Dragon’s Heir Sierra Dafoe All rights reserved. Copyright ©2006 Sierra Dafoe No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file copying or sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC. Willful violation of this policy will result in suspension of account privileges and will lead to prosecution. WARNING: Illegal files may contain viruses. ISBN (10) 1-59596-510-6 ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-510-3 Formats Available: HTML, Adobe PDF, MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader Publisher: Changeling Press LLC PO Box 1046 Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046 www.ChangelingPress.com Editor: Chrissie Henderson Cover Artist: Bryan Keller This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers. Prologue Lara had always loved the wind, the sense of it caressing her skin as it swept past her, setting her blood to tingling in a way she’d never quite been able to explain. Now, of course, she knew why it had always delighted her so. She wasn’t, as she’d always thought, simply Lara Sutherland, the struggling young artist who’d eked a living from painting pictures of the dragons she’d always fantasized about. In fact, she was Elara Southerlin, daughter of the Dragon Queen Melgara who sat on the high marble throne of Wind Castle, and the reason why she’d always fantasized about dragons was the same as the reason she’d instinctively loved the wind -- she was a dragon herself. At times, Lara could hardly resist the urge to pinch herself. How good could life possibly get? Flexing her shoulder muscles, she swept downward, intensely conscious of the keen mountain air beneath her wings bearing her up as tangibly as water rushing under the hull of a ship. Behind her, Rand flew steadily, his massive red wings sweeping the air in powerful strokes. On her left and a dragon length above, Darrek knifed, as black and deadly as a hawk, through the cerulean sky. Just for fun, Lara darted ahead, grinning at the scowl in Darrek’s onyx eyes as, with the merest flick of her wings, she shot past him. Until Darrek and Rand had shown up at the door of her modest rented cottage on Cape Cod, Lara had had no idea who -- or what -- she was. In a ploy to end the decades-long feud between their two clans, Melgara had hidden her infant daughter on Earth and then, twenty years later, had sent the dark, tempestuous Hausther heir and the massive, redheaded Rand to find her and compete for her affections. The one who won her would become her husband, while the other would be banished forever. That had been the plan, anyway. Lara chuckled to herself as Darrek, unwilling to be outdone in anything, arrowed after her. Dancing on the wind, she glided before him, banking on a thermal to cut directly across his path. She laughed as he fumbled midair, swerving awkwardly to avoid her. The blade-like barbs running the length of his spine bristled in irritation. Below them, Rand continued steadily on, watching their antics with a fond, amused eye. Spreading her wings, Lara soared higher into the glistening sky. Behind her, steep, forested mountainsides rose northward toward the harsh, craggy ranges of the Hausther domain, where she and Rand had just spent the past fourteen days with Darrek’s clan. And before her, the river Andida sparkled, snaking its way through the verdant central hills of Djarera, with here and there a lake gleaming in the distance. There was a wildness in flying, a heady exhilaration that stirred her to her very core. Feeling the wind stroke along her body, she wondered, and not for the first time, what it would be like to mate as a dragon -- to couple midair, feeling her lover thrust into her with every mighty beat of his wings. The idea was intoxicating, almost hypnotic. She could feel him, the phantom dragon who mounted her, his wing strokes matching hers as together they glided, soaring on the winds of a passion so intense it left her breathless with desire… It wasn’t Darrek with her in that vision. Or Rand. Oh, she loved them, both of them. Absolutely. And she loved making love with them -- Darrek with his fierce, haughty temper; gentle, massive Rand, always so eager to please. She loved feeling their arms around her, their hands rousing her -- and each other -- to peaks of delight she’d never experienced with a human male, their lips gliding over her hot, naked flesh… But she wasn’t in love with either of them. Who was he, the shadowy lover of her dreams? Was he only a fantasy? As heir to the throne, she’d been presented to the four clans, meeting -- or so it felt -- every dragon in Djarera in the process. But whoever he was, the mighty lover she sensed hovering behind her like a storm over the horizon, he wasn’t among them. If he even existed. Once again, Lara felt the daydream teasing along her thoughts. She gave herself to it, losing herself in the fiery eroticism of that soaring, yearning flight. Desire flooded through her, breathtaking in its suddenness, encasing her in a world of wind, heat and wildness where she saw nothing, felt nothing but his breath upon her neck, his fierce, demanding thrusts… Damn! Darrek shot past, twisting his neck as he flew to flash her a sly, triumphant smile. Lara scowled. Darrek! No fair -- I was thinking! Oh? And what were you thinking about so intently, Elara? My kisses, perhaps? No, she mind-spoke back with a sharp, teasing edge to her tone, I was thinking how well you suck Rand’s cock at my command. Without replying, Darrek whipped his head forward and slashed the air with furious strokes of his wings. Lara grinned in triumph -- although it was hardly fair to needle him, she supposed. He was probably never going to be comfortable with that side of himself, or the obvious delight he took in Rand’s huge, muscular body. Oh, she did love them. Just as she loved Djarera -- the world the dragons inhabited -- and flying, and, well, everything. The erotic daydream slid away, and she felt the cool mountain air rushing past. Throwing herself into it, she arced like a falcon against the sky, following the curving range southeastward toward the towering central peak upon which Wind Castle stood. In delight, she swooped in the air, painting her exhilaration upon the wind. Her life was perfect. Absolutely perfect. She couldn’t imagine anything that could spoil her joy at being here, at being alive, at being exactly who and what she was. * * * From a perch on a cliff that was not, strictly speaking, really there, a cold, determined consciousness watched the young princess in flight. Her hide gleamed like warm honey in the sunlight, and she darted through the air as easily as a swallow, so playful, so carefree. So very young. Iron-hard talons scraped furrows in the stone -- stone which existed in a plane separated from Djarera by a tissue-thin membrane, as tenuous and permeable as a cloud. He could see the sunlight pouring down, streaking the hills and little lakes with its life-giving warmth. But it could not touch him. Here, everything was cold, so cold that the very touch of the ground seared like fire, and the stones upon which he crouched held not one scrap of life -- not a twist of grass, not even moss. There was not so much as a trickle of water or whisper of wind to mar the dead, leaden stillness. There was nothing. How he hated this prison, this half-life! This shadow world to which the bitch- queen had consigned him, locking him away in this timeless void! Rage beat along his icy veins, tensing his corded muscles, his huge, virile strength. For he was strong, strong as the bones of these barren, twisted mountains. Strong enough to tear a passage back to Djarera -- he was certain of that. He could do it. Only to be shut away again, as he had been before. In twenty years, his fury at that defeat had diminished no more than his strength. He was tired of this world. Tired of these shadows. He was cold, cold to the icy marrow of his being. But he would not risk escape prematurely. Not when Melgara could still lock him away as she’d done the first time. Not till he was sure. His gaze returned to that graceful, golden form. So this was Elara, the long-hidden princess. He smiled -- a motion of his lips that failed to lighten his inflexible, heartless gaze. Enormous fangs, designed to rend and devour, gleamed hungrily in his massive jaw. She was his key, he knew it. Knew it in the frigid marrow of his bones. That shining, carefree creature flitting on the wind… Yes. He would have her. And he would have Djarera. And it -- and everything in it -- would be his. Including a certain young princess who shone like the very sun itself. She was warmth, and flame, and fire -- but he had learned one thing, in the frozen confines of his prison. He had learned that only ice endures forever. Chapter One “What?” Elara stared up at Melgara in shock. “No way! I’m not marrying Darrek!” “Rand, then.” “No! I don’t want to marry either one of them!” Folding her arms, Lara glared up at her mother, her chin jutting rebelliously. “Mother, we’ve been through this!” “No,...
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