Page 10 of King of Fire and Scales

That was when Thalia barked back, raising her voice to an angered shout.

“How dare you come in here, make your pitiful claims, and scare my father. You have no right.”

Drake looked at her with an overtaxed, strained stare as his men swarmed her small home. If she hadn’t been so fiercely angry, she may have wondered about what was plaguing such a seemingly fit young man.

“I do not have time for this charade, Sorceress. I have been battling my enemy for some time now, the one I spoke of who also seeks you. A war is coming, and I must head back to my kingdom to prepare. You are fortunate I managed time to find you and whisk you away.”

Thalia felt like snickering with delirious rage. Instead, she chuckled madly, watching as the soldiers paced into her bedroom and began to ransack what little she had gathered over her lifetime of caring for her grieving father.

“What makes you so entitled to me?” she screamed at him, doing everything to hold back tears. “You walk in here and demand my presence after sitting at my dinner table. Where did you learn your manners, good King?”

But Drake was not listening. He had moved away from her and was peering into the short hallway that led to her bedroom. Thalia could hear them opening and closing drawers, rifling through her clothing and treasured items. The witch was so distressed that her feet would not move from the floor.

And still, her father stayed behind the sheet, watching with an ignorant and horrified glare.

Thalia considered walking up to the king and slapping him. Though it wouldn’t do any damage, it could sting his ego. Dragon shifter or not. But her feet still would not move.

She began to screech, demanding his attention.

“I will not go!”

Drake whipped his head toward her, and Thalia nearly tumbled back into the counter. She didn’t, but the look was so jarring, so scornful, that she started to believe that he was half mutated into his dragon form. Scales rose in iridescent hues.

His voice matched the tyrannical danger of his leer.

“You have no choice in the matter,” he hissed, tongue lashing out for a moment. “What makes you think that your feelings were going to be of any consideration?”

Thalia felt hollow. She darted a look at her father, who was still watching, reproachfully distant. The witch felt the wave of grief nearly consume her, a familiar one that had come to haunt her family.

“Please, I can’t leave my father. He needs me.”

Her voice was small and mousey, and she hated herself for it. Drake turned toward her father, who flinched as if threatened with a weapon.

He yelled at the men who were still turning her bedroom into shambles.

“Begin to pack the old man’s things. He will be joining us on our quest.”

Her father abruptly became lucid, letting go of the sheet and clasping his hands into prayer formation. It was a pathetic, sad sight, and she detested the king for it.

“This is my home,” her father implored, his entire body trembling. “This is the place where I had my child, where I lived my life with my wife for forty-five years. Please. You must understand.”

Drake licked his lips, staring coldly. Her father turned and hobbled toward the men who were pillaging his items.

“Look at what you’re doing to him,” Thalia said, nearly spitting at the king.

She tried to move past him to console her father, but Drake shot out a hand as fast as an arrow and gripped her wrist.

His power filled the sorceress with dread at first, the way she was suddenly unable to move. She tried to escape him, tugging to the point where her muscles cramped, but then he pulled her into him. Her chest brushed against his, and Thalia’s breath caught.

His gaze bore into hers. The blue of his eyes had returned, blotting into small blemishes around the pupil like snow dotting a meadow.

Thalia felt a reluctant heat slither down her throat, bloom in her stomach, and spread along the inside of her thighs. Her heart hammered against her bust, which had unexpectedly grown sensitive to the fabric of her bodice rubbing against the buds of her nipples.

This king, this awful man, was upending her entire life at his whim. He was cruel, selfish, and domineering. He was everything she was taught to distrust in a man.

And yet his possessive touch, his fiery gaze, his complete dominance was stirring heat in Thalia. It was a sensation that embarrassed her, making the redness of her cheeks beat even hotter.

She hated herself for wanting him like this. She hated her weakness at his touch. She hated the way she couldn’t make the longing go away. But more than that, she completely hated him.

---