Paranormal/Futuristic
Dragon Fire
By Heather
Sep 8, 2007, 11:52

"Declan. Come on!"

He ignored her. Instead, he stared at the vampire horde twenty feet below. At the sight of them spilling out of their seaside catacomb like ants from a hill, rage bubbled in his veins. A vampire soldier lifted a bow gun to his shoulder and fired. Arrows cut through the sky. Declan swung into their path, taking the one meant for Tallon in his arm. The skewered flesh sizzled.

Silver tipped arrows, he groaned. Not good.

Gritting his jaw against the pain, he slashed the knapsack from around his neck, and tossed it at Tallon. She caught it in one clawed hand.

"Take it and go."

She looked up, the fear in her eyes eating at his soul. Tonight was not supposed to have gone down like this. But he’d be damned if it ended with her getting hurt. Or worse, the horde getting their hands on what was inside that satchel.

A second arrow ate through his thigh.

"Dammit, Tallon," he growled. "Get out of here."

A breath of relief sawed out of his lungs when she nodded. After she disappeared in the darkness, he turned his focus on vamp with the bow gun. Snapping his wings as wide as he could manage, Declan swooped, falling into a Kamikaze dive.

Fire licked the back of his throat. Smoke curled out of his nostrils.

Robin Hood saw him coming and turned to run. But he was too late. Declan opened his jowls, raining a torrent of white-hot flame on the vampire soldier.

Before he could close his jaw, another blitz of gunshots saturated the sky. Blazing heat ripped through his veins with the same burning efficiency as the bullets tore his flesh. His wings faltered and folded behind him. His elongated muzzle shrunk until cool night air whipped his human face, tossing strands of hair into his eyes.

He muttered a curse as he began plummeting toward the ground, human from the waist up. Unable to stop, he twisted in midair and tucked his chin, waiting for impact. His body smacked the concrete, bouncing and skidding, his flesh eating the small rocks and granules. He slid to a halt. A cloud of dust rose and then settled over him like a blanket, coating his lungs.

Coughing, he rolled to his stomach and opened his eyes to peek. Two soldiers were rushing him. Fast. Their black trench coats billowed behind them, showing off an assortment of weapons strapped to gun belts around their thick waists.

At least six more, all decked out like GI Joe on crack, were closing in not ten paces behind them.

Great. It was about to get a whole lot of Matrix out here, and Keanu Reeves was nowhere in site.

The first two almost on him, Declan crouched and sideswiped his leg in an arc, knocking them down. Springing to his feet, he reared his tail, lodging the club-shaped ball at the end of it into the nearest vamp’s chest. Discarding the bodies, he turned to face the second wave of soldier’s bearing down on him.

"Come on," he said, motioning to the approaching horde, his tail lashing and biting like a whip behind him.

The pack stepped closer. Their teeth bared and black claws hanging. No longer caring if he died tonight, only that Tallon lived, Declan stepped forward to meet them head on. He stumbled over heavy feet. Frowning, he looked down. The remaining armor scales on his lower body receded. Then his tail, the only weapon left in his arsenal, shrank back into his body.

The silver, he realized. Its poison was draining his dragon power.

As soon as the thought came, his body screamed in pain, his side and back burning as if someone held a blowtorch to him. Cupping the wound, he pulled back a blood-soaked hand.

This was really not good.

Another shot fired. Instead of more silver bullets, a heavy net collapsed atop him, dragging him to the ground. The instant his cheek hit the pavement, feet and fists rained down on him. With the net tying him up, all he could do was shield his head with his forearms and wait.

"Enough!"

At the female’s order, the soldiers backed up a step.

It had to be her. At the thought, an icy shiver passed through him. A rational part of his brain had known she would come for him someday. Knew she would take her vengeance against his parents out on his flesh—his soul.

Well, he thought grabbing a fist full of net. He wasn’t going without a fight.

With a roar, Declan looped the thick cord around his wrist and pulled, taking several of the horde to their knees. Jabbing a fist through the squares, he seized the nearest soldier by the throat and squeezed.

"Hold him, Ivan!"

At her command, a boot rammed his jaw. Declan flew back, his chin kicking the ground in a teeth chattering blow. Groaning, he spit out a mouthful of blood and pushed himself up. His weak head lolling in the direction he’d last heard the woman’s voice.

The first thing he focused on were boots. Unlike the one that slammed his face, these were spiked-heeled, patent leather, knee-high stripper boots, wrapped around a pair of slender legs that seemed to stretch up for days. Declan lifted his chin and wrenched his swollen eye wider.

The female stood with one hand propped on black leather-clad hips. The wind whipped thin, blonde hair around her waist. A delicately framed waist, bound in a leather corset that would turn on any fetish kink.

When he finally reached her face, he noted she examined him with black eyes, as cold and immortal as his soul. And that she was much too young to be the queen.

"Where is the crystal?" Her smooth words held a faint trace of a European accent.

Not the queen, but definitely of noble caste. Declan grinned through bloodied lips.

At his smile, a dainty line furrowed her brow, and she cocked her head to the side. For a moment, she reminded Declan of a confused puppy. Until, she raised a sawed-off 12 gauge and stared one black eye down the barrel at him.

"Tell me where it is and I might let you live, Derkein."

"It’s gone," he said on a chuckle. "You have nothing to take back to her. You’re as dead as I am."

The vixen’s onyx eyes flashed silver before she drove the butt of the gun down to his face. He was still smiling when she pistol-whipped his nose and the world plunged into darkness.

                            ***

Alexia Feodorovna 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 were said to be all but extinct, or so she’d assumed until tonight. After seeing him fight, she wondered how she ever believed the lie.

He’d fought like a warrior of auld.

The way he’d protected that female of his kind, fought 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 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 catching the moonlight filtering in from the rectangular window in his cell.

Alexia 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 from the window, purifying the rancid odor of her hordes 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 tip of their prisoner’s tongues, taunting their spirit from the other side of the dungeon wall. A small flavor of a salvation that for most never came.

At least they died having tasted hope, she mused.

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 feigned anger and nodded into the cell. "Are you certain he sleeps?"

The guard stepped into the light flickering off a wall sconce. Like every one of her mother’s soldiers, he had crew cut blonde hair, a thick pit bull sized head and Ray Ban’s he wore even in the darkest 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 cocked over the lip of his shades. "But, Lotharus ordered—"

She hissed at the name, and stepped up to him. "Lotharus does not make the orders around here yet. I do. And I said, leave us."

Though disapproval radiated off the grunt, he clamped his lips together and bowed, showing her the respect benefiting her station in their world.

She watched him leave under narrowed lids. Once he disappeared down the corridor, she stepped through the iron threshold. Goddess! Just once she’d like to prove to her horde she was capable of leading them, capable of succeeding the throne when her mother stepped down.

Alexia knew if she retrieved the Crystal of the Draco, no one, not even Lotharus would question her, or the hordes centuries old matriarchal way of life again. She stopped beside the slumbering beast.

The only one who knew were it might be, lay bleeding to death on the floor by her feet.

With a sigh, Alexia settled on the ground, unwound a measure of coarse thread, and nipped it with her fangs. Whetting 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 on stitching the gash on his back.

Alexia set her fingers to his flesh. At the contact, he moaned, rolled to his back, and took a deep breath. Alexia 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 sveltely thin. Gaunt when she compared them to this dragon lord. He was thick. Her gaze slid lower. Everywhere. He had long muscled thighs and calves, thick arms and a broad sculpted chest, not bones protruding beneath translucent skin like Lotharus.

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 air around her thickened, and her fangs burned.

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

Bending, she set the needle to the torn flesh by 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 sails unfurling rent the air. One massive black wing tucked beneath her, cocooning her against his hard, hot flesh, and cushioning her fall to the floor. The smooth scales of it glided against her shoulders, a contrast to the hot breath feathering against her face.

The virulent scent of musk, blood and man assailed her. The unique flavor so potent, she could already taste him on her tongue. Imagine his sweet blood running down her throat. Hunger lashed at her, knotting her gut like a vise.

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

He’d been awake the entire time? Embarrassment flooded her face, taking the place of her hunger. She wriggled beneath his hold of her, and barely moved an inch

"Let me go."

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

"No." His tongue peeked out, whetting his lips as his gaze winded in a lazy path up her throat.

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 your wounds. Unless of course, you’d rather bleed out in this dungeon."

A dark brow cocked. "If I’m in a dungeon, 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?"

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

"Then answer me."

Her eyes narrowed. "My men cannot torture you in the state you’re in. You’d never last through 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 frightened of me now, vixen?"

His thumb began to draw lazy circles over the pounding pulse in her wrist. "I’m not frightened of you." The words came out in a breathy sigh.

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

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

A tingle of pleasure shimmied along her spine. She sucked in a breath and held it, as his soft lips caressed her neck. Alexia 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.

She felt him smile against her neck. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Was he laughing at her?

Heat flooded her face as anger surged, taking over her misplaced desire. Eying 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. Opening her mouth, she snapped for his throat.

The prisoner dodged her attack, and leaned more of his delicious weight atop her, restricting her movements.

"You’re teeth don’t frighten me," he said with a smug grin.

"No?" She lunged for him, and maddeningly enough, he diverted 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 Lotharus dared feed from her. It meant instant death in their world. Then again, what would a dragon lord care of the hordes laws?

All thoughts melted away as his hot tongue licked up her throat. In a winding path, his fangs raked down, searching out the vein. A shiver passed through her when they stopped. They pierced her flesh. Alexia 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 covered the side of her waist, fingers digging into her leather bodice. The skin beneath his grip burned. 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 of his blazing hot 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 backside, pressing her against him. Pinwheels of fire licked her lower belly at the contact. When he did it again, she moaned at the sheer pleasure of it.

Even though she knew she should be pushing him away, her fingers curled around his large biceps, pulling him closer. Every inch of her body hummed, throbbing to life beneath his vampire kiss. Nothing she’d experienced in her eighty 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 contented.

When he finally tore away from her throat, a whimper of protest mewled out of her. Dazed, Alexia opened her eyes and drank in the impressive sight of him arched above her. His other wing, once hanging useless, stretched and snapped wide like a cat after a long nap. The gaping flesh wound on his side closed as if sewn by an invisible needle. It struck her then 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 didn’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 and healing her torn flesh. She licked her lips, tucking the lower one between her teeth as he nibbled and licked his way across her jaw.

"I should have warned you." His voice snaked around her, tightening the knot of lust already sinking hard and heavy inside her. "Feeding drives me crazy."

Me too, she thought as he fit his lips over hers. They melted beneath the heat of his mouth. His firm lips, soft and wet, moved over hers in a sliding kiss. 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.

Alexia opened for him, eagerly accepting his searching tongue. Needing him to fill her anyway he could. He tilted his head. Two large hands palmed the side of her face as he hungrily ate at her mouth.

A moan, more like a sigh tore from her when he deepened the kiss. His tongue spearing, caressing and probing her mouth, demanding more. Alexia lost herself in the sensations and sank into the wing behind her, relishing the support.

Needing to touch him, she gripped his strong, hard jaw in her hands. Feeling the muscles beneath bunch and flex and he worked his mouth over hers. His deep groan vibrated down her throat, all the way to her toes. The sound empowered her. Lotharus 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… ?"

At the guard’s voice, Alexia jolted.