Her Dragon Captor (Her Dragon King Duet 1)

I find Ola in the receiving room, dressed in a clean nightgown and swinging a wing chair into the two-story front window. “Why… are… all… these… windows… wolf-proof?”

She bangs the chair like a cricket bat against the window on every word. “I… know… that… wasn’t… in… the… budget!”

If the scene below the stairs was happened upon by anyone but me, they might have found it comical. But my flame does not ripple with even an iota of amusement.

“Master? Master? Is that you?”

The voice is coming from the room’s coat closet, which has a chair shoved underneath the knob. When I open it, I find Colby inside, dressed in his tailored black and white servant’s uniform.

“I caught her sneaking down the stairs when I came out of my room to use the lavatory. She was right upset when I got in her way. But I managed to secure the rest of the house before I ran to hide from her in this closet, Master. I made certain there was no way for her to escape.”

I glance around to see he is right. The room is perfectly secure at all of its perimeters, save the stairs. An impenetrable door has slid over the archway leading into the kitchen—the only room with a knobbed door in the house. And the front smart door has turned red, signaling that no one can enter or exit, until it receives a voice command from either Colby or myself.

This Colby is much savvier than his father. He learned his lesson from the incident outside when she easily sent him flying with just a push. And he wisely did not attempt to fight a she-wolf who is twice as strong as him. Simply used technology to make sure she didn’t escape.

With a pang, I think of the last Colby who, despite his advanced years, tried to prevent the Betrayer King from escaping my prison with physical action.

He never did recover from the injuries he sustained in that short scuffle. And after taking to his bed, he’d ended up dying of several underlying ailments he hadn’t bothered to get treated.

Colbys tended to do that. They accept their lot when they first come to me, but it was always necessary to send them back out into the world at the age of thirty or so, to ensure an heir to take their place. Family inevitably changed them. They’d come back after fulfilling their legacy with sad, hangdog eyes. I often did not get even two decades of good service after their return.

Colby hung on a bit longer than that, but his death had somehow been earlier than expected for me. Too early.

Colbys come and Colbys go and never shall a drakkon weep.

But sometimes… sometimes it was hard to look at this new Colby. His face had a great likeness to his father’s at the same age, but this Colby’s eyes shone much, much brighter.

I inwardly hiss, cutting off my foolish thoughts. More feelings. This business with the she-wolf is making me all too sentimental.

“Return upstairs,” I command, cutting my eyes away from the young upright primate. “Breakfast will be delayed.”

He rushes back up the stairs as I turn back to the she-wolf. She is a glorious sight, her face and arms radiant with sweat.

And I can feel her frustration and anger as if it is my own.

With a silent hiss, I acknowledge this is most likely due to a functioning mate bond. I had hoped one wouldn’t form between us given our vastly different species. While I’d been straining for days to god speak this she-wolf, the last thing I want is her inside my own head. Yet here I stand, her feelings of anger, frustration, and fear pummeling into me.

I mute my own feelings. Perhaps this will keep her from discovering this newest weak spot in my armor.

Then I wait for her to acknowledge my presence.

And wait.

She is very much aware I am here. I can feel that awareness over our mate bond, intense and fearful. Also, her weariness. Swinging the heavy chair requires much exertion, even for a wolf. Yet she doggedly continues to do so long after I’ve come down the stairs.

“Cease this immediately. Or I will have to punish you for your defiance on top of the punishment of this latest attempt at escape.”

She pauses at my words. Letting the chair rest on the floor while she breathes hard.

But then she stubbornly picks the piece of furniture back up and heaves it into the glass. Again and again. In open defiance.

I let her. She will tire soon and have to stop. Meanwhile, I ratchet up the severity of the punishment with every bang of the glass. Raised as she was, by American gangsters and two drakkon murderers, she thinks she may do whatever she wishes.

But I will teach her. Oh yes, I will.