Feel the Burn

Book 8: Dragon Kin

by G.A. Aiken

Genres: Romantic Comedy; Paranormal; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

War makes strange bedfellows.

I, Gaius Domitus, one-eyed rebel dragon king of the Provinces, know that better than most, since I have to fight off half my ungrateful family on a regular basis to keep law and order here in my lands. But I never expected to have to consort with a barbarian human woman. Kachka is beautiful, if you like them fierce -- and of course I do. But she keeps complaining about how spoiled and decadent I am, and how a feared Daughter of the Steppes has no time for foolish dragons. I think she likes my eye patch, though. It is quite dashing. With death always at our tails, we take our passion like we take our allies. As they say, love the barbarian you're with.

Release date: November 24, 2015

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 448

Sample

Kachka Shestakova, formerly of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains, gazed blindly over the beautiful lands she’d been living in for near on six months now. Lots of grass and trees and fresh water lakes. Ample food supplies and happy people ruled by a benevolent ruler.

Horse gods of Ramsfor! It was like hell on earth!

And Kachka had no one to blame but herself. She’d given up her painful, harsh life as a Daughter of the Steppes when she’d saved her sister from their mother. It was still a decision she’d make again if she had to, but she’d never thought that her life would end like this. She’d assumed that their mother would have tracked them down and killed them both. Kachka had been wrong. Her mother never had the chance because she’d come face to face with Annwyl the Bloody, Queen of the Southlands.

The royal had killed Glebovicha Shestakova, cut off her head, and ripped the eyes from the skull. All in front of the Anne Atli, leader of the Outerplains Tribes. It had been a bold move on the queen’s part. Or, as those closest to the queen had said more than once, “a completely insane move.” Kachka didn’t know. She didn’t talk to the queen. Or really anyone unless she absolutely had to.

All of Garbhán Isle was littered with dragons in human form. She couldn’t tell one from another without her sister’s help. Kachka didn’t hate the dragons. She just didn’t understand why a human would mate with one as they would a man. True, men were mostly useless, but they served their purpose: trash removal, child rearing, and breeding.

Although in the past few decades, the breeding part had changed where dragons and humans were concerned. The queen herself had a set of twins who were half human and half dragon. And it was because of them—and the other offspring that came after—that the humans’ gods had turned on their worshippers. Leaving them to fight the followers of Chramnesind by themselves.

It was shaping up to be quite the long-lasting war from what Kachka could tell. The Southlanders and the inhabitants of the Quintilian Sovereigns Empire were unwilling to give up their multitude of gods. And those who did choose to follow Chramnesind were unwilling to let the others worship anyone else. Armies were being built. Battle plans arranged.

And Kachka wasn’t involved in any of it.

That didn’t really surprise her, though. She wasn’t of these lands. She was a Rider, and her people’s fighting style and reasons for fighting were vastly different. The Anne Atli and the Daughters of the Steppes did have an alliance with Queen Annwyl and the Southlanders, but it was less about fighting by the Southlanders side and more about not stopping the Southlanders and their other allies from traipsing through Outerplains territory when necessary.

What dug into Kachka’s soul more than anything, though, was that before her sister had returned home with that request to speak to the Anne Atli—the title given to all their leaders since the first Anne Atli wrestled power away from the useless men—on Queen Annwyl’s behalf, Kachka had been moving up through the ranks at a nice, steady pace. She would never have been the Anne Atli, but she could have led her own troops into battle. Perhaps sat in on the all-tribes meetings when large decisions were made.

In other words . . . she’d have had a purpose.

Kachka needed a purpose. She needed a goal. She needed to make a name for herself. Their mother had never liked Kachka or her sister, but Kachka’s skill and willingness to throw herself into battle couldn’t be denied.

Where did that leave her here?

Of course, she could join the Queen’s Army, but marching in formation and taking orders from mostly men . . . no. Never!

She was a Daughter of the Steppes, not some sheep blinded to the decadent life offered in these Southland territories.

Which left Kachka . . . where? Exactly?

“Um . . . excuse me? My lady?”

Kachka cringed at the ridiculous moniker these Southlanders insisted on using. She’d gotten tired of correcting them, so she let out a breath and snapped, “What?”

“Margo”—the leader of the kitchen staff—“was wondering if you could perhaps, if you’re not too busy, round up some meat for us? Some of the Cadwaladrs will be attending dinner tonight and the butchers don’t have enough to feed them all. You know what hearty eaters dragons are. So she was just—”

As the sheep went on—begging—and Kachka stared her in the face, she raised her bow, an arrow already nocked and ready, and shot the first thing she saw from the corner of her eye. The bison cried out once before dropping to its knees and bleeding out from the wound on its neck.

“Anything else?” Kachka asked.

The woman was pale now, her head shaking in answer.

Disgusted—hunting was not a challenge for a Daughter of the Steppes; it was more like breathing—Kachka turned away and started walking.

“Kachka?” She stopped and looked over her shoulder to see her sister.

“Fuck,” Kachka muttered as her sister walked over to her.

“You can’t be nice?” Elina asked in their native tongue.

Kachka’s sister wore a bright purple eye patch where her left eye should be. It had been the last thing their mother had taken from Elina. Over time, she’d grown accustomed to the loss, her skills at using her bow improving day after day. But the eye patches . . . this ridiculous purple one could have only come from that idiotic She-dragon, Keita. Her obsession with what Elina wore bordered on the disturbing. Wasn’t it bad enough the Shestakova sisters had already become decadent and lazy? Must they also become pathetic as well?

“I was nice,” Kachka replied, but when Elina pursed her lips, Kachka threw up her hands. “What more do you want from me, sister?”

“How about not terrifying the staff?”

“You mean the sheep?”

“And stop calling them that! You know they hate it!”

Gaius Lucius Domitus, Iron dragon and the one-eyed Rebel King from the west, rolled that one eye and continued out of the back halls of the Senate and toward the royal palace. He had important plans to make and he didn’t have time for yet another discussion about his poor kingly skills.

“I think you’re a fool to do this.”

“Thank you, Auntie. I appreciate your confidence.”

“Don’t get that tone with me.”

“What tone?”

Lætitia Clydia Domitus grabbed Gaius’s arm and yanked him around. She was a small She-dragon and ridiculously tiny in her human form, but there was a power to her. There had to be in order for her to have survived as long as she had. There were few who had survived Overlord Thracius’s reign while openly loathing him, but Lætitia had managed. Somehow.

“First off—” she began.

“Gods,” Gaius groaned. “There’s a first off.”

“—you shouldn’t be walking around these streets alone. You’re the king now. That makes you a clear target. Second, you’re king now. You can’t run off on stupid errands every time you get a bug up your ass. You have an empire to rule.”

“An empire that will no longer exist if I don’t get control of my cousins and, more importantly, squash the rise of Chramnesind cults.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but I don’t know why you need to go yourself. You have dragons and men at your disposal. Why do you not use them?”

“Why? Because I trust no one. Except my sister.” When his aunt groaned and rolled her eyes at the mention of Agrippina, Gaius gently pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked away.

“Wait! I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. I didn’t. I love your sister—” Gaius snorted at that, and Lætitia gripped his arm again and yanked him around to face her with even more strength than he’d given her credit for. “Do not, boy, question my loyalty to you or your sister. Ever. You two are the only thing left of the one sibling I adored, and that means something. But your sister went through hell. Absolute hell. And she hasn’t recovered from it, no matter how much both of you want to pretend that she has. So leaving the throne in her claws while you go off to be the hero king seems a . . . risky decision at best.”

“Well then . . . I guess . . .” Gaius glanced off, pretended to think a minute. “You’ll just have to give her your guidance while I’m gone.”

From the corner of his one eye, he saw his aunt desperately try to hide a smile. It wasn’t an evil smile. She, unlike most of his kin, was not evil. But, for the first time, she felt she’d be allowed to use her knowledge and skills directly rather than behind the scenes, which was usually where one could find her. Her machinations had been legendary, but they were often attributed to one of her other siblings. Of course, it was her willingness not to be openly involved that had kept her alive this long.

“Your sister,” Lætitia finally said, “won’t like that.”

“Of course she will,” Gaius lied. “She respects you, Auntie.”

“Good gods, Gaius Lucius Domitus!” she cried out. “You’re just like your father—such a liar!”

Bickering, the sisters began to head back to the queen’s castle, but Kachka realized that the kitchen staff person was struggling to drag the bison back with her. Annoyed—at everyone!—Kachka grabbed one leg of the dead animal and her sister grabbed the other. Together, they yanked the bison back to the house, arguing all the way, while the girl was forced to run in order to keep up.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” Elina said, yanking the bison over a ridge. “There’s plenty of food and water and soft beds to sleep in.”

“You don’t have to remind me of how pathetic we’ve become, sister.”

“How is enjoying a few amenities pathetic?”

“The fact that you have to ask that upsets me more than you’ll ever know.”

“Then find something to do, Kachka, rather than sitting around glaring at everyone.”

“What can I do here?” Kachka demanded. “What is there for me to do? Farm?” She stopped, glared at her sister. “Is that what you want me to be? A farmer? Like some . . . man? Is that what you think of me? That I’m a worthless man?”

“Of course not! I’d never say that. But perhaps you can talk to the Northlander, Dagmar Reinholdt. She is always up to something.”

“She hates me,” Kachka reminded her sister.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t fucked her nephew . . .”

“He was there!”

They began dragging the bison carcass again.

“There has to be something constructive you can do,” her sister went on. “I’m sure General Brastias would be more than happy to have you—”

Kachka stopped again, now only a few feet from the queen’s home. “Take orders from a man? Have you lost your mind?” she yelled. “Has everyone lost their mind?”

As if in answer, the queen herself rode up to the steps of the castle, dismounted from her oversized black steed—honestly, who needed that much horse?—walked up a couple of steps, then abruptly stopped.

That’s when the queen suddenly screamed. And screamed. And screamed some more.

Everyone who had been going about their day ran when they heard that scream. Soldiers. Merchants. Nursing mothers. Everyone. They ran and hid.

“That answers my question,” Kachka muttered.

“Shut up.”

The queen disappeared into her home, and Kachka and Elina finished dragging the bison all the way to the kitchens. Once they dropped it off, they returned to the deserted Main Hall.

Kachka stood there a moment before announcing, “See? There’s nothing to do!”

Gaius walked into the palace that now belonged to him and his twin. The original palace, the one his cousin Vateria and her father, Overlord Thracius, had ruled from, had been torn down. It had been partially destroyed during his sister Aggie’s rescue; then Gaius and a few chosen dragon friends had ripped apart the rest of it. He would never let that palace stand, no matter how many of his kin had lived and ruled there. Not after his sister had been held captive in that place by the bitch Vateria. They had been raised with their cousin Vateria, but from the beginning they’d never been close with her. Never trusted her. Definitely never liked her. And then, when their father was murdered by his own brother, Gaius had made it his goal to one day challenge Thracius for the throne. But, when he was old enough—and strong enough—to make that challenge, that’s when Vateria, always so very smart, had captured Aggie and held her hostage in the old palace. She knew it was the one way to control Gaius. To “keep him in his place,” as she liked to say. It had worked, too. And Aggie had been in a tolerable situation, as she was still royal born and niece of Thracius. But then Thracius went to war with the Southlanders, taking on the Dragon Queen, leaving his bitch daughter alone with Aggie. For five long, painful years.

Aggie refused to talk about what had happened, but some nights she woke up screaming. Some nights she didn’t sleep at all.

And yes, Gaius blamed himself, although he knew Aggie never did. But how could he not blame himself? His poor, weak, defenseless sister trapped in the web of that evil—

“You!” Aggie gripped Gaius’s throat, causing him to gag before yanking him into another room. “Excuse us, Lætitia,” she told their aunt before slamming the door in Lætitia’s stunned face.

“What have you done?” his sister demanded.

“That’s vague.”

“There are Mì-runach in our throne room. Why?”

“Mì-runach?” Warriors who answered to absolutely no one but the Dragon Queen herself? “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Now why are they here?”

“I don’t . . . oh.” Gaius cringed. “Oh.”

“What have you done?”

“I had your best interests at heart.”

“You idiot,” Aggie sighed out just as Lætitia knocked on the door and quickly entered.

She closed the door, turned to her niece and nephew, and announced, “There are peasants in your throne room. Southland peasants!”

“They’re Mì-runach,” Aggie told her and gestured to Gaius. “That this idiot requested.”

“Gaius!”

“I did not request them.”

“Then what did you do?” his sister demanded.

“I requested help from the Dragon Queen, but . . .”

“But?”

“But I thought she’d send Cadwaladrs.” The Cadwaladrs were a Southland clan of Low Born dragons trained from hatching in the ways of war and defense of the Dragon Queen’s territories. They might not be respected, but they were greatly feared. And with reason.

“Why would you want those pit dogs here any more than you’d want the Mì-runach?”

“You need protection.”

Aggie suddenly stood tall, her spine straight, her long steel-colored hair reaching down her back in intricate braids and curls. She looked amazingly regal, which was how she always looked when she was getting defensive. “Why would I need protection?”

“Because he’s going off on a fool’s errand, that’s why.”

Gaius briefly closed his eyes. “Lætitia,” he sighed.

“What? I’m not lying. Tell me I’m lying,” she ordered. “Tell me.”

If Lætitia hoped to get Aggie on her side, she’d just failed because now the twins were giggling. Like they used to when they were hatchlings.

“The two of you! I swear by the gods.”

Aggie cleared her throat. “Aunt Lætitia, could you excuse us?”

“You’re sending me back out there? With those plebeians?”

“Or you could just go to your room. But you need to go . . . you know . . . away.”

Lætitia snatched the door open, gazed back at her niece and nephew. “Hmmph!” she snapped before walking out, making sure she slammed the door in the process.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” Aggie asked. “You know I hate when Lætitia knows more than me. It gives her way too much enjoyment. And we both know that I can’t allow that.”

Dagmar Reinholdt was deep in paperwork, scrolls and parchments littering her desk. Ink covering her hands. And six of her best-trained dogs surrounding her. It had been that way since the last attempt on her life nearly seven months ago. Her mate, Gwenvael the Handsome, had insisted. She still had an assistant, but he’d been chosen by Morfyd, who used her magicks to ensure the Northland male sent by her brothers and approved by Dagmar’s father had no loyalty except to reason.

The only problem, though . . . he loathed dogs. And, in turn, her dogs loathed him.

So he had his own space in the towers, along with Bram the Merciful, Dagmar’s nephew Frederik Reinholdt—who was currently in the Northlands working with the local warlords to ensure they were ready for any attacks from Duke Salebiri and the Chramnesind cult—and Dagmar’s only son, Unnvar.

That tower. That ridiculous tower the queen had built had become a hub of thoughtful reason and decisive war-planning. Hard to believe since, for months, Dagmar had assumed the queen had been creating a killing factory for her enemies.

Dagmar’s dogs began to growl seconds before the door swung open. Three of them went to leap at the intruder, ready to tear face from body, but Dagmar’s calm “No” stopped them. They grudgingly pulled back, still snarling, while the queen strode into the room. Oblivious as always.

“They did it again,” the queen growled, patting the dogs that had, moments ago, been ready to tear her into pieces. Unlike Dagmar’s assistant, Annwyl loved dogs. All kinds. Even the useless ones.

“Who did what again?” Dagmar asked, not looking up from her work.

“That stupid cult destroyed another one of my temples.”

“It’s not your temple. You don’t even like the gods. And you refuse to worship them.”

“It was my temple because it was on my lands.”

Dagmar leaned back in her chair, placing her quill down on the desk and massaging her tired fingers. “So what do you want to do, my queen?”

“What?” Annwyl glared at her. “I’m asking you!”

Dagmar shrugged. “I have no opinion. I’d hate to get in the way of your big decision making.”

Annwyl frowned in confusion. “What the battle-fuck are you talking about? I don’t understand you lately. For months, you’ve been acting like a total dick!”

“I know my place, Annwyl. I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.”

Leaning down, Annwyl looked into Dagmar’s face through all that hair she insisted on not combing off her face. “What is wrong with you?” she asked.

“Nothing, my liege. Do you find something wrong with me?” Dagmar blinked a few times. “Perhaps with my eyes?”

Annwyl reared back. “What? What’s wrong with your . . . ? What are you going on about?”

Dagmar began to say something, but Annwyl cut her off. “Forget it! I’ll figure it out myself!”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

“Why do you torture her, Mum?”

Dagmar glanced behind her. The youngest five of her seven children were sitting on the floor behind her. No. Dagmar hadn’t missed their presence in the room. Instead, her daughters had come through the wall. They, Dagmar had discovered, could do that easily.

One second they weren’t there . . . and the next second they were.

Something that was getting harder and harder to hide from the rest of the family.

“I’m not torturing your aunt Annwyl.”

“You are,” insisted the eldest of Gwenvael’s Five, as they were now called by their own ridiculous father. “Ever since she threatened to rip your eyes out. But she didn’t mean it the way you think she did.”

“These are adult issues that I am not discussing with you.”

“Except that Grandmum would say you’re not acting like an adult.”

“Well, your Grandmum can suck my . . . wait.” Dagmar turned in the chair at the mention of their grandmother, the Dragon Queen Rhiannon the White, so she could see her daughters clearly. “How often are you talking to your Grandmum when I’m not around?”

The youngest of the five began to speak, but three different hands slapped over her mouth to silence her and, without another word, the girls were gone.

Dagmar faced forward again, placing her hands on her desk and softly noted, “That simply does not bode well, now does it?”

Elina’s suggestion that they play a game was not helping Kachka’s current emotional state. If anything, it just made her feel even more useless.

Elina studied the game board with her one good eye, debating her next move.

This was the life of the Shestakova sisters now.

Decadent. Lazy. Spoiled. Sitting around. Playing board games like children.

It amazed Kachka that adults played these games. Daughters of the Steppes had their three-year-olds playing these games to help them understand the concept of “divide, conquer, and destroy so that the next city or town over just gives us what we ask for.”

So for the two sisters to be playing these games again appalled Kachka on a visceral level. How far she’d fallen back. Would it never get better?

Finally, after much thought, Elina went to make her move . . . and her hand missed the piece by a few inches. Although, based on Elina’s reaction, it might as well have been a mile.

Kachka’s sister growled, then she swiped her hand at the board . . . which she also missed.

That’s when the entire board went flying, her sister’s bellow of rage startling the weak, delusional servants who worked for these rich, decadent royals.

Kachka sighed. “You were winning.”

“Shut up!”

Kachka leaned back in her chair. “Such whining. Like baby, you whine!”

“I am still weak!”

“You took down bear last week.”

“Took me three shots!”

“That’s not eye. That’s this life we now live.” She pointed at one of the dragons walking by. “Decadent! Like that dragon.”

The dragon stopped, placed a hand on his chest. “Me? Kachka, you love me!”

“I love your beauty. I have no use for you personally. You represent all that we hate.”

“Why do you talk to him so?” Elina asked. “He cannot help that he is beautiful but worthless.”

“I am not worthless! I am Gwenvael the—”

“We do not care, lizard!” Kachka barked.

“Do not yell at him!”

“Do not be so pathetic! So you miss eye! Get over it!”

That’s when Elina kicked Kachka under the table. So Kachka kicked her back.

“Ow!”

“Whine!”

Elina reached and grabbed Kachka by her leather buckskin shirt. That Elina could grip with no problem.

Kachka punched her sister’s arm, but that only made Elina drag Kachka out of the chair.

Kachka gripped Elina by her shoulders, shoving her back against the table.

“Stop it! Both of you!” the dragon called out. “I have enough beauty to share with everyone!”

Ignoring the beautiful but useless dragon, Kachka drew back her arm to punch her sister, but it was caught and held.

She assumed it was the dragon, but when she looked, it was the queen who held her. What worried her, though, was the look on the queen’s face. She stared at Kachka as if she’d never seen her before.

“You,” the queen said.

“What about me?”

She didn’t answer at first. Simply stared. Then, suddenly, she yanked Kachka off her sister. “Come with me,” she ordered.

“No!” Elina cried out, grabbing Kachka’s other arm. “Do not kill her!”

The queen blinked. “What?”

“It is all right, sister,” Kachka soothed. “I am ready for death.”

“What are you two—?”

“Don’t worry,” the beautiful dragon tossed in. “I’ll make sure you have a gorgeous funeral.”

“Gwenvael!” Annwyl roared.

“Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t do anything. It was the outsider!”

Annwyl yanked Kachka from her sister’s grip. “She’ll be fine,” she snapped before Elina could complain further.

“Do not worry, sister,” Kachka said as the queen dragged her off. “I will go to my death bravely!”

“It could be a trap,” Aggie warned.

“I know. But I have to chance it.”

Aggie nodded and continued to pace. She appeared worried, and he was sure that, to a degree, she was. But Gaius also knew his sister always appeared worried when she was thinking. Analyzing. She was very good at analyzing.

“Are you going to bring him back here?”

“That’s not my plan, sister.”

She stopped pacing, her grey eyes locking with his. “Good.” She began pacing again. “And what about Vateria?”

“No word on her. None. She could be dead.”

“That bitch isn’t dead, and we both know it.”

“I do know that she was wounded.”

Aggie slowed to a stop again and turned toward her brother. “Wounded?”

He shrugged. “According to General Iseabail. She wounded her spine. She could walk but never fly again.”

Aggie shook her head. “How long ago was this?”

“It’s been a few years.”

“And you never told me?”

“I don’t like to mention her to you. It upsets you.”

“No, brother. It upsets you.”

“I let her get you.”

Aggie laughed. “You didn’t let her get me. If anything I let her get me.”

“No—”

“She wanted me. She wouldn’t have stopped until she’d gotten me. But that was a long time ago, Gaius. I refuse to live in that nightmare anymore. I refuse to let the past rule me the way it once did.”

“Until Vateria’s dead, I won’t rest,” Gaius promised his sister. Again. “But until then . . . killing the rest of our cousins, loyal to her, will have to do.”

“Are you taking an army with you?”

“No. Just a few of my loyal soldiers. And I will go as a centurion, not as king.”

“Good.”

“I’ll find him. I’ll kill him. And I’ll put his head on a spike outside our palace walls.”

Aggie’s mouth curled in disgust. “What are we now? Southlanders?”

They ended up in the stables with the queen’s giant horses. Elina called them all “travel cows,” which always made Kachka laugh.

The queen dismissed her stable hands and proceeded to brush the hair on the black stallion she referred to as “Bloodletting.” A rather disturbing name, even by Rider standards.

Once the queen began brushing the long black hair that swept across the horse’s large head, her entire being seemed to calm down. The constant swirl of insanity that always surrounded the queen appeared to drift away.

The fact that the horse was so calm around the queen, trusted her so m. . .