The Dragon

Whoo! After a long 6 hour stint, which, by the way, was inspired by all my gracious reviewers' unerstanding on the terms of my hiatus, I now present to you, a whole week early, yum yum, the most recent and horribly long chaper of The Dragon!Much sweat and blood went into this endeavor, so I hope it's well worth the wait. Enjoy!


THE DRAGON


Part Five


Alone indeed.


Darque had been nestled among the tapestries in the nest for the past few hours, wary to emerge, in spite of the rumbling of her stomach. The terrible heat of wanting that Silas had left her with had faded long ago in the face of her new fate: Danthor’s aggression.


For now she was truly and completely alone.


Taking a deep breath, the young woman tried to rationalize with herself. What could Danthor, after all, really do to her? Would Silas not be upset that his property had been harmed when he returned? Or was the unknown bond between the two of such strength that he would pay her violation no mind?


The possibilities were endless…


Another hour of silent contemplation passed, after which Darque steeled herself and stiffened her backbone. She couldn’t remain in the nest until Silas came back. It could be only a few more hours, or it could be days-either way, she was starting to get cramped. Eventually, she would have to face the fate chosen for her.
With a deep breath, she crawled slowly to the edge of the nest and cast her eyes about the room. The egg remained in the corner, its low glow ever present and illuminating. The mess from the past few days also remained; it didn’t surprise her that neither Danthor nor Silas had thought to clean up after themselves. They may have been creatures, but in that aspect they were simply male. What was not present in the room, however, was a mountain of intimidating, furred wolf-creature.


She let out sigh of relief.


Though she knew he hadn’t accompanied Silas from the restless pacing that had occurred just outside the nest, it still gladdened her heart that he was absent, at least for the moment. With a quick look around, the young woman hopped from her resting place to scurry across the room to the stores.


Darque took a few moments to partake of some bread, cheese and dried meat, quieting her noisy stomach, before turning to the rest of what lie before her. For once, she contemplated the piles and piles of rich clothing that adorned the floor carelessly. As embarrassing as it was, she’d gotten used to her nakedness in the warmth of the cave, and had to think twice in the face of the clothing present, before she quickly reprimanded herself and began to root through it. Her tastes were not expensive, and she soon found a thin cotton shift and a simple blue gown to go over it. She trekked first back to the tub of cool bathwater and scrubbed her thighs clean, wincing at the bruises that Silas had left on her hips and arms. Secretly, however, she was pleased.


The clothes went on without much ceremony, and next, she busied herself with cleaning the chamber. Thoughts came and went of attempting escape once more. The future of the child dragon was secure and Silas was well, but there was still the horrid prospect of Danthor to deal with. She shuddered. The longer she remained from him, the better. She decided if she was to try, she’d try later.


By what she assumed was the middle of the night, she finished her task. Even Silas would be happy with the way his cave looked, she wagered. Everything was in its place and, for good measure, she’s scrubbed both of the used tubs. That seen to, Darque took the long walk across the expanse of the cave to the glowing egg in the corner, taking a moment to, once again, marvel at its sheer size. It rose far above her head and was much bigger around than even the most rotund man. Reaching out, she touched the curved surface. It was softer than she had expected, giving slightly beneath her fingers, and so hot it was close to discomfort, but she didn’t draw away.


Instead, she pressed her face against the soft substance that formed the shell and sighed, stroking it lightly. “Will you truly be as your father, little one?” Closing her eyes, she exhaled softly. “You are not born evil, this I know…”


There was silence for a moment; then, so softly she almost couldn’t discern it, there came a noise


…..ku…..ku….


Surprised, Darque drew back, fingers to her temple.


The faint sound had been in her mind-the way Silas spoke.


For a moment, she was awed. Had the child heard her? Even unhatched as it was? And even more interesting still, that faint whisper she’d heard among her thoughts had sounded almost…female…


Shaking her head lightly, the young woman brought herself from her reverie. It was not her business. Let Silas tend to his own.


Chewing on her lower lip, she quickly strode to the entrance to the cavern, peeking out cautiously.
No sign of Danthor or her master.


The young woman fought with herself. Was now the time to flee? Perhaps it would be her last chance…
Casting a last look back at the lone egg, Darque took a deep breath…and bolted. As fast as she had run to save Silas, she ran even faster, her hair streaming out behind her and skirt swirling around her ankles. The rough pair of slippers she’d donned slapped audibly on the stone floor, but she paid it no heed. All of her being was put towards making it towards the mouth of the cave, and she hoped with all her might that her captors were both still absent.


After what seemed like endless moments, dim light shone into the tunnel, growing more and more prominent with every step. It was indeed night, and as she reached the mouth of her prison, the young woman couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful night it truly was. She caught her breath as a full moon shone upon her and down into the clearing beside the mountain, making the dew on leaves and grasses seem to glow.


No one was in sight.


Disbelieving, she looked left, then right, then left again. The distance before her seemed deserted-utterly so.


What good fortune.


Darque cast the darkness of the cave what she hoped would be her final glance, before setting off into the moonlight forest, her skirts lifted and feet sure. She would escape this time. She knew she would.
The trees were huge things, casting dark shadows in smatters on the ground. In places, leafy canopies blocked the moon completely and she was cast into utter darkness. During these times, she would have been afraid were it not for the numerous sounds of the life around her. Frogs croaked, crickets chirped, owls hooted, and moths' silvery wings echoed their mysterious call. In the brief time that she’d had with her mother, Darque had been taught to appreciate life in all of its forms; perhaps that was why she held such respect, if grudging, for Silas.


Who did the dragon respect?


Danthor, certainly; but did he respect the king that summoned him? Darque was a subject; she was inclined to respect her lord the kind; but Silas held no such responsibility. Moreover, the Kings of old had hardly respected the majestic creatures; why would this king be inclined to now? And what agreement between he and Silas had been struck?


Darque supposed she would have to deal without knowing.


Tugging her skirt from where it was caught on a low branch, the young woman cleared some foliage from her way and froze in absolute astonishment.


She had come to another clearing, though she was far from where she’d come. This one, however, was smaller, more intimate, and contained the clearest pond she had ever seen; so clear, in fact, that she could see every detail of the silvery fish that lay below the surface, swimming over the reflection of the moon. Transfixed, the young woman stepped into the clearing, dropping to her knees beside the pond to lean over the edge.
A dark skinned girl with long mahogany looks stared back at her with bright green, emerald colored eyes. The same girl that had stared at her from her mother’s mirror what seemed like forever ago-but…she had changed. Something was different. She watched her cheeks color; of course, she was a woman now. That was definitely something.


Sighing, she looked over the small body of water to the forest beyond. How long would it be until she reached a town or a village? How did she even know if she was going in the right direction?


Damn it all…


Groaning, the girl looked back down at her reflection and stiffened, every muscle taut.


Two people stared back at her-one wearing her own frightened expression and one…one she had never before seen, but one hauntingly familiar.


It was a man-a monster of a man, without a stitch of clothing on. He towered far above her kneeled form, his skin pale in the moonlight, form bulging with muscles and suppressed strength, from strong calves to defined arms. His face, however, was what disturbed her most of all. The angular quality of it, along with piercing silvery eyes and the small tuft of hair at the tip of the defined chin seemed to strike a chord within her.


The male hosted a long mane of grey-black, shaggy hair that fell about his shoulders in grand profusion, and many scars crisscrossed his chest and shoulders. He emanated a kind of dangerous, murderous aura that had her stomach in knots.


And though she stared for what seemed like an eternity, he said nothing.


Darque’s mind raced.


Every fiber of her being was urging her to run, muscles straining, away from this place. She should have known, from its sheer perfection, that it was no haven for humans. But, somehow, she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot in sheer terror.


Finally, the man above her shifted, a sound much like a grunt escaping him as he stared at her.


“Got pretty far this time, didn’t you, human?”


Darque couldn’t help it. She gasped so loudly the sound echoed off into the night. The body she might not have recognized, but the voice that emitted from it, she never could have mistaken.


Danthor.


With a scream, she leapt away from the edge of the lake, running back for the protection of the forest.

He caught her before she had taken two steps, hauling her back against his now decidedly more human-like form. His strength, however, had not changed. He still remained as strong as five oxen-stronger, even, and to be a human male, he was about as massive in width as Silas was in height. “Let me go!” She struggled furiously against him. “Your master is fine, I am needed for nothing! Release me!”


“Silence, wench!”


At the harsh bark that made her ears ring, she immediately fell silent, her jaws snapping shut so fast she almost bit off her tongue. With absolutely no ceremony at all she was hauled over a broad shoulder and Danthor was off-but to where, she knew not. He headed in a direction opposite of that from whence she had come.

Sweet Gods, was this the end?


Was this what her recent way of life had been leading up to?


Danthor finally had her within his clutches and Silas was no where to be found. Darque, however, could only cling to the man-wolf’s shoulder as he trudged through the forest with her, ducking under branches and batting leaves out of the way. Her fate was not in her hands any longer.


After what seemed like a long while, Danthor came to a stop. By craning her neck at an impossible angle, Darque was able to see to where they had come-and the sight made her gape. They stood, or rather, he stood before an immense tree of unimaginable width and breadth. It was at least as wide as the largest road she had ever seen and so tall it blocked out the moon itself. In all of her years, she would never have thought to come across such a beautiful and magnificent living thing.


She hardly had time to admire it before she was dropped with little ceremony on the dewy grass guarded by the immense canopy of the tree to look up at her captor with no small amount of trepidation.


Danthor’s silvery eyes narrowed and he snorted, nostrils thinning.


In man form he might be, but he still acted very much like a dog. “You stole those.”


For a moment, the young woman was confused as to what he spoke of, until she realized he was referring to her clothing. She squared her jaw, drawing up what remained of her courage. “I…merely took them as payment for taking care of your master. You’ll cast eyes on the simple fact that I took the most threadbare of the garments. I am no thief.”


At her reply, he merely chuckled lowly-darkly. “You are that and more.”


Darque turned a deep red in indignation. “You are one to talk.” He arched his brow, but she didn’t let that deter her from continuing. If these were to be her last words, she was going to be sure that he remembered them. “You keep a kidnapped girl in a place where she has no desire to be. You serve a dragon who has eaten countless maidens of her same kind and for what? To cause despair, to wreak havoc and pain?” She glared at him, her eyes bright. “How dare you blaspheme me when you have committed the ultimate sin.”


Silence.


She was sure that she had raised his ire, but Darque still remained tense when he said nothing for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. Finally, he knelt before her, the gesture bringing them to roughly the same height. He leaned forward until his face was almost touching hers, his oddly human, but similarly oddly animalistic at once features unreadable.


“You know nothing of me, human.”


Darque could hardly breathe. Danthor had never been so close-and oddly, the proximity made her heart race. His wolf form was just as intimidating as this…but in this man shape…he had an aura about him, a virile scent…and thusly, an allure.


What in all of the heavens and earth was wrong with her?


“Then tell me.”


The words were out before she could help herself, and she could not rescind them once they were spoken. Instead, she just stared at her captor with wide, waiting eyes.


Danthor flinched back as if struck, his form visibly heaving. “Why would I speak to you? Your kind have spurned mine from the beginning of time and beyond.”


“My…kind?” The questions poured forth. All Darque could think was that the longer she spoke, the longer she remained alive.


“Yes, your kind.” Danthor spat harshly. “You humans have always mistreated we Moonkind.”


Moonkind? What were moonkind? She had never heard of the like. “You call us Were. Monsters. Heathens. You do nothing but attack and bemoan us, yet when we retaliate, you are quick to judge.”

Were? Like…werewolves? Those who were bitten and changed their shape in the face of the full moon?
Automatically, Darque’s lifted her head to the moon she couldn’t see. It was round tonight…but…if the legend was true, Danthor would be in his canine form now, and as he was tonight at all other times. She was sorely confused. “But…I thought…” She began softly. “Werewolves-” He growled at the term and she quickly corrected herself. “I mean…moonkind are only wolves when the moon is full.”


“Human interference. A side effect.” He snarled bitterly. “A true moonkind-one born and not bitten by an elder in fear or malevolence-is canine always. The moon strengthens us and replenishes our energy. We should never take the form of such infantile, weak beings as humans.”


Then…how was he as he was? She didn’t understand. Before she could speak, he answered her question for her. “I was cursed.” The words were cold, empty. “By a powerful pawn of the king. I had invaded the castle keep to steal a pig for my clan, our food sources were growing thin. He took away my wolf form and made me man.” The creatures eyes glowed in the darkness. “By the time I finally escaped, it was all our clan shaman could do to give me back my freedom for all days of the month save one-our most powerful day. For that time, he could not reverse the magic. I am forced to remain this way when I should be celebrating with my people.” A pale, human hand fisted in the grass beneath them. “I could not bare my shame. I ran from my clan.” Darque could hear him clench his teeth as he went on. “Humans do not belong with wolves.”


Dear Gods…


Though she hated her servitude and could not help but fight against the way she lived with Silas and his companion, her heart was filled with pity. Cursed…and unable to remain with your own kind.


Darque had never had a spell upon her, but she knew loneliness. It needed no magic vessel.


It wasn’t fair. She and Danthor may not have been close, and he had only just spoken of himself to her, but she felt as if she knew him. He was monstrous, fearful in his wolf form. But here, like this, as a man, she could see the pain and anger etched across his features. Whether such creatures as dragon and moonkind had them, she knew not, but humans had souls, and in that moment, Danthor had shown his.


Tentatively, the young woman stretched out a hand, gently touching his shoulder. “Danthor…I am truly sorry.”


Sneering, he turned on her, knocking her hand away so sharply it stung. “Words. Humans have such words.” Though his speech was harsh, his eyes spoke more deeply-dark and empty as they were. “You don’t know. I will never be among my own kind. Never rejoice in the light of the moon again…I will never find my life mate.” The hulking wolf looked down at his own form in disgust. “Humans women fear my true form, and I would never go to one of my own in so weak a shape. You speak of regret…but you will never truly understand.”


“I do.” Her unexpected words made the creature halt in surprise. But Darque was not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on her own lap, and her voice was unsteady. “I never knew my father, and my mother…she died when I was very young. Because I was different from the other children; I liked herbs and the woods, I loved tales of ferocious and awesome creatures, I was spurned. I lived as an outcast within my own village. There were never any suitors or companions for me. I think I would have continued to live that way were it not for my being chosen as a sacrifice.”


Danthor snorted. “You preferred death to loneliness?”


“I had no choice.” She murmured softly. “One does not choose to be sacrificed…but I accepted my death greatly. It would not have been so bad, I think, to become part of the legends I loved. A maid eaten by a fearsome dragon.” Her mouth quirked in a small smile. “Rather that than dying old and forgotten in my hut.”


The male before her expelled a long breath.


“So…serving as a scullery maid to a dragon is not, then, adventurous enough for you?”


Darque’s head jerked up and her mouth flew open to argue his impudence only to see that he was grinning at her. It was a decidedly wolfish gesture, making him seem more of the moonkind he was than his human form could hide. It was also undeniably attractive. Her cheeks coloring, the young woman simply pursed her lips. “Men are all alike, no matter what they are.”


“And women are not?” He returned cheekily. “I think you cried out as much for Silas’ cock as any human woman for her lover’s.”


Where her cheeks had been pink before, they now were as apples. Darque leapt to her feet, hands over her face.


“I did not!”


Danthor roared with laughter, taking her arm to tug her back down on the grass beside him, re-restraining her in the process. “You did indeed, little human.” He rebutted finally when he had regained himself. “Louder, even, I’m afraid.”


“If I did, ‘tis because your master ruts like a demon!” She shrieked in indignation, fairly trembling in embarrassment. Cheeky man…wolf…thing!


“Rutted with many demons, have you?” The Were tossed back wittily.” You are as insatiable as you sound then.”


“Bite your tongue!” Darque cried. “Bite it to pieces and let it rot! You horrid creature!” She hid behind the curtain of her hair, her face burning, while Danthor writhed in his amusement once more.
Perhaps if he remained so indisposed, she could escape…


“Don’t even think on it…” Almost as if he could read her thoughts, the wolf-man caught her ankle and dragged her back to him until his huge form looked over hers. He was once more looking her in the eye with his discerning silver gaze. She shivered, realizing that his form was very formidable and very…naked. Tension filled the air.


When Danthor raised a hand to her face, she flinched, and he frowned. “You were cut.” His large, yet surprisingly gentle hand turned her head to the side to reveal a small line of blood just below her jaw. Darque vaguely remembered the stinging blow of a small branch-it must have broken the skin.


“It's…” She swallowed thickly, nervous at his proximity. “It’s nothing.”


Her captor made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “It could become feverish.”


“Honestly, I can-oh…” The young woman was halted mid-protest when Danthor lowered his head to sweep his tongue slowly over the wound. An involuntary shiver swept through her as he repeated the gesture and her entire body warmed. Dear Gods in heaven, this was not fair! First the master and now his companion?
With every lap of his tongue, Darque felt herself becoming more and more aroused, moisture pooling between her legs, her body trembling with need. He was soft, almost tender, and the cool air on her glistening skin was almost as torturous as his treatment.


After what seemed like an eternity, he stopped, raising his head to sniff the air in a very dog-like fashion. He looked back down at her, expression guarded. “You smell…as you did that day in the cave…”
Darque flushed deep red. She remembered. The day Silas had found her in such a compromising position… “It is the smell of a wanting female.” The male above her growled, and her belly twisted almost painfully. “You endanger yourself, human.” He hissed lowly. “I am not a human male. I have no restraint.” As if his words had come to life, Danthor’s hands slid roughly over the bare skin of her shoulders and down the silky material that covered her legs as he lowered his head once more to her neck to inhale deeply. “I may be in human form, but that makes me no less what I am.”


Darque couldn’t help it. She moaned when his hand found the crux of her legs, pressing and probing with preliminary curiosity through her garments. Danthor glared at her, as if in accusation. “I am an animal, Darque.”


It was the first time he had ever spoken her name.


Reaching up, she cupped his face; His human, canine face. “When it comes to this…” She whispered softly, “We are both animals.”


What had come over her? She was enticing her captor? She must be out of whatever mind she had left?
..but…she wanted it. That feeling of fullness, of being desired…the sensations that came from being with a man; and perhaps, just perhaps they could ease some of each other’s loneliness.


Perhaps Danthor, unlike Silas, would feel something when they came together.


With a low growl, the male atop her knocked her onto her stomach-an intriguingly familiar position- and immediately pressed his suddenly burgeoning erection between her cloth clad thighs. The sensation made her gasp, writhing at its heat and pressure. It felt like it had been forever since she had last succumbed to feelings like these…With him, as with Silas, there was no overture. They were both direct in their desires.
However….Danthor bit gently into her neck, forcing her to tilt her head back as his tongue did something sublime between his teeth. She inhaled sharply, shuddering at the pain in pleasure of the sensation. A calloused hand slid beneath the hem of her newly acquired skirts to touch the bareness of her womanhood-already moist in preparation. He growled lowly against her skin when he found her wetness, sliding the pads of his fingers over the sensitive bead of flesh within her silken folds.


Darque let out a soft, surprised cry. None but she had ever touched there, and it was more than a surprise to suddenly feel…oh….to feel…. “Danthor…” She gasped softly as he continued manipulating her in a firm, yet unpredictably dexterous manner, her thighs burning in repressed desire.


“You are more than ready for me…” He rumbled lowly in her ear before nipping at the curve of the intricate organ. “It seems an eternity since a wanting female has been.”


Her heart ached for him.


At that moment, she wished she could return to him everything that he had lost.


Taking the neckline of her dress, and with barely a stray movement, Danthor ripped the material meticulously down the back-and though it was the second set of garments she had lost while in captivity, she hardly cared. Her bare back was exposed to the chill night air and she trembled at the temperature change as the dress fell down her arms, leaving her completely naked once more.


However, any cold she might have felt was soon forgotten; Danthor’s warm mouth trailed down her spine, nipping and kissing her chill skin in ways that made her insides quake. Lower and lower he ventured-then lower still. When his teeth grazed the curve of her buttock, she made an indignant sound, her cheeks flooding with color, but the moonbeast merely growled a warning for her to maintain her position. She dared not disobey.
Wrapping his large hands around her thighs, Danthor parted her to his gaze, making her shiver at the cold air against the core of her. Her eyes slid closed in anticipation of the feel of his warmth within her…then flew open when she was greeted by a very new sensation.


A warm, insistent, wet muscle glided over her femininity, making her cry out softly, and begin to straighten. Her captor, however, shoved her head back down, one hand keeping her cheek pressed to the grass as the other held her thigh in a firm grip.


That done, he took to his work.


Darque writhed and pleaded under the unexpectedly thorough work of Danthor’s tongue against her; weaving in and out among her excited muscles, every so often flicking at the engorged center of her pleasure, sending thrumming waves of pleasurable shock through her. He ate at her as if he were starved, and she his last meal.
The pressure between her legs built to a feverish pitch until she gasped loudly, almost sobbing, and flooded his mouth with her nectar, which he lapped up eagerly.


Boneless now, the young woman did nothing to prevent the moonbeast from parting her even further, licking his lips as he loomed over her, taking her hips in hand. When he slid into her however, she stiffened momentarily-he was much thicker than Silas, stretching her in an altogether different way. As he pressed further inside, she once again experienced that momentary panic-he wouldn’t fit! She clawed at the grass with her fingers, trying to breathe, until he was fully seated-immense and throbbing, growling as he settled. Almost immediately, he withdrew from her and slid in again, this time with more force, making her groan as she stretched to accommodate him.


Again, he repeated the action and Darque cried out at the particular sharpness of his thrusts. Progressively, his pace increased, rubbing against a spot inside of her that made her quiver and moan as he ravaged her roughly, making her wince at the force with which their pelvises connected.


Without warning, he reached up to palm one of her breasts possessively, leaning down to growl in her ear. “You look so delicious riding my rod, little one.” An arm wrapped around her waist, giving him more leverage to pound into her as he grunted, making her moan in pleasure.


He hit every place within her that made her squirm-and though he was rough, she couldn’t care less; pressing back to meet his every entry, she shrieked in surprise to find herself suddenly upright and straddling him, he still controlling the length and depth of his thrusts with a hand wrapped around her throat. It should have been frightening-but the young woman was too lost in her second coming of the night to pay the nature of the coupling much attention.


All night Danthor plied into her, spilling himself down her thighs innumerable times and bringing her to her peak when she thought she could hardly bear it. She never doubted that he took out all of his frustration, his grief, and his desire on her...and she never complained.


When the sun began to paint the canopies of the trees with a faint rosy glow, he finally emptied himself into her one last time with a wild yell before clutching her to him with a possessive sound; a tight embrace that surprised her in both its fervor and its tenderness.


What on earth had occurred here…and would Silas not be upset Danthor had so had his way with her?
The young woman would have thought on it more…save that she was exhausted. Somehow content in her captors almost smothering embrace, she found sleep.


*******************


When Darque awoke, the sun was bright about the tree under which she rested, illuminating the clearing in a golden glow through which particles danced in a fine array. Blinking sleep blearily from her eyes, she took a moment to collect herself.


Her thighs ached horribly from last night’s encounter-and her entire body was stiff. Rolling over, she winced at new bruises. Heaven forbid someone was actually gentle with her. Yawning, she wracked her brain. Something was missing…besides her clothes, that was.


Something….


Wait…where was Danthor?


The dark-haired girl sat up abruptly, glancing around the clearing. The creature was no where in sight-man or beast form. For a moment, she entertained the thought that he had simply let her go in lue of payment for his sexual gratification; then she laughed wryly at herself for contemplating such a ludicrous idea. Danthor was not so generous-and besides that, Silas would likely have his tail for the discretion. Thusly, he must have gone somewhere.


But…where?


“Looking for someone, little human?”


Darque leapt nearly a foot into the air with a shriek of surprise at Danthor’s rough growl in her ear. The Gods themselves could not have given her a greater fright. Scrabbling around on her knees, she turned to face her chuckling captor once more. The sight of his huge, furry, familiar wolf form unexpectedly surprised her. Though his words had told her that he remained in human form for one night only, the abrupt change took a moment of adjustment.


At her expression, his bright eyes narrowed. “Dissappointed?” He grunted roughly, emotion intangible.
Darque didn’t quite know how to reply. She…was, in a way. However, at the same time, she felt that she understood Danthor now that she knew what hardships he had been through; his wolf form ceased to frighten her as it had. Or perhaps…it was she herself that had changed. Sighing, she stood on shaky legs. “No…I am not…disappointed.” She finally exhaled lowly. “I merely grieve for you.” Taking a step closer to him, she stood on her toes until she could reach his muzzle, stroking the soft fur there so his eyes widened. “ I am sorry that you can not be with your kind.”


Almost awkwardly, it seemed, the bigger creature caught her hands, looking away. “ Last night…last night was not so bad…as the others.” He replied gruffly. Even though she told herself it was irrational, Darque’s heart leapt when he kept her smaller hands contained in his larger, furry ones. “Do not think this means your freedom.” He tried rapidly to re-forge his persona. “You still belong to Silas.”


At that, Darque arched a brow wryly. “What? Do I not belong to you now as well, Danthor?”


The young woman had a feeling that if fur flushed as skin did, Danthor’s face would have changed colors fairly rapidly. “You are a sharp-tongued wench.” The moonbeast growled, lifting her into his arms with little to no ceremony before beginning back in the direction of the cave through the sunlight mottled forest. “Methinks you might need another sound ravishing to quiet you.”


Darque giggled. She couldn’t help it. For a great, furry beast, he was really a lamb. For a few moments, she let Danthor carry her in silence before a burning question rose to the head of her consciousness, bidding her ask it.


She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Danthor…why did Silas leave to have audience with the king?”


“Because he was summoned.” Her captor returned succinctly, without a moment’s pause. Darque scowled. That wasn’t much of an answer.


“Yes…but he’s…he’s a dragon.” She insisted, cocking her head slightly to look up at the moonbeast inquisitively. “Since what day have majickal creatures been susceptible to the summons of mortals?”


Danthor snorted. “I have already told you too much, human. This matter is none of your affair.”


None of her affair? Ha! As if she had any other affair now, being held captive by these two. “And who shall I tell?” She rebutted wryly. “The rocks of the cave?”


Her captor glareddown at her, eyes narrow. “There are some things that humans are not meant to know.”


“I’m fairly sure humans aren’t meant to couple with dragons and moonkind.” The young woman pointed out in reply, making the creature holding her sigh in aggravation.


“You’ll not cease until you know, will you?”


Shaking her head, the Darque smiled sweetly. “Nay, I will not.” Especially when she now had him in the palm of her hand. “Please, Danthor, I wish to know of him…and I’m in no position to tell others; you know this.”
Reaching the clearing that hosted the clear pond from the pervious night- no less breathtaking in the day, Danthor paused, setting her on the soft grass to seat himself upon a tree stump before her. She was, all at once, thankful that he had re-donned his loincloth or she would have been stuck staring at…well…parts of him that were better left covered in the daylight. However, as he began to speak, she forced herself to listen rather than let her mind wander. Here was the truth she had contemplated…


“Listen well, little one. I do not like to repeat myself,” He began succinctly, “and this tale is a long one.” The young woman merely nodded, already rapt with attention. “As the stories tell...long ago, long before your birth or mine, there was a conflict between two families over the rule of this land. One family, the Resiulias, was known throughout the region for their cruelty and violence, and the other, that of Mysil, was known for their iron will. For centuries, the brood of these families waged war upon war against one another, killing the land, planting destruction and chaos in their efforts to trounce each other. Like child lords they were, spoiled, selfish, and bent on domination.


“Then came the day were a young maiden found herself in the midst of their battle. In their bloodlust, they paid her no heed, and she was killed without regard. Soon after her death, her father, a great sorcerer, descended on the families with the force of his rage and grief. A curse he placed upon the families; The Resiulias, in their particular brutality, were made into monstrous reptilian creatures with wings that scorched the sky, plagued with the heat of one thousand suns in their bellies. The Mysil, however, fared no better. Though they thought the horrible forms of the Resuilias now gave them license to slaughter their inhuman enemies relentlessly, the sorcerer then cast his hand upon them: for every Resuilia brought down by their swords, arrows, or maces, one of their number would fall. Their hearts were to reside forever more in the breasts of the creatures they despised, and the hearts of their enemies, in their own. In this way, the sorcerer entwined the fates of the two warring families. If the Mysil raised arms against the Resuilia, it was as if they raised them to themselves. If the Resuilia raised their claws against the Mysil, their own numbers would dwindle; and none had the courage to take the breath from their own bodies. The curse, the sorcerer professed, would be broken the moment one member from one family gave his oath of allegiance to a member of the family which they despised. Neither accepted. They vowed to live in their cursed state rather than succeed to their enemy.”


Darque’s mind whirled with the tale. A most interesting chain of events, both sparking her imagination and intriguing her curiosity. However, it failed to answer her question. “So…Silas is of the Resuilia family?”


“Yes.” Danthor breathed.


“And the Mysil family rules.”


“Indeed.” Her captor confirmed her correctness again.


“Then why on earth would Silas entertain him?” The young woman demanded incredulously. “If they hate each other so?”


“That is the question, is it not?” Leaning forward, Danthor took the young woman’s chin in his hand to meet her eyes with his piercing silver. “Why would he?”


Darque knew not the answer, so she merely waited for Danthor to continue. “King Mysil had a wife.” He breathed. “A marriage of convenience, to strengthen the Mysil family blood, to his cousin. The queen had a friend-her most loyal companion-one that she kept secret from her husband.”


Darque’s eyes widened. “It couldn’t have been….a dragon?”


Danthor smiled crookedly. “Indeed. Through the generations, Mysil blood had grown thin within this young queen-she had even befriended a dragon with no knowledge of the historic feud between the families. Indeed, one would believe that her dragon companion had forgotten also, else they would not have been so close. However, our king had not forgotten. When he discovered his wife’s secret, he had the dragon killed-heedless of the Mysil heart the creature housed.”


Darque inhaled sharply. “Don’t say…was it the king himself?”


Danthor let out a sigh of grief. “Nay…twas the queen. The moment the dragon was slain, she fell dead.”
The young woman’s eyes were flooded with tears. That two innocents should die in such a way was not only cruel, but nigh unbearable.


“One would think the king grieved for his young bride…but no; he was busy with plans for how the curse of the feuding families could aid him; in his mind, his wife was a traitor for consorting with his enemy, and our king will do anything to protect what is most precious to him.” Danthor snorted in disgust. “Himself.”


Darque tried to reconcile her feelings. She had never hated the king; at most she had simply felt resentment that she could be ruled by a man she had never seen. If nothing else, she had tried to be loyal. But now….now…


“In truth though…you were concerned as to how this story pertains to our Silas.”


The young woman jerked back to attention, finding Danthor with his hands clasped before him, his eyes dark. “The queen’s dragon was Silas’ mate.”


Darque’s heart leapt into her throat. Silas had had a…mate?


“She’d hidden their egg, its location known only to the queen, before she was slain by the King. But this King, relentless as he is, soon found it, though how is beyond even Silas himself. For a while, he kept it, contemplating what power he could gain through it, until finally, war broke out with neighboring Isla-and that was when the king devised his plan: He would use the egg’s father as a pawn, with the egg in his custody. If the elder dragon would not do as he bade, he would kill the babe-with no regard to whom of his own he slaughtered in turn.”


“But Silas has the egg now!” Darque protested suddenly, standing. “How-”


“Indeed he does, little one.” Danthor quieted her by continuing. “I myself stole it back for him-while I was held captive, I desired to take all that I could from the King, and in my returning the egg to Silas, he found himself in my debt. Our fates are twined now as much as his with the Mysil family. But, I was too late to prevent the king from doing his worst.”


The young woman at Danthor’s feet waited with bated breath.


“The King remarried before my capture-another cousin. A babe was conceived. When the child arrived-a little female, as you are, King Mysil discovered a secret of immense power. Upon dropping his child one day, Mysil saw the dragon’s egg across the room voice a painful plea. The experiments began. He found that when he prodded the dragon’s egg, his own child cried out. When he placed the egg in unbearably cold water, his daughter went stiff and frigid. He found the noble in which Silas’ babe’s heart resided. Indeed, if he had killed Silas’ babe, he would have indirectly killed his own. But to choose to use his own as a leverage…”


“He wouldn’t be so cruel!” Darque was almost sobbing now. “He would kill his own daughter just to hold power over Silas?”


“Indeed, that and more.” Danthor finished bitterly. “As long as war rages against Isla, Mysil holds the cards in his hands. Furthermore, he is willing to indiscriminately slaughter his own family to kill off dragonkind if Silas should one day find himself less enmored of his daughter.”


“How horrible!” Darque buried her face in his hands. “Our king is a monster!” She could never remember feeling more lost inside. Silas was prey to circumstances beyond his control, and she herself was conflicted . Had she truly been serving this horrible king in compliant silence? Dear gods, she even shared his name.


“Do not weep. Silas wouldn’t like to see your tears.” Danthor muttered lowly. “He does what he can for his unborn babe.


“But…he is being manipulated! Silas is not a toy, he is a creature with feelings and emotions!” True, she had not seen these all herself, but the fact that he was willing to do so much for his daughter surely must be proof that dragons weren’t all horrible. Indeed, they used to be humans. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” She murmured hollowly.


“I’ve often contemplated…but neither you nor I can break the curse, and the hatred between Mysil and Resuilia has only grown with the passing of time. Two innocents could make a pact of friendship…but an oath of allegiance is altogether different. And even more so…without Silas, this country would fall in war.” Danthor’s reply was curt, as if he’d examined every angle beforehand-which, Darque thought gloomily, he probably had.


“Oh…Danthor…what a horrid existence.”


Much like the one he will lead for telling my secrets.


Gasping, Darque whired to see a tall, unmistakably lithe shape moving through the forest on reptilian feet, eyes glowing red in irritation.


Silas.


And there you have it! Part five! I hope I answered some questions in this chapter; aside from simply confusing the dickens out of everyone that is. The next part is already in progress; I hope to have it up in two weeks max. I'll keep everyone updated. Once again, thank you all for your patience with me. Next time: How does Silas react to Danthor's revealing of his secrets? Darque finally leaves the forest, and the egg begins to crack...in more ways than one. See you, everyone!