Chapter 8
Stesha
“I’ll kill you, you stumble-headed oaf! How dare you tell me what to do?”
“You don’t deserve a dragon, you rotting wyvern carcass.”
The roars of two Alphas who barely know the swelling of their own knots shatters the peace of the dragongrounds. Emmeric and Onderz are laying into each other with their fists. Nilak lowers her head and hisses in disgust.
“You two, cut it out,” I shout across to them, but neither heeds my words. Gods, I don’t need this today. I’m feeling more irritated than usual after the dream I had last night.
It wasn’t an unpleasant dream. Far from it. For a few moments, I was in heaven.
I was with my Omega.
That alone would be enough to make the dream sweeter than most of my waking hours, but I was more than with her. She was… Gods, she was… Just recalling the dream makes my knot ache.
She was kneeling on the ground before me, her knees splayed, and her hands and her mouth wrapped around my cock.
She sucked me slowly, pushing me all the way to the back of her throat and drawing me slowly out again, her cheeks hollowing.
Her lips were red and wet. When she pulled me from her mouth, a string of saliva connected her tongue to the tip of my cock, and she gazed up at me pleadingly, because she was so needy for me to fuck her.
Her slick was all over my boot, and she rubbed her sex against the leather.
Pleading with her eyes. I could smell how much she was aching for me, and it made my head swim.
I gathered her silky hair into my fist and gripped it tightly. “Suck me.”
“Yes, Alpha,” she whimpered, and pushed the swollen head of my cock past her lips.
She sucked me like I was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
Her thighs squeezed my boot. Her breasts arched against my leg.
She was so aroused and desperate that tears were wetting her lashes, but she did as her Alpha commanded.
I needed her as much as she needed me, but it was so sweet to make her wait.
I tipped my head back and groaned. Such a good, obedient little Omega. But who was she?
I couldn’t make out her face, but gods, I could hear her, and I could feel her.
I awoke gasping and sweating, my cock hard and my knot throbbing. I furiously worked myself up and down with my fist until I spilled my seed all over the sheets. I bit down on my pillow so savagely that I tore a hole in it, and fluffy little feathers filled the room.
I only ever have my Omega in my dreams. Never in my arms.
Shar and Zeith roar at each other, goaded by their riders’ anger. Scourge is crossing the dragongrounds toward them, red eyes blazing and smoke pouring from his nostrils. I’ll have to break this fight up before scales are shredded.
Keep the dragons from fighting, I think to Nilak.
She launches into the sky and dives down between the three males with a scream, forcing them back with lashes of her tail and bursts of dragonfire.
Good girl. I’ll take care of these idiots.
Onderz, blinded by rage, swings a punch at me. I duck, and while he’s overbalanced, I shove him to the ground. Seeing me lay hands on his friend, Zabriel launches at me with a roar. With an annoyed sigh, I twist so he misses me, and I put my boot against his back and make him eat dust as well.
“All of you—” But I break off as Emmeric draws his sword.
I slam my fist into his stomach so hard that he’s winded, and he drops the sword. With the toe of my boot, I fling the sword into the air and catch it by the hilt.
“No fighting on my dragongrounds,” I growl through my teeth.
The prince is seething with rage. His eyes are wild and manic. I’ve never seen him like this before. “Fuck off, Stesha.”
“That’s dragonmaster,” I seethe, “and you don’t tell me to fuck off.”
Zabriel and Onderz are both itching to hit something.
“Stay away from my Omega,” Onderz roars, and charges at Emmeric.
The next instant, the three of them are scuffling and throwing punches.
I wade in and pull them apart. They each try hitting me, but despite what they might believe about themselves, none of them are seasoned fighters, and they haven’t been training hard enough.
I would like to bloody their noses even more than they’ve already bloodied them, and knock some teeth out, but I reel in my temper, put Emmeric in a headlock, and wind the other two with my fist so they stagger backward, wheezing.
I take a look around while Emmeric struggles and swears in my grip. Nilak has prevented Shar and Zeith from ripping chunks off each other. Scourge, unlike his rider, has kept his head and hasn’t attacked the other dragons.
My dragon lowers her head and snarls at Zabriel and Onderz, sparks dancing around her teeth, daring them to continue the fight. Both of them push their hair back, straighten their riding leathers, and lower their fists.
A wise choice.
Emmeric is beating on my thighs, and I tighten my arm around his throat until he makes a choking sound. He stops fighting me and puts his efforts into drawing breath.
I address all three of them with the prince locked under my arm. “I expected better from all of you. This is shameful Alpha behavior. If you wish to fight, take it to the sparring grounds and hit each other with wooden swords. Is that clear?”
There are a few mumbled yeses.
“Yes what?” I shout.
“Yes, dragonmaster,” they mutter.
“Report to Captain Harding. You’re all shoveling wyvern shit for the next week.” I release Emmeric with a shove.
Instead of following the other two, Emmeric stumbles and then turns to face me.
“You think you’re so clever, but you don’t know what’s right under your nose.
” There’s a nasty grin on his face as blood pours over his lips.
He glances at something behind me and then back at me.
“You’re going to be miserable forever, you stupid old bastard. I wish I could be here to see it.”
“Planning on hurling yourself into the ocean?” I ask him.
Emmeric laughs, a short, sharp exultation. He turns and follows the other two.
I turn around and see that Zenevieve is behind me, her hand on Minta’s neck.
I stride closer and see that she’s turned a little pale, and she’s casting a worried look at the three young men’s retreating backs.
“Are you all right?” I ask her.
She nods. “Yes, thank you, dragonmaster.”
Anger lashes through me. People are always dropping the proper form of address when they talk to me. I lean down and growl in her face, “That’s thank you, Alpha.”
Zenevieve’s eyes widen in surprise, her face just an inch from mine. I feel as surprised as she looks. What am I saying? Zenevieve did use the proper form of address. She called me dragonmaster.
I straighten up and gaze over her head, pretending with my hardest frown that I didn’t just order her to call me Alpha, which is how Omegas address their mates.
Sometimes Betas will as well, but either way, it’s only something lovers do, and often while they’re mating.
Betas cry it loudly through the walls of the ruthouse I visit.
I hear those words in Zenevieve’s sweet, husky voice. Thank you, Alpha. And then in a needy, breathless whimper, Please, Alpha. Breathless because of what I’m doing to her. How I’m touching her. Gripping her tightly by the hair while she—
My dream surges back, only this time I see very clearly the silky black hair in my fist, and jewel-like green eyes pleading with me.
What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s your seventeen-year-old ward.
Zenevieve is watching me with parted lips. There’s a captivated expression in her suddenly darkened eyes as she stares at my mouth. “If you want me to call you Alpha…”
Before she can finish that thought, I urgently call to Nilak, Where are you? along with a request for her to scream her presence as loud as she can. On the far side of the flare, my Alpha dragon shrieks, drowning out the rest of what Zenevieve is saying.
“I have to go. Nilak needs me.” I stride away, my blood roaring in my ears, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
That afternoon, the first snow of winter falls. A few flakes at first, and then it really gets going, and covers Lenhale with a fragile white veneer.
When I arrive home a few hours later, our rooms are empty, but Zenevieve’s scent covers my bedclothes, sweet and familiar.
I gaze at the snow falling outside. It’s been more than a year since she woke up crying from nightmares.
She’s nearly a grown-up dragonrider, and in the spring she’ll receive her first solo mission.
Am I doing any of this right? If her father appeared before me now, would he tell me he’s pleased with the way I’m raising Zenevieve, or would he point out all the mistakes I’m making?
He wouldn’t want me growling, That’s thank you, Alpha, at her, that’s for sure.
I should probably tell Zenevieve to stop sleeping in my bed when I’m not there and stop scenting blankets for her, but really, what’s wrong with a little comfort?
This is something simple I can do for her.
As I crawl into bed, bury my face in the pillow that she’s slept on, and breathe her scent in deeply, it occurs to me that my reasons might not be as selfless as I like to pretend.