Page 2 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

Emon Lael, Darkwing Dragon, Prince of the Draken House of Al-Maddeiri. Rumor had it that he was unstable bordering on homicidal, his dragon too dangerous to be allowed into any civilized world. Even if he wanted to go to one, which rumor said he didn’t. Apparently, he was planning on staying in this little bubble between the worlds, honing his brooding skills and thinking evil murdery dragon thoughts while snuggling his treasure hoard and slowly descending into insanity.

She just prayed that by some miracle, he could rescue her before that happened.

Another bolt of lightning forked through the sky, throwing monstrous shadows on the ground.

There was a huge ‘crack’ of thunder right overhead, hurting Trish’s sensitive wolf ears and making her flinch. It was followed by a spectacular ripping sound, as multiple bolts of lightning split the dark clouds over the castle.

And into the lightning flew a huge black dragon, darker than the night sky, darker than a nightmare. Lightning forked down into his path, and instead of dodging it he flew right into it.

Trish gasped as a streak of lightning hit the dragon right between his wings. She expected him to fall from the sky, but instead, his whole body lit up, outlined by blue flames, scales reflecting blue and purple highlights as he rose into the storm. He gave a great roar of defiance, battling the wind currents, and then breathed twin lightning bolts from his nostrils as if trying to outdo the storm.

It struck again, and he was bathed in lightning once more, dipping and weaving, searching out the deadly bolts and drawing them to him.

He was wild, terrifying—and absolutely beautiful.

Trish stood, awestruck, watching the dragon dancing with the lightning. Once again She-Wolf rose within her, dark and wild.

Not now, she begged the wolf frantically. Don’t Change!

She braced herself, waiting for the darkness to claw its way out of her. But She-Wolf went still: poised, waiting, staring up at the dragon until he abandoned the dance and disappeared into the darkness, and even after that.

Watching the sky, hoping he would return.

The wind was roaring around Trish now, whipping her long blond hair around her face. The rain would come soon.

She began walking again, faster, striding up the path to the main castle gates—huge, dragon-sized stone doors reinforced with iron and magic. They were closed, but a small human-sized door set into one of them was ajar. Trish pushed it open and walked inside, emerging into an immense stone courtyard.

The wind blustered and eddied, caught inside the stone walls. On the far side of the courtyard was a flight of wide, shallow steps leading up to the arched front door, also bound in iron. On either side was a lit sconce—the only light except for a few more lit windows dotted here and there above her.

For a real gothic touch, the sconces should have been flickering torches, but they were globes about the size of her head, giving a steady yellowish light. Not electric, or gas. Magical?

Trish took two steps into the courtyard and stopped, the back of her neck prickling with a hunter’s instinct. She was being watched.

Everything in her screamed to stay in the shadows, but she had to get inside. Find Tristan. Calm her wolf, who was getting riled again. She heard herself growl, low in her throat.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” she murmured.

She forced herself to stride across the courtyard. Don’t run. Predators attack if you run.

She was halfway across when the wind came howling down, bringing another crack of thunder, right overhead. A huge shadow descended out of the night, with a rush of wind and a scent of fire.

The dragon swooped down nearly on top of her, so close she could see its scales shining faintly in the glow of the lamplight. Its deadly black claw reached toward her. Then, with a great flap of its wings that sent grit and bits of debris swirling around her, it banked steeply upward, just missing the top of the wall on the far side.

It bugled, and fire erupted out of its mouth, a column of light in the sky.

The rain swept down.

Trish ran for the door, just ahead of a deluge of cold water. She stumbled up the worn stone steps and ducked under the overhang as the rain beat down behind her. Grasping the huge iron door-knocker in the shape of a dragon’s head, she pounded it on the door, listening to the hollow boom as it echoed through the darkened castle.

Chapter 2

Emon Lael, Prince of the dead Draken House of Al-Maddeiri, flew high in the night, wrestling the storm.

Lightning bolts bathed him in electricity, setting his nerves tingling and his blood fizzing with life. He felt himself charging up like a battery, stoking the lightning that lived inside him.

He danced with the wind, twisting and shifting with the wild gusts and unpredictable currents. It was the only thing that made him feel fucking alive, anymore.

The only thing that kept his soul from solidifying into stone.