Dragon's Blood (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy #2)

“Oh gods,” Drystan groaned as he came, shooting his seed all over his belly. The release was both satisfying and somehow hollow—beating himself off wasn’t the same as coming in Dareena’s tight pussy and planting a babe deep inside her. He hoped the dragonling growing in her belly was safe and not being adversely affected by the anti-dragon spell. The pregnancy was in the early stages yet—if Lucyan could get Dareena and Alistair out of there, they might be able to avoid any lasting damage to the babe.

That child was the key to lifting the curse. Drystan knew it in his heart as surely as he knew that all four of them were meant to be together. He couldn’t allow any harm to come to that baby, no matter who or what he had to sacrifice to ensure its safety.

Drystan mopped up the mess on his stomach with a rag, then lay back down to sleep. He was just drifting off again when a knock came at his door, and he quickly yanked the sheet up to cover himself.

“Who is it?” he snapped, thoroughly irritated. It had better not be another trollop, or he would lose what little remaining patience he had.

“Catriona.” His sister pushed open the door, a triumphant smile on her face. “We got him.”

“You did?” Drystan sat upright, excitement pumping in his veins. “The oracle is in custody right now? Where is he?”

“In the deepest, darkest cell we have,” Catriona said with a cruel smirk. “Capturing him was all too easy—a simple sleeping potion slipped into his drink allowed us to carry him out of the temple without raising the alarm or dealing with any of his foul magic tricks. He won’t wake for some hours, but he’ll be ready for you to interrogate in the morning.”

“Excellent. We’ll do so after breakfast.”

Catriona bid him a good night, and Drystan went back to sleep, a great weight sliding off his shoulders. For once, something was finally going right around here. He drifted off with a smile on his face, clinging to the hope that he would get something useful out of the warlock spy, and that, in the meantime, Lucyan was making headway on his efforts to rescue Dareena and Alistair.





20





Alistair groaned back to consciousness and scrubbed away the crud encrusting his eyelids to find himself in the same dark cell he’d passed out in. He still burned with fever, but not quite as bad as before. As his stomach rumbled, aching for sustenance, he wondered just how long he’d been out, and how often the jailers brought food.

Gritting his teeth against the pain and weakness in his limbs, he pushed himself upright and looked around the small space. Aside from the bench, there was a chamber pot for him to do his business in and a small jug of water on the filthy floor. Alistair fell upon it like a rabid animal, drinking down half the pitcher in one go. Panting, he sat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wondering if he should dump the rest of the water over his head. As a dragon, heat didn’t usually bother him, but this sickness was downright miserable.

“Bloody hell,” someone growled. Alistair started—the voice sounded as if it was coming from right above him, but that was impossible. “I’m going to strangle that bastard if I ever get out of here!”

Alistair spotted an air vent a few feet above his head. Curious, he stood on the bench, ignoring the wave of dizziness that passed over him, and pressed his hands to the wall to steady himself. “Hello?” he called through the vent. “Who are you planning on strangling?”

Silence. Then, “My backstabbing whore of a brother,” the voice said. “Who are you?”

“Alistair of Dragonfell.” He leaned his forehead against the wall and gave a near-silent sigh of relief as the cool stone eased his fever a bit. “I’m guessing you are Prince Ryolas?” He vaguely recognized the voice from when the prince had met him and his brothers in the forest.

“Indeed,” Ryolas said, a bitter note in his voice. “Not that the title seems to be worth much these days. They’ve clapped me in iron chains—bad business for an elf, as you probably know.”

“Damn.” Alistair felt a pang of sympathy for the elven prince. “And your father has no issue with this?”

Ryolas snorted. “He won’t even allow me to explain myself,” he said sadly. “I don’t know if you know the particulars—”

“Tariana explained it to me,” Alistair said. “The two of you were staging the battles to avoid casualties.”

There was silence for a long moment. “I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again,” Ryolas said in a hollow voice. “I would have liked to tell her I love her one last time.”

“As would I,” Alistair said morosely. He would have liked to kiss Dareena one more time too, but at least he’d held her in his arms and made love to her before he’d been dragged off. And she would have his brothers to comfort her if he didn’t make it out of here. But Tariana—he’d seen the fierce love in her eyes when she’d talked of Ryolas. She would be devastated if she lost him.

“You’re certain you’ll be executed?” Alistair asked. “Without even a trial?”

“I would have one if my father were in his right mind,” Ryolas said.

“What do you mean?”

Ryolas hesitated. “My father isn’t mad the way yours is,” he said, “but he isn’t himself as of late. The High King of Elvenhame has never been one to sit back and let others take charge, and yet he has let Arolas take the reins. It is almost as if my dear brother has already become the new king. He’s got me in the dungeons awaiting the gallows, he’s marrying Basilla off to that nasty warlock prince…. Soon, there will be no family left to challenge his decisions.”

“Yes, the king seemed remarkably passive,” Alistair said. “Do you think the warlocks could be involved somehow?”

“If they are, there is nothing we can do about it from here,” Ryolas said grimly. “I knew it was a bad idea for us to ally with the warlocks, but Father insisted—he was a child during the War of the Three Kingdoms and remembers the dragons’ treachery all too well. Back then, the dragons really were the enemy. But now, I am not certain our sights are fixed on the right enemy.”

“Neither am I,” Alistair said. He wondered if Lucyan was tugging on this particular thread, which Dareena had uncovered the day she’d found that dragon scroll in the library. Their middle brother knew more about the warlocks than anyone else; if anybody could find the true culprit behind this mess, it was him.

Whether or not Alistair lived to see such a day remained to be seen.





21





After Lucyan and Tariana went their separate ways, he managed to convince the tinkerer to hasten their pace toward the capital. They arrived at Enethar just as the sun was setting over the beautiful city, setting the elegant, spiraling buildings aflame with gold and red. Relief washed over Lucyan as they entered the town—tonight, he would finally be able to do some reconnaissance, and find out how his mate and brother fared behind the walls of Castle Whitestone.

Lucyan and the tinkerer made their way to an inn a few blocks from the castle. The city hummed with life and activity, an air of peace and harmony that Paxhall lacked. Lucyan spied no pickpockets or thugs skulking in dark alleys, no homeless people panhandling in the streets—everything was clean and shiny, everyone was courteous, smiling and nodding as they passed, many of them coming up to the wagon and buying items.