The Vampire Queen's Dragon Lord

Chapter 2

Anastasia Fedorova stood in the catacombs, staring into the stone cell. Although the beast lay sound asleep on the floor and chained to the wall, his size and strength still managed to unsettle her.

Big. Dark. Dangerous.

She had never seen anything like him. The dragon lords never shifted into human form during battle, and were said to be all but extinct, or so she'd assumed until tonight. After seeing him fight, she wondered how she'd ever believed the lie.

He fought like a warrior of the olden days.

The way he'd protected that female of his kind, battled until he couldn't stand and yet met death with a smile on his face, affected her strangely. Not because she knew she would have met her own death like the coward her mother had called her. But because in the deepest part of her heart, she yearned to experience that kind of love, yet knew she would die without it.

The prisoner shifted. The metal cuffs around his wrists caught the moonlight filtering in through the rectangular window of his cell. Anastasia leaned her forehead on the cool iron bars and watched the play of light on the dark wall. Tipping her chin, she took in a breath of the salty ocean air, wafting in the window, purifying the rancid odor of her horde's dungeon. Funny, she'd always thought that tiny window to be the cruelest torture in the cavern. The vibrant ocean, the alive taste of freedom danced on the tips of their prisoner's tongues, torturing their spirits from the other side of the dungeon wall. A small flavor of salvation that for most never came.

At least they died having tasted hope.

Footsteps ascended the spiral staircase behind her. Sliding her eyes from the prisoner, she adjusted the tray in her arms and turned toward the guard.

"It's about time, soldier." She nodded into the cell. "Are you certain he sleeps?"

The guard stepped into the light from the wall. Like every one of her mother's soldiers, he had crew-cut blond hair, a thick pitbull-sized head and dark sunglasses he wore even in the inky-black pits of their cavern dwelling.

"I drugged that Derkein myself," he said, unlocking the cell door and propping it open. "He'll be out for hours, if he wakes at all."

"Good. You may leave us."

A dark brow c****d over the rim of his shades. "But, Luthur ordered----"

She hissed at the name, and stepped up to him. "Luthur doesn't make the orders here. I do. And I said, leave us."

Though disapproval radiated off the grunt, he clamped his lips together and bowed.

Anastasia watched him leave under narrowed lids. She didn't trust those genetically enhanced soldiers. Sure, they were efficient, strong and practically unbeatable in combat. However, their increasing intolerance of showing her the respect befitting her station was troubling. Naturally, her mother blamed her for lack of dominance over the horde.

Once the soldier disappeared around the corner, Anastasia stepped across the iron threshold, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

Goddess! Just once she'd like to prove to her horde she was capable of leading them, capable of succeeding on the throne when her mother stepped down. Anastasia knew if she retrieved the Dragon Crystal, no one, not even Luthur, would question her or the horde's centuries-old matriarchal way of life again. She stopped beside the slumbering beast, realizing the only one who knew where the crystal might be lay bleeding to death on the floor by her feet.

With a sigh, Anastasia settled on the ground, unwound a measure of coarse thread and nipped it with her fangs. Wetting the tip with her tongue, she threaded the needle and shifted onto her knees above the prisoner. Since he faced the outer wall, she decided to start stitching the gash on his shoulder blade.

Anastasia set her fingers to his flesh. At the contact, he moaned, rolled on his back and took a deep breath. Anastasia held hers. Every dip, ridge and contour of his naked, bronzed body rose and flexed with the movement, beckoning her gaze.

What few noble men of her horde she'd seen unclothed had been tall and thin. Gaunt, when she compared them to this dragon lord. He was thick. Her gaze slid between his thighs. Everywhere. He had long muscled thighs and calves, solid arms and a broad, sculpted chest, not bones protruding beneath translucent skin like Luthur.

Intrigued, she leaned closer.

Rich sable waves of shoulder-length hair curled around his neck. Her eyes fixed lower, on the pulse beating beneath his golden skin. A primal thrum tingled through her body. The surrounding air thickened, and her fangs burned.

Anastasia sat back on her heels and gave herself a mental shake.

Just stitch him up and leave.

Bending, she set the needle on the torn flesh of his ribs. Before she could push it through his skin, long fingers dug into her wrists.

Her gasp stuck in her throat as the prisoner hauled her down. A pop, like snails unfurling, rent the air. One massive black wing tucked beneath her, cocooning her against his hard flesh and cushioning her fall to the floor. The cool scales glided against her shoulders, a contrast to the hot breath feathering against her face.

"Did you like what you saw, vixen?" he said in a smoky voice.

Embarrassment flooded her face. She wriggled beneath his hold on her and barely moved an inch. "Let me go."

The dragon propped himself up on an elbow. His electric-blue eyes slid from hers, to the flesh her leather bodice failed to conceal.

"No."

Her jaw slackened. "Release me or----"

"Or what?"

"Or----" She looked around, nodding to the needle and thread beside her. "I won't stitch up our wounds. Unless, of course, you'd rather bleed to death."

A black brow arched. "If I'm down here in this hellhole, why bother healing me at all?"

"Would you rather die?"

His lips kicked up. "Do you always answer a question with a question, little vampire?"

Anastasia shook her head, and tried to ignore that sinfully sexy curve of his mouth. "No."

"Then answer me."

She sighed. "We cannot torture you in the state you're in. You'd never last through the questioning."

At her words, flames flickered behind his icy eyes. Soft tufts of smoke wafted out of his nostrils. Her eyes widened, panic gripping her like a spiked glove to the throat.

"Don't tell me you're scared of me now?" His thumb began to draw lazy circles over the pounding pulse in her wrist.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, the words coming out in a breathy sigh.

His wing coiled tighter, crushing her breasts against the warm steel of his barrel chest.

"Then why are you trembling?" He dipped his head below hers. "I can hear your heart hammering. Right here." His hot, open mouth covered the pulse beating beneath her skin.

A tingle of pleasure shimmied along her spine. She sucked in a breath and held it as his soft lips caressed her neck. Anastasia knew she should be fighting him. Knew she should beg for death by his hell-sent flame rather than allow him such liberties. But the excitement and fear of being handled so gently paralyzed her. Never had a man touched her so softly, held her so tenderly. When his lips hummed against her skin, her eyes fluttered closed. And then her mind flashed images that made her gasp and shove at him. He let out a low chuckle, and she felt the rage bubble up inside her. Her anger surged, taking over her misplaced desire.

Eyeing the vein throbbing in his neck, she focused on the steady rhythm of his pulse. A red haze flooded her vision. Two teeth stretched past her lips. Although feeding was forbidden between vampires, no such laws prevented taking the blood of an enemy. Opening her mouth, she snapped at his throat.

He dodged her attack and then leaned more of his delicious weight atop her, restricting her movements.

"Easy, little one. Your teeth don't frighten me."

"No?" she lunged for him and, maddeningly, he dodged her again. Only this time when he parted his lips in a smile, fangs twice the size of hers hung from his mouth. Her dead heart flipped over on itself.

"You're-----" she stammered.

"Hungry. And you look tasty."

His dark head swooped.

Fear had her grabbing his arms, trying to push him off. No man, not even Luthur, dared drink her blood. It meant instant death in their world. Then again, what would a dragon lord care for the horde's laws? All thoughts melted away as his hot tongue licked her throat. Then, in a winding path, his fangs raked down, searching out the vein. A shiver passed through her when they stopped over her hammering pulse. She sucked in a breath and held it, waiting. Teeth pierced her flesh. Anastasia gasped at the twinge of pain from his bite, even as her body arched into it.

A large hand speared through her hair, keeping her neck tilted. The other hand covered her side at her waist, fingers digging into her leather bodice. The skin beneath his grip tingled. The blood surging through her veins, rushing to feed him, burned. He was a fire, spreading through her, consuming her from the inside out. Each long, sensual pull from his mouth crackled white heat to her core. Her center wept, aching for something more. As if he read her mind, the tapered edge of his powerful wing dug into her butt, pressing her against the long, hard length of him. Pinwheels of fire licked her lower belly at the contact. When he did it again, she moaned at the sheer pleasure of it.

Parting her legs, she allowed his wide hips to sink into the cradle of her body. Big and heavy, he fit against her perfectly. Even though she knew she should be pushing him away, her fingers curled around his large biceps, pulling him closer. Nothing she'd experienced in her hundred and twenty years felt this natural, this right. To think she'd been denied this for so long would have sent her into a blind rage had she not felt so blissfully content.

When he finally tore away from her throat, she mewed a whimper of protest. Dazed, Anastasia opened her eyes and drank in the impressive sight of him arched above her. Once limp and useless, his other wing stretched out like a cat after a long nap. Her eyes fell on the gaping flesh wound on his side and widened as she watched it close as if sewn by an invisible thread. It struck her that her threat not to heal him meant nothing. He never needed her tools. He only needed her.

Her blood.

Then what did that make him? Dragons don't feed from one another.

Before she could form words, he grinned and dipped his head again. The flat of his tongue ran along her throat, soothing her torn flesh. She licked her lips, tucking the lower one beneath her fangs as he nibbled and licked his way across her jaw.

"I should have warned you," he whispered in her ear. His smoky voice snaked around her, tightening the knot of lust already sinking hard and heavy inside her. "Feeding makes me horny as hell."

Me too, she thought as he fit his lips over hers. They melted beneath the heat of his mouth. The taste of him and the flavor of her own coppery blood on his lips sent hunger coiling tight around her spine. Or maybe that was his wing, she thought, as his tongue swept between her lips in a languid lick.

Anastasia opened for him, eagerly accepting his searching tongue. Needing him to fill her any way he could. He lifted his head and swept his tongue inside. Two large hands palmed the sides of her face as his lips moved over hers in a sliding kiss. She lost herself in the sensations and sank into the wing behind her, relishing the support. Her hand lifted, gripping his strong jaw in her palm. Feeling the powerful muscles beneath bunch and flex as he worked his mouth over hers. His deep groan vibrated down her throat, all the way to her toes. The sound empowered her. To know how much he desired her was intoxicating. Luthur never kissed her with such passion, with such palpable need.

Goddess above, help her. But she loved it. Loved the feel of his rough cheeks against her palms, the heavy weight of him above her, even the brawny and rather useful wing caressing her back.

"What the hell?"

At the guard's voice, Anastasia jolted.....