Page 1 of Daghel

Prologue

SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO

DAGHEL

Idrink deeply from the cup in my hand, watching those moving around the central fire, the stones around our village and the overhang above protecting us from the worst of the wind and snow. It still manages to get in, but in a gentle drift of flakes that sparkle as they catch the light of the fire. It makes our village look ghostly and ethereal, which is at least pleasing to look upon when every female shies away from my gaze.

Marked by my ghostly coloring as drehl, a child of Vepra, the goddess of death, my clan has kept a respectable distance from me most of my life. Even upon reaching adulthood two years ago, none of the wyverns of Fang Peaks approached me, tracking the scent of my first rut to claim me as their bonded. Doubly cursed, I’m aware that I will never take to the skies like other males of my age group. My mother once sadly told me that, had she possessed the strength, she would have smothered me atbirth to save me from the pain of a drehl. There are days where I wish she would have. And there are days that I’m thankful that she had possessed a soft heart despite the fact that it was what ultimately sent her following after my father when he died.

I drag in an icy breath and tilt my head back so that my face lifts to the snow. My eyes slide shut, and I breathe in the sweetness of a winter night. And the mingled scents of those rutting in their nearby lodges. My nostrils flare, but I don’t allow my expression to change so that no one else can see evidence of my thoughts and my pain. My slender back arcs as I tip my head back further, greeting the cold breath of winter, and a shiver rushes over my skin from the bite of cold air. I have not yet put on the mass of a mature male, my pale body remaining lithe and slender, which makes me even more susceptible to the worst that the Fang Peaks has to offer.

If I don’t bond with a wyvern and join the gathol, I may likely remain this way. It is a terrible fate. I have no one willing to provide for me and so my body is mostly bare to the elements so that the cold air pierces deeply. At this point, I cannot even say for sure if I want a wyvern bond out of true desire for it, or simply because it is a means of survival for me.

I shrug and take another large gulf of my brew. I drain my cup and hold it out to be refilled by a nervous serving female. I rarely stare at them, knowing that it frightens them, but the drink has warmed my stomach and I am far bolder than usual. The storm is growing in strength; the wind howling around the protective barrier of stone surrounding our village.

The chill in the Cold Mountains is a living thing. It reaches through the night with vicious claws and a monstrous appetite in the depths of the winter. Its dark grip is around the village and running over me tauntingly, whispering of my death. But I am drehl, and I am already an embodiment of death itself. Icy dark fingers drag through my soul, and I can feel something uncoilingin response. It makes me shiver with a deep, knowing dread even as a secret part of me whispers in fascination.

My eyes follow the movement of the shadows as they drift closer with the stutter of the bonfires. Midwinter holds death. Even with all of our revelry, there is no escape from the fact that it is a season of darkness, where the foul magic comes alive and things better left undisturbed stir. And Durethikal, the devouring spirit of winter, has returned from his long slumber to the mountain.

My breath rises in a plume of white mist in front of my pale lips, thickening as the temperature suddenly plunges. The wind shrieks angrily over the stones, but I can see the sorcerers at work in the four quarters around the center of our village, their hands raised as they call upon the magic of our people and our ancestors to protect us. The darkness groans its protest, and the sound makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.

I slowly rise from the stone bench, watching the dreary skies. A shiver of awareness crawls over me and the wind whips my hair, causing the long bead necklace to snap and rattle as it scrapes over my narrow chest. My chest expands and deflates with every deep breath I take, and my eyes widen with comprehension.

Something is coming.

I take a wary step back, and the rumble of murmurs among my kin fills the air, but I cannot bring myself to look away from that dark sky for even a moment, not even to reassure myself that everything is still well.

There is a flicker of something large moving through that inky darkness, but then it drops with an alarming speed that causes my people to scatter for their weapons. I cannot move. My mouth falls open as the darkness hits the snow, sending white plumes of icy powder into the air. It glitters in the firelight surrounding the blue scales of a familiar shape. The wings of itspowerful forearms flex with its respiration, its head snaking on a long neck. The head turns toward me, and golden eyes pin me in place as I see its nostrils flare. Heat churns in my gut in reaction, the rut rising sharply in response, causing me to drop to my knees. A hissed chuckle escapes the wyvern as he turns toward me.

“What is this pleasing scent?” he growls. “From you?” Another dark rumble of laughter echoes from him. “Run, pitiful male. Let me see if you are worth the chase.”

My jaw hardens at the obvious insult, but I push to my feet as I tip my head back to meet his glowing gaze. “I will not run to satisfy your amusement. You can attest from here whether I am worth your bond.”

Locking gazes with the wyvern, I remove my belt and then my surc, the thick length of fabric winding around my waist and legs, and let it fall into the snow at my feet. My balls tighten in response to the cold, but my prick stabs the air from between my thighs, thick and long. The wyvern narrows his eyes at me, but he does not move. I stare back at him, humiliation burning through me, knowing that all the village is watching my rejection. I raise my chin proudly and give a nonchalant shrug.

Very well.

I turn from him, giving the wyvern my back as I bend and snatch my surc off the ground. Gripping the icy cloth tightly in my hands, I calmly walk away, refusing to meet the sympathetic stares of my clan. It was to be expected. Nothing has changed?—

A shriek pierces the air behind me, making the muscles in my back jump and tense, but I do not have time to react. Wings snap with a crack as the wyvern takes to the air. My steps slow and I begin to turn, but a large, powerful body slams into me, dropping me roughly to the ground. Scales slide over my flesh and his claws pierce me, tearing at my flesh as he subdues me, pinning me neatly beneath him. Agony ignites on my face andI bellow as his claws cut a jagged path from brow to jaw before finding purchase on my shoulder. They dig deep and my hot blood flows over me, rapidly cooling in the snow as it pools beneath me.

There would be nothing shameful in panicking at this moment. I have seen it happen many times over the last two years as the wyverns dropped from the mountains to pick off warriors of their choosing. But I’m not afraid. An icy calm rushes through me as I brace my weight on my knees despite my face being pinned to the ground. I can sense his surprise and pleasure as he croons, but the sound is an eerie hiss as much as it is a song. His croon grows louder, and his wings descend in an intimate screen, shielding me from the shocked stares of the clan. I stiffen, preparing myself, when I feel his weight shift over me and his body arch, bringing his hips up behind my thighs so that the bulbus head of his large cock brushes my ass intimately. I shiver as the hunger of the rut climbs higher in me, scorching my insides at the sensation of his prick prodding and notching in place. His hips flex and rock forward, and I roar as the head presses deep, splitting me for the first time.

Pleasure rises upon the wave of pain, and I pant and moan as his cock sinks in further. Something almost seems to come alive and writhe around his cock, stroking the inside of my ass. Deeper and deeper it presses, and I growl when it finally buries completely within me. Its heat pulses within me and every so slowly he drags it back only to swiftly plunge, filling me entirely with the next stroke. He pumps into me, his movements coming quicker and harder, his claws a vice of misery, mingling pain and pleasure as one. The wyverns croon now has a rumbling note to it as he purrs and sings together, the sound growing deeper with every thrust, driving his cock into my depths. I grunt, my cock an iron bar between my legs. I wish I could move my hand to grip it, but I’m pinned so tightly there is no chance.

His tail moves, sliding around me at the peak of my frustration, and I moan with pleasure as its soft tip curls like a band around my cock, stroking me in time with each thrust until we are growling together. My balls draw up, tightening as his thrusts become more rampant, a pleasing ache gathering at my core as it tightens and then bursts as my seed shoots through me so hard and fast that I’m nearly dizzy with pleasure. I feel as if my essence is draining through me, releasing in waves of intense pleasure, but it doesn’t cease. It grows hotter and hotter, boiling inside of me until I am burning. And in truth, I am burning! Wyvern fire spills over, around, and through me with the wyvern’s climax, and I continue to find my release as he bellows and pumps ropes of his thick, hot seed into me, the rest splattering on the stone behind me in a large puddle.

The last spurt of seed leaves my cock, and with a groan my body drops the rest of the way to the ground, forcing his cock out one in one slick slide of flesh that sends a shiver through me. I cannot stop the smile curling my lips. At last, I have been claimed.

Claimed by Drisk.

Anya

Blood drips from my cracked lip as I grin down at the boy lying prone in the snow. My knuckles are bruised and bleeding, but I think nothing of them. All I feel in that moment is triumph. Pain will come later.

“Thought you could touch me without my leave, eh?” I bark, taking a grim satisfaction at the way his body instinctively curlsinto itself at my tone. “Thought you could treat me like less than a street whore?”

“It was a mistake, Anya,” his companion garbles as he stumbles back from me but not before bending to grab his friend and drag him away with him.

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