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A claw loomed into view, stretching toward him, then swiped across his chest. He jerked against the sudden pain searing his flesh, but he swallowed down the urge to cry out.
The claw sliced the flesh of the dragon’s snout. As the blood welled, Richmund pushed his bleeding snout against Jori’s bleeding chest.
The dragon’s eyes closed.
The air rippled around him - like it had rippled around Kymri when she shifted into her dragon form before him.
He could still feel Kymri’s presence brushing at the back of his neck.
The ripple grew more intense and he could feel the pull toward the dragon. He resisted the urge to learn forward toward it.
Then came a peculiar sensation creeping outward from the fresh wound. It oozed through him, seeking vessels to travel along. The ripple became a buffer around him, slowly blocking out everything but the sensation of the dragon’s essence infusing him.
He didn’t like it.
A deep, guttural growl rose up his throat.
His pulse increased and his mind tried to will the sensation to stop its spread, invading his body. As he did so, the will of the dragon intensified to dominate him, wearing at his resistance.
There was a sudden pop in his mind, and he felt as though he stood on a narrow precipice staring at an abyss. The sense of vertigo was overwhelming as he struggled to catch his breath.
Whispers invaded his thoughts.
Accept me.
Accept my will.
Serve my will.
I am your Liege.
No.
The words repeated. Jori denied them again, his subconscious grasping the fragile thread connecting him to Kymri. The words came again, and again, each time louder and with more force. The thread began to fray, floating across the void. The dragon’s words were the solid ledge on which he stood.
He denied them.
Until he couldn’t.
Chapter 22
Kymri’s dragon fed her the power they’d absorbed from the raw ore of the mountain walls. She funneled it all into the bond thread she cast to Jori. She knew he could sense her. She could feel his response to her presence and echoed her sentiment.
I love you.
It reverberated back and forth along the length of their psychic thread.
Through it, she could feel the emotional turmoil he was experiencing as the dragon king recited the ritual to bend him to his will, to force his loyalty.
The ritual was meant to be voluntary.
She could feel Jori’s resistance, and she had no idea what that would do to him as the dragon pressed harder on his mind.
Visually, little was happening.
Jori stood naked, his body strung so taut he looked as though he could snap. Every muscle was flexed and rigid with the strain of the power being forced on his human form—his subservient form.
Her throat was tight, her heart hammered in her chest.
