A Lair So Loyal (The Last Dragorai Book 2) Read online

  “This isn't about Khyros, Zen,” Tyomar said finally. “It’s about the clan. He is the kind of leader who recognizes that, otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed.”

  “It’s the way you did it,” Zendyor said. “You didn’t pull him aside and speak to him privately, you didn’t ask or suggest. You confronted him with it.” He peered at him as they came to a stop at the entrance. “It wasn’t like you.”

  Tyomar looked out over the vast mountain before them. Maybe he had been unnecessarily forceful, but he couldn’t risk or abide Khyros saying no. “Maybe not,” he murmured. “But he is always dismissive of the Mheyu and the benefits they might provide. I took the burden of having them on my range. He should listen to me.”

  “You think it’s a burden?” Zendyor asked.

  “No,” Tyomar said immediately, turning to him. “That’s not what I mean. It’s just a responsibility I bear that none of you do.” He gave Zendyor a pointed look. “You should all listen.”

  Zendyor exhaled harshly. “You are good at talking with them, Ty. Most of us wouldn’t be.” He bellowed out an incantation into the air, calling on his dan askha, before turning back to him. “But you seem different today. Just wanted to check you’re all right.”

  Tyomar snorted. “Of course, I am. I’m the one who should be worrying about you.”

  Zendyor shot him a look. “Why?”

  “You’ve hardly left your lair lately,” Tyomar said, watching him closely. “Me and Ryndross haven’t seen you on our hunts.”

  Zendyor tensed, but surprisingly said nothing, and the whipping of his dragon’s beating wings filled the air. “Until next time, brother,” he said, before casting an incantation and launching into the air.

  Tyomar grinned at his obvious avoidance, shaking his head as he watched him. Zendyor wasn’t really an alpha of habit, so for him to be spending so much time at his lair meant something had captured his attention. No doubt he would share with Tyomar when he was ready. He always did.

  Calling out an incantation, Tyomar called upon his dan askha, Ryndross, who he felt nearby. They were well connected enough that Ryndross instinctively knew when Tyomar needed him, but during clan meetings he tended to get distracted rough-playing with his brothers. It did not escape Tyomar's notice that Ryndross played a similar role among his dragon brothers as Tyomar did among his alpha brothers. In general, he was somewhat mild-mannered for a dragon, though he certainly had his moments. His mood was lighter when he was among his brothers, and he enjoyed chasing them, hunting with them, and being among them. His brothers seemed calmer in his company as well. It wasn't a particularly unusual phenomenon. In the past, a person’s dan askha was a representation and a reflection of themselves, not to mention they could feel each other's emotions.

  As his dragon approached, Tyomar muttered an incantation and magic swept around him, lifting him off the mountain edge and taking him through the air to land on Ryndross’ back. As they headed back to their lair, Ryndross took the lead and flew over the Mheyu sanctum. He seemed to enjoy frequenting that part of the range, and Tyomar certainly did not mind. Over the years, it pleased him to know his little cloak was safely tucked away in the sanctum and that he would see her again soon.

  Now that the interviews would happen, and she would not refuse to see him, he would demand more from her. If she was to be his liaison, he would require she satisfy his curiosity about her. And he would make sure she didn’t refuse.

  3

  Surprisingly, the interviews went smoothly.

  The Vattoro clan arrived at their allocated times and did not put up much resistance to the guardian’s painstaking methods.

  Oshali decided to sit in on the interviews of Zendyor and Sethorn. She reasoned she had already met Tyomar, and even though she was burning to see him again, the guardians might wonder why she would want to sit in on his interview when she saw him all the time. She was curious about the omega, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sit in on the brothers. Based on what she’d read about each brother in her studies, Nyro was the least interesting—he was exactly what she expected a dragorai-alpha to be. Khyros, as the leader of the clan, was quite mysterious and somewhat intriguing, but it was Zendyor and Sethorn whom Oshali had read the most interesting things about.

  Zendyor was notorious for his temper, which was more ferocious than the usual dragorai-alpha. His anger fueled his viciousness in battle, and many feared him, including other past dragorai clans. There were even reports that in his fury he had once killed a dragon with his bare hands. Oshali would normally choose to avoid any meeting with him, but within the confines of the guardians’ recording process, this was an opportunity to observe him safely.

  Sethorn, however, was reported to have a cold cruelty about him, polar opposite to Zendyor. In the records, during the attack on the dragorai, many attributed the highly effective defense of the Vattoro clan to his foresight and strategies. It was unusual for a dragorai to think so strategically yet be an innately feral being. Those characteristics gave way to the rumors that Sethorn was highly seductive. Not satisfied with simply taking a woman to bed, he wanted every woman he desired to worship him, to be completely devoted to him, so much so that she would sacrifice her well-being to ensure his. He was so skilled at it that apparently many women killed themselves when he finally discarded him, having had his fill. It was even once rumored that he nearly seduced one of the Goddesses. No one knew which one, but one of the theory for why the Goddesses no longer appeared to their people, and hadn’t tried to save the dragorai when their numbers were threatened, was because one of the Seven had been fooled by Sethorn.

  It intrigued Oshali. She didn’t believe the Goddess rumor, but the other accounts were still quite inflammatory. If it really was true, how he would behave with the guardians? It was said he could not be in the room with a beautiful woman without seducing her… if he decided to have her. Oshali doubted the Mheyu Guardians would be of any interest to him, but what if they were? It wasn’t as though the Mheyu were forbidden from sexual activity or even marriage—it was just that nothing could impede their duties, and from what she knew of them, it wasn’t their top priority. So she was intrigued by Sethorn, since he seemed to defy many of the common dragorai traits.

  Thankfully, the interviews were organized within the week, and Oshali busied herself throwing all of her time and attention into finishing her training and preparing for them.

  Zendyor’s was first. Two guardians sat on either side of him writing notes on pages of parchment, while the main interviewer, Guardian Tavelai, sat in front of him. Oshali sat in the corner of the room out of the way, watching, listening, and making notes of her own, though she was focusing on the guardian’s process of questioning and not on what Zendyor was saying.

  “Is there anything else you can think of that you would like to add to your testimony?” Guardian Tavelai asked at the end of her standard questions.

  Zendyor shook his head. “I’ve told you everything I can recall.”

  The guardian nodded and scribbled down more notes on her parchment before continuing her questioning.

  He looked and sounded exactly like Oshali thought he would, considering his reputation. He had a similar wild and primal energy like Tyomar that seeped from him, but his was unsettling. Even though he sat leaning back in the chair appearing comfortable and calm, it was as though chaos could occur at any moment. It was disconcerting, and made Oshali realize just how equally similar and different Tyomar was.

  The tensest moment of his interview was when the guardian transitioned from asking about the details of the new pairing and began asking Zendyor about himself. He frowned and slowly leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. Oshali held her breath. It was such a slight move, and yet it seemed so threatening.

  “I cannot see how my personal feelings about my brother’s mating are relevant to your records, Guardian,” Zendyor said, his gritty voice echoing through the room.

  Gu
ardian Tavelai did well in her response. “How you feel about this recent development to your clan is just as relevant as the facts,” she said. “But you are only required to share what you feel necessary. You don’t have to tell us what you feel about it if you don’t think future generations would benefit from your insights.”

  Zendyor’s jaw hardened as he glared at her, no doubt seeing through her goad. “It is our right to mate and breed, just like everyone else,” he said firmly. “That’s how I feel about it. Finding our mates and expanding our clan is natural. The fact it has been denied to us because of our circumstances does not make my feelings any more significant. Next question.”

  Oshali stared at Zendyor, surprised. She expected him to refuse to answer, but not like that.

  The guardian continued. “Have you encountered any female who has inspired anything different in you, any change in behavior, similar to what your brother experienced? Maybe someone new to your lair?”

  Zendyor shot up from his chair, the guardians on either side of him jumping in surprise as his chair tumbled back, clattering to the ground. “That is fucking ridiculous question!” he bellowed. “Not only is it none of your business, but the point of this interview was not to question me about my private encounters, but to focus on my brother.” He continued to bellow at Guardian Tavelai, who simply watched him, quietly in her chair. But Oshali noticed that even as she stared up at him, her hand was still scribing on her parchment.

  Sethorn, however, was quite different. His eyes kept flicking to Oshali every few moments during the interview. Finally, when it seemed he was unable to continue to hold his tongue, he targeted a question directly at her. “You are my brother’s Mheyu, aren’t you?”

  A thrill shot up Oshali’s spine, and she stilled, unsure how to answer. His brother’s Mheyu? Why did he phrase it like that? She wasn’t even an actual guardian yet.

  Before she even had time to think of an answer, Guardian Tavelai him intervened. “You are only to speak to me in here, Anointed One,” she said respectfully. “Will that be a problem for your interview?”

  Sethorn shot her annoyed look. “Why are all these other people in here if I am only permitted to speak to you?”

  “For the accuracy of the reporting methods,” the guardian replied.

  “You mean I cannot trust that you will accurately report what I say?” Sethorn said, his frown twisting into a smirk. His eyes flicked back to Oshali. “Why do you bother to wear a veil when none of the other guardians do?” he asked her, not bothering to wait for a response from Guardian Tavelai.

  Heat spread up Oshali’s neck and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but that was the wrong thing to do—Sethorn was watching her closely. “Forgive me,” he said, his deep voice smooth. “I’m sure there are many reasons to shield your beauty, but I am curious.”

  Oshali gripped her pen tighter and glanced at the guardian, wondering if and how she was going to reign him back in to focus on the interview.

  “I suddenly feel sorry that my brother has been denied it for so many years,” Sethorn continued. He patted his knee. “Come here and let me look under it so I can report back to him.”

  A burst of annoyance shot through her at his arrogance. “Your brother has seen me without my veil,” she found herself saying.

  Sethorn raised a brow. “Oh?”

  “Yes. It disappears when in the presence of good looks or intelligence.”

  Sethorn’s expression grew hard, and Oshali simply smiled underneath her veil.

  Of course, he was also very good-looking like all the other brothers, but he did not have that same raw divinity of beauty that Tyomar did. After seeing both Zendyor and Sethorn, it was clear to Oshali that Tyomar was special.

  The interviews took place over two days and in the evening of the second day, Oshali flopped onto her bed exhausted. There had been so many procedures surrounding maintaining the records, that the interviews seemed like they were probably the easy part. The good thing about being busy was that it took her mind off Silette and Joren. She wondered where they were in realm now, but the more she thought about them, the worse she felt. As much as they insisted they were her family, how could they be when they’d left? She was alone now.

  Late that night, Oshali slipped out of her room and headed to the library.

  When she wasn’t able to sleep, it was the best place to go.

  It wasn’t really a library; it was a pretty, organized archive of the colorful history of the Twin Realms, but the children of the sanctum treated it like a library. From the age of ten, there weren’t many recreational activities, and it was the best way to learn about the Twin Realms, especially since the current war had distorted everything.

  The library was semi-dark and quiet, like the rest of the sanctum, with only whispers of sound echoing from the guardians on night patrol.

  Oshali slipped among the bookshelves and began searching for her favorite stories, the ones that inspired and comforted her the most when she was feeling down. This was the worse she’d ever felt, lonely and completely at a loss as to what she was going to do when her twenty-fifth arrived. But there had to be something in the archives that could whisk her away for a while, take her mind off the betrayal she felt. There had to be.

  While the sanctum was a home for many children who had been taken in, raising abandoned children was not the Mheyu’s primary purpose. The guardians were devoted to the legendary culture of the Thrakonds, the race of Gods rumored to have created everything in existence. In some of the origin texts, it was the Thrakonds’ language that created the Twin Realms, their spoken poetry that smoothed land, raised mountains and their songs that deepened waters and colored the skies. The earth was their playground, and they created the constant changing beauty of the seasons, the roughness of the wind and rain, and the harsh destruction of flame.

  When the Thrakonds became bored with the Twin Realms and moved on to create other worlds and other lands, seven of them stayed. The Seven Goddesses. They were the ones who created mortals, many kinds that existed and perished over eons, though it was said they were most proud of the dragorai.

  The Seven were the last remaining of the Thrakonds and their language—the language of creation—could never truly be spoken authentically by any mortal, but the Goddesses had to communicate with their creations so they taught them a simplified version. It was never known whether the Goddesses knew that version could, with the right song, and spoken poetry, control the ethereal magic that heavily imbued the land.

  Oshali had spent hours in the library reading about it all with fascination; the origin of the Thrakonds and their language, the details of the Seven and how they organized life on these beautiful but ruthless lands. The various stories of all their creations were so vast it was impossible for Oshali to read it all, but she tried, searching for some reason why they may have abandoned their creations. Had they finally become bored too? Did they miss their own race? Had the greed and violence of the smaller mortals offended and disgusted them? It was a mystery that would probably never be solved, but Oshali had read everything she could about it.

  Drifting along the shelves, she found herself in the section housing the dragorai texts and records. She ran her fingers along the spines of the records, smiling to herself. This was where she spent hours learning everything she could about their existence so she could become their liaison, even some of the private archives that weren’t available to the rest of the sanctum.

  Many of the other children treated the records like stories to be read. Any scandalous story spread like wildfire around the sanctum in hushed tones. The fosters would meet to discuss the sensational detail, and of course, the extensive tales of the dragorais’ incredible sexual vigor and prowess were well-read and well discussed.

  The dragorai were lascivious beings, keen to sate their desires as vehemently as they were to defend their territories. Some accounts claimed the dragorai would kidnap women and brutally force them to enjoy the depraved, animal
istic way they had sex. There were an equal number of accounts that claimed that the dragorai’s bed activities were superior to any other being. But the negative opinions were drowned by countless testimonies from women who’d emerged from their lairs bruised and battered, looking as though they had been fighting the beastly dragon itself, yet gave starry eyed accounts of experiencing pleasure unlike anything they had ever experienced before. Every single one of these Mheyu-documented accounts was extremely explicit and detailed, and Oshali once again found herself captivated, equal amounts of horror and arousal at the idea. But soon the horror of it faded, and she frequently recalled the graphic details at night, her hand between her legs, biting her lip as she swallowed her moans, Tyomar and his gorgeous smile in her mind eye. She often wondered if it really was that good. Of course, she would never know.

  “Oshali.”

  Oshali jumped and spun around, her heart pounding in her ears that she’d been caught out of bed after the night bell.

  Guardian Vy sat in one of the large, comfortable reading chairs in the center of the room, looking at her. She hadn’t been there when Oshali had come into the room, had she?

  “Join me.” The guardian gestured to the chair opposite her.

  Oshali made her way to the chair, unsure what she should say. The Guardians were strict about children being out of their beds at night, and they were even stricter about unauthorized access to the archives, but she couldn’t deny she had broken both rules. In the end, she said nothing. Settling into the soft chair opposite Vy, she watched her, waiting for her reprimand.

  “Your training is over.”

  Oshali tensed and leaned forward, her heart pounding. “How can it be over?”

  “You’ve learned everything there is to learn and you are proficient.” Guardian Vy lifted a shoulder. “More than proficient, most have said.”