Survive My Fire

By Joely Sue Burkhart

Copyright © 2007  Joely Sue Burkhart

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in print or electronic form without the express, written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to any organization, event, or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Cover art and design by Deena Fisher.

CHAPTER ONE

A foreign scent intruded while I slept. A warrior. Miles away and on foot, he wouldn’t reach my lair until dusk. Sweat and musk, muscle and pride. Oh, how tasty, how divine a feast.

My dreams became torment in the roasting heat of afternoon. Memories returned from centuries ago, of my life before the curse. Rage crawled in the dark secret fissures of my heart, a fire stoked hour by hour. Trapped in this prison of wing, scale, and claw, I hated the approaching warrior. His phantom blood burned on my tongue.

I would tear him limb from limb. Shred his skin and lick his spicy blood from the unforgiving sands. Crack bone to feast on his marrow. I would dine on his fear, shred his dreams and char his secret hopes.

As soon as the sun touched the horizon and shadows stretched across the red sands, I crept from my lair.

Hundreds of warriors over the years have braved my domain. They came with sword and magic, bows and shields, hearts bursting with courage, hope, rage, envy, even lust.

They came, and they died.

I killed them all.

This one would be no different.

Ah, but he was a cocky son of a bitch. He stood in plain view on the highest point of my barrens. His back to me, he stared out over the empty Well of Tears.  The Well I had not been able to fill despite an eternity of suffering.

The dying sun blazed behind me, outlining his warrior’s body, the proud tilt of his head, and then the chiseled lines of his face as he turned. Dark eyes, shadowed, hollowed with misery. Keldar was a hard land, a hard life, even for a warrior.

A curved scimitar gleamed in the growing shadows, ready in his hand but not offensive. Not threatening, not yet. The black taamid flapped about his shoulders like wings, loose and flowing to the ground. Leather knife straps crossed his chest, and a coiled whip hung on his hip. I could smell the sweet herbed oil used to keep the dragon hide supple.

No fear flickered in his steady gaze. No emotion showed on his stone face.  He stared at me, waiting. For what?

Casually, I flicked a wing at him. He ducked, tucked into a smooth roll to the side, and flipped back to his feet. Impressive. Instead of trying to knock him down, I flipped around and grabbed him with my tail as thick as his body.  Squeezing scaled muscle around his chest, I locked him in bands of living iron he couldn’t possibly break.

Crush him. I would crush his bones, blood spray—

Pain.

The curved blade slid into my flesh, just enough to anger me. I slung him to the ground so hard I heard his ribs creak. But no grunt of pain. Not from him.

The scent of blood—even my own—brought my hunger roaring to life. I breathed deeply and threw my head back. Flames blazed to the heavens. The ground rumbled and cringed beneath my claws. I heard horses miles away scream in terror and I knew people quaked in their flimsy hide tents and whispered prayers to deaf and uncaring Gods.

The warrior before me licked my blood from his blade.

He dared to taste my blood. A shiver crawled down my spine. This was no ordinary warrior. Already, I felt a gnat’s brush against my mind through the fragile blood bond he attempted to weave.

I dared say mine was a bitter and noxious brew compared to the sweet wealth of his blood that would soon roll in my belly. With my hunger fully awakened, I ignored my unease.  Beating my wings, I scrambled at him.

He dodged aside with a roll and then leapt, kicking sand in my eyes. A child’s trick. I didn’t have to see him. I smelled him. Burnt cinnamon, roasted sage, sweat, warrior.

I would eat him alive.

He led me on a merry chase, and I found myself strangely reluctant to end the game. He smelled so good, fought with such tenacity. I felt something other than rage. Or hatred. A strange joy burned in my dragon heart.

Enough. I seized him delicately in my front claws, pinning him flat on his back against the red sands. Panting, he stared up at me. No fear, still, and he even gave me the barest hint of a smile, if the faint wrinkle around his eyes was any indication.

“I’m Jalan tal’Krait.”

I cocked my head, trying to remember what words meant. Tal, chief, of the tribe called Krait.

“I’m the last Krait dra’gwar.”

I blew hard, shaking my head. I had no understanding of the last word.  Warrior class, I guessed. The last? The Kraits were once a mighty clan even in my day, second only to the Mambas. Oh, how the years eroded everything. Even the unshakeable rock crumbled before the winds of time.

Lowering my spined muzzle, I sniffed at his neck. Peeling my lips back, I snagged his clothing in my teeth and tugged it aside to reveal bronze skin and black hair spilling like blood against the rock.

I tasted him, just a lick, a graze of teeth. He shuddered in my grasp. My claws broke his skin despite my care.

Blood. Oh so sweet, so rich. I licked the fine red trails from his skin. The only element missing was fear. A few high-pitched screams to flavor my meat.

So I gripped harder, shaking him. No sound, no cry of pain, no harsh intake of breath. Curious, I raised my head.

He searched the sky behind me, and at last a small smile curved his lips.  Night fell around us while I played with my food. So why was it so bright?

Why did my scales twitch and dance along my back? Why did my wings tremble, white feathers and scales raining about us? Agony wracked me, twisting and crunching my bones, reshaping my body. I roared with fury, but flames died in my mouth. Ash filled my lungs.

Straddling my prey, I jerked around. A full moon hung low in the sky, enormous, gleaming silver. Melting my shining white scales to skin. My wings to limbs. My powerful body to this slim, fragile gossamer of blood and skin.

Human.

How had he known?

Jalan tal’Krait stared up at the wonder revealed by the full moon. A woman crouched over him in the place of the fearsome White Dragon. Her skin gleamed as though she’d swallowed the moon itself. Her hair was dark like the multi-shaded camouflage of the coiled Krait, browns and blacks with highlights of red to match her temper. Her Fire.

“What have you done?”

Her voice was raw, ragged, after centuries of disuse, her words harshly accented. How much had Keldar changed in the years of her curse?

Likely much to the worse. “You are Chanda the White?”

She flinched at her true name but refused to answer. Staring down at him, her dark eyes flashing, she fought some inner war. He drew on the fragile bond he’d forged by tasting her blood, using the connection to read her thoughts and heart.

Roiling emotion slammed into him. Rage, hatred, even terror he expected after so many years trapped by such a curse. But need he did not expect.

Need to feel. To breathe, to walk on two legs and feel the night caressing her skin. To speak human words and think human thoughts. To feel alive. To feel her skin warm from another’s touch.

Clenching his jaw, Jalan fought back the rising darkness in him. Fire blazed inside him that would match the White’s flames if he lost control for even a moment. He didn’t expect to feel such a connection with her. To feel such need himself.

Hers? Or his? Did it matter?

He bit back a bitter curse. Of course she would be lovely, proud, fierce, all the things he longed for in a mate. It would make the sacrifice all the more when he paid the final price.

For the few remaining Krait, he would do anything. Even love this woman who could never be his. It would be a fitting sacrifice to save his people.

With a harsh cry, she started to pull away. He seized her thighs, clamping her tighter against him. Growling, she heaved upward, fighting him, but her scent made him hold tighter... Musk, long-forgotten forests that once graced this barren desert, rich and decadent and green. At least, what he dreamed a green land would smell like.

“You need, woman. To satisfy you would be an honor.”

She shook her head, silken strands of her hair trailing over his face and hands.  “You have no idea what I need.”

He slid his palms down her thighs to her knees, using a firm but soothing pressure as he massaged her slender muscles. She flinched in response, but his grip was firm. Drooping, she let her head fall back.

“How long has it been since a warrior touched you?”

“Too long. Years. Hundreds. But I would not—”

He felt her fear through the faint blood bond. Fear that she would abuse him, earn his hatred, debase his honor, and worse, that she would enjoy all the above and more. He allowed the harsh loneliness of his life to twist his face a moment.  “You misunderstand me. I need this as badly as you.”

She stared down at him, her gaze sharp. “I ate the others. Just because you know the secret to my curse doesn’t mean I’m no longer dangerous to you.”

“I like danger.” He didn’t smile, but he didn’t try to keep the glimmer of amusement and attraction from his gaze. Her dark eyes heated, taking note as he expected. “I like you.”

Leaning down, she deliberately dropped her gaze to his neck. “Will you like me once I sink my teeth into your throat?”

He arched beneath her, groaning, fingers tightening on her legs. “Wells, yes.  As long as you allow me to bite you, too.”

Trapped as a dragon for centuries, I longed for the return of my claws so I could tear away the cloth concealing his body. His hands interfered with mine, fumbling at the buckles strapping his weapons to his chest, the closure of his trousers.

He sat up, the better to gently stroke my back. His fingers long, powerful, his palms callused and harsh as the desert, but so tender. He touched me as though I would bruise. As if the blood of hundreds of warriors didn’t stain my teeth while the vicious heart of a dragon still beat in my chest.

Soft as the finest down in my wings, his hair was fragrant with oil, gleaming like dark, still waters in the light of the moon. Delicate and vulnerable, the paler skin of his abdomen and groin intoxicated me. His scent and heat rose as I slipped my hand inside his open trousers and wrapped my hand around him. He truly did want this, his girth too large for my fingers to meet, hardening even more at my touch.

Sands swallow me, I wanted him. I wanted him inside me, filling me up. Now.

Burning with need, I rose up and drew him into me. Too fast, too hard, I knew it. I cried out, stretched beyond bearing, but I didn’t care. It had been too long, and the pain increased my pleasure.

He gripped my hips and pressed deeper. Shuddering, I fisted my hands in his glorious hair and rode him hard, as though my body would die, as though I sought to crawl inside him, crack his ribs open and eat his heart.

His need was not quite as desperate as mine—until I bit him as I threatened. I couldn’t help it—the velvet temptation of his skin was too much to bear. I put human teeth marks inside the larger ring of the dragon bite and drew fresh blood.

His fingers dug into me, his body coiling beneath mine, his stone face tightening. Even then, he made no sound until I turned my head, presenting the curve of my throat, my shoulder, the round fullness of my breast, gleaming in the moonlight. And he took what I offered.

Teeth clamped high on my shoulder. I felt the moment my blood poured into his mouth. Hunger rose in him as sharp and vicious as mine. It rolled his body, tightened every muscle, flamed through the flat, hard planes of his face.

Guttural, he cried my name. Chanda—a curse to our people; a legend—forgotten, I hoped all these years. We were one, he and I, this stranger, this warrior who knew my face and my name and my moon-damned curse. We came together, bleeding, clawing and biting at each other, crying.

And for a moment, we no longer suffered alone in the barren wilds of Keldar.

Chapter Two

We collapsed, exhausted, his arms still wrapped around me while my lust died and my anger returned. I glared up at the full moon while tears boiled in my heart like acid. “What is your name?”

“Jalan,” he repeated. His heart beat strong and steady against my ear. “My water is yours, Chanda. May the rivers fill the Wells once more.”

Choking on lies and dead hopes, I jerked out of his arms to sit beside him.  Unable to bear the beautiful shimmer of the silvered moon, I turned away.  Barren rock and sand stretched as far as I could see. “How long have the Keldari prayed thusly?”

His voice was as flat and dead as the land. “A thousand years and more.  Yet we hope. We must.”

“Why? Why such torture?”

He sat up beside me and crossed his legs. His back ramrod straight, one hand laid on the wicked scimitar beside him on the rock, he replied. “It is our punishment and our shame. Our blood demands nothing less.”

I couldn’t argue. Endless hope that my curse would someday be broken was indeed worse punishment than the hundreds of years I lay trapped beneath scale and wing. I would have surrendered my rage to the flames long ago if I had no hope.

“Hope is a cruel bitch.” My voice rang in my ears, lifting my curse to the heavens, to She Who Hung the Moon, She who punished me. “As cruel as Somma.”

Jalan took my hand in his, his long fingers curling around mine. A small touch, a precious comfort in this hard, unforgiving land of rock and heat and death.

“Tell me of your curse, Chanda.”

He must already know. How else could I sit here with him now as a woman, my thighs slick with our desire and already aching for more of his body, his touch? He knew enough to come beneath the light of the full moon. He knew to taste my blood and offer his own. Maybe—

No.  I refused to consider such foolish hope. “I loved a warrior, the tal of my tribe, but he was Given to another. I begged Somma to make me worthy of his love, to soften his heart to me.  He—”

Rage pulsed in my blood, jealousy burning, agonizing heartbreak. My heart was still Riven by his choice. “He would rather die than have me. I cursed our tribe, my beloved tal, the sons he would have with that hateful woman, and then I cursed Somma. For my blasphemy, She Who Hung the Moon bound me to Her form, the dragon, for all eternity.”

Until the Well of Tears reflects the light of the silvered moon and overflows to water a dry and thirsty land.

I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the image of the empty lake below, the cracks and fissures baked into the banks over the years. In a land cursed by the Gods long before my own failing, where rain never fell and the sun baked the earth unmercifully, no Keldari could remember when the Well of Tears held water, let alone was full to overflowing.

“Love.” I laughed bitterly.  “It murders and lies and betrays.” My voice broke.  “Love destroys.”

For awhile, we sat together in silence, sharing pain in the midnight hours. I felt the moon tracking across the sky and knew my time in human form was short. Only the full moon held the dragon at bay. Only the moon and the fragile blood bond this warrior forged in my black heart.

Curious, I wondered how he knew enough of my curse to brave my lair. He wasn’t even of my tribe, the Adders. They had died out long ago; I made sure of it.  Even my own blood, my own kin, my beloved tal dead in the war to keep his chosen Mamba mate rather than me.

I laughed harshly. And I wondered when my curse would be broken? Never, not for the likes of me. “Why did you come here? To me?”

Jalan didn’t answer immediately. I was in no hurry. Even stone would speak eventually or crack beneath the strain of my infinite patience. After centuries, I was content to sit and breathe his scent and wait for his explanation.

“Do you remember the Keldari saying about our enemies?”

I remembered. Every drop of blood in my body was Keldari Fire and rage, the very elements the Gods used to spawn us. “My brother is my enemy, unless my cousin threatens. The tribes are my tribe’s enemy, unless one not Keldari threatens.”

“Such warfare and killing has decimated our tribes. You’re not the only one cursed by the Gods, Chanda. All tribes suffer Despair until the price is paid. We... die.”

I turned and studied his face, the planes and chasms of shadow and rock carved by his life. He was older than I had been when the curse befell me. His eyes carried the shadow of death, betrayal, and lies. “The Gods decreed our punishment. We die at their whim.”

Our Gods are a brutal Trinity in Keldar: Agni, He Who Burns, the Red Dragon; Somma, She Who Hung the Moon, the White Dragon; and Yama, He Who Breathes Despair, the Black Dragon. We are all cursed to carry the Trinity’s blood to some degree. Dragon blood burns in our veins.

If we live long enough, we eventually succumb to the dragon blood and become mindless beasts, full of rage. My only brethren, my kin. I hear them calling in the desert reaches but I ignore them. They kill each other, or humans, endlessly. There is nothing left for them but killing. They can never go back. Me, well, I have my hatred but also the small, bitter hope that I will someday escape my dragon.

“We tried to kill a God, and all of Keldar suffers as a result. Only an entire people’s death will wipe away our devalki.” Jalan said nothing I didn’t know, nothing that hadn’t been true even in my time. Then, though, he raised shadowed eyes to mine. Unflinchingly, he said in that curiously flat voice, “Unless you die.”

“Me?” My voice cracked, my raspy throat as barren as the land about me. “I would have died ages ago if I could cleanse our devalki. Why now?”

“You’re the last White,” he whispered softly. No change in his face, but his eyes bled with emotion, with regret, even rage that this must be so. “You’re the last carrying Somma’s blood.”

Only one God would be pleased with all of Somma’s blood eliminated from Keldar. Not Agni, the God of Fire, who blasted our lands with heat to purify and cleanse us of our devalki against Her in the first place. Not Somma who dried the rivers to harden Her children and make us worthy of Her blessings. “Which God do you serve, Jalan?”

“You know the prophesy as well as I. The Red Dragon Comes to destroy us all.  I’ve seen the signs. Only a remnant will survive.” His granite face hardened even more, harsh with determination. “My tribe carries Yama’s blood. None will survive the Last Days unless—”

Shaking my head, I laughed. It was better than tears. “Unless you sacrifice me to Yama.”

“According to the priests, if you die, Yama will lift the curse of Despair poisoning my people.”

Jalan clenched his fist tighter on the scimitar but didn’t pick it up. He hadn’t planned to tell her the truth. Wells of sand, she would never help him, not now, knowing he planned to sacrifice her.

What possessed him to bare his soul, he, the Krait dra’gwar?

He knew why, and the very answer fisted in his gut, shredding and tearing as if the White Dragon bit him in half. Fire pulsed in his blood. His beast rose inside him, his blood boiling with emotion. Soon, the Fire within would overwhelm him. This was the very reason he didn’t participate in battle any longer, the very reason he didn’t seriously try to wound or kill the White Dragon when he feared he wouldn’t survive until the full moon rose. He didn’t trust himself to remain human. His end had come.

After his people were spared, then, and only then, would he surrender his iron grip on this accursed beast and blaze with all the agony and rage in his heart until he joined Chanda in the afterlife. Perhaps she would kill him every day, and toss his remains at the feet of Somma in payment for his devalki.

Fire blazed in her proud, fierce eyes. The tilt of her head, the jut of her breasts, the delicate curve of her hips enticed even while she glared at him in righteous fury. Ah, she was a sight to behold.

“So, should I kneel and present my neck for your blade? Do you want to take my head or simply cut out my heart? Or maybe...” She smiled, and sweat dripped down his spine. Involuntarily, his muscles tightened, bracing for battle. “Maybe you want to rut on me first? Do you want to take me from behind? I’m a dragon in heart after all. We enjoy mating like rutting beasts. And when I’m limp and trembling beneath you, you can sacrifice me to your dark God. Is that what you plan?”

“No!”

She stood, her body vibrating with tension. Power rolled from her, buffeting him as efficiently as her dragon wings. Somma’s blood gave her great magic. He mustn’t forget who she was. Chanda the White, the last White.

Tracking her movements, he held himself still, making no move lest he antagonize her further. Not yet. “I want you to help me fight the Red Dragon’s forerunner first.”

She smiled wider, a grim baring of teeth, but her rage and agony sliced his heart so fiercely he sucked in a hard breath. “Why should I help you when you plan to kill me in the end?”

“Tellan, our neverending hope that someday our devalki will be paid. On the last Well, I will do all in my power to break your curse before I sacrifice you.”

“I have no hope,” Turning away, she stared at the empty Well. Her shoulders shook, whether with tears or bitter laughter he did not know. “No amount of tears will fill the Well again. I’ve tried, Somma help me, I’ve tried. Why promise to break my curse?  To make it easier to sacrifice me?”

“Tellan.  Hope for you, and hope for our people. That’s all I ask. You would die human, free of the Fire within.”

“Hope burns just as fiercely as love and destroys just as much. Don’t you understand? We Keldari will never be free of the Fire!” Shaking her head, she walked up the gravel slope to the black fissure in the cliff. So graceful, so lovely, her body carved of moonlight. “You ask too much, Jalan tal’Krait. Come back at your own risk.  I won’t play with you before eating you next time. “

Huddled in the darkness, I sat with my arms wrapped about my knees.  Watching him. Watching him leave.

Jalan didn’t bother dressing. Tucking the voluminous folds of the taamid beneath his arm, he went in search of his pants, boots, and knives. He gazed up at my cave, his face illuminated with moonlight. My heart thundered and tried to crawl up my throat.

Would he—

But then he turned and walked away. I stared after him, straining my weak human eyes against the darkness, hungering still for his touch, his body beneath mine. Shadows swallowed him.

Gone, he was gone.

I was alone once more.

Yet his blood pulsed in me. I tasted his regret, his sorrow, his respect for me, Chanda the White, who cursed the Gods. She whose heart was Riven. She who murdered her own tribe, and desert  seekers by the hundreds.

Jalan tal’Krait ached for me. Even now, he touched me through his bond, phantom fingers trailing down my spine until I shivered in the suffocating heat.

On the last Krait Well, I will do all in my power to break your curse before I sacrifice you.

For three nights, the full moon’s silvered light would transform me back to human.  Hope burned in my dragon heart.

Maybe I wouldn’t eat him after all.

Chapter Three

The clash of weapons woke me before sunset. Bleary-eyed, I crept to the opening of my lair and surveyed my domain. With dreams of Jalan fresh in my mind, his touch stirring Fire even in my dragon prison, I feared the smell of him in my nostrils was only a lingering dream.

But no, he’d returned despite my threats. I had no time to contemplate the surge of emotion in my hateful heart, though, because he returned with company.

Unfriendly company if the battle was any indication.

Two black-robed warriors fought at the base of my cliff. Jalan held the scimitar in one hand and a short blade in the other, both whirling and striking as fast as his tribe’s namesake. Through his bond, I felt blazing fury, a Fire to match my own.

Fire.

Rage poured over me, a crushing betrayal that seized my mighty lungs before I could bellow my flames. He lied to me. He tricked me. He betrayed me. He never meant to break my curse.  He couldn’t.

He was just as cursed as I. Worse, in fact. He was nigh to losing his humanity entirely.

I could see his beast just beneath his skin, a roiling energy of shadowed rage and smoke. Black and red hovered like a second hide of scale and leather. The invisible promise of massive wings swept above him, driving his opponent back.

Now I knew what dra’gwar meant. All of his Krait warriors must have already turned feral. He was terribly close himself. No wonder my stone warrior held his emotions in such fierce check.

Simmering with rage, I lay there on my rock ledge and watched as the sun set.  I watched him dance the blades, his taamid a shadow as dark as his near wings, his blood burning. I watched him slit his opponent’s throat. I watched him attempt to leash his own beast, no easy feat with blood and meat before him.  With his head thrown back and his weapons bare in his hand, he roared to the twilight sky.

A call I could not refuse.

I barreled down the slope at him, wings tucked tight to my back. Silent, swift, I slunk behind him, jaws gaping. He knew, though. The blood bond betrayed me.  Fighting his rising dragon, he whirled away from my claws and retreated.  Not because he was scared of me, no.

He feared becoming me.

I don’t know what I would have done if I’d caught him. I was so furious—at him, at myself, for daring to hope an end to my curse might be near. But spilled blood overwhelmed my senses. Blood, fresh blood, fresh meat.

Glaring at Jalan with my baleful eyes, I hunched over the dead warrior and feasted. Deliberately, I ate messily, slinging a severed hand in his direction, licking blood from my jaws, crunching the skull like a rotten melon.

Jalan watched me, silent, his rock face hardening with each jagged bite I took.  His control returned somewhat, and the raging beast retreated. Power settled beneath his skin, but his eyes blazed at me in the dying sun. His blood still burned, but with a different need.

A need all male dragons felt in the presence of an unmated female.  Domination. Aggression. Lust. He wanted to subdue me.

Somma damn me for all eternity, I wanted him to try.

Tail lashing, I dared him to interrupt my feast. I would be more than happy to eat him for dessert. I felt him through the bond, vibrating with tension and urgency. His dark eyes gleamed, locked on my every move. The more I tried to revolt him with my eating habits, the darker his eyes burned. Snarling, I munched on a femur and wished it was his.

The rising moon cast its glow on me. My scales itched and crawled, my bones cracked and convulsed. And then he slammed into me, pressing my very human body into the sands.

Too much of the dragon still burned in me to go gently to his embrace. Too much hurt in my Riven heart, too much disappointment to accept his caress.  Outweighed by nearly ten stone and armed with only human teeth and nails, I didn’t have a chance against him.

Fighting like a dragon only inflamed him—and me—all the more.

My human body wanted him. Even my shriveled dried-up broken heart wanted him. More, my dragon wanted him. I wanted his wild male dragon to force me into submission, and if he failed, I wanted to kill him. I would not accept a male who couldn’t fight me with tooth, claw, and wing—and win.

With a knee in the small of my back and a hand fisted in my hair, he pinned me face down in the sand while he shrugged out of his clothes. Not a word from him, not a curse, not a muttered endearment, merely the whisper of cloth, the deep pant of his breath, the musk of aroused warrior and male dragon rank in my nostrils.

My agonized whimper drove him to hurry, oh please hurry.

He lowered his body against mine, straddling me. Growling, his chest rumbled against me, strumming my spine, tightening my body even more. I whimpered again while I hid a cruel smile in the red dirt. I arched my hips for him, grinding against his groin, seeking relief. And as soon as he shifted to accept my invitation, I slammed my head back into his face and exploded upward with all the raging Fire in my body.

Somma cursed me well—Her blood was rich in my veins. I didn’t need wings to soar. I didn’t need teeth to shred. I had Her magic, and I blazed with power like Her accursed moon.

But Yama the Black flowed in his. Jalan rode me, pinned me, his body massive and strong and unmovable, his rising power a heavy cloak of shadow I could not escape. Jerking my head around, he forced my face up into his neck. His scent drowned me, sweat and leather, sage oil, roasted spices.

His voice was thick, growling with aggression. “Take my blood.”

I tore into his throat, even while I pressed back, aching, needing him to take me just as hard. Even with my teeth in his neck, though, he refused me. Writhing beneath him, my body begging, I couldn’t win this fight.

He wanted words. Words I refused.

“I survived your teeth. I survived your claws. I survived your blood, your curse, your hatred. You know what I want, Chanda.”

“My heart is Riven!”

“No longer. I would give you mine to make you whole.”

Terror washed over me and blackest, bitterest hope. Drowning in flames, I barely heard my own words over the frantic drumming of my heart. So close, the curse was so close. My voice shook with hope. “Can you survive my Fire?”

He sealed his mouth over mine.

Kiss of Fire. He dared to share Fire with me. Or maybe he took Fire from me.  Either way, flames exploded inside us both, magical and overwhelming, so intense my skin felt charred. Purified in Fire, I felt all my shames and failures crumble away. Nothing survived that fiery furnace.

Nothing but him.

He surged into me, one hard, deep lunge that wrenched my mouth from his in a vicious scream of joy. I hauled in air, gasping, and screamed again, every inch of my body on flames.

“You took my blood. You took my Fire. You took my body.”

My ears roared, my dragon wailing in ecstasy, in dread.

“Now take my heart. I am Given to you, Chanda the White. My heart beats for you.”

Buried to the hilt, Jalan gritted his teeth and waited for the magic to cease ripping his heart out of his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t feel his heartbeat at all. He couldn’t breathe. All his senses were deaf and mute to everything except Chanda. Her fierce body beneath him, the heated grip of her inner muscles, her lush scent of green dreams, magic rolling from her like moonlight.

Finally his heart leaped, thumping hard and frantic, his chest banded in iron flames. She commanded his heart, now. If she wished it to stop beating, she could order his body to drop dead. A risk, but he knew her fearsome pride, the strength of her heart, the depth of her hatred and pain. If she wanted him dead, his bones would already be cracked open and baking in the noonday sun.

At worst if she refused him, he would be incomplete the rest of his life.  Unable to love another woman, unable to take pleasure ever again, bound to mourn her loss, just as she mourned her tal’Adder after hundreds of years. Since he didn’t plan to outlive her long, such dire possibilities didn’t concern him.

His heart was Given. When he sacrificed her to Yama, he would sacrifice his own soul. What more could the Black Dragon demand in order to lift the Poison of Despair from his tribe?

“Mark me.”

Not the words that would bind her likewise to him, but significant just the same. A permanent mark in her flesh—a ring of his teeth branded by magical Fire—was the beginning, a physical sign of the blood bond they shared. A heart as Riven as hers might take years to heal completely. Years he didn’t have. Not when his tribe died before his very eyes. Not when Mamba warriors tracked him, laid in wait for him, and swore to take the White and give her to their Red Dragon, son of Agni, come to slaughter the last of his people.

At the though of the other dragon touching her, rage boiled his blood, seared his lungs, destroying the last vestige of control. Sinking his teeth into her shoulder, he held her pinned to his chest while he hammered into her as hard and fast as he could. If she refused his heart, he would meld her body to his for all time. He would destroy all memory she had of the long-dead tal who refused her.  Releasing the Fire pent inside him, he blazed into her as hot and wild and fierce as her dragon.

He would kill any who tried to take her from him.

Blood filled his mouth, rich with her spirit, smoldering with her magic. In her blood lay the secret rivers of Keldar, the rains that never fell, the fertile fields that lay dead and blasted with heat. So close, salvation. Just a few beats of her heart away.

Without lifting his mouth from her flesh, he used the blood bond to command her. :Say my name.:  When she hesitated, he growled, biting deeper, shifting against her to drive her harder into the ground.  :Who has conquered you?:

“Jalan!”

Simply uttering his name tightened her body around his. Pleasure hummed in her, so close. She fought the climax, deliberately trying to temper her response. Ah, his fierce dragon mate would deny him even her pleasure if she could.  :With my tribe, my honor, say it!:

“Jalan tal’Krait!”

He slid his palm from her hip, down her abdomen, beneath her pelvis.  Moaning, she tried to escape his touch, his body, but he drove her closer to that soaring height.  :Fly for me, Chanda.  Soar higher than the moon.:

She tried one last time to throw him off. Spine arced, hands scrambling for purchase in the red sands, she came roaring with all the Fire blazing in her veins.  Magic exploded in starbursts around them, blinding him. His back burned, split as though wings burst from his flesh.

Releasing her shoulder, he threw back his head and roared an answer.  :I am Given!:

I lay beneath him, trembling and shaken to my core. My Riven heart bled.

Oh, yes, still Riven. Still cursed. Too much of the dragon lived in my heart to forgive. Too much of the dragon raged in my soul to completely surrender my hatred. Love made me weak before, begging a warrior to love me when I knew it was impossible. Even knowing his heart beat for another, I couldn’t convince my own to release him. Love crippled me, ruined me, cursed me.

Jalan whispered in my ear. “Surrender to my love, Chanda, and break this curse imprisoning you.”

“I won’t weaken myself like that again, not even for you.”

Easing to my side, he stroked a powerful hand up and down my back, combing my hair, soothing muscles coiled for battle. Fighting, always fighting.  She Who Hung the Moon cursed me well indeed, firing my black heart in Her forge. She knew how best to punish me. How to break me.

“I would not break you.” Stroking, soothing, his palm so warm and gentle on my skin. His caress melted my resistance, ate my hatred, cooled my fiery rage.  “Love hurts, but it can be a good hurt, like I hurt for you now.”

Agony clutched my heart in talons sharper than my own. “So you can sacrifice me? Why love only to die?”

Gently, he turned my face to his. He reached out and captured my tears on his fingers, tears I didn’t even know I shed. Water was a rare thing in Keldar, but my tears were rarer yet. I cried them all centuries ago to fill that cursed dry Well.

My breath caught in my throat as he lifted my tears to his mouth and sucked my moisture from his skin.

If you refuse love, then why live at all?”

Choking, I was choking on my shattered dreams, my ruined hopes, my darkest fears. I was a selfish bitch. I would rather kill than surrender. I murdered what I couldn’t have. I hated what refused to love me. Hurt before I could be hurt again; kill before I could love again.

Yet I could not kill this warrior with the stone face and the gentle hands.

He stood and pulled me up with him. I wanted him again, although the tormenting hatred blazing in my heart was calm for now. He truly had subdued my dragon heart.

“I have water. May I come within your tent and take shelter from the sun?”

I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry, I wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him again. Shyest fragile hope sprouted in the barrens of my heart. “My tent is yours, Jalan tal’Krait, such that it is. Come share water in my shade.”

He graced me with the largest, most genuine smile I’d seen on his face yet.  “Perhaps you’ll share a bath with me.”

Mouth dry, knees trembling, I could only stare at him as he fetched his strewn clothing. A bath. Oh, Somma. I felt moistness between my thighs, a new fire roaring to life. “Do you have oil too?”

Smiling, his eyes dark with rising need, he slipped an arm around me and bent close. “Of course. I’ll oil you head to toe.” My legs gave out completely.  Scooping me up to drape me over his shoulder, he trotted up the gravel slope to my lair. “We mustn’t waste a single drop of such precious fluid.”

Chapter Four

Sitting on the floor in the center of my cave, I watched him explore my home, my prison all these centuries. I’d never taken food inside my lair. It felt very strange to see another living being here after so long, to watch him trail a hand along the stone walls, the candle stub he held wavering gentle light.

“How did you make the walls shine?”

Only someone who knew him would recognize the tiny hint of wonder in his voice, the barest widening of appreciation in his eyes.  That I already knew him so well made my eyes burn and my heart ache.

“Dragon Fire. I had nothing better to do, and my temper—”  I shrugged, a wry smile twisting my lips. “Once I realized the Well of Tears would never fill, I tried to bring the mountainside down on myself. All I managed to do was melt the rock.”

He followed the crack deeper into the mountain, much further than I could ever go in my dragon body. I don’t know what he thought he might find—a sacred pool, a secret passage—but I was content to sit, breathing our mingled scents in my home, my shade.

Returning, he sat before me and set a flask between us. “My water is yours.”

I had no cup, no food, no utensil, certainly no pot to brew tea for a traditional hospitality ceremony. I had no need for such things when I hadn’t tasted water in... I couldn’t even remember how long. Blood was the only moisture I needed as the White. With shaking hands, I picked up the leather flask, wet my lips, and held it out to him.

“Drink, Chanda. Taste it.”

I took a full mouth of water, held it, the flat warm taste rolling on my tongue.  Something jarred my taste buds, a sharpness, an unfamiliar bitter edge.

“It’s the last Well, our last water.” His voice echoed with sorrow, and his eyes, so dark, so full of misery. “Have you seen the Krait lands in recent years?”

Wordlessly, I shook my head. I rarely left my domain. The Well of Tears was my constant torment. I had no desire to see the inland Venom Sea, the black Island of Despair rising up in the flat plains like a massive coiled serpent.

Where Somma’s body died, there flowed poisoned acid. Rains ceased across all of Keldar. Agni blasted our lands with fury, with heat, with flaming sun to dry the precious water never replenished.

Our devalki.

“Our last Well is tainted. Not enough to kill, not yet, but my tribe’s final days are nigh. Without water, we can’t keep our land, poisoned though it is. Without water, the tribes will slaughter us. Between Somma’s Poison and Yama’s Despair, the Krait will be no more.”

Tormented eyes drilled into mine. His hands remained in his lap, but he leaned slightly toward me, his bond tugging, trying to compel me to believe, to assist him in this bitter, desperate war.

“The Red Dragon Comes to burn us all, but the Krait will be the first decimated. My tribe, my people, we who have lived on the shores of Venom and Despair all these generations—we carry the bulk of Yama’s black blood.”

“What do you want from me?” I didn’t try to keep the sharpness from my voice. My anger returned, and my disappointment. He tantalized me with a bath, when all he truly cared about was gaining my assistance in his war. “I murdered my own tribe, Jalan. Why should I care about yours?”

Pressured, I forced myself to catalog my defenses. His scimitar lay on the floor beside him, but not in his hand. He didn’t reach for it or even look at it, but he knew I realized it was there, almost within my grasp. I felt my accursed dragon rouse, scenting the possibility of blood, of battle. My heartbeat quickened. Every feral instinct I possessed told me to seize that weapon and take his head.

He knew my thoughts, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His muscles didn’t tighten or brace for my attack. Instead, he looked at me with... acceptance.

If I chose to kill him, so be it.

If I commanded his heart to cease beating, he would die without a sound on the gravel floor of my lair.

Such sacrifice. I couldn’t comprehend it. None would dare call Jalan tal’Krait weak. But how could he bear to sit, helpless, accepting, peaceful, while all the world blazed and died?

His chiseled face softened, his white teeth flashing against his sun-baked face, his eyes glowing in the candlelight. The smile was gone in a heartbeat, but I saw. I knew. I felt his pride, his amusement, his affection—

:Not affection. My love.:

—Through his bond.

I blew hard through my nostrils, unable to make as disgusted a grunt in this form.

“Would you care if you knew the Mambas have chained a dragon for warfare?”

I blinked. How could such a feat even be possible? None would chain me.  Other than Jalan, I let no one touch me with blade or iron.

“The tal’Mamba succumbed to his dragon a fortnight ago. Unluckily for him, his rav suspected he was close to turning and plotted to capture him in those first weak moments of transformation.”

Horror and rage pulsed in my veins, my dragon clawing with talons to escape, to protect, to fight.

“They bound him in chains and call him the Red Dragon. All know he is not truly Agni, but he is mostly red, mostly Agni’s blood. They use him to further the destruction of the other tribes. As such, he is definitely a forerunner of the Last Days.  Fire Comes.”

He leaned closer and took my hands in his own, forcing me to meet the sorrowed gaze in his stone face. “The warrior I fought at sunset nearly drove me to succumb to my dragon by threatening to take you. To chain you as their Red’s mate. They would breed dragons in captivity for use in warfare. Do you understand? They hope to decimate Yama’s blood to gain some forgiveness before Agni Comes.”

I clutched his hands to keep from grabbing the scimitar. Not to hurt him, necessarily, but my dragon’s urgent sense of self-preservation knotted my muscles. “We all carry Yama’s blood to some degree. The Mambas are just as guilty as the Kraits, as my Adders, as any.”

Jalan nodded. “They hope to atone some of their devalki by sacrificing those with Black blood, starting with my tribe. I’m the last dra’gwar, the last warrior with enough dragon blood in my veins to fight and risk the Fire within, yet the Mambas have nearly one hundred dra’gwar plus the chained Red. They will attack our tents this rising. I tracked their progress before returning to you. I have warriors, true, but none with enough dragon blood to hold the Mambas back.”

Awful finality rang in his voice; agony etched his face. Even if he somehow managed to kill the Red Dragon alone, the other warriors would kill his people.  Even if by some miracle he managed to protect his people from the warriors, the last Well would soon be gone, swallowed by Venom and Despair.  His only hope—

Fire blazed on my skin, my dragon rising. His only hope was me. If I killed the Red and helped him drive the Mambas back.  And then...

“Don’t think of it,” he whispered, drawing me closer to him. His breath fanned my face, and his scent rolled over me, roasted spices and warrior. “Let us fight the Mambas and the chained Red. That’s all I ask.”

“No. You ask for my heart.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of his timeworn face, his dark eyes filled with such miserable love. “You ask me to lay down my life for a tribe not my own.”

His lips brushed my forehead, and I shuddered. That quickly, need rose in me, frantic, desperate, fully aware of how short the hours were until dawn, until the full moon waned, until his fragile human life would end.

“Not for my tribe, but for my love. I will die when you die, Chanda. Lay down your life with me.”

Her heart thundered so loudly he could hear it. Releasing her hands, Jalan took a wooden bowl, a square of linen, and a clay vial of oil from his knapsack.  He tipped the precious flask of water and filled the small bowl. At the sound of trickling waters, she shuddered, her breathing quickening even more.

Dampening the square of cloth, he began the ritual cleansing. He touched the cloth to his lips, his forehead, his heart. “May Somma’s waters cleanse us of our devalki.”

He took Chanda’s hand and gently wiped her fingers, her palm, the delicate skin of her wrist. Dipping the cloth again, carefully wringing excess drops back into the bowl, he washed her other hand. Then he pressed a kiss into each, deliberately curling her fingers around his gift as he moved his mouth to her wrist. Her pulse beat frantically against his lips, leaping at the deliberate graze of his teeth.

Tugging her hand, he spilled her into his lap. She came to him without complaint, her limbs languorous, her eyes heavy with need. Need to be touched, to feel such tenderness, to have someone care for her, just a little. Silently, he swore to make this bath last as long as possible.

This one time must last them through all eternity.

He stroked her body with the cloth, wiping away dust, dried blood, an eternity of scale and hide. His mark was branded on her shoulder, braided black highlighted with touches of pulsing red in the ring left by his teeth. His dragon twisted and clawed in his gut, burning to bite her again. A fight he relished, a fight that told him he lived, that she was worthy of his heart and blood.

Warm and supple, her skin came alive for him. The barest brush of his fingers tightened her body. The hint of moisture turned her muscles to liquid. Pliant, aching, she lay in his arms, utterly relaxed.  No fight, no rage, no hatred—nothing burned in her but need.

Need for his touch.

Deliberately, he let a drop of water fall on her breast. Dipping his head, he captured the bead, tonguing her skin, the aching tip of her breast, drawing her flesh into his mouth. She buried her hands in his hair, holding him close, her cry echoing in her lair.

“We mustn’t waste a drop, Chanda. Not one precious drop.”

He eased her to the sand floor, spreading her out flat on her back for his full attention. Moistening her lips, she struggled to find words, to make her tongue remember how to speak.

“Shhh, Chanda. Your body speaks to me well enough.” Dripping a trail of water down her belly, he kissed and nibbled every inch. “Touch me, it says.  So long, so very long, I’ve been alone. Stroke me. Love me. I hear it all. I am here and you are not alone.”

Glide of cloth, hint of water, followed by his tongue. He spread her legs, her folds, rasping first with cloth and then his tongue. She made a deep-throated moan, trembling, her hands clutching at his shoulders, twisting her fists in his hair.

He set his mouth hard on her, sucking, using the force of his tongue and teeth, to bring her shivering and crying in a rush. So he could draw her legs higher and cup her buttocks in his hands. So he could lick every sweet curve. So he could savor every drop.

He brought her again, her body singing and crying with pleasure. Pausing only long enough to reach for the clay pot, he poured oil into his hands, rubbing his palms together to warm it.

She cracked an eye open at the rich scent of sage. “No more,” she whispered, shuddering. “I can’t take the oil.”

“Ah, but you can. You must. I will accept nothing less than a full ritual. Do you realize how precious oil has become in these hard times? Nearly as dear as water.  Not even the bitters bear much seed. We’ve resorted to—”

He hesitated, unsure how she would take such news. She was a dragon at heart. Hearing where the bulk of their precious oil came from these days might bring her rage to full life.

“If I die, I want you to take my scent glands.”

Throat aching, he nodded, his heart full to bursting with love and grief. “If I succumb to the Fire within, I hope you will do the same for me. I want no other carrying my scent but you. This oil is mostly bitters with some Krait dragon scent, but I mixed it myself with my own taste for herbs. I hope you find it pleasing.”

He wrapped both hands around her neck just beneath her chin and slid his palms down her neck, stroking, massaging, spreading oil and heat. The scent of warm spiced oil flavored by her scent filled his head. Dragon, Fire, pride, courage, all vulnerable to his hands and mouth.

Tremors shook her body as he made his way down her curves, her muscles both pliant and tight, vibrating with need and limp with the pleasure he’d already given. He dribbled oil on her breasts and stomach, using firm, strong strokes of his palms to rub the oil into her skin. Then his tongue. The oil tasted bitter, rank with another dragon’s scent, but it couldn’t mask the lush scent of her skin.

Her dragon called to him. He stroked and massaged her arms, her thighs. The dragon moved beneath her skin. Power rippled, moonlight and flames flickering over them both.

Oil soaked into her skin.

Oil slicked his hands, his face, his tongue.

Fire spread, searing his lips, heating her skin.

Dragon oil, dragon Fire.

Her scent roared at him, drowning his senses. Magic burned his skin. Wings of power beat the air, talons digging into him, clutching him closer.

She blazed through the bond, worry and need and soaring pleasure.  :Can you survive my Fire?:

In answer, he plunged his tongue deep, spearing the blazing oil into her body.  Every crevice, every tender fold. Magic blazed higher, blistering his skin, boiling the blood in his veins. Braiding her Fire with the inner furnace blazing in his heart, he shoved the flames back into her, spreading Fire with the oil.  :Can you survive mine?:

Fire blazed on the walls of her cave, adding another layer of burnished gold.

Panting for breath, I blinked sweat out of my eyes and concentrated on calming my dragon. Trapped in my human body, constrained by my human thoughts, the beast fought with wings and talons and jagged teeth to escape.

It—I—wanted to sink teeth into Jalan. I wanted to decorate every inch of his flesh with my teeth marks. I wanted to lick blood from his skin as he’d done with that accursed oil. Forcing my shaking body upright, I placed a hand on his chest.  “My turn.”

A slight quirk of his lips and the smugness in his eyes said that he knew he’d done well, with a hint of challenge as he placed the cloth in my hand.

“I request that you mark me.”

I didn’t have his skill at hiding my emotions. My face sagged a moment, my eyes blazing, I’m sure, with immediate need and hunger. “Where?”

“Anywhere you desire.”

My gaze dropped to the previous bites I’d given him. The dragon bite was an angry red, the flesh around my human bites bruised, his shoulder and throat tender. I should have blazed my Fire into those wounds and made the scars permanent instead of leaving them to heal slowly.

“Lay down.”

For a while, I simply caressed him with my gaze. Roped muscle and sinew, lean and tight, not an excess ounce of flesh on him, blasted by heat, dried by constant thirst and suffering. His skin was darker than mine and dry, confirming the precious resource oil had become.

I trailed the damp cloth over the chiseled planes of his face, down his powerful neck to clean the angry-looking bites as gently as possible. Guilt tightened my throat. I could have hurt him so badly. I might yet.

“The oil will help,” he whispered. “Besides, I enjoyed it. You hear no complaints from me.”

I squeezed the cloth, carefully dripping water onto his shoulder. Tasting his skin, I fought to keep from sinking my teeth into him again. There was just something about his shoulder, the act of biting him, holding him with my mouth in that particular spot, that tempted me.

“It’s a sign of dominance.” His voice lowered, a rumble of bass that thrummed down my spine. “A very strong, very proud female dragon will take her mate this way sometimes in the wild. Never forget, though, that the male consents in the first place. It’s my sign of trust in you.”

“Acceptance,” I breathed against his skin. I licked the holes left by my teeth, remembering his blood, his pleasure exploding through our bond. “Trust.  I still think you’re crazy to trust me. Even from the beginning, when I was the White, you let me hold you in my jaws.”

“Hold me now, Chanda, and never let me go. Use your teeth and claws to grip me close to your heart.”

I felt a foreign tenderness. The moon would descend. All too soon I would be returned to my prison, my doom, and the harsh reality of Keldari life would intrude once more. For now, though, I had this warrior to bathe, this magnificent male to touch, to taste, to drive insane.

Moving down his body, I tormented him with bites. No blood, no breaking skin, just the threat, the promise. I tried to work his flesh between my teeth, but he was so tight, muscles coiled and lean, that I couldn’t fill my mouth like I wanted. Not until I reached his groin.

Slowly, I gazed up his body, appreciating my handiwork. His face was granite as usual, but ah, his eyes blazed with the Fire within. I smiled wickedly and dipped the cloth into the small bowl. His gaze tracked my hand

He growled. “Don’t waste a drop.”

I squeezed the cloth and watched the precious drops of water roll down each magnificent inch. Lowering my head, I breathed on him without taking him into my mouth. Water pooled at the base a moment and then trickled down his testicles. “Are you sure you still trust me?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I trust you to kill me if you wound me in such a way.”

Lightly, I caught the drop of water with my tongue and took his pouch into my mouth, gently rolling my teeth across his tender flesh.

My stone warrior trembled.

I ran my tongue up the full length, capturing each trail of water, tracing each vein, each ridge. I grazed him with my teeth, nipping, just short of true pain.

Sweat poured off of him.

I was determined to torment him until something drastic happened. Until his granite cracked and crumbled. Until stone talked. Or screamed.

His dragon certainly raged inside him, screaming at mine, stirring my Fire. It was too early to release flames into his skin, though, so I took him into my mouth. Thick, long, he strained my jaws, yet I pushed deeper, working as much into my mouth, my throat, as possible. And I held him, teeth pressing, throat convulsing.

“Wells,” he gasped, fingers twisting in my hair.

I came up for air and stretched out my hand, fumbling for the flask of oil.

His breathing was ragged. “Mark me first.”

Brave warrior. I licked just the head lightly, tormenting, making him wonder exactly where I would strike while I called forth my power. Magic hummed in my blood, blazing in my heart. I built the flames carefully. Too much would truly kill him or drive forth his dragon, yet I wanted a brilliant bite marked deeply with my power.

Turning my head aside, I sank my teeth into his inner thigh. Blood at last, so rich, so hot, spiced with his scent. I felt his dragon pacing inside him, twisting, coiling, snarling at the touch of my Fire. Driving flames through my mouth, through his bond, I blazed. Fire, need, the centuries of rage and loneliness, the hatred, the miserable guilt—I gave it all to him.

Arching his back, he jerked my mouth free so hard I nearly tore a chunk out of him. Obeying his silent command, I took him back in my mouth and pressed the flask of oil into his hand. I held my hand up in my own demand. How much torture did he want? How much oil would he pour?

He filled my palm.

I rubbed the bulk into his testicles. Groaning, his hands tight in my hair, he began thrusting into my mouth. Flames ate at his control, Fire spreading with the oil. He bucked harder beneath me, his breathing fast and hard. I had enough oil left to rub some into my mark in his thigh, but my Fire had already cauterized it.  I felt the brand in his flesh, the magical flames sparking and smoldering.

The bond roared, our dragons howled, and magic pulsed between us.  Invisible wings brushed my head, wrapping around me to hold me close. Head back, muscles corded, he came in a wash of flames. I kept my mouth locked to him. I wouldn’t waste a drop, not for all the cool waters in my long-forgotten dreams. Fire washed over me, crisping my skin, and I didn’t care.

I would burn up the world for him.

With our passion spent, I lay with my head pillowed on his thigh, my cheek pressed to my mark. Gentle hands played with my hair while we waited for his breathing to return to normal. I wanted to lay like this forever, his scent so hot and wonderful in my nose, his skin burning for me.  But I didn’t have forever.

Reluctantly, I felt the moon’s path. An hour at most. My time was running out.  Tears welled, but I swallowed them down. I wouldn’t waste a drop.

So softly I barely heard him, Jalan asked, “Will you help me fight the Red Dragon?”

Eyes closed, I breathed slowly and deeply, letting the pain wash over me, through me, taking my guilt with it. “Yes.”

A gaping hole burned in my heart as I finished his bath. I rubbed oil into every inch of his skin. After all, there would be no need to conserve the precious mixture after this next rising. I dumped the remaining oil on his hair, smoothing it in my hands and braiding it tightly. As the long black rope grew down his back, my stone warrior hardened.

He prepared for battle.

He prepared to die.

As a proper Keldari mate would do for her warrior, I dressed him for warfare.  The bites on his shoulder, neck, and thigh gleamed pearly white with my power. I kissed my marks one by one and then pulled his shirt over his head, assisted with his trousers and boots.

There were no words between us. It was too late for words. I carried his bond, his blood, his heart.

He understood I had no heart to give.

I draped the taamid over his head and tied it in place with his Krait cord of black and red about his forehead. I tucked the edges into the dragon-hide belt about his waist and drew the black cloth tight to his body so he would be able to fight unhindered.

Taking each of his knives, I ran the blade over my forearm, smearing it with my blood, and then sheathed it on his chest straps. Even the wicked scimitar tasted my blood. That weapon he solemnly took from my hand and licked clean, holding my gaze, before sliding it into place on his hip.

Armed, silent as death, hard as Keldar, Jalan tal’Krait stood in the heart of my lair. And the moon slipped away.

My throat was dry, so dry, as dry as the Well of Tears. “Leave before the White comes.”

He just looked at me, no flicker in his face, his dark eyes steady.

Panic rose in me with the dragon. “Please, I beg you, leave! I can’t bear to hurt you, not now. I don’t know that I can control myself. I might not even recognize you!”

“The White knows the mate of her heart as you do.”

“But—”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

Unsaid, our doom hung between us in the cave, slamming into my heart as surely as the coming dragon. We would battle his enemy in hours, and the last night of the full moon approached. Either he would die in the battle against the Mambas or he would dry trying to break my curse or he would kill me for his Black God. I would be imprisoned for all eternity in this cursed rising dragon, or he would successfully sacrifice me. Either way, I would lose him. That hurt more than the thought of living another thousand years as the White Dragon.

“My heart beats for you, Chanda.”

The dragon swelled inside me, stretching the fragile cage of skin. I fought her—myself—and tried to break the curse. Fighting to stay with Jalan. Struggling to remain human. Cursing my Riven heart, my spiteful pride.

He stood silent and unmoving in the mouth of my cave. I screamed at him to flee, to save himself, as my back ripped open.

Wings unfurled, talons unsheathed, tail thrashed, scaled muscle, massive and strong, flexed. Mighty chest heaving, I lay on the gravel and stared at the warrior in my lair. He smelled familiar and right, all roasted spices and rich sage oil.

Oil I also scented on my scales.

The scent of a strange dragon made me snarl. A male, several males, their scents rubbed into me. I even tasted it in my mouth, fouling my tongue. This wasn’t the scent I wanted on me. This wasn’t the taste I wanted between my jaws.

Jalan came closer, ignoring my hiss of warning. The stone warrior sat before me, no weapons drawn, his face calm. Peaceful. I smelled myself on him, mixed with that other hateful dragon scent. More, I felt Fire burning in him. My Fire responded, dancing in my heart, and it felt... different.

Cocking my head, I tried to discern what had changed. I stared at the warrior and tried to remember the rage that drove me to kill and feast. My hatred that drove me to curse the moon and She Who Hung it. How could I feel such rage when this warrior sat before me so trustingly?

He smiled to rival the noonday sun.

Rumbling a half-hearted growl, I gripped his shoulder in my jaws. Hard enough to feel his flesh giving beneath my teeth, but I didn’t break the skin. I didn’t rip away his tidy cloth. The feel of him in my mouth relaxed my last hesitation.

As the heat of the day blazed to life, I stretched out my head on the sand, curled my wings and tail around my stone warrior, and slept with him against my heart.

Chapter Five

Crouching down beside the sleeping dragon, Jalan nudged her gently. The heat outside was still oppressive, but the afternoon hours were precious. They must reach Krait land in time for the battle. They must kill the Red before moonrise.  And then—

He took his own advice and refused to think of it. When the time came, he must do his duty. He would follow her quickly in death.

:Chanda.:

He didn’t know if her dragon would be able to hear his words through the bond, let alone understand him, but he must wake her, sluggish or no. Her instincts would leave her sleeping for hours yet. Hours he couldn’t afford.

:Wake, my love.  We must fly to battle.:

Steam puffed from her nostrils, her tail twitching.

:Battle, Chanda. Blood. Meat. Aren’t you hungry?:

She sniffed deeply, bumping his chest with her spined muzzle, but then curled her nose back beneath her wing. Evidently, she had no wish to feast on him. As much as the thought warmed his heart, he must rouse her. Perhaps his dragon within could awaken her.

Closing his eyes, he relaxed his fierce control just a bit. He uncurled one tiny chain he maintained around the vicious black beast pacing and roaring inside him. Fire washed over him. His skin itched, heated, stretched to the point of splitting wide open. The dragon bulged inside him with fierce joy.

Feast. Blood. Mate.

Breathing hard, he forced the raging beast back down. He unsheathed his scimitar and made a small cut on the palm of his left hand. Blood would have to do, although the rich scent brought his dragon thrashing closer to the surface.  Pain seared him, talons shredding his gut.

He reached down and smeared blood on her nose. Her jaws opened, her forked tongue snaking out to taste his offering. And then those mighty jaws snapped shut around his wrist. Rumbling, but not fully awake, she tugged, jerked, jaws working. So hard, Jalan feared she might actually take his hand. At least he would have his right for fighting.

:Chanda!:

Her golden eyes flew open and she spat his hand out. Scrambling backward, hissing, she pressed her bulk into the narrowing tunnel. She glared at him with such reproach, such horror, he easily discerned her feelings even in her dragon face.

He didn’t even glance down at his hand. He could move his fingers, his wrist, despite the ragged bite. “We need to go.”

Shaking her head, blowing hard, she backed tighter into the darkness.

:Chanda, I must go to battle.:

She flinched at his mental touch, smoke billowing about her with a hint of flames. Images flew into his mind, sharp painful color and whirling emotions.  Shredded meat, snap of bone, blood hot in her mouth, and then an image of him.  Her muzzle buried in his stomach. And such howling grief.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t think of any other way to wake you. We must go.”

Crawling toward him with head down, tail and wings curled tight to her body, she made a low apologetic sound that made him smile.

“It’s nothing, sleepy head. A small price to pay.”

Still, she hung her head, her neck arched, tight, her tail lashing. He touched her mind again and felt her hunger as red, her shame as black, and such longing, such desperation. Silently, he offered his bleeding arm, holding it beneath her mouth until she carefully licked the blood from his skin. Her tongue rasped the ragged bites, but the pain didn’t matter. She was so careful, so hesitant, so tender.  His fierce White gently licked his arm. It made his heart swell and ache in his chest.

He gripped the center spine on her head and drew her into his chest, hugging her. She rumbled against him, purring, and happily followed him out into the miserable heat of afternoon. Picking up speed, he trotted down the slope of her cliff, around the Well of Tears, and out into the baked plain beyond. He regretted letting his horse loose, but he had feared the White might eat it, and his tribe’s horseflesh were just as precious to them as oil and water.

She caught him, a vicious gleam in her eye as she passed. He felt a tickle in his mind and a glorious image filled his thoughts. Dry air rushing past him, wings catching the air, the land stretched out beneath him. Up here, it didn’t look so barren, so devastated. There was a harsh beauty in the myriad of browns and reds, wadis curling into the distance, harsh buttes rising and falling.

The image was so real that he stumbled when it ended and felt a sense of loss. Chanda turned her head back, her triangular snout open slightly. He swore she smiled at him, teasing. In challenge, she ran beside him with her left wing raised invitingly, giving him easy access to her haunches.

He gripped a handful of spined mane and swung up on her back, tucking his knees up under her gorgeous white wings. Her wings unfurled, beating whirlwinds into the dust, her haunches straining, lifting, until they were airborne. His stomach dipped sickeningly a moment but quickly adjusted. It was just as beautiful as she’d pictured in his mind.

Jalan tal’Krait laughed out loud.

Coiling to the heavens like a massive black dragon, the forbidding spire seized my heart with dread. Dull shadowed rock rooted as deeply into the ground, spoiling and raping the earth. Belching black fumes, the Island of Despair hovered in a pit of poison and acid. Not a volcano. No fire, no melted rock, no ash.

This mountain spewed Despair.

Encircling the black mountain was a spreading Venom Sea. To touch or consume the water would bring instant death. Simply walking on the treacherous cliffs above was enough to scald skin and blister lungs.

As I watched, a large slice of land broke off and slipped into the boiling acid. Literally, the Venom Sea was devouring Keldar bit by bit every single day. Even the sands surrounding the inland sea were darker, tainted, as Jalan had said. I didn’t want to touch it, let alone live on these dead dunes.

The black hide tents of Jalan’s sepah huddled together a frighteningly short distance from the crumbling shore about the Well. The last precious Krait water. Usually fertile enough to support vegetable gardens and livestock grazing areas, this Well boasted only withered stalks and thin, wasted goats and horses. Yet it was the Kraits’ last Well, and so they would fight to keep it.

After soaring for Jalan, I’d followed a dry, narrow wadi all the way from the Well of Tears, using the gorge walls to hide our passage from prying eyes. Now I flew to the Well, skimming lower so Jalan could see the battle. Women, children, and the elderly ringed the Well, armed with knives. Then the black-robed Krait warriors, side by side in a circle, scimitars ringing. They were entirely surrounded by Mamba warriors and outnumbered at least ten to one.

Every Krait would die by sunset.

A shrill roar drew my attention. The Red Dragon struggled and bellowed off by the tents. Ten warriors gripped his chains in an attempt to control him. They even placed a metal ring about his muzzle to prevent him from blazing fire, his mighty wings were pinned to his sides, and his legs were hobbled. They might as well have castrated him, too, and chopped his wings off entirely. How they thought to use him in battle—when he would rather kill them—I had no idea.

:Can you drop me inside by the Well?:

Circling back around, I flew lower, barely skimming the dunes toward the Well. Jalan tried to slide down my side, but he hampered my wing and I flapped awkwardly.  Fighting back up to regain altitude, I tried to tell him to jump, and I would clutch him—

Immediately, he dropped off my back like a stone, slipping cleanly past my wing. I snatched him in my front claws, trying not to injure him too badly. I circled again, swooping low. Warriors screamed, jumping aside, and I neatly dropped him with his warriors. He saluted me with his scimitar as I flew toward the Red.

I was ashamed for him, the once proud tal now chained by his own tribe.  Feral dragons died quickly in the desert, murdered in dominance or mating fights. Very few lived to successfully mate with the few female dragons not killed by crazed males. The Trinity gave us Their daughters in the beginning, but there were precious few left alive. Even in my day, very few Keldari women surrendered to the Fire within.

Just me, in fact.

The Red deserved to die free. I was more than happy to oblige him.

He was a big beast, much larger than me. Unrestrained, his wingspan would nearly double mine. His head was huge and wide with a vicious-looking black horn sprouting from the center. Most of his scales were blood red, but he carried black markings about his eyes and on his legs. His wings were leather instead of feathers as mine, inherited from his own bloodlines, and he had no spines down his neck. As much of Agni’s blood as he carried, I had best mind his Fire.

I roared at him in challenge and blasted his handlers with flames. The Mambas shouted, flapping about like black birds with feathers on fire. Slinging his head side to side, the Red jerked chains free and lunged toward me. Jaws straining, he tried to break the ring holding his teeth clamped shut. He clawed at his own face, shredding his cheeks, but he worked the ring off just as I slammed into him.

Biting him was not nearly as enjoyable as biting my stone warrior.

I ripped a hunk of hide off his flank and scored his chest down to his breastbone. Bellowing flames, he crashed into me, using his larger weight to throw me off balance. I was lighter, true, but faster, and I’d had much longer to fight and kill as a dragon than he. He jerked his head at me, trying to spear me with that cruel horn, but I slapped him with my tail so hard he stumbled and fell to his knees.

I didn’t give him any mercy. Not Chanda the White who cursed the Gods. Who loved Jalan tal’Krait with all the Fire in my dragon heart. I leaped on the Red’s wide back, gripped his spine in my jaws, and sliced with all four feet as fast and hard as I could.

Bellowing in pain, he reared upward, trying to shake me off. When that failed, he threw his weight backward to crush me beneath him. Heaving my wings, I soared off, hovering, and tore into his soft underbelly. Gutted, he thrashed on his back, breaking his own wing. He roared flames at me, but for an effective burst of Fire, we dragons need air. Wounded as he was, he couldn’t haul in enough air to blast me.

:Chanda, are you well?:

Immediately, I jerked my head up to scan the battle. I couldn’t see anything but dust and black taamids everywhere. I sent Jalan an image of the Red on his back, bellowing in pain, his intestines tangled around his own legs.

:Excellent.  Aren’t you hungry?  We could use some help.:

Actually, I was famished. After flying through the afternoon in the horrid heat and fighting the Red, I was more than ready to feast on a few Mambas. Not bothering to take to the air, I trotted into the fray, jaws gaping, and snagged myself a snack.

Hearing her fight—the screaming roars, the clash of mighty dragons, the thundering flames—was torture. Jalan wrapped his left arm around his midsection in an effort to keep his own dragon caged. His beast thrashed, wings stretching, Fire blasting his ribcage, furious that his mate battled another male.  In his mind, he knew Chanda would win. Her proud dragon heart would accept nothing less. But his beast refused to lie down while she was threatened.

A Mamba dra’gwar off to the right wasn’t able to control his rising dragon.  Howling, he thrashed on the ground, wreathed in Fire. His body split open, folded, and crumpled away, leaving a red and black mottled dragon mewling on the ground. A Krait tried to behead him before he took to the sky, and even his own tribesmen struck, a scimitar curving a gaping red slice in his side.

A dragon wasn’t safe, wasn’t trustworthy. He’d kill his own tribe as quickly as his enemy. He’d kill his own chained Red in a frenzy and turn on the White, too.

The White, Chanda, who fought for Jalan. A fierce smile flickered across his face, but he quickly smoothed it. She was trustworthy. She loved him enough to control her fearsome instincts and kill for him.

Through her bond, he felt her dark pleasure as she fed on some hapless Mamba.

Best he provide more bodies for her to feast upon.

He pushed forward, twisting the enemy’s scimitar aside. A quick thrust with his short sword into the Mamba’s side, and the dra’gwar fell back. Another slash and he sliced open a Mamba’s throat. Too many, surely. He barely made a dent in the robed warriors surrounding the Well. A woman screamed far behind him and his blood boiled higher. These were his people, his kin, and he would not let them be slaughtered!

Two Mambas came at him, blades snaking high and low. Rage boiled in him, his skin burning with Fire. One of them managed to cut his thigh, but he didn’t even feel it. With his dragon riding so close to the surface, nothing could touch him.

A child wailed to his right. Sparing a glance, he could only watch helplessly as a Mamba warrior raised his scimitar.

“No!” His gut twisted, bile rising in his throat. The boy was his nephew, the only child he would ever be able to claim. His younger brothers had been lost to the Fire. His mother, dead of suffering and heartache. And Chanda, his fierce, lovely mate who would never bear his children. Who would never have her own tent in his sepah.

Chanda touched his mind, flooding him with concern. Chains, dragon wings clipped, savage fighting, killing.

He knew the risk. But it was too late. :Forgive me, my love.:

Skin tore open down his back. Fire raged. And wings exploded about him.

Roaring a warning, I scrambled toward Jalan, but it was too late. Black leather wings flapped and Fire overwhelmed his control. His calm acceptance disappeared in a raging flood of flames.

Agony, oh Somma, such agony.

My stone warrior was gone. Forever.

After so many disappointments, all the betrayals and heartaches in my accursed life, it shouldn’t have surprised me that I would lose him, too, that the Gods would ruin such a magnificent warrior.

Rage—my oldest and dearest friend—ate my heart, burned my gut, until I launched at the Mamba dragon. I wanted to kill. I needed to kill. Maybe, then, my heart would stop hurting.

Young in the ways of dragons, though, the fledgling male proved poor sport.  Even the chained Red had fought better. I seized the Mamba’s throat and threw him onto his back. He clawed at my underbelly, barely scoring me, but I clamped my jaws tighter and growled.

I remembered holding Jalan. His slight human shoulder in my jaws, his skin fragile on my teeth, and I wanted to throw my head up and curse the moon all over again.

A heavy weight slammed into me, pinning me against the Mamba. With a hateful urge to kill as fierce as mine, the eviscerated Red could not simply lie down and bleed out his life on the poisoned sands. His black spiraled horn slid over my shoulder and plunged into the other male. Screaming with rage, the mottled dragon thrashed beneath me, his claws gripping me close as though I could somehow save him.

Not with a vicious horn in his heart.

The Red rumbled a low purr against my back. His jaws worked on my shoulder, not biting, exactly, but letting me know he was there. He touched Jalan’s mark, and my stomach clutched with revulsion. I should have ripped the Red’s heart out and eaten it.

With a slam of my shoulder, I broke his horn off. Bellowing, the Red tried to crush me, dropping all his impressive weight on me. I called forth my rage, my hatred, the blazing power of the Fire I carried in my heart. I glowed as brightly as the moon above.

The full moon...

Writhing, I fought the curse. I needed to be a dragon to fight for Jalan. I wouldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain.

As always, though, I was powerless against the Gods. Very human, very weak compared to the monster mauling me, I yanked the black horn out of the dead dragon cooling beneath me. The Red closed his jaws on my shoulder again, shredding my skin. His claws dug into me as he flipped me over. He sniffed at my chest, my stomach, evidently surprised at the change in me. I still smelled like a female dragon, but I certainly didn’t look like one.

Sorrow choked me and tears leaked from my eyes. Jalan, my stone warrior, a beast now like this one. Moonlight flooded my veins in a raging flood of grief. I shoved that magic into the Red, and he reared back in shock. I plunged his own horn into his wide red-scaled chest, driving deep, using all my strength to search for his heart.

A massive black shadow snatched the Red away, rolling in a flurry of wings and scales, roaring in fury. Jalan, my Black. The Red was already dying, but Jalan tore at his throat savagely until he completely beheaded the opposing male.

Dripping blood, black eyes blazing with fury, the Black turned malicious eyes on me.

Did he recognize me at all? As the White, I knew him. I knew his scent, the taste of his skin in my mouth. My skin was already torn from the Red and my blood flavored the air. That could be a good thing—or a very bad thing. A dragon driven insane by blood hunger wouldn’t recognize his mate let alone in human form.

:Jalan.:

He shook his head hard, snarling at my human intrusion. Instead of sending him words, I concentrated on emotions. On images. Things we shared. I remembered flying with him this afternoon, the wind rushing beneath my wings, our devastated homeland spread out beneath us. His joy. His love. My regret.

His response stole my breath. All black wings, night sky, wind in our faces, soaring higher and higher until we nearly touched the moon, and then spinning toward the sands, clutched together, mating a death spiral until the last possible second.

“I can’t fly, Jalan. Not now.”

Did he even understand? The killing rage was gone from his glittering eyes. He came to me, towering over me like a fierce black mountain of flesh and claw. Stretching down his sinuous neck, he ran his rasping tongue over my flesh, cleaning the wounds and licking the blood from my skin.

He rumbled with pleasure. He knew my scent, the taste of my blood. The image he put into my mind was too complex and yet too simple to describe.  Mine. He knew I was his, and he planned to keep me until the sands blew away and the moon fell from the sky and the last Keldari died in a punishing blast of Fire.

“Mine, yes, forever.” I whispered, running my hands over his triangular head, down his sleek neck. His neck and his forehead, too, were smooth, but his jaw was lined with gorgeous feather plumes, a dark purplish ruff. The feathers relaxed under my tender strokes to lie smooth against his neck.

Tears trickled down my cheeks. “You did well, my fierce warrior. You killed many Mambas. Look, they retreat, and your people are spared. You saved them.”

Sorrow flooded our bond. He remembered the last Well, the spreading poison.  His people weren’t spared—they merely had longer to suffer before dying. Rage filled him, sparking in his black eyes. Pain and fury blazed together higher and higher. He raised his head and roared at the moon, blasting flames and thick smoke as if he could cloud Somma’s curse and bring me back to him.

I couldn’t bear to see him doomed as I. He loved his people, he loved his Gods, he lived to save as many as possible. My Riven heart welled with tears; my chest squeezed with grief. How could I save him from his beast? How could I bring him back?

Magic rippled inside me, rainbows I ignored for centuries with blind eyes, sweet melody I tuned out with deliberately deaf ears. Listening, now, to that music dancing in my blood, I knew only one hope. One way I might bring him back.

I called more power, blazing like the full moon above. I filled my heart with all the emotion he fought so hard to make me feel. The tenderness of his rough hands. His calm, strong acceptance. I felt his Fire respond to mine, braiding together down that blood bond we formed, the memory of sweat and blood, wild love and tender, oil and tears and no promise of the morrow. Not for us. Not for any of us.

“You took my blood. You took my Fire. You took my body. Now take my Riven heart and make me whole once more.”

Magic pulsed inside me, burning my skin, liquefying my bones. I felt his heart pounding in answer and I called him as hard as I could. I tugged on his bond, wrapping him in moonlight and hope where I’d only known hatred before.

“I am Given to you, Jalan tal’Krait. My heart beats for you.”

Our hearts thundered louder. He seized me in razor talons and clutched me to his chest. His wings fought to lift us airborne, but I wrapped him up in my magic, chained him with my heart, my love. “Come back to me, Jalan.”

He didn’t fight me. Sinking to his knees, he curled wings around me. Once again, he accepted me. He accepted my love. And I drew him back. I stifled his Fire, I willed his scales, his wings, his claws to recede.

Until I held my stone warrior in my arms once more.

Chapter Six

Jalan stumbled into his tent with Chanda clutched in his arms and lay her down on the carpets and cushions. Smoothing her dark hair out of her eyes, he caught her tears on his fingers so he could drink her offering.

Laughing softly, she reached up to wipe his, too. Tears he didn’t even know he shed.

“Chanda, my love, what you did... No one has ever been able to bring a dra’gwar back once he succumbs to the beast within. It’s a —”

“Miracle,” she breathed against his lips. “Magic.”

He spread her hair out like a fan on the cushion and buried his face in the silken tresses. Her scent rolled over him, so warm and lush and wild. Yet her heart beat in tandem with his. Her thoughts were his. Her mind and heart were completely open to him, singing with love where only rage had dwelled before.

For a while, he simply held her, listening to her heart, drinking in her scent.  He never dreamed to hold her in his tent. The sepah bustled with dinner preparations, warriors drinking and laughing about the fire, relieved that they lived to face another day. They didn’t know that this courageous, magnificent woman wouldn’t have another day. Unless— “Have we broken your curse?”

“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I hoped if I could earn the fierce White’s love that would be enough.”

She tightened her arms around him, drawing his face closer and rolling on her side so she could stare into his eyes. “I love you. That’s miracle enough.”

“But how can I—”

“You can’t, Jalan. Only I can break this curse.”

“Then break it, my love.”

She smiled, a sad, broken smile that sliced his heart in half. “I can’t. Besides, you still plan to sacrifice me to save your people. Don’t you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart stuttering with horror and dread. How could he even think to kill her? He would rather wade into the Venom Sea than harm a single hair on her head.

Someone scratched at the tent flap. “Tal?”

Jalan crawled over to the flap and peeked out. His heart plummeted. “Yes, Shaddad?”

Completely dressed in black with the taamid pulled up to veil his face, Shaddad’Yama offered a tray containing a large bowl of stew, a tea pot, and a flask of wine. “It must be done at dawn as her dragon comes.”

Grief wracked his heart. “Is there any other way?”

Sympathy flashed in the priest’s eyes. “No, my son. Yama has spoken. This is the only way to save the Kraits. That you love her so well makes her a worthy sacrifice. If you can’t do it, let me wield the blade for you.”

Jalan closed his eyes, struggling to breathe.

“No.” Chanda said in a flat, hard voice. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him back toward the cushions. “I want it done in love.”

She took the tray from his trembling hands. “Sit, tal, and let me serve you one time as your mate.”

It was the least he could do, he decided, watching as she moved about his tent. She found the low table hanging from a rope in the center of the tent, and the cups and bowls in a small chest beneath. The Krait weren’t a wealthy people as far as the Keldari were concerned, but he felt pride that his cups were fine china brought over the wild seas from a land far away; to a Green Land port across those rich, fertile fields to Far Illione, the borderland on the desert fringe; and finally across endless miles of sand and dune, of marauding tribes and dragons, to grace her hand.

Smiling, she gestured him over to lounge on the low cushion beside the table.  She poured water into a small bowl and took a cloth from the chest along with clean linen trousers, a flowing tunic, and slippers worn inside the tents, plain but soft and comfortable. Kneeling beside him, she carefully wiped his face, hands, and feet, and then she helped him dress. He did so silently, enjoying her touch, her scent, as his heart clawed his throat to ribbons. He gazed at her sleek curves, the fall of her dark hair, the glimmer of love in her eyes, and tried to imprint her image on his mind and heart for all time.

Once he was dressed and comfortable on the cushion, she washed herself, rubbing some oil into the dragon scratches to speed healing. She didn’t bother dressing. He had no feminine clothing in his tent anyway.

Kneeling beside him once more, she poured tea. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sipping, closing her eyes even while her lips twisted slightly. “I forgot how strong and bitter our tea is. Surprisingly, I missed it.”

Opening her eyes, she offered the cup, carefully turning it so he could place his mouth where hers had been. He took a sip, welcoming the blaze of smoky spices mixed with bitters. The taste was perfect for this one night they had left.  “Fire Tea feeds the fire within—”

“—If it doesn’t kill you.” She finished the ancient Keldari saying. “Let’s hope the stew is tastier.”

Their last meal. She didn’t say it, but the thought hovered between them, silent doom echoing in the tent. She picked up the heavy silver spoon and sampled the stew.

“If your taste in oil is any indication, the stew doesn’t have enough sage.”  Winking at him, she spooned more and raised it to his mouth. He couldn’t taste anything but ashes. It was enough to stare into her eyes, and put his mouth on the spoon after she took a bite.

No, he lied to himself. It would never be enough. Rage stoked inside his heart; flames flared on his skin. She shivered, glowing as though she swallowed the moon above. Her eyes smoldered, and her lips curved in a teasing smile. Lifting the tray, she stood, deliberately swaying her hips as she turned, giving him a view of fiery dark hair curtaining her slender back.

Clever woman. She turned his useless rage to another kind of fire he could more easily quench. She came back empty handed, standing before him confident and proud. She shook her head and curved her neck like an enticing female dragon.

Still, he forced his hands to remain in his lap. If he touched her with this Fire blazing in him, he would take her like a rutting beast again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid I’ll lose control. And this time—”

Their last time.

“I can be tender, Jalan.” Solemnly, she sat in his lap and pulled his warrior braid over his shoulder. She began unbraiding it, her fingers gentle and sure. “I don’t always bite.”

It felt so odd to touch him, to feel the Fire blazing in him, the desperate hunger, yet keep my movements so light and careful. Odd, but wonderful. I slowly unbraided his hair, gently combing my fingers through his hair until it fell about his shoulders.

Shaking beneath me, he fought to restrain his beast. I felt his hunger, his need to take me, to claim me as his own for all time. Yet he wanted to simply lie together, to hold me endlessly and look into my eyes, too.

It broke my heart.

Silently, I swore to give him exactly what he wanted, even if—when—it killed me.

I took him by the hand and stood, leading him to the rear sleeping alcove. I opened the roof flap so we could see the stars, the accursed moon, the velvet night sky. We lay together staring up at the sky, touching, but not moving more than feather-light fingers. I circled up and down his chest, his arms, his neck, his beloved face, while he stared up at the sky and quivered at my touch.

“Chanda—” His voice broke and a shudder wracked his body.

“Shhh.” I rolled over on my side, drawing his head around so we could stare into each other’s eyes. “I love you.”

“I can’t—”

I drew my thigh up over his hips and wriggling closer. “You’ll do what must be done, my stone warrior.”

“I’m not made of stone,” he said flatly. “I’m flesh and blood, my heart Given to you.”

“Then love me.”

His palm drew me closer, shifting me so he could slide inside. Breast to breast, hip to hip, we lay silently, locked together. He breathed in, and I did as well. His heart beat, and mine accompanied. Tilting my head back enough to stare into his eyes made my neck ache, so I buried my face in his neck and wrapped my arms around him.

We didn’t move. We simply lay together, connected, one flesh, one heart, and watched the moon glide across the sky.

“Tal, it’s time.”

My fingers, slowly trailing up and down Jalan’s spine, stilled at the priest’s words. He gripped me tighter and I clung to him, trying to crawl inside him and hide forever.

That irritated me, though. I don’t hide. I’ve never hidden from anything in my life. I eased my grip on him and pulled away gently. Silently, we stood. I helped him into his clothing, but he refused the taamid.  The only weapon he wore was the scimitar. The wickedly sharp blade gleamed in the darkness before dawn, holding my gaze. My heart raced.

“I’ll be fast,” he whispered, his voice cracking with strain.

“I trust you.” I did, but my stomach clenched and my head pounded until I feared I might be ill. I tried to make my voice light for him. “I’m tired of being a dragon any way.”

“When your heart ceases beating, then mine will too. I swear it. You won’t go to the Gods alone.”

I gripped his hand, shaking, and ashamed that I was scared. I didn’t want to face Somma, not when I still carried Her curse. Evidently, I hadn’t learned a thing in my long imprisonment. Jalan accomplished much, yes, and healed my Riven heart. But I refused to give up my hatred and rage. I deserved to die a painful, wretched death long ago. That he would give me death quickly and painlessly was a blessing.

I still couldn’t stop shaking.

He wrapped an arm around me, drawing me into his side as we walked out of his tent. Shaddad’Yama held a white taamid up for me. Grateful for the warmth in the chilly desert night, I gripped the swath of linen about me. Silent and grim, the Krait lined the path down to the Venom Sea. Some of them nodded to me, some touched their foreheads and bowed. Some wept.

I did fine until we reached the crumbling tainted sands. I couldn’t bear to walk on that spoiled land on bare feet. Dread filled me. I didn’t want to die in taint, in acid, in darkness. It would be much better to die free, blazing in Fire and glory, roaring my fury to the heavens. I couldn’t go peacefully like this without a fight.

Immediately, Jalan scooped me up into his arms. With my face buried against his neck, I breathed his scent and tried to ease the tension straining my body. He carried me down to the very edge of the Venom Sea. The black Island of Despair loomed above us, belching smoke and poison into the barely lightening sky. The fumes made me choke and my skin burned and itched as though I rolled in a patch of thistles.

A black rock slab jutted out over the boiling acid. Thick chains waited for me, heavy enough to hold my dragon. Frantic, I scanned the sky. The sun crept up from the horizon, and the full silvered moon faded. Fire blazed in me even as the sun climbed higher. My dragon would fight to the death rather than be chained. Truth be told, I’d rather fight to the death too, but for Jalan...

Stiff and jerky, I let the black-swathed priests guide me to the rock. With steady but caring pressure, they guided me to kneel and placed my arms and legs in cuffs large enough to accommodate my dragon when she came. Jalan, my stone warrior, trembled and nearly cracked. And so I didn’t pull my hands free. I didn’t even toss my head about and struggle when they put the heavy collar about my neck.

Silent and dark, Shaddad’Yama held the chain attached to my collar and stared up at the Island of Despair. “Great Black, Great Yama, Your people are doubly cursed. We are cursed with Your blood, and we are cursed for our devalki against Somma. Our land is cursed with Despair and agony and we die to right our wrongs.

“Please accept this sacrifice, Chanda the White, the last of Somma’s blood in all of Keldar. Spare the Krait’s last Well, we beg. Spare our tribe, our children, our crops, our livestock. We are Your blood more than any Keldari. We will be the first to die in judgment. May this sacrifice atone for a portion of our devalki.”

Dawn blazed. My dragon stretched inside me, anxious and furious and more than ready to tear into these fools who thought to cage me. I tried to keep my eyes on Jalan, but magic convulsed my body, pain wracking me as the transformation began. I tried to cry out to my stone warrior, but all that came out of my throat was a dragon’s roar.

Fire blazed and white wings beat the air.

The White Dragon reared back, fighting the heavy chains about her limbs and neck. Jalan silently prayed she would free herself, even as a dozen warriors raced forward to help hold her down. Shaddad’Yama directed them, heaving on her collar until her proud neck was stretched out with her head on the ground. They positioned her perfectly for sacrifice; her blood would drain down the black rock altar and drip into the Venom Sea below.

If Jalan could actually bring himself to do it.

Claws scrambling, screaming in fury, Chanda strained against the chains.  Through their bond, he felt her overwhelming fury and aching betrayal. The dragon didn’t care about his people. She didn’t care about the last Well, the taint, the dying crops, as long as there were people, their livestock, or other dragons for her to eat.

Her powerful wings beat the air, struggling to lift her free of the chains. One magnificent wing tangled in the chain, feathers shredding in her frantic efforts.  Refusing to surrender, she beat and fought until her wing broke. Just as his heart broke watching her.

Rushing to her, he dropped to his knees beside her and grabbed her thrashing head. “Shhh, Chanda, shhh. You’re hurting yourself.”

She calmed at his voice, but images slammed into him. Fly, fight, engulfing Fire, rage. Kill them all!

He stroked her neck, crooning softly, until her struggles calmed. Mighty chest heaving, she lay on the rock slab and mewled pitifully. His proud, fierce dragon mate, caged, helpless. He hated it. It made him want to tear into the watching crowd with teeth and claws himself. She saved him, brought him back from eternal Fire, and yet here she lay, ready to die.

“Strike quickly, tal,” Shaddad’Yama urged. “End her misery.”

Jalan leaned down, staring into her liquid gold eyes. “I love you. My heart beats for you.”

Her eyes closed. She tried to turn her head away, but the chains held her still.  In his mind, the image of a death spiral blazed to life. A Black—him—and the White, mating in the air, circling hard and fast to the earth. Only instead of releasing each other and soaring to safety, they splashed into the boiling Sea, still clinging to each other with teeth and claws.

He stood. Staring down at her, he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and adjusted his grip on his scimitar. “Yes, my love. Together in death.”

Exhaling deeply, he brought the blade down with all his strength.

Chapter Seven

Jalan sliced the chain pinning my neck. “Fight, Chanda! Fight! Free yourself!”

Screams erupted from the bystanders. Shaddad’Yama reproached Jalan with  his eyes, silent pools of night. No recrimination, but I felt Jalan’s guilt. Still, he raised the blade over his head and prepared to fight to the death with me. Ah, my fierce mate, how I love him!

With my neck free, I blasted flames in all directions. The priest was able to protect himself, but the Krait quickly retreated to safety. My broken wing sent sharp agony throbbing deep into my shoulder. I couldn’t fly, but I could certainly break iron. Twisting my head around, I bit at the chains trapping me on the black rock.

Jalan shouted, struggling with at least a dozen of his clansmen. He tried to keep them back, but he was reluctant to kill them. I understood, but desperation made me vicious. The chains were as thick as my warrior’s thighs. I couldn’t break them with my teeth, and I couldn’t reach them with my claws. I was better caged than the Red we killed at dusk. They had simply wanted to use him; they wanted to incapacitate me until my death.

Roaring curses, Jalan fell against my flank and quickly pushed back to his feet. “By Yama, no! I won’t let you harm her! Damn you all to Shadow and Despair!”

His words froze the Fire blazing in my heart. He cursed his people. He would curse his God next. He would damn himself for all time, as I had done. I remembered driving his dragon back inside when I was in the two-legged form, but I knew I couldn’t save him from such a curse. I couldn’t save myself from that mistake.

Memory flooded me. The youthful arrogance of a young woman in love, blindly declaring my heart for the warrior I wanted, refusing all counsel that he wasn’t mine to claim. Like a petulant child, I demanded my toy from the Gods, and when they failed to reward me, I cursed them. I fought for what I wanted, I demanded what I wanted, and damned myself with my pride. Instead of surrendering a warrior who didn’t love me to his mate, I killed him.

Surrender.

I couldn’t surrender to save tal’Adder all those centuries ago. But I could save Jalan. I could save him from my curse, if only I let them kill me. Love welled in my fierce heart, unshakeable and eternal. For him, I would do anything.

I stretched my head out on the rock and went still. While Jalan fought his people, the black priest worked his way to my side, a small blade in his hand. “Bless you, Chanda, daughter of Somma. Love waters your heart. Let your blood water our land and save your mate’s people.”

He sliced my throat open cleanly. The pain was sharp, deep, but faded quickly.  I kept my gaze locked on my stone warrior, his proud, chiseled face, his beauty as he danced the blades. My blood rushed down the black rock. I heard it sizzle in the Venom Sea below. The ground trembled in answer and the morning sun darkened.

“No!” Agonized, Jalan pushed through his clansmen. He fell to his knees beside me, horror and grief etched on his pale face. “Chanda, no!”

He dragged my head into his lap and pressed his forehead to mine. Ah, so sweet, to feel his breath on my scales. His tears. Stone cried for me, watering my heart indeed. Peace filled me. At last, I knew what love was. Real love. The kind of love that I would fight for, rightfully, with the Gods’ full blessing. The kind of love I would die for.

Love, the greatest sacrifice.

I died for him.

Chapter Eight

An image came to Jalan’s mind, weak and distant, but so very real. A boulder, sitting before a massive White Dragon. His human shoulder held so gently in her jaws.

Jalan threw his head back and bellowed his grief to the Gods above.

The ground rocked, throwing people to the sands. Crumbling shoreline tumbled into the Venom Sea. Despair flooded the sky with fumes of suffocating death. Jalan coughed, his eyes streaming, but not from the corrupted air.

Chanda was gone.

And so he should be dead. Why did his cursed heart still beat? He was Given to her.  He needed to die with her. She would stand before She Who Hung the Moon alone, defenseless, beaten. It wasn’t right. Not his proud, fierce White. She deserved the Black at her side.

He would be at her side to face judgment with her, one way or another. He raised the scimitar to his throat.

“Tal, look!” Shaddad’Yama’s ancient hand locked on his shoulder, jerking his attention to the sky. The sun was gone and darkness fell across Keldar. “The moon covers the sun!”

Somma’s moon eclipsed Agni’s merciless sun.

Heart thundering, Jalan looked down at Chanda. Her scales gleamed in the silvered moonlight. Rainbows danced about her, swirling brighter even as he watched. She glowed so brightly he shielded his eyes, turning his face aside.

When the glow dimmed, he found her very human body on the black rock. Unmoving, limp, a gaping wound in her throat, dragon scratches on her shoulder.  With trembling fingers, he traced the delicate curve of her cheek, the fragile, deathly white skin. So beautiful in death. A soft gentle smile curved her lips—the smile she graced him with in the privacy of his tent.

“Keldar is a hard land, tal,” Shaddad’Yama whispered. “A hard life. She suited you, and you her.”

“And you killed her,” Jalan replied flatly. “Despair doesn’t lift from our lands.  Instead, our lands are swallowed even as I watch. My lungs are burned. My heart is dead, and yet I live.  How can I still live when I’m Given to Chanda?”

Whatever answer the priest meant to give was drowned out by a child’s shout.  His nephew, Laken, weaved through the few remaining people. “Uncle, come quickly!  Water flows in the wadi!”

“What?” Stunned, Jalan craned his neck for a view of the dry ravine.  According to legend, it had indeed been a river before their devalki, but none in a dozen generations had ever seen water. Running water. That would be as likely as legendary rain—drops of moisture falling from the heavens.

At the solid plop of water in the sands, Jalan flinched. More plops, more water, moisture hitting his face. The Keldari tilted their heads back, mouths open, weeping, as the first rain in a thousand years fell.

The sound of running water was more than he could bear. A lively stream a stride’s length wide now ran in the wadi. Oh, that Chanda had to die to bring such miracles. How he longed to share this wonder with her.

Shaddad’Yama fell to his knees and the Kraits joined him, bowing their heads to the sands and praising the Trinity. “Forgive us, Agni. Forgive us, Somma.  Bless Your Krait sons and daughters, Yama the Black.”

Soft, gentle rain certainly wasn’t enough to satisfy the parched earth that lay dormant for hundreds of years, nor enough to entirely wash away the taint in the sands. But it sweetened the air and cleaned the burning fumes. Rain dampened Chanda’s hair, slicking it to her face, falling into the wound on her neck. The priest draped the white taamid over her, covering her face, but rain plastered the linen to her still body.

People celebrated, singing and dancing, throwing children in the air, cupping water in their hands and drinking greedily. A few brave souls even dared the stream flowing in the wadi, standing knee-deep in more water than they’d ever seen in their entire lives. Water hissed and sizzled as it hit the Venom Sea below.  A group of enterprising young men dug channels from the wadi to direct some of the precious fluid away from the boiling acid. More men dug another Well, laughingly slinging mud on the clapping watchers.

All this while Jalan slumped on the ground beside his beloved’s body. He would not fail in his promise to her. This very afternoon he would ride to Mamba lands and fight them one by one until someone managed to kill him. At least that way he would die with full honor and help his people eliminate a few of their enemy at the same time. After Chanda’s courage, dying by his own hand would dishonor her.

The sun slipped above the moon and the familiar punishing heat blazed down on Keldar once more. Rain ceased, but the trickling stream remained. In fact, it flowed even harder, surely another hand deeper than before. Where was the water coming from if not brought by rains to the north?

:Until the Well of Tears reflects the light of the silvered moon and overflows to water a dry and thirsty land.:

Bitter hope seized his lungs and heart in agony. Hand trembling, he hesitantly reached out toward the damp taamid covering Chanda’s face. She was gone.  Wasn’t she? “Chanda?”

:Your love is the light of Somma on my Riven heart of tears.  The Well overflows and waters my dry and thirsty life.:

With his eyes locked on her covered face, he swore she moved. She breathed faintly. He jerked the taamid back and leaned over her. Frantic, he searched her face. Her eyes were still closed. But where the wound had gaped in her throat, only a silver scar remained.

He closed his shaking hands on her shoulders, afraid to move her, afraid she might be lifeless. Her flesh was warm beneath his palms. Her chest rose and she took a deep breath that he heard, that he felt in his own lungs.  His heart froze in his chest, refusing to beat, and every muscle in his body waited, listening, praying for—

Her heartbeat reverberated in his head. Gasping, he felt his own heart thunder to life, beating in tune with hers. Her eyes opened.

Jalan dragged her into his arms, clutching her to his chest. Laughing, crying, he pressed frantic kisses to her face, ran his hands over her body, assuring himself she lived and breathed.

“I breathe, my stone warrior. My heart beats for you alone.” Chanda the White smiled, cupping his face. She pulled his forehead down to hers, stroking her fingers across his cheeks to wrap her hands in his hair. “Not even death could keep me from you.”

I stood with my stone warrior on the edge of the Well of Tears. Water reflected the waning moon above—more water than I ever imagined could exist in the entire world. “My water is yours, Jalan tal’Krait.”

“Uncle,” the boy asked, tugging on Jalan’s taamid. “Is it safe to drink?”

Jalan smiled down at him, and the tenderness on his face clutched my heart in dragon talons. How I longed to give him a dozen children simply so I could see that look on his face all the day and night for the rest of our very long lives.  “Drink all you can hold, Laken. You can even bathe in it if you want.”

Screeching, the boy ran down to the shoreline and scooped water over his head with both hands.

I slipped my arm around Jalan’s waist. Our Fires mingled, dancing with joy and laughter. How many years had I lain on my ledge, glaring down at the empty Well with all the hatred and rage in my Riven heart? Now, my heart was as full as the overflowing Well of shimmering, pure water.

“We shall make a garden so lush, so beautiful, that all of Keldar will trek here to see our marvels.” Jalan pointed to the hint of green already sprouting around the rim. “All who swear allegiance to our sepah will be welcome, no matter their tribe.”

“Most likely, other dra’gwar will scour the lands beyond Keldar in search of Somma’s blood to offer in sacrifice,” I answered dryly. “What do you plan to name this great new tribe, tal of my heart?”

“Tellan.”  Jalan answered immediately. He gazed down into my eyes, a hint of a smile crinkling his eyes. “Hope for Keldar; hope for us all. Hope that our devalki will be met with love.”

I slipped my hand into the neck of his shirt, fingers stroking over my marks branded into his flesh. Immediately, flames blazed in his eyes. “Perhaps tal’Tellan would consider sharing a bath with his mate?”

Jalan picked me up and slung me over his shoulder, heading to my lair above at a hard trot. “Wells, yes, my love.  Do you think you’ll survive a bath?”

“Only if you can survive my fire.”

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