
again, driving her into a frenzy in which she’d willingly watch the two men she cared 
for most deeply tear each other apart for her sake. 


Carefully, she found footholds with her bare toes, digging them into the crevices 
between the massive blocks of the foundation. Then the sole of her foot touched thin, 
crusted snow -- she was down. Stopping only to pull on her boots, Lara lay flat on her 
stomach and lowered herself over the edge of the cliff. 

Stones bounced away beneath her seeking feet as she clambered carefully, feeling 
her way. Then the cliff face seemed to crumble around her, and she was sliding, bruised 
and battered by the rocks tumbling with her, the dirt and dust they kicked up filling her 
mouth, her nose, her eyes… Scrabbling, she fought for a handhold, a foothold -- there 
was nothing. 

Then a boulder caught her, knocking the breath from her lungs, and she clung 
there desperately, gasping, her heart thundering in her chest as the landslide boomed 
and clattered into the darkness below. 

Shuddering, Lara panted, trying to work up the courage to leave her fragile 
perch. Staring up, she tried to see how far she’d slid -- but the ridge above her was 
indistinct in the blackness. There was no knowing. And no help, either. There was 
nothing to do but go on. 

Finally, gritting her chattering teeth, she swung her leg past the boulder, feeling 
for a grip. Her foot brushed a projection -- she stepped down harder -- the rock 
crumbled away beneath her, ripping her hands from the boulder, and her head 
slammed against an outcropping, sending white streaks bursting behind her eyes. 

She was falling, falling, her screams thin and shrill in the empty mountain air. A 
wrenching roar filled her ears, as if the night itself was ripping open above her. Wind 
buffeted her, tossing her on the air, and something plunged out of the darkness, seizing 
her in sharp, piercing claws. 

Invisible wings flapped above her, and she caught a last, hazy glimpse of Wind 
Castle, its white walls and soaring columns glimmering faintly in the dark, before the 
world whirled silently away. 


Chapter Four 

Slowly, the throbbing in her shoulders pierced her unconsciousness. She tried to 
ignore it, to reach again for the soothing nothingness that had wrapped her, but soon 
other sensations came to join it -- an ache in her wrists, the dull, leaden clanging in her 
skull, a flare of pain along her spine. 

Panting, Lara dragged her eyes open -- and shut them immediately as a gray 
flood of nausea spiraled through her. She swallowed convulsively, and opened them 
again. 

The air around her was brown and thick, searing her throat as she sucked it in. It 
was hard to see clearly in the murky dimness. Blinking rapidly, Lara made out a rough 
stone wall across from her, some thirty feet away. Twisting her head (and ignoring the 
stabbing agony in her neck as she did so), she saw that the air grew marginally brighter 
to her left, lightening to a sullen ocher where the walls curved away. 

A cave, then. She was in a cave. She couldn’t see the entrance from where she 
stood -- for she was standing, barely. Her hands were fixed over her head to the rock 
wall behind her. 

A cave -- but where? The rough granite walls might have been in a hundred 
places in Djarera’s northern mountains, but why was the air so acrid? Had there been a 
fire? Her head throbbed dully. It was hard to think. 

After a while, she heard the clear, scraping tread of footfalls approaching. Slitting 
her eyes, she peered out from beneath her lowered lids at the man who appeared at the 
edge of her vision. 

He was easily as tall as Rand, and as broad through the chest. Heavily muscled, 
but without the same overwhelming bulk as the Aurorean. This man looked fast -- and 


dangerous. His wide, brawny shoulders tapered to a whipcord waist, and his hips and 
thighs were taut and powerful, like a runner’s. 

At the sight of him, the hunger inside her roared back to life, flaring along her 
battered nerves like wildfire. 

Lara closed her eyes, fighting that instinctive frenzy, willing the pressure of khef 
to retreat. Then she studied him again covertly, keeping her eyes slitted. 

He was naked. Gloriously naked. His skin appeared to be darkly tanned, though 
it was hard to tell in the dimness. Thick shining hair, the color of young wheat, tumbled 
over his rugged shoulders, falling nearly to his ass in tangled disarray. The curly thatch 
at his groin was equally golden. 

Quickly, Lara averted her gaze, trying to ignore the throb of heat in her cunt. 

He squatted in the center of the cave and looked up at her with eyes that were a 
piercing ice-clear emerald, even in this murky light. 

“You’re awake. Stop pretending.” 

As she opened her eyes fully, Lara realized she was cold, cold to her very 
marrow. She’d seldom in her life felt so much as chilly, something she’d never 
questioned growing up, although the neighbors had looked at her strangely when she’d 
run around in a T-shirt when everyone else was bundled in parkas. 

Now her teeth chattered, and her fingers, deprived for so long of circulation, 
stung painfully. Nevertheless, she held her head erect. “Why am I bound?” she 
demanded. “Release me.” 

He -- whoever he was -- glanced at her again; one quick cut of those icy-green 
eyes. Lara bit her tongue. Stupid. If he’d wanted you loose, you’d be loose already, wouldn’t 
you? 

Yes. She supposed she would. 

Think of something useful, damn it! But the only thing she could think of to say 
was, “I’m cold.” 


Rising to his feet, he strode to her. Taller than Rand… oh, most definitely. He 
towered over her, staring down at her body, and Lara flushed as she realized she was 
naked. 

She flinched as he raised his hands, expecting… a blow, maybe. She didn’t know 
what she expected. He was so silent, so inexplicable, his taut, flowing muscles radiating 
a deep, controlled violence. Who was he? 

Then he cupped his hands intimately around her breasts, and all Lara’s questions 
faded away. The touch of his fingers was so firm, so familiar… as if he knew every one 
of her most secret desires. Her nipples, already contracted into points by the chill, 
hardened still further, sending a spike of arousal through her. His hands were like ice -- 
but the contrast against her oversensitive skin only heightened the sensation. 

Lara gasped, feeling her knees tremble. He stood close, his body almost brushing 
hers. But where the heat of his body should be, the soft glow of his life force -- there was 
nothing. He might have been made of stone. Yet his massive chest moved as he 
breathed, and his skin gleamed. It would, she thought deliriously, be soft as velvet if 
she touched it, if she trailed her fingers over the broad swell of his pecs… 

Studying her impassively, he closed his fingers on her nipples, tweaking them -- 
hard. Lara arched beneath his touch, raking the harsh, unfamiliar air into her sore 
throat, feeling the hunger inside her strain against her tenuous control, fighting like a 
wild animal to be free, to fly, to fuck… 

Khef. 

Had she said she was cold? She was on fire. Shudders racked her body like the 
trembling of a heroin addict deprived of his fix. Having no experience with drugs, she 
had always thought the junkies portrayed in movies to be ridiculously overblown -- but 
now, feeling her body cramp with a need she could neither fulfill nor deny, Lara 
admitted that if drug addiction was at all like this, those portrayals had been, if 
anything, tame. 

The man regarded her a moment with no change of expression, then dropped his 
hands from her breasts. Lara couldn’t help it -- she whimpered with longing. A cold 


satisfaction gleamed briefly in his eyes. Then he moved to the far side of the cave where 

he hunkered, watching her, always watching. 

Still he’d said nothing. 

Fiercely, Lara bit her lip, forcing down the trembling in her body, ignoring the 
slickness between her thighs and the way her breasts ached, wanting his touch. This 
whole situation was starting to piss her off. 

“I’m hungry,” she demanded. Oh, she was hungry all right -- just not for food. 
He gazed at her flatly. “I’m tired, my arms hurt, my head hurts, and I think I’m going to 
throw up. So are you going to untie me?” 

No reaction. 

“Then at least tell me what the fuck is going on!” Pointlessly, she kicked out. 
Well out of her range, he curved his lips in a smile -- a motion which made her aware of 
the fine shape of his cheekbones, his high forehead, his strong, well-shaped jaw. But his 
eyes remained cool, aloof. Measuring. 

“If you like.” His voice rumbled, sounding like thunder in the distance -- deep, 
muted, both exciting and menacing. Lara watched his Adam’s apple move as he spoke, 
and felt her nipples tingle. “It is not I who will release you, but you who will release 
me.” 

“What? But…” This whole thing made no sense. Release him from what? “Where 
am I?” 

He shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders rippling with that small, careless 
motion. “Nowhere.” 

“No…” That was impossible. “Fine. How did I get here?” 

“I brought you.” 

“That was you?” Hazily, she remembered falling, being seized up, borne away… 
“You’re a dragon.” 

He nodded, one slow up and down motion of his blond head. 

Of course he was. Of course. Her body, racked on the dangerous knife-edge of 
khef, had already known, responding to him like a wire to current. 


It will get worse. Eventually the need will become irresistible, until you would rut in the 
mud with any toothless, drunken, wing-broken imbecile… 

Lara closed her eyes again, swallowing. How close was she already to that 
perilous brink? The nameless man before her was neither toothless nor wing-broken; in 
fact, he radiated an almost overpowering virility. 

But what he was instead… that, she didn’t know. 

“Then take me back. Now.” 

“No.” 

“Why not? Who are you? What --” 

What do you want? 

But she didn’t say it. Under the frosty regard of those crystalline eyes, she was 
suddenly afraid of the answer. 

He leaned back, tilting his head. “Ah, so many questions, Elara.” 

She froze at his use of her name -- the implications were terrifying. But the way 
he said it, in that deep, deep voice that reverberated in his throat like a growl, was 
impossible to ignore. 

“How do you know my name?” Hearing the sharp edge of fear in her voice, Lara 
cursed inwardly -- but for the first time, she saw emotion gleaming in those piercing 
eyes. 

It was the look of a predator, closing in for the kill. 

Vaguely, she remembered her frantic, ill-advised flight. The rockslide, then 
falling… And he, whoever he was, had rescued her -- only to shackle her to the wall of 
some cave. 

What did he want with her? 

Gritting her teeth, Lara glared at him, her fury fueled as much by the shudders of 
lust coursing through her as by fear. Her anger seemed to amuse him, for he smiled 
again -- that cold, hard curve of his lips which brought no warmth to his eyes. 

Something about that cool, superior smile reminded her of Darrek. What, she 
wondered, did this man’s icy exterior hide? 


Closing her eyes again, she pictured the lean, proud Hausther heir, his black hair 
falling like a waterfall straight down his back as he’d tilted his head, dragging Rand’s 
mouth down to his with such need, such passion… 

The memory sent a flare of lust roaring through her veins as she imagined the 
two of them together: Rand poised above Darrek, his massive cock ramming downward 
into Darrek’s spread mouth even as Darrek thrust up, shoving his shaft between Rand’s 
soft lips; Darrek mounting Rand from behind, fucking him as furiously as he’d fucked 
her last night… 

Enraged jealousy pounded through her, and Lara was suddenly straining at her 
bonds, her body arched in the effort to free herself. In that moment, had Darrek been 
there before her, she would have savaged him like a beast for daring to want Rand -- 
Rand! -- instead of her. 

Shocked, she froze, hearing her breath rasp in her throat. 
The stranger watched her closely, his green eyes glinting. 
No. No, she wanted Rand to have Darrek, wanted them, at least, to have what she 


never would -- a binding, a closeness that her heart hungered for, far and beyond the 
frenzy pulsing inside her. That was why she’d fled, after all. 

Was it? 

Had she been reacting just to Darrek and Rand? Or had it been the need inside 
her as much as her love for them that had driven her out, sent her into the darkness 
searching for another answer, a different path… 

A different mate. 
Warily, she eyed the cold, silent stranger across from her. 
Khef. Damn bloody khef. Even when she’d been fleeing, it had still been 


controlling her actions, her decisions, leading her… 
Here. Wherever “here” was. But no way was this man her shadowy dream lover. 
It was time for some answers, damn it. “What do you mean, ‘it is you who will 

release me’? How? Who are you? Release you from what?” 


He leaned back against the far wall, his long, muscular legs bent casually before 
him. His tangled hair tumbled around him, a dull, heavy gold in the gray light. 

“Elara,” he said finally. “Young, headstrong Elara. Has anyone ever told you 
how very much you resemble your mother?” 

No one had had to. The first time she’d seen Melgara, she’d known immediately 
that this woman was her mother -- they had the same eyes, the same expressions, the 
same chestnut hair, although in Lara’s opinion the features that were, on her, blandly 
regular, were heightened in her mother to something approaching true beauty. “How 
do you know my mother?” she demanded. 

“In a sense, I don’t. But I will know you.” 

There was something ominous in his tone, something intimate and insinuating… 
but at least he was talking. Lara bit her lip, and waited. 

“We are a very conservative race, Elara -- have you noticed that yet? In 
thousands of years, we have barely changed. The clans in their four domains, the queen 
on her throne… We are bound by custom and tradition as much as nature, endlessly 
repeating the same patterns, the same small, narrow paths…” 

She hadn’t thought of it that way. It was all still so new to her. But there were 
things she’d seen that had puzzled her -- the absence of guards in the palace, for 
example. She’d asked Darrek and Rand once, and they’d stared at her. Guards? Against 
what? 

At the time, she’d found their incomprehension reassuring. 

The man chuckled, leaning his head back against the wall as he studied her, his 
arms draped loosely across his bent knees. Jesus, he was gorgeous. But the sound of his 
laughter was as hard and brittle as shattering ice. 

“Ironic, isn’t it, that those same traditions that demanded my exile are the very 
ones that will guarantee me the throne?” 

The throne? Lara stared at him in confusion, feeling her fear increase, dulling the 
lust beating inside her body. This wasn’t random. As impossible as it seemed, this had 
been planned. 


By him. 

“Who are you? Why were you exiled?” 

“Because I would not surrender my freedom.” His gaze burned into her, 
inflexible, demanding. “We are children of the Winds, Elara. Wildness is our very 
nature. We have the power to go wherever the Winds take us. But Melgara --” his tone 
made the name an epithet, “-- forbids. Unless, of course, it is at her command,” he 
added, sneering. “Should I chain that wildness? Should I submit to a queen that will not 
allow me to be all I am?” 

His entire body seemed to clench with passion, and he sprang to his feet with the 
sinuous grace of a panther. Feeling faint, Lara had to admit she couldn’t imagine him 
submitting to anyone. He was virility incarnate, dominant, assured. He moved closer, 
his eyes blazing a virulent emerald, until he towered over her. He hissed, low and 
deadly. “I will not surrender my freedom, Elara. Not for anyone, or anything.” 

Lara’s eyes widened. Melgara had told her about the Zendarian wars, about the 
violent rogue who had sought to seize control of the throne. Only the fierceness of the 
Hausthers and Melgara’s own determination had defeated the massive Westron 
dragon… 

“Zendar,” she breathed. “You’re Zendar.” 

He leaned back again, his eyes studying her briefly, his powerful body relaxing 
as he nodded again. “And you shall be the one to free me.” 

“Why?” she demanded. “What do you need me for? You can free yourself, 
obviously, since you --” 

Rescued me. 

Lara paused, her head spinning. If it wasn’t for him, she’d be dead right now. 
And whether she wanted to admit it or not, the fire in her body was more than just khef. 
Those icy green eyes burning down into hers… 

But he had tried to usurp the throne. Tried to seize the kingdom and rewrite its 
laws as he saw fit. And he would use her, Lara, to accomplish those ends. 


“I can force my way back into that world, yes,” he replied. “But for what?” Lara 
swallowed nervously, feeling his closeness pulling at her, as surely as metal being 
drawn by a magnet. His eyes, so cold, so forbidding, were as compelling as clear, 
flawless gemstones. “No, Elara. I will not leave here. Not till I have made myself heir to 
the throne of Djarera.” 

Slowly, purposefully, he trailed one finger down the length of her throat, then 
delicately followed the curve of her collarbone. The craving inside Lara flared like a 
beacon. 

Whoever you mate with becomes heir to this kingdom… 

And soon, the inescapable frenzy of khef would drive her to mate -- whether she 
willed it or not. 

Zendar leaned closer, his eyes filling her vision, blinding her to everything but 
the cold fire of his gaze. “I’m willing to wait, Elara. As long as it takes. But --” he added, 
sliding his hand from her collarbone to the swell of her breast, grazing her nipple which 
ached at his touch, “I am equally willing to hasten the process.” 


Chapter Five 

Melgara had felt the rending in the night, the implacable rage which had torn 
through the very planes of existence. It had ripped her out of an uneasy sleep, and she’d 
sat up, her heart pounding. 

Hastily, she’d pulled on a robe and strode to the throne room. Wind Castle was 
silent around her -- no cries of alarm, no sounds of forced entry. Still, her apprehension 
hurried her on, and she took the steps of the dais two at a time. 

Dragons were the Winds, in a very real sense. North, south, east and west, the 
four clans were the living embodiment of the element that had given birth to them. 
And, seated on the throne of Wind Castle, the ones who governed and protected them 
could see wherever the Winds blew -- into every corner of the kingdom; even into the 
other planes the Winds traveled. 

But when Melgara sat on the carved marble seat and turned her gaze inward, she 
saw nothing. No invader, no panic, no motion anywhere that she could detect. The 
kingdom of Djarera lay wrapped in peace. 

Had she imagined it? Had that awful, sickening sense of rending been no more 
than the product of her own fears? 

Turning her gaze from the wide, night-dark lands, Melgara concentrated instead 
on the palace, seeking through the long, graceful corridors. Sensing motion in a long-
disused room she peered inward, and saw Rand and Darrek wrapped in each other’s 
arms. Well, she’d expected that. It didn’t take the sight of a Dragon Queen to perceive 
the attraction between the two young heirs. 

But one of them had to marry Elara. 

Melgara did not begrudge them their goodbyes. Delicately, she withdrew, and 
sought instead the mind of her daughter. It was a thing she did not allow herself to do 


often -- if she had, she would have spent all the years of Lara’s childhood following 
every moment of her estranged daughter’s growth. But tonight, she wanted 
reassurance, wanted to feel the warmth of her daughter’s lively mind… 

Only she could not find it. 

A moment of panic broke her concentration, and Melgara found she had started 
from her seat without realizing. Stopping herself, she breathed deeply, containing her 
apprehension, and sank again to the hard marble seat. 

Slowly, now she sought outward, through every room of Wind Castle. Then 
across the vast, night-shrouded mountains. 

Nothing. There was no trace of Elara. 

Could she have changed to dragon form, fled to Earth, trying to escape the 
frenzied grip of khef? 

No. Melgara shook her head distractedly. She was fully aware how close Lara’s 
crisis was. If her daughter had allowed herself to assume dragon shape, the pressure of 
khef would have driven her, almost immediately, to mate. 

Never before had Melgara had to search for her daughter. Somewhere in the 
back of her mind, she’d always known unerringly exactly where she was, even on 
Earth. Now, where that comforting half-awareness had been, there was only an 
emptiness, a blankness, a… 

Void. 

Melgara’s eyes widened in the darkness of the throne room. That hideous 
ripping sensation, the impression of rage… 

There was only one place she knew of that her sight could not follow. Only one 
place where the Winds did not blow -- because she had barricaded it. She had closed it 
off, shutting Zendar behind it, sealing it with the force of the Winds. 

He had broken through. Somehow, over the decades, he had learned to do that. 

And now, Melgara thought with an icy trickle of surety, he had seized Elara and 
drawn her back with him. Into the void. Into the one place she was unable to see. 

* * * 


Zendar’s touch burned like fire, so cold it seared her skin. Equally fierce, equally 
remorseless, the frenzy of khef pounded at her. She hung in her shackles, writhing under 
Zendar’s implacable caresses, unable to control her body’s responses. 

This was where it had brought her, her dream of a nameless lover who would 
fulfill her completely, binding her in a passion so intense, so vibrant she could still taste 
the sour ashes of that fiery vision. She cursed it -- empty fantasy, false vision -- it was a 
cheat. A cheat! 

And it had cost her everything. 

The man standing before her, touching her, tormenting her senses, was 
physically perfect -- his broad, powerful chest, his thick, golden hair, his intent emerald 
eyes that transfixed her and sent the blood rushing through her veins every time he 
looked at her. 

But he was cold. So cold. There was no love in him, no caring… No remorse. 
How different from Darrek, with his deep, repressed passions, his hunger so great he’d 
never even been able to name it… 

Marrying Darrek would have been a joy compared to this frigid, vengeful man. 

But that wasn’t even the worst of it, was it? No. The worst was the way her body 
responded. Each flick of his fingers along her naked skin increased the craving inside 
her -- a craving that was only intensified by his intoxicating nearness. 

Khef. It was khef, that’s all it was! 

Is it? 

Yes! Lara insisted silently. Look at what she’d felt with Rand and Darrek, the 
mindless desire that had seized her, reducing her to a feral, lust-maddened creature… 

But this desire was neither blind nor mindless. This desire had a purpose, a 
direction, a goal. Not to mate -- or not only to mate -- but to mate with him. Zendar. 

Never in her life had Lara felt so fundamentally betrayed. 

No! she shrieked silently, hardening her will -- but Zendar’s icy fingers trailed 
through the curls of her sex, tugging lightly, and she groaned. He leaned close, and she 
couldn’t help admiring the strong, chiseled line of his jaw, the firm, corded muscles of 


his long neck… He was perfect. Absolutely perfect. And her body screamed for him in a 

way she’d never before experienced. 

Resolutely, she shut her eyes. 

He laughed. “Oh, Elara. So proud. So resistant.” His words whispered in her ear 
like a chill winter breeze. Her skin was on fire wherever he touched it -- his pecs 
pressing close against the aching points of her nipples; his thighs brushing hers, easing 
them open; his cock, hard as marble, jabbing against her belly. His ice against her heat, 
his rigidity against her softness… 

The opposing sensations racked her, and she writhed, driven to a level where 
every touch, every stroke of his fingers, was agony, and every flick of pain was a delight 
so exquisite she moaned with unendurable longing. 

Khef. Brutally, inexorably, he was pushing her, step by step, into the frenzy of 
khef. 

His hands clenched her hips, and he shoved his cock forward, pressing it against 
the tingling nub of her clit. “I will have you, Elara. And with you, the throne. And then 
you -- and all Djarera -- will bow to me.” Viciously, he ground his shaft against her, his 
teeth bared in triumph as she groaned in arousal. “I will have my revenge, Elara. Do not 
doubt that.” 

I don’t, she whispered somewhere in the tortured confines of her mind. Surely 
she hadn’t said it aloud! But he grinned again as he knelt, seizing her breasts and 
closing his mouth around one erect nipple. 

Fire seared through her. His lips, soft as silk and yet cold as granite, tugged at 
her breast, and she whimpered in longing. The sensation was maddening, excruciating. 
His tongue teased her tender aching nipple till she shrieked in mingled agony and lust. 

“There is no escape, Elara,” he murmured, his lips whispering against her 
tingling skin. He trailed one hand downward, drawing lines of white fire over her belly, 
her mons, as his mouth closed over her other nipple, suckling it fiercely. Lara moaned, 
feeling the lips of her cunt swell as moisture slicked her hot, yearning passage. 


No! She would not simply submit to him, no matter how much he roused her. 
She was Elara Southerlin, not some mindless plaything! A snarl burst from her, 
challenging and fierce. Furiously, she struggled against him, fighting the lust that flared 
in her groin as her gyrations forced her breast deeper into his mouth. Growling low in 
his throat, he clamped down tighter, pinching one nipple as he suckled the other with a 
frenzy that bordered on rage. 

It hurt -- God it hurt! But the pain was sheer ecstasy. Her breasts felt heavy, 
aching, and she stifled an urge to thrust them even harder against him. Desperately, she 
held herself rigid, biting back the moan that throbbed in her throat. “Release me!” she 
demanded, her voice cracked with desperation. 

“Release yourself,” he whispered back, the motion of his lips teasing her nipple. 
“All you need to do is change shape, Elara, and you can rip yourself free with hardly a 
thought.” 

She glared down at him, panting. “No!” she spat. 

“Then,” he replied, “shall we continue?” 

Grabbing her thighs with his powerful hands, he pushed them irresistibly apart 
and thrust his tongue deep into her throbbing cunt. 

* * * 

It had been Darrek who’d woken first, conscious of a sense of warmth so 
profound, so all-encompassing it stirred memories he’d never admitted he had -- 
memories buried deep in his proud, lonely heart of wanting desperately to be held, 
cherished, loved. And every yearning he’d ever had, Rand had fulfilled. 

But as the cold light of dawn crept through the dusty room, Darrek pulled away 
silently from Rand’s sleepy embrace. Today, Rand would marry Elara. 

And that was the end of it. 

But when they’d gone to her room, Elara wasn’t there. 

They’d found Melgara still seated on the carved marble throne, her face strained 
and ashen. Darrek wasn’t even sure she’d heard them until she raised her head, gazing 
down at them bleakly. “Yes. She is gone. Zendar took her.” 


Glancing at Rand, Darrek saw his face go deathly pale. “We have to go after her.” 

Melgara shook her head. “No. You cannot. Not unless I drop the barrier between 
the two planes. And if I do that, Zendar will be free.” 

“But,” Rand protested, “if he seized Elara, he can already escape. Lara can’t! She 
can’t, and he’ll keep her there, until --” 

“Yes, I know, Rand! Do you think I can’t see?” 

Rand stared up at her. Darrek could see the tightness of his shoulders, the way 
his entire body seemed to strain at his control, as if only his will kept him pinioned in 
human shape, kept him from flying then and there to Elara’s rescue. 

Does he love her so much, then? Will he risk all Djarera to have Lara back? 

Had he ever really thought that Rand could love him? 

Quietly, so quietly it went unnoticed amid the tension in the room, Darrek’s 
heart cracked. He swallowed twice, breathing shallowly to contain his desolation. It 
didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. What was a heart? A small thing, completely 
unimportant in the face of everything that was at stake. 

“Let me go after her,” he heard himself say. “Your Highness, your daughter is 
already deep in khef. How long do you think she can hold out? Or, if he mates her, will 
you consign her forever to the void along with him?” 

Melgara looked down at him, her face haunted by indecision. Darrek kept his 
gaze on her, not daring to glance at Rand. If he did… 

If he did, the shattered fragments of his heart might very well kill him. “Drop the 
barrier, my lady,” he whispered urgently. “Drop it, and I will bring her home safe to 
marry Rand.” 


Chapter Six 

Lara moaned like a cat in heat. Zendar’s tongue lashed at her, and her body, far, 
far beyond the reach of her will, arched before him, giving him easier access to her 
throbbing clit. She strained forward, pulling against her shackles, trying to push her 
cunt harder against his mouth. 

She needed… needed… 

Zendar drew back, trailing a finger instead through her full, swollen lips, 
spreading the juices over her already sodden folds. She whined high in her throat and 
bucked against him, wanting to feel that teasing finger inside her. 

Instead he stood, roughly spreading her thighs with his own, forcing her legs 
wide as he bent his knees. His hands grabbed her ass, dragging her against him. She 
didn’t resist. It was what her body wanted, what it ached for… 

She was so wet that his cock slid easily against her, its cold, rock-hard tip 
bruising her clit. She moved against him, grinding her mons harder against that rigid, 
stony shaft. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at Zendar, panting through half-open 
lips, daring him, challenging him, begging him to take her. 

With one violent thrust, he pushed himself inside her heat. Lara’s head snapped 
back, and she screamed with rapture. 

He was so hard, like iron inside her. His cock was nearly as thick as Rand’s -- 
and he wielded it with a vehemence Rand never approached. Each thrust seemed to 
spear her to the very core of her being, stoking the conflagration inside her, rocking her 
backward. 

She couldn’t imagine anyone else ever filling her so completely. 


Again and again, he rammed into her, fucking her with a fury that made even 
Darrek’s lovemaking look tame in comparison. When he’s done with me, Lara thought 
faintly, there’ll be nothing left. 

He would consume her utterly. 

Heat pounded in her gut, searing, demanding, clamoring for a release deeper 
than orgasm. Limp in her shackles, her mind assaulted by a craving stronger and more 
consuming than any she’d known, still Lara clung to that one resolve. He would use 
her, fuck her every way he wanted -- and she wanted that, wanted it with a carnal 
abandonment that terrified her. 

He had kept her quivering on the edge for what felt like centuries, teasing her 
over and over to the point where her head thrashed and cries poured from her as freely 
as her juices. She would do anything, anything, if he would just take her, send her over 
the edge into white, screaming bliss. 

But she would not change. She would not allow him to use her for his vengeance. 

Every time she quivered right on the verge, he backed off. Each time it would 
take one more stroke of his fingers, just one more stab of his tongue, he stopped. Twice 
she had heard herself begging, in language that made her blush furiously when she 
realized what she was saying. 

Each time, Zendar answered with one whispered word: Change. 

No. No. 

And so he had started the torment again. 

If it were just him, Lara thought, she could manage. As torturously erotic as his 
caresses were, she could resist him -- barely. But each time he brought her to the brink, 
the frenzy inside her stepped up a notch. She could almost feel her body swelling, her 
bones lengthening, thickening; feel herself rip from the puny shackles that held her and 
vault into the air, thrusting herself higher with each mighty beat of her wings -- wild, 
exultant, impossibly free… 


The fierce, feral emotion burning through her reminded her sharply of the 
passion she’d seen in Zendar’s intent eyes. Is this, then, what he feels? What he’s so afraid 
he’ll lose if he submits? 

The thought shocked her. Surely there was nothing -- nothing -- they had in 
common! But for a sudden, terrifying moment she glimpsed what it must have been 
like, to be imprisoned forever in this empty, timeless void. What it must have meant to 
him, him, who valued his freedom above everything else. 

Even life. Even friendship. 

Even love. 

Nothing else Melgara could have done could have hurt him so cruelly -- not even 
death. 

No wonder he’s so cold. 

Lara’s eyes widened as she lifted her head, gazing up at his strong, firm chin, his 
broad, pronounced cheekbones. Had she thought Darrek was like a statue? If so, 
Zendar was the entire mountain come to life. 

Or, rather, he was the very wildness of life, frozen into impenetrable rock. 

“Oh,” she cried faintly, feeling him thrust inside her, his rage and fury as 
palpable as her need. His gaze bored into her, hard and aloof. Of course. Of course -- 
how could it be otherwise? How could he not despise her? 

But what Lara felt, in that one moment, was pity. 

He was strong -- so strong it took her breath away. Proud, wild, passionate… 
Had she thought him emotionless? He had more fire in him than Rand and Darrek 
combined. Freedom he’d wanted, absolute freedom -- could she blame him for that? For 
it, he’d been willing to risk everything, even his very life… 

And he stirred her to heights of arousal she’d never dreamed possible. 

Wanting nothing, expecting nothing, Elara Southerlin looked into the dark 
emerald eyes of her enemy -- and then reached up and stroked the cold curve of his 
cheek. 


Jerking his head back, Zendar stared at her, his eyes wide and furious. Then, 
without warning, he drew his arm back and struck her. 

Lara’s head slammed backward against the rock. Stars exploded inside her skull. 
Rage -- blind, unreasoning rage -- flared through her, compounded of pain and arousal 
and the hurt of rejection, and she roared as her fingers hardened into claws. Her arms 
thickened, snapping the restraints. Lunging forward, she tossed him back like a rag 
doll, her muzzle twisting into a grin as he hit the far wall and slid to the ground. 

Then the volcanic heat of khef struck her like a tidal wave. She shrieked in 
mingled agony and lust, her head snapping back, her wings trying to unfold in the 
cramped space of the cave. 

She was trapped, trapped. She had to get out! Clawing at the rocks, she battered 
at the cave walls, thrashing her tail and lashing with her head till the roof collapsed in 
with a grinding roar of stone and debris. 

Screaming her defiance, Lara leaped into the acrid air, barely aware of the 
massive green dragon that shrugged his way from beneath the rubble behind her and 
launched himself in pursuit. 

She glided before him, glowing and golden, a blazing beacon calling him higher. 
Sweeping the air, Zendar climbed after her, feeling the mating frenzy emanating from 
her, a siren song that enflamed his senses, maddening him with the need to possess her. 

His unreleased orgasm throbbed in his groin. 

It had been pleasure of the keenest kind to torment her, to bring her over and 
over to the edge of release, watching coolly as she writhed and begged under his touch, 
feeling his own desire grow as he sensed her will crumbling -- yet it had never fully 
broken. 

Not till he struck her. 

A strange sense of discomfort stirred in him at the memory. Shaking his head, he 
chased it away. 


Dancing on the air, Elara flitted before him, aware of him now. He could see it in 
the arch of her back, the flash of her wings -- she was luring him on. As if he needed 
luring! 

Yes. He would have her. And then --then he would be free. 

Baring his teeth, he dove after Elara. 

Fire pounded along Lara’s veins, and she reveled in the feel of her wings, 
sweeping downward, shooting her through the air like a falcon. He was behind her, 
closer now, but he would not catch her yet. Not yet. Not till he was burning for her. Not 
till he needed it so bad he’d do anything --anything -- to have her. 

Like an echo in her mind, the ghost of her vision soared with her. Her body 
pulsed, almost shimmering with arousal. Soon, his need would spiral upward, flaring 
to match hers, until with a last, frantic dive he would cover her, their wings beating as 
one as he lowered himself into her, his claws gripping her neck, his haunches thrusting 
beneath her upcurled tail… 

Shrieking in anticipation, Lara plunged through the air, arrowing downward in a 
blaze of speed before swooping up again, feeling him follow doggedly behind her. Oh, 
he was hers, hers. He would follow forever, pursuing her tirelessly until she deigned to 
fuck him. 

She led him across the sky, glorying in her power, intoxicated by the dance they 
performed upon the air. She could feel his lust like a wind at her back -- he had to have 
her, whatever the cost. She was irresistible, utterly desirable -- what dragon could see 
her and not long to mount her? 

None. 

Arching her neck, she cried out her triumph, felt his impatience increase as he 
swooped after her. 

Now, now he was starting to feel the grip of her passion, her power. Soon he 
would be able to feel nothing, think nothing, see nothing but her body before him, 
driving him mad, rousing him to a desire he would kill to fulfill. 


Yes. 

Yes. 

When she saw the other dragon appear as if out of nowhere, Lara smiled in 
savage anticipation. 

So long attuned to that invisible wall, shutting him away in this gray, empty 
plane, Zendar felt it the moment the barrier failed. His head snapped up, and he saw 
Djarera before him, its towering peaks and endless green forests stretching beneath the 
sun. 

What… Confused, he fumbled, and Lara darted ahead, opening a gap between 
him and herself. In the space of a wingbeat she glided from gray, formless clouds to 
gleaming blue sky without ever noticing the change, she was so deep in khef. 

How many years, how many decades, had he waited for this? Immured in that 
frozen no-place, it could have been eons, or the blink of an eye. And now he was in 
Djarera, and his triumph was close, so close! As close as that golden shape streaking 
before him. Zendar felt his eagerness strain like a dog at a leash. 

Lust roared in his belly -- he wanted that fleeing golden form, wanted it with an 
intensity that burned in his loins. 

But what stuck in his mind, playing over and over, was the light, hesitant brush 
of a hand on his cheek. 

Zendar’s eyes narrowed. 

Her touch had enraged him. Innocent fool! Did she not know how he would use 
her, impregnate her and then cast her aside? She was a tool, nothing more! 

Then why did he think of wide gray eyes gazing up at him, luminous with… 

With what? He couldn’t identify that fleeting emotion -- but when she’d touched 
him, his cheek had felt warm. 

No! Impossible. Even with his cock buried deep in her cunt, he had felt nothing 
but lust, and ice. He was cold, cold. Nothing would ever warm him again. 


Thrusting his head forward, Zendar strained through the air, closing the distance 
between them, so intent on his pursuit he didn’t see the dragon that stooped like a 
hawk, whistling out of the sky, until claws raked his back and he roared in surprise. 

Knifing around, he slashed at the intruder -- and then grinned slowly, baring his 
fangs. Black dragon. Hausther. It would be a pleasure to kill him. 

But he had to do it quickly. He glanced after Elara and saw her hovering, circling 
back around to watch the battle. He could feel her avid interest, the bloodlust increasing 
her craving to mate. 

Eyeing his enemy, he snarled in contempt. The black one was lithe and quick, but 
no match for him. Screaming, he threw himself forward, closing on his smaller, 
snakelike opponent. 

Bracing himself, Darrek watched the green dragon come. Zendar. Rogue dragon. 
He was the stuff of legends -- and the legends, for once, didn’t exaggerate. His scales 
were like crystals, catching the light, and he was barbed at both spine and tail as Darrek 
himself was -- but the spikes at the tip of Zendar’s tail were two feet long and sharp as 
rapiers. And he was large, larger even than Rand -- although leaner, faster, quicker in 
the air. 

Darrek stared levelly at Zendar, expecting to die. 

He didn’t care about that, though. It was probably better that way. But he’d 
made a promise to Melgara -- and to himself. All he had to do was survive long enough 
to fulfill it. 

He could feel the beat of khef in his veins, like liquid fire -- but his mind was 
unclouded, his will unswayed. Heartbreak was proving a very effective anti-
aphrodisiac… for which he was grateful, considering the circumstances. 

Looking at Zendar’s lust-maddened eyes, Darrek counted it an advantage -- a 
slim one, he realized as he swerved in the air, narrowly avoiding the vicious swipe 
Zendar leveled at him as he flashed past. 

And it was all for nothing if he couldn’t reach Elara. 


He shouted again, in mind-speak, trying to pierce the haze of khef. 
Lara! Lara, hear me! It’s Darrek! Lara, answer!


He heard nothing in return but a fierce, exultant cry. Spinning rapidly, he saw 
Zendar diving at him again, his talons outstretched. 

Darrek darted under him, gliding beneath his belly -- and realized his mistake 
when Zendar’s tail lashed down, scoring him across his shoulders. He dropped rapidly, 
then thrust himself upward, trying to get above the larger dragon -- he didn’t dare let 
Zendar control the upper sky. 

Elara! Damn you, listen to me!
Nothing. 
Zendar circled, coming back around to face him. Darrek saw amusement glinting 


in those cold emerald eyes. Winds take him! Zendar might win -- probably would win --

but he would not have Elara. Elara was for Rand. 
And Darrek would die to make that happen. 
Shrieking, he threw himself at the larger dragon who, either in surprise or 

overconfidence, failed to block his attack. Darrek snarled as he closed his jaws in 
Zendar’s throat, feeling the Westron’s talons rake across his chest. Locked together, they 
tumbled, their wings beating madly. Tasting the hot, coppery tang of blood, Darrek felt 
the pressure of khef increase, and thrust it down impatiently. 

Elara Southerlin! My lady! You bitch! Answer me! 

For the first time, he heard -- not even heard, but felt a hesitation. Digging his 
teeth deeper, seeking for the buried pulse of Zendar’s life, he howled in his mind, Elara! 
Go! Get yourself out of here! Please, if you can hear me, fight it! 

A whisper in return, like a breath on the wind. Darrek?
Yes! Now go! Rand’s waiting for you.
The voice in his mind was querulous, impatient. Rand? Who is Rand? I don’t want 


him -- he’s not here. You are here. I want you. 


A tendril of lust inserted itself into his mind, and suddenly he saw her as she’d 
been -- was it really only a night ago? -- on her knees before him, her ass tilted up in 
invitation… 

Yes… he heard her whisper through the blood roaring in his ears. Yesss… 

No! Darrek roared, tearing himself away from Zendar. His opponent raked him 
viciously across the muzzle and darted away. Agony exploded in Darrek’s skull and he 
shrieked, trying to clear the blood from his eyes as he labored upward, feeling a hitch in 
his flight -- Zendar’s tail-barbs had torn a muscle in his shoulder. His left wing was 
dragging. 

And he was flying blind. 

He felt Elara’s arousal redouble. Winds take it! What would it take to get through 
to her? 

Elara! It’s khef! What you’re feeling is khef! You fought it before, remember? You 
fought it to save Rand. 

Rand? Her tone now was troubled. 

Yes, Rand! He taught you to fly, remember? He rescued you from me, when we -- No, 
don’t remind her. 

Or maybe it was himself he didn’t want to remind. Not now. Not with the lure of 
khef beating so strongly in his own loins, despite the pain that flared and pulsed along 
the left side of his face. His right eye was clearing, although the world around him was 
coated with a haze of red. And where, by the Winds, was Zendar? 

He found out when Zendar crashed into him, ramming him halfway down his 
body, just below his ribs. The blow knocked the breath from his lungs, and Darrek 
tumbled, fighting to break his fall, to bring his wings up -- the torn muscle in his 
shoulder screamed in protest as he wrenched against the wind, righting himself. Zendar 
hung above him like a buzzard, waiting for the kill. 

Lara! Go back to Rand! He needs you. He -- Darrek’s mind-voice was bitter, even to 
himself. He loves you, Elara. 


No. Her voice was faint, distant, distracted. Was she even hearing him? No, she 
said again. 

No, what? No, Rand didn’t love her? No, she wouldn’t go back? Or possibly -- 
just possibly -- was she saying no to the frenzy of khef? 

As Zendar dropped like a stone, his talons sparkling emerald fire as he cleaved 
the air, Darrek realized he would probably never know. 

NO! 

The shock of their collision knocked her mind clear of the lust seething through 
it, and in horror Lara saw Darrek fall, Zendar locked above him, his claws ripping as he 
rode Darrek’s body down. At the last moment, the huge green dragon loosed his hold 
and hovered as Darrek slammed to the ground and lay there, absolutely still. 

NO! 

Stooping like a falcon, Lara plunged for the ground, swerving to avoid Zendar’s 
reaching grab. Her arousal shriveled and twisted into nausea as she landed, stumbled, 
and dropped out of dragon form. Racing to Darrek’s side, she clasped the great muzzle, 
turning his head toward her, recoiling at the gore coating half his face. Was that a spark 
she saw in his remaining eye or just the sunlight, reflecting from his obsidian gaze? 
Sobbing, she laid her head against his chest, feeling his scales like velvet iron below her 
cheek. She tried to stifle her sobs, to listen for a breath -- she couldn’t. 

“Darrek! Darrek! Oh, Darrek, please! It isn’t me Rand loves. It’s not me he needs. 
Please, please Darrek…” 

Throwing her head back, she howled. Wind rushed above her, and she looked up 
to see Zendar hovering, his emerald eyes watching her intently. 

“Go away!” she screamed. “Don’t you touch me! I hate you, do you hear me? I 
hate you!” 

Snatching up a stone, she threw it futilely, then threw another. And another. 
Zendar hovered, just out of range, until finally she dropped to the ground, crying 
bitterly. 


A shadow drifted over her. Looking up, Lara saw him gliding low toward her, 
his talons extended -- to land, or to snatch her up? Either way, she didn’t wait to find 
out. Shrieking in fury, she sprang into the air, her wings unfurling even as she leaped. 
Claws extended, she dived at his naked back, ripping eight jagged lines across it before 
she thrust herself upward and dashed into the sky. 

Even the searing torment of khef couldn’t pierce her grief. In an odd way, she 
welcomed it, opening herself to its fierce, tearing hunger, lashing herself with it as she 
sped for Wind Castle. 

It wasn’t until she saw Mount Anduth below her and folded her wings to drop to 
its peak that she realized Zendar hadn’t even tried to pursue her. 


Chapter Seven 

Why had he let her go? 

Zendar stared after Elara until she faded into a speck in the distance. Then, 
feeling impossibly weary, he dropped to the ground and let his dragon form go. The 
black dragon, his enemy, lay crumpled before him. But Zendar couldn’t even summon 
the energy to care whether he was alive or dead. 

Why had he let her go? 

It defied belief. 

He hated Melgara for what she had done to him. She had taken his freedom, had 
locked him in a frozen, timeless void, and left him there until the ice sank into his very 
bones. 

She would, he was certain, have left him there forever. So why should he show 
any more mercy than she had? 

What a vengeance it would have been to claim and destroy her only child! He 
could still practically taste that bitter victory. And yet… 

And yet, where Elara had touched him, he had felt warm. 

I hate you! 

He had thought his freedom was the most precious thing in the world. He had 
thought that only ice endured forever. 

Disbelievingly, he raised his hand to his face and touched his cheek. It was damp 
with tears. 

Even ice, it seemed, could melt. 

* * * 


Sitting on the edge of the sleeping pit in her chamber, Lara smoothed the full, 
soft skirt her mother had given her. Tiny white snowflowers, asthuraia, were woven into 
her chestnut hair. In the throne room, she knew, the guests awaited. 

Woodenly she stood, and left her room. Not even the ever-present pressure of 
khef could shatter her numbness. 

Turning right, she walked south, away from the throne room. But she wasn’t 
running away -- not this time. There was just something she needed to do first. 

Outside the room where Darrek and Rand had slept, she paused, brushing her 
hand lightly over the smooth, rich-grained wood. Then she opened the door and went 
in. 

Swathed in bandages, Darrek lay as still as death. Only the shallow rise and fall 
of his chest gave proof he had survived that terrible fight. When they’d borne him back 
to the castle, Lara had been sure he was dead. Once again she wondered why Zendar 
hadn’t taken the chance to finish him off -- but the thought was distant, dull. It really 
didn’t matter. 

Kneeling beside Darrek, she stroked his hair gently. Bending, she kissed his right 
cheek, carefully avoiding the bandages that covered the left side of his face. He didn’t 
rouse. 

She stretched out beside him, studying the one visible cheekbone, the black, 
arching brow, the contrast between his alabaster skin and the rich ebony gleam of his 
hair. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t think I said that. And Darrek? You were 
wrong. It is you Rand loves.” 

She felt a tear slide down the curve of her cheek, and splash onto her 
outstretched arm. No, she would not have chosen this, but it was her duty. And she 
would not dishonor what Darrek had sacrificed. 

She would not keep Rand. He belonged here, not waiting for her in front of the 
throne of Wind Castle. 


But that was where he was, and it was time, now, to join him. Stroking Darrek’s 
cheek one last time, she murmured, “Wait for him, Darrek. Get well for him. He needs 
you.” 

Her mouth twisted with bitterness. No one would ever need her like that. 

Except that wasn’t true. Not entirely. She was needed -- by Rand, by Darrek, by 
all the dragons. Someday she would be their queen. And it was time for her to start 
acting like one. 

Holding her head high, Lara rose and left the room, closing the door softly 
behind her. 

* * * 

Rand stood, dressed in the formal crimson and gold that were his clan’s colors. 
His gaze rose to meet hers, warm and reassuring. He smiled lightly, and Lara’s heart 
clenched painfully in her breast. Oh, she did love him -- how could she not, when even 
now he was trying to comfort her? 

He was too good for her. He was more than she deserved. 

But it was still so much less than she had once wanted. 

The great doors at the end of the hall were flung open, and the peaks below 
Anduth were bare, their snow melted. The air crackled with vibrancy, crisp and alive. 
The hall itself fairly blazed with color; the black and silver of the Hausthers, the yellow 
and green of the Westron clan led now by Gerdain, and the clear, unsullied white that 
was her own clan’s color, the Southerlins. 

From the throne, Melgara smiled down at her, but Lara saw the compassion in 
her gray eyes and bowed her head. Her mother, too, she knew, truly wished things had 
been different. 

But they weren’t. 

Firmly, Elara stepped forward, the clans bowing to her as she moved toward 
Rand. She would be happy about this -- she would mate with a dragon she cared for, 
and have a child, a child she could love with no reservations, no regrets, no stifled 
dreams. 


Surely that was reason enough for joy? 

But try as she might, she couldn’t bite back the tears glimmering in her eyes, and 
as resolutely as she walked, somehow the journey from the door to the dais seemed to 
stretch out forever. She was acutely conscious of every footfall, each shuffle in the 
crowd, every light brush of wind against her pale cheeks. Time slowed to a crawl, 
giving her ample opportunity to hear the yearning cry in her breast -- for what? For a 
fantasy? A daydream? Grow up, Elara! There’s no shining knight, no ideal mate… no mighty 
lover to whisk you away. Let it go. 

She had. She had. 

Then why did her heart stutter in her chest as she caught the emerald flash of 
Gerdain Westron’s gaze? Why did it sink immediately after when she recognized who 
he was -- or rather, who he wasn’t? 

And why, at the rush of wind through the hall, did she turn so eagerly to the 
great, wide-flung doors, hearing nothing but the thunder of her leaping pulse? 

She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Without realizing it she raised her hands to 
her cheeks, pressing her suddenly cold fingers to the flush rising through them as the 
emerald-green dragon flew into the hall, his wings cupping the air as he landed and 
changed. 

Zendar. 

He stood, so tall, so erect, his golden mane falling in gleaming waves around 
him, his green eyes flashing dangerously at the hostile shouts from the crowd. Ignoring 
them, he strode forward, not even glancing at her as he grabbed her hand and tugged 
her with him to the foot of the dais. Rand, his eyes wide, stepped to one side. 

At the touch of his hand, Lara’s blood roared in her ears, as wild and triumphant 
as a dragon in flight. Her body arched, shocked back to life by the blazing heat of khef, 
surging through her with an urgency she could barely contain. 

Somehow, she held herself silent as Zendar gazed up at her stern, silent mother, 
his head held high, unrepentant, asking no forgiveness and offering no apology. 


Oh, he was brave! Surely her mother could see it. He had risked everything -- 
even being thrust back into the void -- to be here. 

She would have cast herself at her mother’s feet, would have pleaded, would 
have threatened as she had for Darrek and Rand -- only Zendar, she knew, would 
despise her protection. 

She could see the crowd murmuring in anger and shock, could see Zendar’s 
mouth moving -- but all she could hear was the rushing of wind. Or was that her heart? 
Lara couldn’t tell. 

Her mother’s eyes darkened. Zendar smiled stiffly. Holding Melgara’s gaze, he 
sank to one knee. 

Lara gasped. 

Still Melgara said nothing. 

Then Zendar dropped his emerald gaze, and bent his head before her. 

Lara knew she would see that picture forever -- his gleaming hair falling around 
his stern profile; the play of muscles in the back of his neck; his powerful shoulders bent 
in submission -- for her. For her! She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to 
contain the exultation surging through her. 

Melgara’s gaze flicked to her, noting the tremors in her arms, the way her chest 
heaved, the way her whole body quivered with barely restrained tension. Lara stared 
up at her, feeling the plea in her own eyes. Melgara’s jaw gritted. 

“Oh, get out of here,” she snapped, “and take my daughter with you. She’ll 
never forgive me if you don’t, that’s plain enough. Now go!” 

Rising, Zendar bowed to Melgara, his manner only slightly mocking, and then 
turned to her. “Elara,” he said, in that deep, deep voice that reverberated in his throat 
like a growl. 

Then she was in his arms, heedless of the staring crowd as his mouth closed over 
hers. She kissed him back fervently, feeling her need sear along her limbs -- she couldn’t 
hold him tight enough, couldn’t kiss him hard enough. But he was pushing her away -- 


why? Lara looked up at him, confused, as he clasped her hand again and placed it 
gently against his chest. 

His skin was warm, warm under her fingers, smooth and soft as velvet. 
Underneath the swell of his pecs his heart thundered steadily, pulsing beneath her palm 
like some great, powerful beast. 

The beast in her answered, changing before him, her body molding itself to the 
wind that whirled around her, urging her toward the doors and the bright sky outside. 

With a cry that echoed between the high marble columns, Lara sprang into the 
air, feeling Zendar just behind her. Five times, eight, her wings swept down -- and then 
he was above her, his wing strokes matching hers, his long, rippled torso caressing her 
back. Volcanic heat poured through her at that warm, smooth touch. She needed him 
now, now! Twining her tail back, she looped it around him, and with a roar he thrust 
forward, spearing her on his huge, engorged shaft. 

His cock pulsed inside her, stoking her need. She shrieked her delight as he 
swept his wings downward, plunging himself deeper with every wingstroke. 

There was something almost desperate in his resolute fierceness, in the strength 
with which he gripped her, his haunches straining against her as he invaded her 
tightness with each frantic lunge. She felt an answering frenzy deep inside her, and 
arched her back as he drove in toward it, reaching closer, closer… 

Like a tidal wave, his desire poured through her, and sensations and images 
bloomed in her mind -- her own face, unfurled like a flower in the full bloom of passion, 
turned up to his gaze, her gray eyes glowing with pity and understanding. The touch of 
a hand, soft and gentle, warming a cheek like carved marble, and a heart like cold stone. 
The feel of a nipple, hot and hard, being suckled by a ravenous mouth. 

And her face again, contorted by anguish, screaming I hate you! I hate you! 

Zendar writhed above her, pounding into her with a fury of love, fear and 
longing, asking nothing, giving everything, giving it with a single-minded violence that 
left her shuddering with desire. 


Arching below him, she tilted her hips back, and felt him rear above her, his 
wings beating at the air as he slid even deeper, his huge cock swelling inside her, filling 
her so tightly they were locked together, the motions of their wings tugging him back 
and forth inside her. 

Forgive me, Elara, he whispered. 

Not until you finish what you started, she replied and, opening her mind, she sent 
images washing back -- his fingers, tugging deftly at the curls of her mons, teasing her 
clit to a hard, searing point. His mouth on her breast, tugging at her nipple until her 
body screamed with pleasure. His cock hammering inside her, pushing her closer and 
closer to mating madness, till she wanted to tear the flesh from his bones if he didn’t 
fuck her, fuck her now, fuck her with a savagery that would consume her… 

You wanted that? 
I want it. Now, Zendar!


Throwing his head back, he roared in triumph. Then he tipped them forward in a 
steep, dizzying dive. 

Wind rushed around her, caressing her skin, thrumming through her blood with 
a wildness she couldn’t resist. With all the weight of his body, he rammed down into 
her, his cock penetrating so deeply she thought she’d faint from the sensation. 

Yes, Zendar, harder! she cried. 

He complied, drilling himself into her as his teeth grazed her neck. Shrieking in 
exultation, she spread herself open, feeling him take her, possess her. Screaming in lust, 
he ground his hipbones against her, and his huge balls, trapped between their bodies, 
throbbed and contracted as his semen poured into her, wave after hot searing wave. 

His cock flexed inside her, pulsing with ecstasy, and she felt every shudder, 
every thrust as he slammed himself home again and again, until she went rigid beneath 
him, all her concentration suddenly fixed on that tight, aching point clenched deep 
inside her. Her passage gripped him, milking every twitch, every last drop from his 
still-thrusting shaft. And then the heat inside her exploded, spreading outward in 
waves of pleasure so fierce they were almost indistinguishable from pain. 


Limp, half-insensate, they tumbled through the air, until at last Zendar hugged 
her close and spread his mighty wings, pulling them into a long, low glide that set them 
finally down on the banks of the Andida River. 

Letting go her dragon shape, Lara collapsed to the ground, gasping with 
laughter as she felt Zendar shift with her, sprawled across her back, his cock still firmly 
nestled in her sodden folds. 

She protested as he moved, withdrawing, but he rolled her over onto the grass, 
instantly sliding his erection back inside her. His eyes darkened with emotion, and he 
breathed, looking down at her, “Elara…” 

She brought her hand to his lips, tracing their firm, smoothly curved line. He 
kissed her fingers, then lowered his head to her breast, sucking lightly. Raising her hips, 
she thrust up to meet him even as he pressed down, the hard ridge of his pubic bone 
teasing her clit. 

Twice, three times, four, he stroked into her, and then she was coming again, her 
arms clasped around his neck, her hands buried in his hair. She clung to him, 
shuddering, as her cunt spasmed around him, sending him over the edge with a deep, 
rasping groan. 

His come flooded her cunt, mingling with her juices, and he rocked his hips 
forward, teasing her till she gasped, “Oh, Zendar, fuck me. Fuck me again.” 

The sky was already glowing orange in the west before Zendar lifted his head 
again and gazed into the sunset. Gently, Lara ran one finger along the line of his jaw, 
enjoying the golden stubble that tickled under her touch. His eyes were shadowed with 
a mix of emotions that fascinated her. It was like watching the play of light through a 
cut gemstone, sparkling off certain facets while leaving others dark. 

How many years, she wondered, would it take before she could read them all? 

Maybe a lifetime. 

Maybe forever. 


“That is the first time in over twenty years,” he breathed, “that I have seen a 
sunset.” 

There was one certain shadow, though, that she was coming to recognize. He 
looked down at her. “Elara, is the Hausther… the black one…” 

“Darrek,” she breathed. Tears pricked her eyes, but she nodded. “He’s alive.” 

Zendar let out a sigh that was almost a sob, and in relief dropped his head to her 
shoulder. Gently, she stroked his hair, feeling it tumble across her like honey, like silk as 
she gave him what he sought for -- comfort and understanding. 

And then she nipped his chin. “Let me up, you damn dragon.” Surprised, he 
drew back, and then, clamping her ass in his hands, he rolled over, pulling her with him 
until she sat astride his hips. He grinned up at her and folded his arms behind his head. 
“Nay, Elara. I told you once, it is you who must release me.” 

“You also told me you would never submit,” she shot back, fighting the urge to 
bend down and lick one of his tight brown nipples. 

She lost the chance when he cupped his hands over her cheeks and drew her 
down to kiss her, slow and deep. His eyes gleamed as he gazed up at her, a clear, 
bewitching green, and his lips curved in a mischievous smile. “I will kneel before you 
whenever you desire, my queen.” 

The memory of the last time he’d knelt before her was more than enough to 
make Lara’s clit throb again. Zendar pulled her against him, clasping her hips, sliding 
her up and down his shaft as it hardened again inside her. Lara felt her nipples 
dragging back and forth across his warm, well-muscled chest. Turning his head, he 
whispered in her ear, “But in turn you must promise to let me be as wild as I want.” 

Now that, Lara thought deliriously, is a promise I can live with. 


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!