Dragon Treasure by SJ Sanders
Chapter 3
Afemale entered with one of the young guards. A human woman, one that Drathnor had not before encountered in his city. As she stripped away her winter gear, revealing more of her delightful feminine curves, he admired the cascading long rope of golden hair that fell halfway down her back from where it was bound. Her cheeks and lips were red from the cold, and the easy smile that curved her lips with a hint of mischief called to him.
His cock thickened in its sheath, and he was unable to control the instinctive reaction that immediately followed. Opening his mouth slightly, he drew her scent in deep, filling his scent receptors and lungs with her essence. A low purr churned deep within his chest before dropping into a hum so low that it was only just barely within the human hearing range. A fascination that he had assumed to have long been dead unfurled deep within him, filling him with a feverish heat.
She smelled delicious!
His cock swelled with a sharp thrum of desire that echoed through him that made his muscles shudder and his tail tighten painfully around his leg in reaction. Even his wings threatened to tremble beneath the heavy robes that he wore to disguise his inhuman appearance. As expected, the subtle movement didn’t draw attention. As there were a number of species who dwelled peacefully within the city, his superior size and bulk did not inspire fear or worry within the inhabitants, not with him wearing the robes of a priest. Without it, he would not so easily be able to walk among the people of Tarachna Kalithia.
His hood dropped low enough to cast his muzzle into shadow, and not for the first time he was grateful for the ridiculously long and elaborate stylings of Tarachna’s priests. Although his people were the first to serve the goddess when she made herself known upon the merging of the worlds, they had not done so with such ridiculous garments or even anywhere near Tarachna Kalithia. The reason for that was simple: he had invented the sacred cave to shield his own cave’s entrance.
Not that Drathnor had ever been a priest himself, despite being bred for the role. Raised with the sacred rites and sorcery of those in service to the goddess, when it came time to devote himself to her service, he had been unable to. Something had stopped him, and he had fled from the great nest deep within the fae mountains to look for his own territory and a new future.
He merely had the misfortune of attracting attention to this mountain by being seen flying over its summit in his battle form as he made his rounds, surveying his territory.
Attracting attention in turn had the unfortunate side effect of attracting males to his mountain who wanted to kill him. It had been a stroke of inspired genius, or just blind luck, that had him wrap himself up in enormous lengths of coarsely woven cloth to approach the hunters’ camp. Tarachna had already made herself long known to the peoples strewn across the conjoined lands, and so it had taken little effort combining what he knew of the cult of his people to create an illusion of the place being goddess touched, a sacred sanctuary.
Since then, he had lived peacefully within his mountain. Not that he was alone for long.
Within a short span of time, humans had a sanctuary built and filled with priests and holy guards. Drathnor had watched them curiously going about their rights from the secret mirrors peering from his caverns. Once the city settled there, however, he found himself actually enjoying the company of the many species who took residency there on his patrols. He felt a curious protectiveness that had built over time. The city and every living being and thing within it was his, and so he protected it just as fiercely as he would his hoard or nest.
In all those years, never had the scent of one of the females called to him.
Not until now.
He curled his tongue, desperate to hold onto that bit of her as his eyes focused and sharpened on the figure of the young guard. Unlike the female, Drathnor knew him. He had watched him go from a nestling to an adult taking his place within the city. The male wasn’t a threat, and yet Drathnor felt a burning-cold tightening within his gut as he watched the male practice his human courtship techniques.
Claws digging into the wooden surface of the table he sat behind, Drathnor fumed as he watched, instinct clamoring at him to rip the desired female away from the human—especially when the young guard dared to draw a seat close to her side, his large body bending over her as he leaned forward to speak.
Drathnor’s muscles bulged, his wings spasming lightly against his sides as he drew them tighter against his body to keep them from punching up against the fabric of his disguise.
Everything within him insisted that the human was poaching on his territory, moving in on his female and nesting area. His response to it was so instinctual that it was nigh impossible for him to control. It was only the surprised, somewhat bewildered look in the female’s eyes at the gesture that kept him from outright springing on his potential rival and rending him limb from limb.
She is mine!
A frosted mist began to escape Drathnor’s nostrils as his body shuddered with the pulsing cold burn of his mounting fury. The sound of his claws scoring deep into the wood jolted through him and he eyes slowly blinked. Biting back the cold mist, he muttered a dark curse under his breath.
This reaction he had toward the female was concerning. He never loss control of himself. It rarely happened at all among adults of his kind unless…
He shook his head and slowly rose to his feet, careful to make sure that the fabric shifted and remained in place over him. He needed to leave before his instincts propelled him to do something unforgiveable. Or drew too much attention.
Although when covered he could cast reasonable illusion spells that convinced other beings that he was nothing of interest outside of being massive, he knew that the rising ice mist would have induced at least some speculation. Illusion spells worked better without such things.
As expected, when he stood, all eyes in the tavern turned toward him as he stood at his full height towering over everyone else within the room. A family of satyrs glanced at him worriedly, no doubt with their keener senses recognizing the predator on some level. Two of the adult males nudged in closer around the sole female between them. Of course they would protect her. Satyrs were a male-dominated species who bred with other fae and humans. As it happened, the female between them was a delicate human woman. A vulnerable mate made the males even more edgy and suspicious. Their ears flicked nervously in his direction, their eyes glowing faintly in warning.
Drathnor’s lip curled. As if he were any threat. Even if he were, there would be little that they could do to protect their tender-limbed female if he wanted to snatch her. No matter how gracious he was or unassuming he attempted to be as far as his magics allowed, there were always those that were afraid of him, especially around their mates.
It grated on his patience. No one’s mate in the entire city was in any danger from being set upon by him. He hadn’t possessed such desires in centuries, not since leaving his juvenile years. As it was, there was only one female that he wished to spend himself in at that moment. A golden female with the paleness of a midwinter sun.
Turning away from them, his gaze rested once more on her, a soft purr rumbling once more within his chest. She had stilled when he stood but as if feeling the weight of his gaze on her, her lips parted with a sharp indrawn gasp. Warmth climbed up her neck, brightening her cheeks further. The young guard at her side stiffened, his eyes narrowing on Drathnor, every rigid line of his body conveying the hostility of a rival.
Beneath his hood, Drathnor’s fangs dripped with icy venom. Silently, he bid the male to attack. He would relish the warm spurt of the human’s blood beneath his fangs at that moment. A low growl echoed from his chest, replacing his purr, and the human paled. A minotaur who was only just a head shorter than Drathnor snorted, the heavy chains of his armor and adornments clanging together loudly in the sudden silence of the tavern as his hand dropped to his ax warily. The only activity was from the droids traveling along the perimeter of the room as they continued service.
Drathnor expelled a long breath and force his tensed muscles to move away. Whatever the female was, she was a danger to his senses, threatening to send him directly into madness. The second step was slightly easier even though he fisted his hands, his claws digging into the meat of his palms. It only took him a few more painful steps, his entire body rebelling against separating from the female, before he found himself standing in front of the door.
As he lifted his hand to grasp the handle, several drops of blood dripped from his right hand from where the claw cut beneath the tiny scales. He grimaced at them, his blood chilling at the sight. Any half-decent mage or witch would be able to identify him just from the magical markers in his blood alone. Instinct made his body tense, even though logically he knew that he was in no danger.
He made certain that no being of the sort ventured into his territory.
As he stepped through the door into the relief of the icy air, he felt the eyes of the female tracking him, far too perceptive for his comfort. For a moment he struggled between warring urges. He wanted to sheath his cock fully within her, but at the same time he wondered if it would not be wiser for his peace of mind if he just killed her. Her presence and the effect she had on him did not bode well.
Drathnor quickened his pace and hoped that he did not make a mistake by leaving her there alive.