Priestess of the Silver Dragon (Mated by Flame #3)

Chapter 1

THERON

“Excuse me, Sir but would you…could you take me? I mean…fill me with…with your shaft?”

I sigh in irritation as I feel a small hand plucking at my elbow.

What the fuck? Why is a whore bothering me here?

The Anvil is a dive so dark and disreputable that usually even the ladies of the night steer clear of it.

The males around me drink to forget their sins and sorrows—they have no time for anything but drowning their woes and no gentleness to spare for the fair sex.

The bartender is half troll and the Orc in the corner is high on some kind of magic dust—at least, I think he is.

The way he’s giggling to himself and catching imaginary flies to cram in his snaggle-toothed maw seems a good indication.

There’s a Satyr with one crumpled horn at the bar and a Minotaur across from me who looks like he’d kill for less than the price of a single drink.

Even the most hardened whores wouldn’t mess with that lot.

I decide to ignore whoever it is and take another swallow of the dark, bitter ale the Anvil is infamous for. “Black as Anvil ale” is a saying in these parts for a reason.

But just as I’m swallowing another mouthful, I feel her plucking at my elbow again and that same, tentative voice says,

“Please, Sir—I need…need you to take me. To…to fuck me.”

These last words come out in a choked sob that I find I can’t ignore. Swiveling on my worn, wooden stool I say,

“Look, I don’t want a whore right n—”

But the words die in my throat. Because the girl standing there in front of me is clearly no whore. She’s an elf maiden—one of the High Fae, by the looks of the slender, pointed tips of her ears which poke out from her wild, curly red hair.

Hmm…the hair is certainly different from what you usually see on High Fae—as are the freckles across the bridge of her pert nose. She’s curvy too, with wide hips, heavy breasts, and deliciously thick thighs—you don’t see many curvy elf maidens.

But those ears and her pale, pure sky-blue eyes with no other color in them proclaim that she’s an elf…and a virgin. For a Fae’s eyes change colors when they lose their virginity. Sky-blue means untouched.

Even without her eyes, I would know she isn’t a whore—she’s wearing the pure white robes of the Goddess of Nature. It’s said she grants special magical powers to her acolytes—the ones who please her, anyway. But they must remain celibate to earn her trust.

So why is a High Fae elf maiden who’s obviously a virgin and bound to remain one if she wants to continue in her order, asking me to fuck her?

Maybe I misheard her.

“What do you want?” I ask her bluntly.

“I said I want…I need…I am asking you to…to fuck me.”

The words come out all trembly and her sky-blue eyes are suspiciously shiny. It’s clear she doesn’t really want to be fucked—though I’d be happy enough to do it if she really wanted it. She’s just my type with those full curves and those adorable freckles.

“Please, Sir,” she tries again. “Won’t you…can’t you fuck me?”

I’m too tired for this shit—and too sad. My mentor, Kline, passed not a month ago. Which is why I’m sitting at the fucking Anvil, drowning my sorrows in a place I’m sure no one will bother me.

Well, I was sure, anyway—until she came along.

“No, I won’t fuck you,” I say shortly, glaring at the girl, who shrinks from me, frightened of my angry expression. “So go on—move along.”

I make a shooing gesture and I’m sure she’ll run along. At first it seems like she will. She bows her head and turns away from me.

But then, to my surprise, she turns back and glares up at me, her chin jutting defiantly.

“Why not?” she demands. “Is it because I’m not skinny?”

“What? No!” I deny at once, frowning. Do I really have to defend myself and explain why I won’t fuck her?

From the look on her face, I guess I do.

“I won’t fuck you because you don’t want to be fucked,” I tell her. “That and the fact that I don’t even know your name and this could be some kind of a trap.”

It’s never wise to take something offered for free this close to the Old Forest. There are all kinds of creatures in there—hungry creatures—that are more than happy to lure a male foolish enough to go with them to his death.

“A trap?” she raises her eyebrows. “How could it be a trap?”

“Fuck if I know,” I growl, getting even more irritated. Why am I fighting with her? Can’t a male have a drink in peace?

“Maybe you’ve got some kind of magical sex disease and you’re trying to get rid of it by passing it on to some unsuspecting male,” I say, groping for an explanation as to why she’s offering her luscious, curvy body to me.

“A sex disease?” Her blue eyes widen in horror. “I would never—you can see by the color of my eyes that I’m pure!”

“Well, I’ve heard of such things,” I grumble. But she’s right—her eye color speaks for her truth. “If you’re so pure, why are you trying to get dirty with the likes of me?” I demand.

After all, I came to the Anvil right from work and the forge was hot today.

It’s hot every day but in the summer, it’s damn near unbearable.

I’ve been sweating since sunup, and I’m still covered in the grime and ash from the endless fires it takes to keep the iron hot enough to work.

I must stink—not that anyone in the Anvil gives a damn.

I didn’t give a damn either, until just now, I think, my irritation doubling.

“I just need you to take me—you don’t have to know why,” she says, lifting her chin again, a defiant light flashing in her pale blue eyes.

I’m tempted to just turn my back on her and go back to my tankard of the Anvil’s bitter black brew…but I admit, she has me intrigued. I decide to test her.

Gripping her by the shoulders, I drag her in for a kiss. I have to bend low to accomplish this—not that she’s tiny—it’s because I’m a big bastard and almost every woman is small compared to me.

She gasps as my lips find her and I feel her small, soft hands, flat against my bare chest. Her whole body is tense against mine and I get the distinct impression that she’s fighting with herself—trying her best not to push me away.

I kiss her rudely at first, shoving my tongue in her mouth—letting her taste the bitter ale I’ve been drinking. Her mouth is soft and sweet and I’m aware that my hands are leaving black marks on her pure white priestess robes but hell, she wanted to get dirty, so let her.

And then I smell it—her scent. It’s like wildflowers in a sunny field and clear, clean water—exactly how you’d expect a High Fae who’s devoted her life to the worship of the Goddess of Nature to smell. But under it, there’s something else—something hot and desperate.

What the fuck?

It’s the unmistakable fragrance of a female in heat—now why should she smell like that? She looks so pure and innocent, but her scent is telling me she wants to rut in the dirt.

But her body and her scent are giving me two different messages. She’s still frozen against me as I ravage her small, sweet mouth. It’s like she can’t decide what to do.

She makes a small whimpering sound, and I feel a stab of pity…but that’s not what makes me pull away. It’s nothing that the little priestess does that stops me—it’s the feeling I get from inside—from my Drake.

He usually slumbers during the day, though he wakes occasionally to help tend the forge. We never lack for fire, that’s for fucking certain. And no fire can melt metal like Drake flame—even an Ash Drake like mine can produce a gout of flame that would rival the hottest forest fire.

But mostly, as I said, he sleeps. I’m thankful for that—he was wilder when he first came out.

In fact, my mentor, Kline, had to take me to a sorcerer to bind him.

That’s the reason for the intricate ink that covers both my arms and part of my torso.

The spell woven into the tattoos keeps the mindless beast inside me quiet.

For some reason, though, the kiss wakes him up.

I feel him come to life—a rumbling deep inside me that makes me feel like my whole body is filled with light and expanding.

I catch the Shift before it can go too far—there isn’t room in the Anvil for a full-grown Drake. If I let him out, he’d burst down the walls and flatten the vats of bitter black ale in a heartbeat with his massive feet.

Still, my Drake is now fully awake, which is extremely rare, especially during the day. And all of his attention is focused on the girl in front of me, looking up at me with wide eyes.

The little priestess seems to feel something too because she takes a step back, her hand going to her mouth, which looks bruised from my brutal kiss.

I feel a stab of shame—Kline wouldn’t have approved.

He raised me to respect women and care for them—no matter their station in life.

His own wife died the year before he found me, and he never quite got over her death.

“What…why did you do that?” the priestess asks, her voice coming out breathless this time.

“To prove to you that you don’t want to be fucked,” I growl. Although her scent says otherwise. Maybe that’s what woke my Drake.

My other half’s reaction to her—his obvious interest—unsettles me. He’s never given a fuck for any other woman I’ve kissed before. Hell, I could bed a whore three times in an hour and not even wake him up from his endless slumber. But this little priestess has his interest. Why?

I don’t know and don’t care to know.

“Go on,” I tell her. “You don’t really want what you’re asking for. Besides, won’t they kick you out of your order if you show up with your eyes turned a different color?”

Her lower lip trembles.

“Y-yes,” she whispers. “I’ll lose my spot at the Temple of Nature if my eyes are turned. And then my whole life will be over.”

I give her a look of pure exasperation.

“Then why the fuck do you want me to fuck you?” I growl.

“I don’t.” Her face crumples and tears start pouring down her freckled cheeks. “But I have to ask you. It…it’s the only way to…to break the curse!”