CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Then, as if stirring from the deepest slumber, something shifted beneath me.
The surface I stood on rippled like disturbed water, and suddenly a massive eyelid peeled back just inches from my right foot.
The eye that revealed itself was larger than my entire torso, its iris a swirling maelstrom of molten gold and crimson that seemed to hold the fires of creation itself.
Ancient intelligence gleamed within those depths, older than kingdoms, older than the stones of Camelot.
The pupil contracted as it focused on me, and in that moment of terrible recognition, I understood exactly what manner of creature lay beneath me.
The legends whispered in hushed tones around Logres firesides, the stories Merlin had told me during my training, the nightmares that had plagued warriors since the dawn of time—all of them paled before this reality.
A dragon. I was standing on the back of a living, breathing dragon.
You are ours, daughter of Twilight, the voice resonated through my consciousness, each word rolling through my mind like distant thunder. A voice that belonged to the dragon.
It was a voice that carried the weight of eons and spoke with the authority of something that had witnessed the birth and death of civilizations.
Our treasure, it continued, and I felt the possessive hunger behind those words, a need so profound it made my knees buckle. To guard. To hoard.
"To mate."
I turned at the sound of a man's voice and found Arthur standing before me.
He took a few steps toward me, and suddenly a realization slammed into my consciousness: the dragon's hunger wasn't separate from the king's—they were one and the same.
Two consciousnesses woven so tightly together that I couldn't distinguish where one ended and the other began.
The dragon's possessive need rippled through Arthur's expression, and as both man and beast fixed their attention on me, I understood that they shared everything.
Including their desires.
I stood frozen as Arthur closed the distance between us, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
The heat radiating from the dragon beneath my feet paled in comparison to the expression burning in Arthur's gaze as he looked me up and down with raw assessment.
He circled me slowly, deliberately, like a hunter evaluating prey.
Or a dragon inspecting a treasure it meant to claim.
"You woke something that's been sleeping for a very long time." His voice carried that same resonance I'd heard in the dragon's mental roar, rougher than it should have been.
My heart hammered as he completed his circle, stopping directly in front of me. The golden swirl in his eyes flared brighter.
Then his hands moved with sudden violence, gripping the front of my tunic and ripping.
Fabric tore like parchment, the sound obscenely loud in the cavernous space.
He didn't stop there—his fingers found the laces of my braies, tearing through everything until scraps of cloth fell away and I stood naked before him.
A deep, rumbling growl emanated from the dragon beneath us, vibrating through my bones and making my teeth ache. The sound held hunger—feral, wild, ancient. The kind of hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with possession.
Mate, the dragon's voice thundered through my mind.
Arthur's pupils had blown wide, nearly swallowing the blue entirely. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he stared at my exposed body, and I could see the dragon's consciousness moving behind his eyes like smoke beneath glass.
"The beast wants you," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rasp. "And what the dragon wants—"
His hand wrapped around my throat.
"—I take."
The beast's consciousness pressed against mine, overwhelming.
I could feel its memories bleeding through—glimpses of hoarded gold gleaming in vast caverns, the satisfaction of protecting precious things, the deep contentment that came from knowing its treasures were safe.
But there was something else, something that made my blood run cold.
In its ancient mind, I wasn't just valuable—I was theirs.
Property to be claimed, collected, and kept forever in the depths of whatever lair this creature called home.
"Our mate," Arthur interrupted my thoughts. "A vessel for our seed."
At that, white-hot anger poured through me.
The rage was pure and clean, burning away the last vestiges of fear that had been clouding my judgment.
And suddenly it didn't matter that I was standing there naked, my body exposed and vulnerable to his hungry gaze.
It didn't matter that his hand was wrapped around my throat like a collar of possession, or that he could obviously overpower me with his superior size and strength.
It didn't matter that the dragon's ancient consciousness was pressing against my mind like a suffocating blanket, trying to remake me into something I would never be.
The fury consumed everything else—the rational voice warning me about the danger I was in, the tactical part of my mind calculating escape routes, even the basic survival instinct that should have kept me cowering.
All of it disappeared beneath the clarity of my rage.
I had not survived the purges in Logres, endured months of grueling training in Annwyn, and infiltrated Camelot itself just to be claimed like some prize to be hoarded in a dragon's lair.
"I am not your mate." I spat the words at him. "I'm your death."
Arthur chuckled, and the beast chuckled with him.
Take her. Drag her into our lair. Make the world hear her surrender.
It was the beast's voice once more—but now I could hear it in Arthur's thoughts.
Before I could think further on it, Arthur had moved with inhuman speed—suddenly standing behind me, his body a wall of heat against my back.
His hand pressed between my shoulder blades, forcing me down until my cheek flattened against the dragon's scales.
The massive heartbeat thundered in my ear, so loud it drowned out my own gasps.
Hold her down. Let her feel who owns her.
The dragon's voice reverberated through my skull, but instead of terror, I felt something else entirely—a strange pull, like recognition.
Behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric, the quick movements of Arthur freeing himself from his braies.
My fingers splayed against the dragon's scales, seeking purchase, seeking anything to ground myself.
But the warmth beneath my palms seemed to seep into my skin, and with it came whispers I couldn't quite understand—memories that weren't mine, desires that felt both foreign and achingly familiar.
Take her breath. Give her ours.
I could feel the head of Arthur's cock at my opening. And suddenly I wanted to fight. Wanted to summon ice sharp enough to freeze his blood. But my magic wouldn't answer—or perhaps it simply refused to obey when the dragon's presence filled every corner of my awareness.
Submit, little warrior. You cannot stop us.
Arthur's hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to bruise.
Then he pushed inside me in one brutal thrust that tore a cry from my throat.
The dragon beneath us rumbled its approval, and I felt that vibration everywhere—through my pressed cheek, my splayed hands, deep in my core where Arthur filled me.
My body was a traitor. Even as my mind screamed its fury, my flesh yielded to him. I grew wetter with each stroke of Arthur's cock. Each rough movement sent pleasure spiraling through me, building. The dragon's heartbeat synced with my own, and I couldn't tell where the beast ended and I began.
Feel her soften for us.
I shattered around Arthur's cock with a sob that might have been rage or surrender or both. My body clenched, pulsing, and Arthur followed immediately—his release hot inside me as he bent over my back, his breath harsh against my ear.
Ours, the dragon whispered.
And gods help me, some dark corner of my soul whispered back: Yes.
The dragon's scales rippled beneath my cheek, and I felt something shift in the air, taking the thrill of my release away instantly.
In its place was a cold darkness, a magic that was completely alien to my own.
A feeling of dread overcame me. I glanced down to watch the dragon's scales beneath me and surrounding me beginning to crack, splitting open like old stone worn by centuries of rain.
From those fissures, hands emerged. Skeletal fingers wrapped in tattered remnants of flesh grasped for purchase. I tried to push myself up, but Arthur's hand pressed harder between my shoulder blades, keeping me pinned.
"You are an offering, theirs for the taking."
"No," I gasped, but the word came out broken.
The dead kings of Camelot pulled themselves from the dragon's hide like insects emerging from a corpse.
Their eyes were empty sockets that somehow still saw, their mouths stretched even though they couldn't form words.
Crown fragments clung to shattered skulls.
Rotted finery hung from bones that clicked and scraped against the dragon's scales.
"My ancestors hunger," Arthur's voice held that terrible doubled quality—man and beast speaking as one. "And what better tribute than the flesh of my mate?"
No. No, no, no—
The first king's bony hands seized my hips where Arthur had just released them. I felt the scrape of bone against my inner thighs, the feel of something long dead pressing inside where Arthur's seed still leaked from me. My scream echoed through the cavern, bouncing off walls I couldn't see.
Another took his place. Then another. The parade of corpses used me one after another while Arthur watched, his hand never leaving my back. The dragon rumbled its approval, and I could feel that sound vibrating through my core with each thrust from the dead.
Tribute, the beast whispered. Offering. Ours to give. Ours to share.