Dragon Treasure by SJ Sanders
Chapter 5
Drathnor tore the robe from his body, the cloth suddenly far too restraining for his natural form. His cock had fully extruded from its sheath and throbbed as the sensitive head skimmed his belly with each ragged breath he took.
His body, even after hours of separation from the female, felt like it was full of ice fire. Need clawed at him, demanding every bit of his attention and sanity.
Scraping his claws down the sensitive pale bronze scales of his belly, he considered burrowing beneath the comforting weight of his treasure. Every coin and jewel had been tokens of respect given to him over the ages for his service. The first small bit of wealth of his hoard had come from his sire upon reaching adulthood. That it had intended to help fund him during his training period serving the goddess and be the seed for the hoard that would eventually attract a worthy dragoness to mate made little difference to him.
A dragon’s ability to court was ultimately tied to his hoard, but Drathnor found a different sort of comfort in them that extended to the rest of his treasure by association. Their presence reminded him of his freedom and ownership of his own fate. It was a part of him and fueled his strength and magic by its essence far more effectively than it would have served to be draped and piled over a female.
It wasn’t that he was averse to surrounding a mate with the protections of his treasure and magic. It was more that he had no desire to surrender it to a dragoness and be nothing more than a guardian of the cavern. A cave he had laboriously carved out over spans of years and stained colorful patterns with his dragon’s fire and ice. All so she could seek out and attract more males to the nest, adding to her wealth and guard. Being a priest would have guaranteed attracting a female who would have honored him as first of her guard, but it was not a title he wanted any more than he desired that of priest. He would have had nothing but his duty and vigilance.
A frigid blast of frost shot from his nostrils, the spiked webbing of his ear frills fanning out and expanding with anger at the indignity that he had been expected to accept. He refused! His female, should he have one, would be the beloved centerpiece of his cavern, treasured, protected and cherished… and utterly his alone. She would be set upon a throne in his cavern, amid his treasure, and be the most valuable jewel within it. One that would never escape him.
Like the human.
His erect cock jumped at the thought, pulsing with a stream of light sapphire precum that dribbled copiously down the thick length.
He shuddered. It was forbidden.
It was perilous to allow his thoughts go in such directions. Ice dragons kept to a system of traditions that was ignored or simply nonexistent among some dragon nations. To lust after a human and desire to mate with her would have been considered a perversion among many of his kind and a dilution of the blood.
Not that such things ought to matter much when the entire species had been withering away for more centuries than he had been alive. Yet it was a difficult thing to shake off—the wrongness of such desires, to want her painfully with all of his being.
Tail lightly scraping the floor as he paced forward, he grappled with his conflicting feelings, and the dangerous hunger that attempted to break down his rational defenses. The dark instinct was insidious as it rolled through him like a storm, raging with uncontainable fury and need.
As much as he was tempted to claw his way back up through the monastery, Drathnor turned away and lowered himself into his throne that he had carved ages ago from the stone. Piled with furs and pillows, it made a comfortable resting place with more than enough space for his wings and the coil of his long tail. He never tired of sitting in his chair and surveying the beauty of his nest, until now. He twitched with a restless ache and the beauty of his home failed to please him.
His eyes narrowed at the hall stretched before him. Had his nest always been so quiet and empty? He never recalled taking note of his isolation or being bothered by silence before in his long life. Monotony was easily broken up by a visit to Tarachna Kalithia, where he could mingle in disguise with those who dwelled unknowingly beneath his protection. It never took long for him to satisfy himself from company and happily return to the solitude of his cave with a feeling of contentment or revigorated to return to his studies.
The current ancient tome he was making his way through sat on a podium near his throne, open still at the place where he left it as if bidding him to return. He couldn’t even summon the smallest amount of enthusiasm to so much as reach for the book. Not when his blood boiled with such impatient frenzy that it gave him a pause and forced him to turn away from his work solely out of a sense of self preservation. Truthfully, he knew that it was just as likely that he might tear the highly prized volume between his claws than attempt to translate the faded inked words. The loss to his library would be felt later, but it would eventually strike him painfully.
Swallowing back bile, Drathnor glared at the stone doors that would take him back through the winding tunnels of the cave system back into the monastery. It called to him, whispering enticements of pleasure and need.
His scales shuddered as a shiver of raw lust struck him. Issuing a low groan, he cupped one hand tightly around the upright lance of his swollen sex, squeezing it with a deliciously biting pain. A growl rattled through his chest, and he lifted his opposite hand to rake his claws against one of his primary horns in frustration even as his body twisted in the throes of need where he sat.
There was something very wrong with him. He was acutely aware of it through the intense haze of pleasure-pain that pulsed unendingly through him.
A terrible heat washed over him from his skin that wanted to split and make way for his muscles to contort for the larger, thicker build of his guardian form. Instinct was providing him with the tools that he would need to effortlessly barrel up the tunnels unopposed so that he could find and seize the treasure he most desired: a warm female to slake the primal needs overtaking him and a soft cunt to drain the terrible pressure from his testicles.
Not just any female would do.
It had to be his female of ice and fire, the human embodiment of Tarachna herself, the primordial mother of ice dragons.
He needed her. His cock wept precum meant to ease his mate’s reception of his breeding lance. Her absence caused him nothing but pain and misery until his mind called out to her in a fit of anger and despair. He bellowed for her, begged her to come to him, the brassy notes of his roars filling his cave, entreating his mate—whose scent teased him from somewhere nearby the entrance of his cave—to enter.
His calls went ignored. When hours of pain reduced his mind to little more than a whirling chaos, it was all that remained: confusion and despair that his mate was not with him and mounting fury at what had to be her rejection.
Never before had he wanted another for his own, and she rejected him! Him!
A roar blasted from him, shaking the walls of his cavern seconds before he attacked the proud beauty of his nest. Claws raked down the ornate walls, ice and flames spewing over once beautiful patterns as he destroyed everything around him in a fit of madness. Beautiful cloth was shredded under his claws and fangs in a sense of impotent frustration until his guardian form finally erupted and he was able to take out one of the delicately crafted columns in his rage.
When nothing but ruins lay all around him, Drathnor seethed in the chaos of his mind. His female could not deny their nest forever. She would come, eventually… and when she did, he would seize her and she would pay dearly for his pain.