Dragon's Tribute Part 1

DRAGON'S TRIBUTE.

Margaret L. Carter.

Chapter One.

By the time sunset reddened the horizon, the procession of village elders had vanished. Rowena squinted through her tears to watch the last of them retreat into the woods along the path winding back to town.

Back to their safe homes and barred doors. No one wanted to risk meeting the dragon. Not the elders, the parish priest and curate, or the Baron's chaplain. Not his men at arms, who had stood guard to keep the peace during the offering of tribute. Not even his dark-robed household wizard. Not her neighbors, who had acted friendly enough until this day came. Least of all Rowena herself, chosen for the creature's annual feast. With the fading daylight, the poppy-tinctured wine began to wear off. Fear trickled through her veins. Her throat, still raw from the crying she'd done before the priests had dosed her, was parched with thirst.

Already numbness crept up her bound arms. She strained against the rope that tied her to the withered tree at the verge of the stony foothills where no shepherds dared graze their flocks. The edge of the dragon's land. She choked down the scream that welled in her throat. n.o.body would come to her rescue. Anyway, if released, where could she go? Any of the hamlets that owed allegiance to the local Baron would cast her out if she begged for refuge. It was considered a dire omen for a dragon's sacrifice to return alive. Rowena's own grandmother had been driven from her home in a distant land for that very reason.

Rowena tried to find comfort in her grandmother's amulet hanging from a thong around her neck, hidden under the traditional white shift. Grandmother had slipped the charm over Rowena's head at the last moment. According to Grandmother, the bronze disk had enabled her to escape alive from a dragon's lair. Her native village had exiled her for fear that the dragon's rejection would bring a curse upon thecommunity. After months of wandering she had found her way here and given birth to Rowena's mother A breeze sprang up, drying the clammy sweat on Rowena's bare limbs. A chill p.r.i.c.kled on her skin, despite the season. Every Midsummer Eve the dragon swooped down at sunset to collect his annual tribute. As tradition demanded, the Baron and the priests had cast lots to determine which town would supply the maiden. The lot had fallen upon Rowena's village, and within the village, her name had been chosen. Of course the lot never fell upon the Baron's household, a village elder's daughter, or a priest's sister. This year, with sickness rampant among the local children, the choice had not been left to chance.

Rowena knew she had been sacrificed because of her grandmother's dubious past, suspected of having unleashed a curse upon the community.

Rowena squirmed to work her way around the tree until she faced the hillside instead of the path to the village. The rope sc.r.a.ped her wrists. She saw no bones scattered nearby. Maybe the monster carried his victims to his lair instead of devouring them on the spot. She prayed that if the amulet didn't protect her, the end would come quickly. Would his jaws bite her head off, or would he first incinerate her in a roar of flame? On countless winter nights she had listened avidly to the ballads and tales Grandmother had picked up while wandering the countryside and wished she could live those adventures. Now she would have emitted a bitter laugh at her silly notions of adventure, if her throat hadn't been clogged with fear.

A winged shape glided toward her from the peaks in the distance. Her chest tightened, and her heart hammered against her ribs.

The creature loomed before her like a giant bat as it sank to the ground. Her unbound hair blew in the wind it stirred up. It settled in front of her and folded the wings on its back.

Her stomach cramped with terror, although the dragon looked smaller than she'd expected. She had imagined him as large as a church or perhaps even so huge his wings would blot out the sun. Still, at twice the size of the Baron's warhorse, the monster was fearsome enough. Instead of thick-bodied like a horse, though, he looked sinuously elongated, with a serpentine tail.

His crested head, with jaws the length of her forearm, lowered toward her. Holding her breath, she waited for the dagger-size teeth to rend her throat. Her legs trembled. The glittering eyes fixed upon her.

She squeezed her own eyes shut. His hot breath blasted her in the face. It smelled like a bonfire of pine branches with a trace of incense.

Something like a scorching whip lashed her neck. She choked back a scream. Now the fangs would pierce her flesh. But they didn't. Hissing, the dragon withdrew his tongue, the "whip" she'd felt. When she dared to look, he was staring at her with his oval, slanted eyes-the color of emeralds. Not that she had ever seen an emerald up close, but she could think of no other word for that green glow.

He stretched one of his front feet toward her. His claws touched the skin just above the neckline of her shift. She couldn't suppress a whimper. The dragon withdrew his talons and used them to snap the ropes that bound her to the tree trunk. Her legs crumpled. The dragon's leg wrapped around her like a cat's paw scooping up a mouse.

With a cry, Rowena shoved against the scaly chest. It felt smoother than she'd imagined and as warm as the outside of an oven. A rainbow of greens, blues, and violets rippled over the creature's hide, as if coated with powdered gems. No wonder legends claimed kings would pay a fortune for a dragon's skin.

There was no knight here to slay this beast, though, and no matter how beautiful, he would still devour her. Tears trickled down Rowena's cheeks.

The next moment, panic dried them. The dragon leaped into the air and spread his wings. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed bile. A scream ripped from her throat. The dragon spun her around to face away from him and clutched her against his chest with both forefeet. Wind whipped her hair and stung her eyes.

Her legs dangling, she gripped the creature's front limbs and babbled a frantic prayer. Better to get her throat slashed by his fangs than fall to the rocky ground and perhaps writhe in agony for hours with a broken spine.

With her back to the dragon's body, she could see the rocky hills ahead. In the dying light she saw they were heading for a dark gash in a cliff above a ravine. After several minutes of flight, the dragon glided to a stop on a ledge barely wide enough to hold him. No wonder the Baron's men at arms had never stormed the dragon's lair. Only something with wings could reach this entrance.

The dragon put her down and nudged her inside. She stumbled, fell to her knees, and crouched there, shaking. The nausea subsided to mild queasiness. She looked up at the dragon, who towered on his rear legs in the "doorway." His wings, though shaped like a bat's, weren't black or brown, but iridescent with shades of emerald and turquoise.

She almost fainted when he spoke to her: "Get up, girl." She had to think a second to understand the guttural phrase. She couldn't tell how he formed the words, with his mouth open but not moving. His voice rumbled and made the nerves quiver in the pit of her stomach. When she didn't move, he hooked his claws around her elbow and dragged her upright. The floor of the cave felt like polished marble under her bare feet, instead of the rough stone she expected. A pearly glow emanated from the walls, weaker than the sun, but she could see much clearer than in moonlight.

"Walk," the dragon growled. His tongue snaked out to lash her arm. Shivering, she obeyed. He slithered into the cavern after her.

The entry tunnel opened into a huge chamber with a vaulted ceiling, much higher than the roof of the village church or the Baron's hall. Through a rift far overhead she glimpsed the gray of the evening sky, rapidly dying toward night. Several portals opened off this central room. At the far end lay a heap of gems and coins. So the tales about the dragon's treasure h.o.a.rd were true. If she could escape from this lair and take a handful of those jewels along, she could flee to some far country as a rich woman.

She reminded herself that she couldn't escape, not unless she learned how to fly or to crawl down the cliff like an insect. Besides, no doubt the dragon would kill and feast on her this very night.

He prodded her toward an alcove near the pile of treasure. Satin cushions filled the s.p.a.ce, with covers of silk and finely woven wool spread over them. The dragon pushed Rowena, and she collapsed onto her back. His talons snagged the upper edge of her shift. He tore it down the front, leaving her naked body exposed.

Her skin p.r.i.c.kled. Now he would surely rip her heart out.

He sniffed her, and his muzzle touched the amulet. One claw plucked at the disk, about the size of a woman's palm, etched with a dragon's profile and encircled by runic symbols. Raising his head, he snorted a puff of smoke. "S-s-s-so...what is thisss?" He nudged her again.

The long, sinuous tongue circled her neck and snaked between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Bolts of heat and cold shot through her.

Knowing the dragon understood human language gave her the courage to speak. "Are you going to kill me now?" She gripped the amulet. It hadn't kept the beast from carrying her off, but at least she wasn't dead yet.

He raised his formidable head. "Kill? Why?" His breath behind the words hissed like a snake's. The sound echoed in the vast chamber.

"To eat me."

"I did not bring you here as food." Now that her ears became attuned to his speech, she understood himmore easily.

"Then what-" Her voice came out as a thin squeak. "Didn't you devour the other girls?"

A puff of smoke displayed his contempt for that question. "I burned to ash the ones who died of sickness or starved themselves to death. Those who lived longer, I set free at the turn of autumn."

Was he lying? Dragons had a reputation for deviousness. "None of them came home, that I ever heard."

Possibly because they feared the kind of reception her grandmother had suffered?

"I am not to blame for that." He loomed over her, and again she felt and smelled his hot, incense-scented breath.

With his clawed forefeet he tugged off the remnants of the shift. Again his tongue tasted the hollow of her throat and swept down the front of her body. It circled each breast in turn. She shuddered with each lash of the whip-like appendage. If he didn't want her as food, why did he seem to be testing her flavor?

She forced herself to lie still, her nails digging into the fabric under her. The dragon's tongue spiraled around one breast, tightening the circle until the forked tip brushed the nipple. Rowena let out a yelp of surprise. Swallowing, she stared into the emerald eyes and prayed the noise wouldn't provoke him into biting her. Instead of sinking his fangs into her flesh, he licked the nipple. It hardened the way it did in cold air on winter mornings. The other nipple crinkled up at the same time. Shivers not completely unpleasant p.r.i.c.kled her bare skin.

The rapid flutter of the dragon's tongue made her tremble with renewed waves of fire and ice. She wondered how she could feel chills when his breath almost scorched. The untouched nipple tingled in sympathy with the one he was tormenting. Hardly aware of her own action, she moved one hand to her breast, cupped it, and flicked the nipple with her thumb. That touch brought some relief, but an ache grew in both b.r.e.a.s.t.s and spread over her body to the pit of her stomach. Wetness collected between her legs.

The dragon licked his way from one nipple to the other, displacing her hand. His tongue danced over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, teasing each one in turn. Her hand, meanwhile, slid downward to cover the hair on her mound.

Tracing circles on her chest and belly, the dragon's tongue seared her with painless heat. She imagined if she looked at her skin, she would see forked patterns etched there.

While he lapped her stomach and thighs, she rubbed her nipples. She would have cringed in shame if any man had seen her easing her own aches that way, but a winged, fanged monster didn't matter. The tongue flicked faster, up and down her inner thighs. The clawed forefeet pushed her hands aside andrested on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. On each side, a curved claw sc.r.a.ped the nipple lightly, drawing no blood, but making each taut peak tickle unbearably.

His tongue-tip brushed the nubbin nested in the damp folds between her legs. She gasped and flinched.

"Delicious," the dragon hissed. He sampled the wetness gathering in her slit.

Now he would surely tear her to shreds. Her stomach knotted, and her heart raced with mingled terror and excitement. In the midst of her fear, her flesh still throbbed from the relentless licking. A hot flush spread over her whole body.

The length of his tongue slid between her thighs and snaked up her slit to the swollen bud. She moaned and clenched her fists in the bunched-up silk she lay on. The dragon licked up her moist cleft, down, and up again over and over. Her bud twitched with impatience whenever the tongue-tip stopped licking it.

Rowena wasn't completely untouched in her private parts. She'd fondled herself many times in her bed in the loft on summer nights, holding her breath for fear of waking her parents. And she had spent hours in secret frolic with Will, the baker's son, with his fingers probing her slit and tickling the nubbin at the top, while she rubbed his c.o.c.k through his breeches. Because his father would never allow him to marry a poor farm girl of dubious ancestry, they hadn't risked a bedding that might get her with child. Still, she knew the feel of carnal pleasure.

But Will's fumbling had never caused such exquisite torment as this. She trembled all over. Now the dragon's claws clutched her thighs to hold them apart. The sharp points stung but didn't gouge deeply enough to produce real pain. The tongue whipped faster and faster. Her bud quivered. Her inner muscles rippled. She needed to squeeze her legs together, but the dragon wouldn't let go of them. She arched her back, screaming.

His tongue flickered over her bud while convulsions of release ripped through her.

When the tremors stopped, she lay flat on her back, gasping for air.

The dragon licked the sc.r.a.pes his claws left on her inner thighs. "Deliciousss," he hissed again. His tail curved around to lie across her legs.

She placed a timid hand on the side of his neck. The warm smoothness of the iridescent scales fascinated her. Under his glittering, emerald eyes, she felt like a bird in a snake's coils.

He exhaled a puff of smoke. It startled her anew when he rumbled deep in his chest, "Are you sated?" "What?" She flinched and emitted a stifled cry when he gave one of her nipples a casual lick.

"You still show signs of fear. I would not have you cower from me. Perhaps you need more pleasuring."

"More-?"

"To make you fully open for me. Here, perhaps." He snuffled her neck and lightly licked it. Shivers raced over her bare skin. "Or here." His breath heated the hollow between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Her nipples crinkled when his tongue grazed them. The flutter in her stomach started again. Her legs trembled. While he lapped his way down her body, his tail slithered over her thighs and insinuated its tip between them. Without thinking, she parted her legs. The tail-point probed her slit.

She jerked in surprise and let out an involuntary yelp.

"Have you never been penetrated?" the rumbling voice asked.

A blush suffused her body. "I'm a maiden. The sacrifice has to be a virgin."

With a curlicue of smoke from his nostrils, the dragon said, "Indeed? I never gave any such command.

Your kind have strange notions."

Of course, Rowena mused, why should the monster care about the state of his dinner's maidenhead? The thought pierced her with renewed fear. A fear that flew out of her mind when the end of his tail began stroking up and down the cleft between her moist folds. A gush of wetness welled up. She clasped her thighs to trap the appendage between them.

The pressure on her slit and the b.u.t.ton nestled in the damp hair erased all terror and shame. She found herself rocking her hips in time to the dragon's rapid licking of her nipples and belly. He chased the unbearable tingling from one point to the next so fast her head whirled. The tail-tip tickled her b.u.t.ton until it throbbed, and her sheath pulsed until she almost fainted in the exquisite delirium.

At last his tail, tongue, and claws withdrew. Rowena opened her eyes.

Panting, her skin dampened with sweat, she gazed up at the dragon. He reared on his back legs, exposing his belly.

He roared a gout of flame toward the ceiling. His p.e.n.i.s stood up, thicker and longer than a stallion's, inflamed to a lurid scarlet.

She scrabbled backward, eyes widening in alarm. The thought of getting ravished by that weaponterrified her more than a quick death from his fangs.

While she stared, though, the organ receded out of sight like a horse's. He grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet. "Come along, you need food and refreshment."

Dazed, she didn't resist while he guided her to one of the side chambers, just big enough to hold his serpentine length. There she found a pool with a miniature waterfall flowing into one end. The other end of the pool bubbled with steam and a faint egg-like aroma. A linen sheet lay folded on the floor. On a shelf in the stone wall sat a silver pitcher and goblet and a bowl filled with peaches and berries.

"Be quick," the dragon growled.

When he disappeared into the main room, she let out a long, shuddering sigh. The knot in her chest loosened for the first time since her neighbors had dragged her to the tree of sacrifice. Checking the pitcher, she discovered it held pale, crisp wine. She poured a gla.s.s and drank, then found her stomach cramping with hunger despite her fear. She dubiously examined the bowl of fruit, which she had always heard caused sickness if eaten raw. With no other food in sight, though, she decided to take a chance.

She gobbled a peach, its sticky juice trickling down her chin. A circuit of the chamber revealed a niche containing a chamber pot. If the dragon provided all these necessities, could he be telling the truth about keeping her instead of slaughtering her? Or did the caresses and wine only serve to lull her and the food to fatten her for a later meal?

And another fear invaded her thoughts. The priest's homilies called Satan "the old dragon." Could this monster be a demon in reptile shape, d.a.m.ning her to h.e.l.l by seducing her into wantonness?

To her shame, she realized she would rather submit to his seduction than have her bones scattered in the ravine below the cave. If letting him goad her to heights of ecstasy would prolong her life, she would gladly embrace that fate. She could always repent later.

Remembering her captor's instruction to hurry, she stepped into the hot end of the spring. She didn't want the creature to interrupt before she could have a bath. The water, just hot enough to bear, made her skin tingle. Bubbles cl.u.s.tered around her. She immersed herself up to her neck, gulped a deep breath, and plunged her head in to soak her hair. The sensation felt nothing like her weekly hip-bath at home or even the occasional dip in the weed-clogged stream that served the village mill. She stood up and waded toward the cold end of the pool, delighted by the gradual change in temperature from hot through warm to chilly.

A low growl from the entrance snapped her back to reality. How could she enjoy anything whileimprisoned in a monster's lair? She scrambled out of the water and dried herself with the linen cloth, wrapping the least damp section of it around her like a gown. The cool air of the cave made her nipples tighten. Her legs trembling, she tiptoed into the central chamber.

The dragon hooked a claw-tip in the fabric that draped her body. "Remove this. I will give you clothing-later." He waved his other forefoot at the treasure heap, where she noticed a couple of large chests she'd overlooked before.

Melting inside at the heat of his breath, she unwrapped the linen and let it fall. In the chill of the den, shivers crept over her.

With his emerald eyes glowing, the creature's gaze raked up and down her. "Perhaps you are the one I have waited for. What is your name?"

"Rowena," she whispered.

He snorted small puffs of smoke from his nostrils. "Human names are so short and crude."

She raised her chin and wrapped her arms around her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "What's yours, then?"

"Too complex for you. Call me Viridiseffulgentissimus."

Even that was beyond her grasp, a meaningless tangle of noise. "How about Virid?"

"If you must," he rumbled. His talons stretched to touch her. The point of one claw pierced the curve of her breast just below the amulet, drawing a bead of blood.

She flinched. Now at last he would rip her apart and devour her.

His tongue licked the spot. But instead of crushing her spine between his jaws, he backed up, reared onto his hind legs, and shimmered. "Yess. As I sussspected."

Rowena stared at him, stunned, clutching the bronze disk dangling from her neck. His outline blurred and dissolved. The enormous reptilian body shrank, enveloped in a cloud of green fog. When the mist evaporated, a dragon no longer towered over her.

A tall, naked man with olive skin and emerald eyes stood there instead. His silver-blue hair grew in a crest like the one on the dragon's head. When he moved closer, Rowena noticed his skin had tiny scales like those of a fish. Hesitantly touching his arm, though, she discovered he felt dry and warm, just as he had in dragon shape. "You-changed." She could hardly breathe. Her head spun with confusion. "How? Magic?" She had never seen a nude man before. In her dalliance with young Will, she had played with his c.o.c.k, but it hadn't felt anywhere near the size of the dragon-man's organ.

"All dragons have this magic." His voice sounded deep and resonant, with a hint of the beast's growl.

"From that sample of your blood, I knew the moment was right." He wrapped his arms around her. Her nipples peaked at the contact with his chest. He grew hard against her lower abdomen.

Her head reeled in bewilderment. "The moment-? What do you mean?"