Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet 2)

For once, Ola does as I say. She lets the sword fall to the floor and picks back up our hatchling as she explains, “My uncles blew the whistle on us, and my douchebag cousin has decided to abuse his powers again because everyone thinks I’m brainwashed. Things escalated. And I stole my dad’s sword. And now there are a bunch of drones on the way to storm our kingdom house. And we’ve got to figure out how to free you from those chains because they are not going to be happy when they find out the door code I gave them was totally fake.”

Many of her words are confusing. But my flame chills when I realize… the sword in her hands. It is the same one that killed my father. How perfect, how right would it be then, to have FJ use it to slay everyone he loves? Save Ola, who of course, would keep for myself.

“Can you not use a key to simply release me?” I ask her, careful to keep my voice calm, even though her answer matters not.

“No, my uncles have the key to your shackles. That was one of the conditions of me getting to keep you here. That plus giving them the code to this door lock, which I did—but the numbers are totally fake. I had a bad feeling my uncles would break.”

The sound of buttons being pushed suddenly interrupts her explanation.

The door lets out a sour buzz of denial.

More buttons are pushed. Another sour buzz and the next thing we hear are heavy fists pounding against the door.

“Ola, do not do this!” a heavily accented male voice calls out to her on the other side of the impenetrable alloy.

Then another voice adds, “Do not betray your family and pack! You must remember who you are, no matter what spell that serpent has cast upon your mind.”

My flame ices over at the sound of the second voice. Hundreds of years have passed since I heard it commanding his fellow warriors to take on wolf form, so as to better fight us, but I will never forget the voice of the male who killed my father.

“Let us in,” the well-remembered voice commands his daughter as he did his soldiers so long ago upon that field. “Let us in so that we can seize the serpent and extract you from his thrall.”

“Dads…” Ola’s formerly resolute expression wobbles as she looks at the door. I can feel her indecision radiating over our mate bond.

More pounding. “Let us in,” her murderer father commands. Then in a softer voice he says, “We are your family, Ola. Your Papa and I swore to love and protect you forever the day we returned from our time after missing the first five winters of your life. Do not do this. Do not let that serpent rip you from us again.”

Tears brim in my mate’s eyes.

And I tighten my fists. If she thinks I will allow her to open that door and hand me over to her fathers—”

“We’ve got to get you out of these chains.” She turns to me, her face set with a renewed resolve. “Quickly before they figure out how to get in!”

I let out a steamed breath, relief flaring my flame. Her resolute answer delivered straight to my head makes my next decision that much easier.

I grab on to the iron shackle around my right wrist and rip it away. Each cuff protests mightily, screaming as I tear them from my wrists and ankles. But with my strength fully returned it feels like a mere matter of bending a slightly resistant substance to my will.

Like removing bracelets I’ve decided I no longer like. Simple verging on easy.

Then I stand up to face my mate. Both of us unfettered for the first time since her coronation night.

She holds our progeny tight, her eyes glued to mine. “How?” she demands.

Outside the door, her fathers pound even louder call out her name that more desperately. “What was all that clamor?” They demand. “Ola! Ola! Are you all right? What is happening?”

But Ola does not seem to hear them. She continues to stare up at me, waiting for my answer.

With a crook of my head, I inform her. “If you wish to imprison a drakkon, you must not only chain us but also keep us wounded and on the brink of starvation. By letting me heal, by feeding me so heartily, you allowed my strength to return.”

She looks down, and a storm of emotions flicker across our mate bond before she raises her eyes once again to ask, “How long? How long have you been able to do this?”

Again, I tell her the blunt truth. “Two days.”

“Two days,” she repeats, her voice breathless. “But why are you just now breaking your chains? Why didn’t you escape as soon as you found out—”