[Dragongrove 01.0] Mated to the Dragon King Read online

  Welcome

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  Contents

  Welcome

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Imogen's Notes

  More Books

  One

  A small woman sat in a makeshift infirmary staring at a book, surrounded by the dying, hiding from herself. She should have been doing anything else at that moment. There were eggs that needed collecting, laundry that needed washing, food that needed preparing, suffering souls that needed comforting. She ignored it all and turned her page, not absorbing anything.

  That afternoon, she had been scrubbing dishes and answering questions and planning things in her head, when she suddenly felt dizzy and couldn’t catch her breath, when her body had felt too small to hold her. So she had run up here, to the most remote wing of the house, where they housed the dying and almost-dying, where she could while away the evening without anyone questioning her absence or needing her endlessly.

  She shifted in her seat and sighed to herself, glancing out the large window. The sun was dipping below the horizon, far beyond the thick forest surrounding her manor house, and she was reminded that tonight she was responsible for helping to cook dinner. She set her book down and rose, checking on each of the dozen patients, carefully confirming in her journal that each had been medicated for pain recently.

  Eight years ago, a plague had descended on her home, Dragongrove, with a swift fury. One day it had been a lovely, joyful place, full of light and laughter and love; a week later her entire family along with nearly fifty servants had become charred corpses in a pile that emitted smoke for weeks. Ingrid survived, untouched but alone; she had been fourteen.

  In the time since, it had become a place to treat those who fell ill with the plague; they were fewer in number over time, but there were still many who required treatment. In the early days she had nursed them by herself, but over time more and more survivors chose to stay with her in her massive empty home, and now there was a group of nearly ten residents who all helped to nurse the ill, run the farm, and keep up on the house chores.

  She paused next to the newest patient, Mira, a young woman she guessed to be about her own age. The telltale boils of the plague covered her face, but she was sure they were less dense than they’d been this morning. She squeezed Mira’s hand, pleased, and made a quick note of it. No one else present had shown any sign of improvement. After years of nursing these patients she had become adept at being able to tell who would make it, and she felt confident about Mira’s chances.

  Collecting her things from the desk where she had been hiding and heading down to the kitchen, Ingrid looked forward to sharing some good news for a change.

  •••••

  “Ingrid!” Lily exclaimed, smiling at her from in front of the sink. “All done with the patients?”

  Ingrid nodded and shifted guiltily on her feet, observing that her friend had finished most of dinner already.

  Lily gestured toward some washed vegetables that needed chopping, and Ingrid was grateful to be the one taking direction for once. They worked together well; Lily was the bubbly, friendly antithesis to her solemn, stalwart self, and when they spent time together, Ingrid felt like the young woman she would have been had her life not taken this path.

  The women chatted companionably as they chopped and stirred, and Lily turned red as she showed off the silver ring that John had just surprised her with. Ingrid laughed with delight and embraced her. He had been the very first survivor to come to Dragongrove, and Ingrid considered him like a brother. Lily and John had adored each other for years now, and Ingrid was so happy for her friends that she grinned throughout the rest of preparing dinner.

  Lily chattered about her day, still blushing. She had finished the book she’d been reading forever, and she gushed about the stories that she’d found in it, like ancient stories of dragons rescuing maidens or hidden foes and secret royalty. Ingrid nodded along, holding back a grimace. Lily firmly believed in everything magical and mystical, and no matter how Ingrid tried, she couldn’t be persuaded to see sense. Ingrid had learned to nod along to prevent arguments, and when Lily gave her the book and made her promise to read it, she crossed her fingers and said she would.

  After dinner, Ingrid settled into bed with a sigh. When she finally slept, she dreamed of heavy chains and low ceilings.

  •••••

  Helias sat at the bar in an inn with low ceilings that smelled like liquor and piss. The room was long, narrow, and dismal, and the air felt too heavy to breathe comfortably. His room down the hall was a miniature version of this one, furnished differently, but the smell was the same. It was stifling.

  He was so close to his goal that he could taste it. Having spent nearly the last decade banished from his homeland, searching for a way back, after chasing rumors for the last four years, he was sure he had found his way. Less than an hour from him lay Dragongrove, the source of the plague, and he was going to find answers there. He hoped this woman he had heard so much about would be willing to grant him access, but he was desperate and would take what he needed regardless of her thoughts on the matter.

  Eight years ago, a sudden sickness had struck his kind. It was brutal and swift, and not a single female had survived. He’d lost his mother, his grandmother, his four sisters, and all of his aunts and cousins. It had been the same in every family. Fearing for the future of their kind, Helias and his five brothers had been dispatched to every corner of the world and ordered not to return without answers. He’d been following whispers of the plague at Dragongrove for nearly half the time he’d been away, and he was finally here. He believed he was getting close to understanding what had happened, and he was sure that the plague there and the sickness that had befallen his kind were linked.

  He stretched on his stool and sighed. Everything in this world was just slightly too small for him, and he couldn’t get comfortable no matter how he tried. The lousy ale wasn't making it any better. What he really longed for was to be able to finally shift and fully
stretch his wings, but it seemed unwise to start more rumors when he was so close. Ordinarily, the lives and opinions of mortals were so beyond his caring that he wouldn’t have dreamed of considering anything about them.

  Over the last eight years, though, he had learned that people were much more tight-lipped with strangers when they were worried about things like burned crops and dragons carrying away their livestock. It made his work easier to just live as they did.

  He had been here for nearly a week with only the old innkeeper for regular company. He was eager to leave the inn, but he was trying to figure out the best way to approach the lady of the house. He’d asked nearly everyone in the tiny village about her, but she seemed to be very private, and the most information he had gotten was that she was strict and stubborn and suspicious of outsiders. He couldn't help but grin as he wondered if she might have a soft spot for tall, attractive men.

  Out of nowhere, the old, tiresome man behind the bar seemed to decide that Helias could benefit from small talk. Couldn’t the old man tell that he didn’t want to talk? Didn’t he have the vaguest sense of danger of the man in front of him? Mortals had a pathetic sense of self preservation.

  Helias answered the barkeep's questions as necessary, nodding along, when the door opened and he sensed a strange presence behind him. He turned to look quickly, and was surprised to see a small human woman with dark hair, pointedly not looking at him. He found himself aware of her in a way that he hadn’t felt in many years.

  He excused himself, with great difficulty, to a table that was too small for him but in a better position to observe the woman, and as he walked over, he noticed her gaze on him. He had found just what he was looking for.

  Two

  Ingrid impatiently tapped her fingers on the bar top, watching the innkeeper talk to an extremely tall man. She admired the golden-haired stranger from behind, briefly, before she got the old man's attention. The stranger turned to sit at a low table that was far too small for his huge frame, and as he turned, she locked eyes with him. He was very handsome, she observed, with bright green eyes, a broad jaw, and lightly tanned skin. Altogether it made a very nice picture that was unfortunately ruined by the sneer he wore. She huffed slightly, leaned against the bar, and put her chin in her hand.

  “Albert,” she said, smiling broadly at the old innkeeper. “Is Florence here?”

  The old man noticed her and a grin spread across his face from ear to ear. “Ingrid! You just missed her, but she’ll be back in a moment.”

  Ingrid nodded politely while sighing internally. A moment to Albert meant anywhere from seconds to hours, which she knew well from her weekly visits here. Florence was an expert at plants and herbs, and she always had Ingrid’s usual order for the patients ready to be picked up. Albert offered her a drink and she gladly accepted, then settled into a small table with Lily’s book in hand.

  She read the silly book for a few minutes, shifting frequently, and then set it down, unable to get comfortable, which she suspected was the fault of the tall stranger. He was very big, and he seemed to take up more space than he occupied. Ingrid found herself very aware of him. Each time he changed position or took a drink, she couldn’t help but look at him, and she was embarrassed after they caught each other’s gaze for the third time. Pointedly ignoring him, she buried her nose in the book.

  “‘Dragon Lore’.”

  A deep, pleasant voice came from far too close, and when she looked up, she realized that the stranger was referring to the title of her book while sitting straight across from her at her small table.

  She snapped the book shut and placed it face down on the table before raising her eyebrows at him. “It’s a friend’s.”

  He nodded, clearly not believing her.

  She sighed. “Do you always sit down unannounced?”

  She eyed him warily, wondering why he was bothering her. He looked back, and suddenly they were sharing a long, dark gaze. Ingrid blinked and looked away, trying hard to ignore him.

  He spoke again. “I know who you are.”

  “Hmm?” she acknowledged.

  “The Lady of Dragongrove,” he said.

  “I suppose that’s true,” she replied. “Why does that concern you?”

  “I need you,” he said, his gaze hot on her face. “I need your help.”

  There was an odd flutter in her belly that she ignored as she waited for him to elaborate.

  “I’ve heard of your library,” he began, “and I need access to it.”

  She eyed him then, taking in his worn traveling clothes and faded boots. “You’re a dragon hunter, aren’t you?”

  He looked mildly amused at the suggestion, but didn’t answer.

  Of course he was. They came to her at the manor several times a year, begging for use of her library, the weird cultists who were obsessed with finding living dragons. She glowered at him then looked up as Florence came through the door and waved a small wave at her.

  “I can pay for access,” he said.

  She gritted her teeth. “I don’t care,” she said, rising and collecting her bag.

  “Wait. Ingrid, please,” he said, rising and taking her hand.

  She looked down at his hand, blushing unexpectedly when she felt the warmth of his grip.

  She sat down again.

  “Do you have the plague?” she asked. “Have you ever had the plague?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then you can’t enter the house,” she said, sighing at the face he made. “Look, I’m not trying to be unkind, but it’s not safe. It’s an infirmary.”

  He leveled his green gaze at her thoughtfully. “What if I don’t care? I’m not worried about catching it.”

  “I don’t care if you’re not worried. If you become infected, then one of two things happens: we treat you, spending a lot of time and resources, and you probably die anyway; or, you don’t know you’re infected for a day or two, leave the house, and infect every person you come across.”

  He watched her with no expression. “What if—”

  “It’s not happening.” She cut him off, standing again.

  She turned from him without another word, collected her bundle from Florence, and walked out into the warm day.

  He didn’t follow her.

  •••••

  Helias sighed at himself and sat on his too-small bed, the only furniture in this tiny room. He had grown so bitter in his time away from home. Before this intense homesickness had set in, he would have gladly talked with an old man, and he never would have considered trying to woo a woman to gain access to something he wanted. It wasn’t the mortals’ fault that he was stuck among them, but he seemed to enjoy channeling his hatred onto them, instead of where it should have been directed.

  He wasn’t sure what to make of Ingrid. She was everything that he had heard she was. Immovable. He was frustrated after their exchange, but he would have his way in the end. He had been more affected by her than he wanted to admit to himself, but he knew he had only angered her; she had easily seen through his thinly veiled attempts at flirting. She was beautiful in an interesting way, with a head full of long dark hair and a permanently mistrustful expression.

  He scoffed at himself. He was close to returning home, so close, and he was sitting here pitying himself and being distracted by a woman. A mortal woman. But, he reminded himself, a mortal woman with a gently curved body, clear blue eyes, and the loveliest face he had ever seen.

  He made a decision then. He gathered his things into his bag, carried it into the nearly empty tavern, and placed a large gold coin on the bar in front of the old man. The man’s eyes grew wide, but he wasn’t going to argue.

  “Thanks for the lodging,” Helias said, and after a moment’s consideration he placed another coin on top of the first. “And for the conversation.”

  The old man nodded, clearly confused by this change.

  “Is there any chance,” Helias began, “that your wife has some time to speak with me?”
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  He walked out into the sunlight an hour later, a list of herbs and medicines in hand, feeling like a new man.

  Three

  Ingrid had slept poorly, her night punctuated by thoughts of a tall, green-eyed man. She had realized that she hadn’t even learned his name, and she wasn’t sure why that bothered her. She dressed quickly for gathering eggs and left the house where she was startled by someone on their knees, hunched over in her front garden.

  “Hello?” she called suspiciously, not knowing what to think.

  “Hello Ingrid,” he said, looking up at her with a spade in hand. She ignored the way her name sounded in his deep voice.

  “It’s you,” she said, staring down at him. “I told you not to come.”

  “You said I couldn’t come in the manor, and here I am, not in the manor.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not changing my mind,” she continued. “You’re wasting your time.”

  He shrugged and then smiled pleasantly, and she was annoyed at the little flip her stomach did at the sight.

  “Are you...digging? What are you doing?” she said impatiently.

  He ignored her and continued. She sighed, and he looked at her in surprise when she plopped onto the ground next to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, glancing at her curiously.

  “Guarding you,” she said. “You’re not getting in the house.”

  He looked down at himself, and then at her much smaller form. He raised his eyebrows at her.

  She stared back at him, unflinching.

  He laughed and turned back to his work. “I’m Helias,” he said, not looking away from the dirt in front of him.

  “I don’t care,” she muttered, not looking at him.

  “You’re very pleasant.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she said, shifting on her bottom. “Because I’m the one on your property, digging a hole in front of your house and refusing to explain myself.”

  He ignored her. A minute later he turned from his work and rose, seemingly finished. There was a short row of small plants in the fresh dirt.