Eight Simple Rules for Dating a Dragon

Book 3: The Embraced

by Kerrelyn Sparks

Genres: Shifters; Gothic; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

Return to the most exciting, magical and romantic series to come along in years in the stunning world of the Embraced! From the brilliant imagination of Kerrelyn Sparks comes a bold new fantasy romance series in which passion and magic collide.

Gwennore is an Elf able to track down the cause of an illness and heal it—a valuable asset to her people. But when she is thrust into the realm of the dragons, she discovers a haunted place of power and magic, plagued by an ancient curse. And then she meets the smoldering General Silas Dravenko. She's been raised never to trust a dragon, but never did making a deal with the devil feel so good.

Silas has no way of saving the royal family he's served for years. But when a beautiful elf comes bursting into his world, Silas is awakened to desire in a way he's never felt before. But can he trust a sworn enemy?

Release date: March 27, 2018

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter One


Gwennore was ready to scream.

But if she did, others might hear and foil her escape. What could she do but continue her climb up the hillside, even though she felt as if she were falling into a dark pit.

She was a storm on the verge of breaking. An overfilled wineskin about to burst. A sizzling pot threatening to boil over. Luna and Lessa, help me, she sent up in fervent prayer to the twin moon goddesses.

Maybe she should learn to curse like her sister Sorcha. But the ever-rational part of Gwennore’s brain reminded her that it was more sensible to do what she always did. Remain calm. Eviana was beside her, and it would be a shame to expose an innocent child to foul language. The little girl was only three years old. Today.

“Gwennie?” Eviana tugged on her hand. “What’s wong?”

Gwennore forced a smile. “Nothing. Everything is perfectly fine.”

Eviana scrunched up her little nose with a dubious look.

The child was far too insightful, Gwennore thought, even though it was one of the things she loved about the little girl. “Shall we rest a moment to catch our breath?” When Eviana nodded, Gwennore glanced down the hill at the encampment along the Norva River.

Tonight was the Spring Embrace, when the two moons would align in the sky, and that meant a number of Gwennore’s family and friends would be celebrating their birthdays. Her oldest adopted sister, Luciana, now the queen of Eberon, would be twenty-three, and her twins, Eric and Eviana, were turning three. Sorcha, just six months younger than Gwennore, would be twenty-one. The king of Tourin was turning twenty-nine. Ulfrid was his real name, but his wife, Brigitta, still preferred to call him Rupert.

And there were even more reasons to celebrate. Brigitta and Ulfrid had brought their little boy, Reynfrid, for everyone to see. The general of the Tourinian army, Stefan Landers, and his wife, Lady Fallyn, had traveled with them. Gwennore had been delighted to see the former nun again and meet her adorable two-year-old daughter. And more babies were on the way, since Luciana, Brigitta, and Fallyn were all expecting.

With so much to be thankful for, Luciana and Brigitta had teamed up to plan a huge party on the banks of the Norva River, which served as the border for their two countries. On the northern side of the river, in the country of Tourin, there had to be at least fifty tents set up.

On the southern bank of the Norva, the Eberoni had erected even more tents. On both sides of the river, meat was being roasted over large pits, and food was being prepared. People bustled back and forth over the bridge, a comforting reminder of the peaceful and relaxed relationship between the two countries. After all, the two queens, Luciana and Brigitta, considered themselves sisters.

Unfortunately, those same two women were competing with each other to see who could arrange marriages for the three remaining sisters. It was ridiculous. Gwennore was happy for Luciana and Brigitta, truly she was, but just because they were happily married, that didn’t mean it could happen for her.

For the last few years, Gwennore’s level of frustration had been slowly escalating. How could she tell her older sisters that they were wasting their time and money giving her beautiful gowns? The noblemen at the Eberoni and Tourinian courts wanted nothing to do with her. No matter how well she was dressed, she was still an elf.

She doubted her sisters would ever understand, for they had always considered her as one of them. The five young women had grown up at the convent, surrounded by love, so it had come as a hard blow when Gwennore had realized that people on the mainland saw her differently. All the love and acceptance to which she was accustomed was gone. To the people of Eberon and Tourin, she didn’t belong.

With her white-blond hair, lavender-blue eyes, and pointed ears, it was obvious she hailed from the elfin kingdom of Woodwyn. But for some unknown reason, the elves there had rejected Gwennore and sent her as a babe to the Isle of Moon. She had no memory of Woodwyn and no recollection of ever meeting another elf. What little she knew about them and their language had been learned in the convent when she’d transcribed a few of their books. She felt sure she would never fit in there.

Just as she could never feel at home in the countries of Eberon or Tourin. The only place she had felt truly comfortable was the convent on the Isle of Moon.

But that had changed after Luciana had given birth. Gwennore had found two sanctuaries at Ebton Palace—the vast library where she could hide in a curtained-off window seat and escape with a good book, and the nursery, where there was no need to hide or escape. There, she was free to be herself.

The twins had grown up with Gwennore, loving her just as her adopted sisters had at the convent. It was Eviana, though, with whom Gwennore felt a special bond. From the moment the little girl was born, Gwennore had been drawn to her. She loved her with a maternal fierceness that gave her enough joy that she remained at the palace in spite of the prejudice she encountered from other courtiers.

The main problem, as far as she could see, was that no one understood the elves. They attacked Eberon to the west and Norveshka to the north, streaming across the borders to kill and maim, then retreating without bothering to claim any plunder or land. Since they didn’t seem to want anything, other than the pleasure of killing a few people, they had a reputation of being coldhearted and vicious.

So what man in his right mind would want to marry Gwennore? The fact that she’d been raised in a convent to abhor violence didn’t seem to matter. Nor the fact that she prided herself on her ability to remain calm and rational. She was intelligent enough to converse in all four mainland languages, yet she was still regarded as some sort of violent creature that might go on a killing spree at the drop of a hat.

A month ago, Luciana had planned an elaborate ball at Ebton Palace. Noblemen had flocked around Sorcha and Maeve, as well they should, since they were both beautiful young women. Usually at these events, the only men willing to dance with Gwennore were Luciana’s friends Brody and the newly promoted Colonel Nevis Harden. But Nevis was usually away with the army, and Brody was a shifter, who could take human form for only two hours a day. Gwennore and her younger sisters had been shocked when Luciana had revealed the truth about Brody, but now Gwennore was accustomed to seeing him in his usual guise as a furry black-and-white dog.

At this particular ball, Luciana had invited two young earls, with the hope that they would fall for her sisters. The two earls had found Gwennore, half hidden behind a column, and after looking her over, they had smirked and talked to each other as if she weren’t there.

“Maybe she’s part fox,” one had muttered. “Could be why she has those pointed ears.”

The second earl nodded. “I wonder if she’s hiding a tail beneath her skirts.”

The first one snorted. “Who on Aerthlan would be willing to find out?”

“Maybe the Seer would have a go at her,” his companion replied. “I hear the old man is blind. And he’s lived alone for decades. He must be desperate.”

The first earl snickered as he looked Gwennore over once again. “No one could be that desperate.”

Gwennore’s cheeks had flared hot. “Leave me be, or I’ll tell the king and queen how rude ye are.”

They had looked worried for a few seconds before the first one lifted his chin in defiance. “The king needs the support of us nobles. He doesn’t need the likes of you.” And with that, the two had sauntered off to enjoy the ball.

“Shall I clobber them for you?” Brody whispered as he came around the column.

He had heard. Gwennore’s face burned even hotter. Of course he had heard. As a spy, Brody was accustomed to eavesdropping on private conversations.

“Come on, let me punch them,” Brody growled. “They deserve it.”

Gwennore shook her head. “Luciana has worked too hard to make this ball a success. I don’t want to ruin it with a brawl.”

Brody frowned. “She needs to know that she’s matchmaking with a pair of assholes.”

“I’ll warn Sorcha and Maeve,” Gwennore whispered. “That will be enough. I don’t want to cause any more political problems for Luciana and Leo.” They were still having enough trouble with a traitorous group of disgruntled priests led by Lord Morris.

Brody scowled at the two earls. “As soon as I shift, I’m going to bite them.” He gave Gwennore a wry look. “And no one can stop me, because I’m a naughty doggy who never passed obedience training.”

That had made her smile.

“That’s more like it.” Brody smiled back as he leaned against the column. “Did you want to dance again?”

“Ye’ve already done yer duty with me and Sorcha. Ye should dance with Maeve now.”

His smile turned into a grimace. “No. Hell, no. Not as long as she persists in calling me Julia.”

Gwennore’s laugh abruptly ended when she spotted one of the earls talking to Maeve. “Oh, dear.”

A growl sounded low in Brody’s throat.

“Are ye planning to shift now?” Gwennore whispered.

“Considering it,” Brody muttered. “I can either stay human and insist she dance with me, or become a dog and bite the bastard.”

“Or ye could become a dog and dance with two left feet,” Gwennore teased him.

Brody snorted. “I can do that while still human.” He strode toward the earl and Maeve, and Gwennore had waited to make sure her youngest sister was safe before escaping back to the nursery.

But now that she was here on the Norva River, there was no library or nursery where she could hide. Her hope of enjoying the celebration surrounded by only family and friends was gone, for Luciana and Brigitta had both invited a number of single noblemen. And just a few minutes ago, the infamous two earls had shown up.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Gwennore whispered as tears filled her eyes. If she had to endure one more man eyeing her like she was some sort of loathsome insect, she might explode like a screeching demon from hell.

The only solution to her problem, as far as she could tell, would be to return to the Convent of the Two Moons. Mother Ginessa and the nuns would welcome her. She would be loved there. But then she would have to go for months without seeing her adopted sisters or this little girl she loved so much.

“I can’t stand, too.” Eviana lifted her chubby arms in the air, her signal that she wanted to be held.

With a smile, Gwennore picked her up. With the little girl’s arms wrapped around her neck, she closed her eyes to keep the tears from flowing. This was why she stayed.

But as much as she cherished moments like this that made her heart swell with love, she was always aware of an underlying twinge of heartache. For she had no doubt that this was as close as she would ever get to motherhood.

How could she give this up? No, she would stay at Ebton Palace to be with the twins. And when Luciana gave birth in three months, Gwennore would be there to help with the newborn. Twenty months ago, she’d gone to Lourdon to help Brigitta with her baby boy.

This was her life. Always the helpful one, moving silently like a ghost through the shadows of the royal palace and only coming to life in the nursery. Or her own imagination. For she still dreamed of a world where she could shine. It would be a beautiful world, filled with wonder and excitement. And a tall and handsome stranger would love her for who she was.

“When do we see the fwowers?”

Eviana’s question pulled her back to the real world. A world where she was using a flower-picking expedition to evade scornful glances and crude insults.

Gwennore sighed. Why waste her time wishing for the impossible? This was reality, and she should accept it and make the most of it. “We’ll see the flowers soon. There’s a whole field of them on top of the hill.”

She shifted the little girl onto her left hip, then held up her long silk skirt with her right hand to climb the last remaining steps. “I spotted them from the carriage window when we were arriving yesterday.”

“I can give some to Mama?”

Gwennore nodded. “She’ll think it’s the best birthday present ever.”

Eviana grinned. “Ewic won’t have fwowers for her.”

“Maybe we should pick some for him, too.”

Eviana scrunched up her little nose. “He poked me.”

“Did ye tell him to stop?”

She shook her head. “I poked him back.”

Gwennore snorted. “Do ye have a present for yer brother? ’Tis his birthday, too, ye know.”

Eviana bit her lip while she considered, and the movement made her look so much like her mother that Gwennore smiled. The little girl had her mother’s black curly hair, but her green eyes had come from her father.

“I don’t think Ewic wants fwowers,” Eviana mumbled.

“Ye make a good point,” Gwennore said. “We’ll have to find something more suitable for a boy. Maybe a walking stick from the forest or a pretty rock from the riverbank.”

“A big wock!” Eviana stretched her arms wide.

“All right.” Gwennore took a deep breath as she reached the top of the hill. The winter snow had melted over a month ago, and now the afternoon sun shone on a carpet of bright-green grass dotted with flowers of yellow, orange, and purple. “Well, what do ye think?”

Eviana gasped. “It’s bootiful!” She squirmed to be let down, then rushed about plucking flowers.

Gwennore watched her for a moment, then glanced back toward the encampment by the river. Kegs of beer and wine had already been opened, and the sound of laughter blew toward her on a breeze. She spotted the two kings, Leofric and Ulfrid, trying to teach their sons, Eric and Reynfrid, how to skip stones across the river. Her adopted sisters were busy overseeing the cooking. Luciana spotted her with Eviana and waved.

Gwennore waved back, then settled on a grassy spot to watch the little girl. A shadow moved across the ground, and she glanced up at the cloudless sky. A large bird was flying high overhead.

Her eyes narrowed. An extremely large bird. Was it Brody in eagle form, watching over them? She looked down at the camp and spotted Brody as a dog, following the two nasty earls and nipping at their heels.

She glanced back at the bird, but it was too far away and the sun was too bright for her to see clearly. Surely it couldn’t be the Chameleon. No one knew the mysterious shifter’s real name or what he even looked like, but since he apparently had the ability to change into any animal or human, Brody had dubbed him the Chameleon.

After causing so much trouble three years ago, the villainous Chameleon had disappeared. Brody had searched high and low for him to no avail.

“Look, Gwennie!” Eviana ran toward her with a big bunch of flowers in her hands. “Awen’t they pwetty?”

“Oh, they’re lovely!” Gwennore pulled the blue ribbon from the end of her braided ponytail and used it to tie the bouquet together. “There. Perfect. I think ye should pick some flowers for Aunt Sorcha. ’Tis her birthday, too.”

“All wight!” Eviana bounced away.

Gwennore lifted her face to the warm sun, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Life was good, she reminded herself. Two of her sisters had become queens, and now the countries of Eberon and Tourin were at peace. The Seer had predicted even more peace, so Mother Ginessa had finally relented and allowed Gwennore and her younger sisters to leave the Isle of Moon and live on the mainland. The other two countries, Norveshka and Woodwyn, still caused trouble every now and then, but they seemed far away now.

A screech echoed in the distance, and she opened her eyes. That hadn’t sounded like an eagle. Whatever it was, way up high in the sky, it seemed to be circling. An ominous feeling crept under her skin, and suddenly she recalled the way Luciana had looked last night when Maeve had suggested they play the Game of Stones.

“We’re all together again,” Maeve had said when Brigitta had joined them. “We should bring out the Telling Stones, so ye can predict our futures.”

Luciana had grown pale. “I’m too weary from travel. Perhaps another time.”

Gwennore hadn’t missed the worried glance Luciana had exchanged with Brigitta. They’d looked the same way almost three years ago when Luciana had selected a handful of Telling Stones to predict Gwennore’s future. Luciana had completely avoided playing the game since then, and Gwennore couldn’t help but feel that her oldest sister had seen something that had frightened her.

Green, brown, and the number three. Those were the pebbles Luciana had picked for Gwennore. To Maeve and Sorcha, the interpretation had been obvious. The colors signified the country of Woodwyn, since the elfin flag pictured a tall green tree growing from brown earth.

But Luciana was the one with the gift of foresight, and she had declined to agree with them. She’d also failed to explain the number three, even though Sorcha had claimed it meant Gwennore would meet a tall and handsome stranger in three months.

That hadn’t happened, of course. Not that Gwennore had expected it. With her rational mind, she preferred to believe that people were responsible for making their own future. Still, she had to wonder what the three meant.

Three. Today Eric and Eviana were turning three. Gwennore glanced at the camp as the feeling of foreboding grew more intense. Was whatever Luciana feared going to happen today?

“Gwennie!” Eviana wrenched her out of her thoughts by shoving a plant in her face. “Look at the funny fwower.”

“Oh, I know this.” Gwennore set aside Luciana’s bouquet of flowers to take the new plant. Instead of flower petals, it was topped with a sphere of white fluff. “’Tis called a puffball. We grow them at the convent, because we can use the leaves to make medicine.”

Eviana wrinkled her nose as she studied it. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“That’s because the gardeners at Ebton Palace consider it a weed and pull it out.”

“Why?” Eviana pushed out her bottom lip. “Why is it bad? I think it’s pwetty.”

Gwennore sighed, feeling a sudden kinship to the plant that wasn’t welcome in most gardens. “There’s a saying that if ye make a wish afore blowing on the puffball, then yer wish will come true.”

“Weally?” Eviana’s eyes lit up.

Gwennore nodded. As she gazed at the ball of white fluff, she thought about wishing for that magical world where the tall and handsome stranger was waiting for her. But what were the chances of that actually happening? It made more sense to wish for something that could possibly come true. A long and happy life for Eviana and Eric.

“I’m weady!” the little girl announced.

“Me, too!” Gwennore took a big breath and started to gently blow.

Eviana huffed and puffed, spitting more than blowing, then giggled as white florets detached from the flower head and floated away on a breeze. “We did it!” She danced about. “Guess what I wished for!”

“Ye shouldn’t say, or it won’t come—”

“I wished you not be sad.”

Gwennore stiffened. Good goddesses, was she so obvious that even a three-year-old could tell? “Ye think I’m sad?”

Eviana nodded. “’Cause we get pwesents, and you don’t. But I’ll give you some fwowers, too.”

Gwennore smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, but ye needn’t worry. My birthday will happen in the fall at the Autumn Embrace. I have the same birthday as yer papa. And Brigitta, Maeve, and Brody.”

“Weally?”

“Yes. Really.”

Eviana clapped her hands together. “Then we can have another party?”

Gwennore nodded. “Now let’s get some flowers for Sorcha, so we can head back to camp.”

“All wight!” Eviana skipped away, stopping every now and then to pluck a flower.

A large shadow swept over them, and Gwennore glanced up. Good goddesses! Her heart lurched.

Dragon.

She scrambled to her feet. What was a Norveshki dragon doing here? Was that what had been circling them? Why would it be interested in her? Not me. Icy-cold terror crept into Gwennore’s bones, freezing her for a few seconds. Eviana. Dragons were known for kidnapping small children.

With a shriek, the dragon swooshed down. Fire burst from its mouth and hit the ground, creating a wall of fire between the hill and the encampment. Heavenly goddesses, it was cutting them off!

“Eviana!” Gwennore dashed toward the little girl. She would grab her and run for the nearby forest. There, the larger trees could shelter them from the dragon’s view.

Eviana’s eyes grew wide with terror, and the flowers tumbled from her hand. She turned and ran. Away from the forest.

“Nay!” Gwennore struggled to catch up with her.

The dragon swooped down.

Gwennore heard the beating of its wings and its breath huffing just above her head. She reached out a hand to grab Eviana, but the dragon shoved her with its powerful back legs, flattening her facedown on the ground. She barely caught her breath before she saw the talons of the dragon’s forelegs curl around Eviana.

With a squeal, the little girl squirmed.

“Eviana!” Gwennore scooted forward on her elbows while the dragon hovered a few inches above her. She seized its talons and attempted to pull them back. But they only tightened, digging into Eviana’s skin till beads of blood blossomed on the girl’s white dress.

“Stop it!” Gwennore cried. “Ye’re hurting her!”

Whoosh, whoosh. The air around them stirred as the dragon beat its long, black wings.

It was going to take off! Gwennore frantically yanked at its talons, but it enveloped the little girl in its forelegs and pulled her tight against its smooth chest.

A bolt of lightning struck the ground just as the dragon rose in the air. Leo was attacking. The ground beneath Gwennore trembled from the impact, and a booming noise deafened her ears.

The dragon rose high enough for her to gain her footing. A sudden blast of wind shoved the dragon to the side, causing it to collide with her and knock her back down. That had to be Brigitta’s husband, using his wind power to attack.

As the dragon struggled to regain its equilibrium, she scrambled to her feet and grasped one of the creature’s forelegs to try to keep it from flying away. If the two kings succeeded in frightening the dragon enough that it released Eviana, she would fall, and it would be dangerous for her to fall more than a few feet.

A second lightning strike ripped past them, then another one, dangerously close to the dragon’s head. The air sizzled with energy, buzzing in Gwennore’s ears.

With a screech, the dragon shot up into the air. Gwennore gasped as she was pulled off the ground. Her arms strained, and panic threatened to overwhelm her. Should she let go? No! She couldn’t leave Eviana alone.

Higher and higher, the dragon rose. The people below grew smaller, their screams more distant. The Norva River was now a blue ribbon, winding through a miniature forest. Luna and Lessa help her! If she lost her grip, she would plummet to her death.

Another bolt of lightning streaked past them, and she cringed. Poor Leo! He had to be frantic, but what could he do? If he hit the dragon directly, the shock would kill his daughter. And if Ulfrid used his wind power to make the dragon crash into the ground, Eviana would die.

“Gwennie,” Eviana whimpered.

“I’m here!” Gwennore’s arms burned. How long would her strength last? How long could she hold on with this fierce grip before her hands began to cramp?

Don’t think about it. She hissed in a breath between clenched teeth. She had no choice. Letting go would mean death. Letting go would leave Eviana unprotected. “I won’t leave you.”

A squawk sounded in the distance, and she spotted an eagle following them. Brody. Thank you. She wasn’t alone.

But could she hold on all the way to Norveshka? If only there was a way to reason—

Of course! If the dragons worked for the Norveshki army, then that meant they were able to follow orders. They had to understand the Norveshki language.

“Can you hear me?” she yelled in Norveshki. “You must return us immediately!”

No answer, but then how could a dragon reply?

She raised her voice. “You have kidnapped a princess! She’s the daughter of the king and queen of Eberon and the niece of the queen of Tourin. Those countries will declare war on Norveshka! They will attack you!”

The dragon made an angry huffing noise.

“Return us now!” Gwennore screamed. “Return us or hundreds of Norveshki will die. Take us back now!”

Do as she says, brother.

Gwennore flinched as a deep male voice reverberated in her head. Who—what was that?

No, another male voice answered.

She gasped. There were voices in her head? And they were arguing? Goddesses help her, she had to be losing her mind. She twisted in the air, looking around.

Another dragon! It was coming from Norveshka and flying straight toward them.

Is it true what the woman says? the deeper voice asked. Have you taken a princess?

The queen needs a princess, the other one replied.

She was hearing the dragons, Gwennore realized with a shock. The voices were speaking Norveshki, and there was no one else around, other than Brody, who was far behind.

This is a mistake, brother. You must return the child, the deeper voice insisted.

That had to be the newcomer. “He’s right!” Gwennore yelled. “It’s a terrible mistake. Take us back now!”

Silence.

Was it just her imagination, or had she felt the muscles in the dragon’s foreleg flinch? The dragon that was carrying her and Eviana had grown tense.

She heard us, he hissed. The damned elf can hear us!

Stay calm, the newcomer urged him.

No! The dragon shot straight up into the sky.

Gwennore cried out, struggling to keep her grip. The wind buffeted against her, threatening to tear her loose. Good goddesses, the dragon was trying to kill her!

“Gwennie,” Eviana whimpered.

“I’m here!” Tears stung Gwennore’s eyes as the ache in her shoulders and hands became more agonizing.

The dragon went into a series of rolls.

As Gwennore was tossed about, one of her hands slipped loose. No! Luna and Lessa, help me! The dragon used his back legs to kick her loose.

Down, down, she was falling. Dear goddesses, am I going to die? The wind rushed past her ears, mingling with the little girl’s screams. Eviana. I wanted to protect you.

Something dark blocked her vision, then bam! She struck something so hard, it knocked the breath out of her.

Stunned, she was unable to think for a moment. Then, with a rush, her mind raced. She was still alive. Black, leathery legs held her suspended in the air.

The other dragon had caught her. He’d saved her life.

Thank the goddesses!

But why? Why would a dragon save her? What did he want with her? She lifted her gaze to his smooth gray chest, then higher to his long neck, covered with black scales. His head was frightening. Black horns sprouted from the thick, knotted ridge across his brow. His long snout ended with flaring nostrils, and his jaw looked strong enough to crush bones.

Whoosh, whoosh. The air around her billowed as the dragon beat his leathery wings and rose higher in the sky. Where was he taking her? What if he decided to drop her? She wrapped her arms around his foreleg.

Be still. He bent his long neck, angling his head downward so he could study her with gleaming gold eyes.

I have you.


Copyright © 2018 by Kerrelyn Sparks