Mated to the Storm Dragon (Elemental Mates 1)

“Gregory Drago, Dragon of the Storm, come forward,” a voice boomed.

Gregory strode forward, determinedly facing the council that had gathered in the giant chamber of hewn stone, residing in a hollow mountain top where their kind had reigned for hundreds of years.

On large plinths of granite, two dragons sat, facing him.

Into one plinth the symbol of earth was engraved. The dragon sitting there was called Damon Drago, an earnest man who in his dragon form was the intimidating gray-black of rock, his claws and teeth glistening like diamonds.

The plinth on his right bore the symbol of water. The dragon sitting there was called Timothy Drago, and in his human form, Gregory got along well with him. He was a cheerful man who spent much of his time traveling the world, exploring the ocean and the world’s finest beaches.

Now, as a dragon, Timothy gave him a grave look from eyes that were the dark blue of the deepest ocean, his body that was covered in glimmering blue-green scales sitting forward at

tentively, his tail curled lightly around his legs.

The plinth on the other side stood empty. It bore the symbol of air, and it was the seat that was by right Gregory’s. There, he had often sat when the council had to discuss an incident.

That was why the council usually convened: arguments between their kind that needed to be settled, or incidents that threatened to upset the secrecy that veiled dragons and their realms from discovery by humans.

Now, for the first time in his life, Gregory was called before the council.

“I’ve done no wrong,” Gregory said firmly, not cowed by the way his human voice echoed in the large cavern. “Question me if you must. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“We have heard a tale that concerns us greatly,” the disembodied voice boomed once more. “Griffin, come forward and make a report.”

Gregory’s heart gave a jolt as the familiar form of his friend and griffin shifter Jared came forward out of the shadows. He was in his griffin form: the body of a lion, with the majestic head and powerful wings of an eagle.

The glance Jared gave Gregory was apologetic, but he did not hesitate.

“Noble council, a painting has recently been shown in a gallery that shows the dragon form of Gregory Drago. We saw it together at an art exhibition a few days ago to which I accompanied him. The dragon in the painting is Gregory, there’s no doubt about it. Whoever painted it must have seen him. There’s no other explanation for the resemblance.”

“Humans can’t see me. You all know that as well as I do. It’s impossible,” Gregory said. “The resemblance must’ve happened by chance. You know as well as I do that humans still make movies about us, even though we withdrew from their world centuries ago.”

“Chance?” Damon, the earth dragon, asked with obvious concern. “I don’t believe in chance. If the griffin says that it shows you, your true form—”

“It does,” Jared said, his eagle wings shifting uncomfortably. “I looked at the painting myself, and I saw my friend’s true power in the lines of the painting. Whoever painted it must know him.”

“Buy the painting and destroy it,” Timothy, the water dragon, now cheerfully interjected. “Why make such a fuss? Maybe someone caught a glimpse of him one night. Accidents happen. Burn the painting and there’ll be no harm done.”

“I’ve purchased it already,” Gregory said. “I couldn’t let it fall into wrong hands. But I demanded that the artist hand it to me personally.”

“Good,” the disembodied voice boomed again. “Recent reports have greatly alarmed me. There have been rumors about a dragon hunting sheep in Iceland. And all along the Atlantic Coast, local papers talk of livestock disappearing. And now the painting. Find out who is behind this. If someone tries to threaten us—you know what to do.”

Respectfully, Gregory inclined his head. On the stark wall of rock before him, a shadow moved. For a moment, he could make out the outline of the terrible creature that ruled the council: ever-changing outlines showing a glimpse of the head of a lion, then the body of a dragon.

A chimera.

An old and powerful creature. Long ago, or so rumors said, the chimera had been a dragon as well: Gareth, his name had been, and his element had been light.

But Gareth had not found a mate, as all dragons must before their inner power could consume them. Most dragons simply went mad and had to be taken out.

Gareth had been strong, so the legend said. Gareth had clung to his power and his sanity for as long as he could, even without a mate to anchor him. But in the end, his unfettered power had twisted him. His dragon’s soul had broken into shards, and he had been trapped forever in the twisted form of the chimera.

Gregory shuddered as he looked at the giant shadow stretching across the cavern’s wall. Was the same fate waiting for him...?

Gregory had one year left to find a mate. He’d traveled far, but his heart had never heard another person call out to him.

Until a few days ago, when he found himself staring at a painting in a gallery.

Whoever had drawn it had seen his dragon’s soul. It wasn’t just the physical form of his dragon. It went deeper, much deeper. In his eyes, there had been the power of the wind—and that twisting sadness that dug deeper and deeper into his heart with every day that he spent without a mate.