He leaned back against the spot she’d just vacated, his arms crossed over that gorgeous chest. “Does my lack of royal blood truly bother you?”
“No. It insults me,” she answered honestly. “Are you the best my mother could come up with? I’m not some table scrap to be tossed off to her favorite battle dog. I am of royal blood. The daughter of a king. To be quite honest, I deserve better than you. Now, Low Born, you’ll escort me to the closest exit.”
He moved so fast, she didn’t have a chance to jump, much less run. His hands slipped around her neck, holding her in place. She thought he’d try to choke the life from her—unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to her. Instead, he towered over her, staring down into her face. His black eyes locked with hers.
“When I’m done,” his low voice said softly while his face still looked so intensely . . . cranky, “you won’t be able to imagine your life without me. You’ll pine for me, wanting me like you’ve never wanted anything before in your life. You’ll miss me when I’m gone and desire me when I’m right beside you. No other male will ever be good enough. No other male worthy of taking this body and bringing it and you pleasure you’ve only dreamed of. And when you’re coming and screaming my name, begging me to keep you as my own, I’ll Claim you. And your heart and soul will belong only to me. But until that time, princess, you’re not going anywhere.”
Then he released her and walked away.
She waited until he was far enough away so he couldn’t hit her and said, “Oh, yes? You and what army?”
He stopped walking, looking over his shoulder at her. Unable to meet his gaze, she rubbed her eyes with one hand and sighed. “Well that came out terribly wrong.”
Chapter 2
Bercelak dropped the cow carcass on the ground and stared at it thoughtfully. Now, if Rhiannon were dragon, he’d merely sear it and they’d feed. But with her being human, at the moment he’d have to adjust. At least until she got her powers back.
So, using his talons carefully, he removed the animal’s hide, tossing it aside. Then he put the animal on a spit over the pit fire. He chose some of his best and most precious herbs—obtained from the Desert Lands of Alsandair—and seasoned the cooking meat.
With a sigh, he sat back to watch the flames and think.
Princess Rhiannon was definitely as mean as he remembered, and it only made him want her more. Not surprising. Dragon males liked their females dangerous. It made the mating that much more interesting and intense. Of course, her calling him “low born” was beginning to grate on his nerves.
No one had to remind him of his father.
The other dragon warriors he fought with never understood why Bercelak didn’t flinch during battle. Never showed any signs of fear or panic. If they lived the way he had, they wouldn’t either. But until you were awoken in the middle of the night with, “We’re under attack!” and thrown out of bed by your well-meaning but clearly insane father, you didn’t know what fear was.
His mother was of royal birth. His father . . . not so much. Which meant no one handed Bercelak a damn thing. He worked for everything he had and he did it with one thing in mind. Crystal blue eyes, long white hair, and a snarl that could scare an army of demons.
The day he met her—when those gorgeous blue eyes locked on him with such hate—he knew he had to have her.
“I want his head!” she’d screeched. And for a minute, he thought she’d get it.
But then he heard, “Oh, leave him be. As usual, my daughter is overreacting.”
A red dragon, big and beautiful, walked toward him. “He didn’t mean it, Rhiannon.”
His mother bowed but he continued to stare at the queen. And he knew it was the queen. Just the way she moved and held herself told him that. He’d been in awe.
She’d motioned for her guards to release him and smiled, showing her fangs. “Shalin’s son.”
Now free, he immediately bowed. “Yes, my Queen. Bercelak the Black, Son of Ailean.”
“Yes. You look very much like him. So handsome.” A red claw with pitch-black talons reached out and caressed his jaw. He felt his mother stiffen beside him and knew this was for her benefit more than his. For years Bercelak had heard how the queen had taken one turn in his father’s bed and had never forgotten him. Nor had she forgiven him. For the very next morning he’d left the then-future queen to meet with Bercelak’s mother and the queen’s one-time friend, Shalin. Who, if the story was to be believed, threw an ax at his father’s head when Ailean found her.
Up to that day, Bercelak never believed any of the stories. His low-born father with a dragon princess? Not bloody likely, he used to think. Still . . . one look at the female before him and he wondered if perhaps all the stories were true. For she looked at him with something he could not name. Perhaps something he did not want to name. At fifty winters, he was much too young for such deep thoughts. . . .
“Tell me, Son of Ailean, what is your life’s dream? Wizard? Warrior? Sword maker? What is it you think of when you lie awake at night?”
He answered honestly, unable to lie to those dark blue eyes. “Of glory and wealth. Of power.”
“I see. So you may look like your father, but his aspirations had never been as lofty.” She glanced at his mother, but he didn’t realize until years later what that look meant. Then she turned and walked off.
“You shall stay here, Son of Ailean,” the queen casually tossed over her shoulder. “You shall train to be one of my battle-dragons. You will protect this throne and me and anyone else I deem worthy.”
Then she was gone. Up the stairs to her private chambers.
Her daughter stomped her foot and glared at him, before marching off in quite a rage.
Once activity began again in the court, he heard his mother mutter under her breath, “I hate that bitch with every fiber of my being.”
Still . . . his mother left him there when she returned home. She had no choice. After that, the queen’s daughter treated him like so much trash caught between her talons. And the more she did, the more he knew he’d do anything to win her. The meaner she was, the more deadly he became. Soon, with the moniker of Bercelak the Vengeful firmly in place, he’d led the troops into the war against the lightning dragons . . . the barbarians. Barbarians they may have been, but worthy opponents. The war lasted decades, but when the smoke cleared, Queen Addiena’s throne stood secure and she graced him with the new title of Bercelak the Great. Fair enough. He’d earned it and had the scars to prove it.
Now he wore the elaborate armor of Battle Lord, Dragonwarrior Leader, and Queen’s Champion. He had the attention of every female from the lowest born to some of the most important royalty. And although he found pleasure among those scales, he knew there was only one whom he wanted for life.
“I must feed. I’m starving.”
Pulled from his reverie, he looked at the princess and frowned.
“You put on clothes.” She wore a bright blue robe she must have taken from his treasures. It covered her from shoulders to feet. Although the color of her robe brought out her eyes, he liked seeing her naked. Then again . . . hiding those delicious full breasts and gorgeous ass from his view was probably for the best. At least for now.
“This skin is so fragile. . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know how they tolerate it. Being so defenseless. At least forest animals have fangs or claws or, at the very least, good instincts. Humans have none of these things.”