PRISONER: A Paranormal Yaoi Romance

6

Dragons are possessive creatures. When they decide something is theirs, it tends to stay THEIRS. It is in their blood to seek out treasure and to hoard it jealously. Daeron knows this about himself, knows it and is not ashamed of it. He is proud of it. He is strong enough to claim what he wants and strong enough to keep it and protect it. So, Daeron is familiar with the strong, almost angry feeling of possession he gets over his gold and his jewels and his treasures. They are his and should anyone DARE disturb them, his wrath will be hot and fierce, his vengeance swift and sure. But those are just things. Mere objects, they cannot be made to hurt or bleed. They cannot be killed. Looking at his beautiful little mate, sleeping in Daeron’s arms with his golden curls and his pink cheeks and his long lashes, the Dragon is wholly unprepared for the intense waves of protectiveness that overwhelm him. The possessiveness and the anger are still there, but as he gazes at the boy in rapture even as his chest tightens in fear. He is so small, so delicate and mortal and frail… so very human. Daeron lifts the boy’s hand in his own and marvels at his tiny fingers, the bones inside so weak and the delicate blue veins under his thin wrist. He sees him as the most fragile of porcelain and he is terrified by how infinitely breakable his beloved is. His little one makes a whimpering, whining noise in his throat and stirs in Daeron’s arms, shifting and frowning as if haunted by dark thoughts. Daeron bends his dark head and kisses the boy’s brow, running loving fingertips over it and smoothing it back into slumber. The boy moans contentedly and curls subconsciously closer into the warmth of Daeron’s body. Even in his human form, the Dragon radiates heat. Daeron can feel his own heart racing as he relives the events of the last few days with new eyes, remembering the boy being thrown in the pit and how carelessly he had caught him. He had extended his hand only on a whim. What if he had not? What if he had let his true love dash upon the stone floor as he had so many others? The thought is too terrifying to contemplate. His golden eyes glitter with rage as he remembers the blood between the boy’s legs. At the time he had not understood what it meant. He does now. Rage coils in his heart, mixing with the terror he feels at all the things that could have gone wrong, how easily the boy could have been injured or even killed. With trembling hands, he brushes the honey-golden curls and presses fervent kisses to the boy's soft precious cheeks. He will never hurt and he will never fear. No danger will come to him. Never again, never again. The Black Dragon stands over the bed and weaves a spell of protection over his sleeping mate, ensuring that his dreams will be sweet and undisturbed. Like a babe in his mother’s arms, tucked safely in the Dragon's bed, the boy sleeps the sleep of the innocent. Dark robes materialize from thin air, swirling around his feet as he walks to the edge of the cave and stares down into the night. His gaze sweeps down the snowy mountainside, swirls through the snow and the darkness, past the forest and down into the sleeping city. Daeron is able to penetrate both space and time as he watches the boy’s journey to the Pit. He sees his young mate, Anaire is his name, grow from a child to a bright young man. He is a slave and his intelligence and courage ever resented by all those around him. His eyes narrow as he sees him beaten by his master, bullied by the other slaves, sold to the palace and then assaulted by the royal guards. They held him down, one trying to rape him from behind as the other shoved his unwashed cock in the boy’s pretty mouth. He screams with anger, not fear. Daeron snarls as the boy bites down, ripping the turgid flesh with his teeth and spitting the bloody mess back at the guards, fighting like a wild animal. His mate is fierce in his anger. Daeron's gaze quickly grows cold again as the guards drag Anaire to the edge of the pit. They take him by all four limbs and toss him over the edge, taunting the boy as they do it. They laugh heartily as his fragile body plummets down into the darkness, to shatter on the stones far below. Though Daeron will ever be grateful for his lover regardless of how he came into his care, the callous cruelty of their actions makes his heart sicken and his pulse race with fury. The powerful Dragon closes his swirling amber eyes as he conjures a spell that will make them pay. Everything they hold dear will be taken from them, their pride humbled. All they love will turn to dust in their hands. They will thirst and find no water, they will hunger and find no bread. All hearts will be as hard towards them as theirs were to Anaire. No one will help them, they will be as living ghosts. Their bodies will waste and rot, their teeth will gnaw their cheeks and their genitals will be as sores between their legs. They will beg for death and not find it. A strong spell Daeron weaves and it falls upon the evil men sleeping in their beds as a nightmare they will not wake from. When his vengeance is complete, Daeron then turns to the magical stones- his soul stones. He can feel them no matter how far they are and he can bring them to his side with but a thought. Daeron closes his eyes and holds out his hand, calling the jewels to him. They come, one with the worn leather collar still attached and the other still set in a ring. The Emperor’s finger is still in it, bleeding as if it has just been torn from his hand. Daeron smirks as he holds the severed finger in his hand and uses the still-living flesh to cast a new spell. Fahri has longed for immortality for so long; Daeron laughs heartily as he gives him what he wished for. The evil man will not die, not a single cell in his body will die, for eternity. Whether he is cut into a thousand pieces or buried at the bottom of the sea, his life will go on. Immortality without youth. That is the final gift the Dragon gives the Emperor. The finger twists and flexes in his hand like a worm wriggling and Daeron throws it out into the snow where the bitter cold will freeze it and make it ache with pain, ever conveyed back to the Emperor in his cell. There will be no escape from his ruined, immortal body. Daeron’s nightmarish fate in the Pit was nothing compared to what awaits the evil Emperor for millennia to come. Holding the soul stones in his hand, the Black Dragon casts his third and final spell. He lets his tortured past go out into the night and cleanses the gems, as his own soul has been cleansed by his love for the boy. They turn in his hands from red to clear and then to blue. Radiant and beautiful, the twin stones now shine a bright, clean blue. They are the very same cornflower blue as the sky… and his beloved’s beautiful eyes. Daeron shrinks them and binds them in gold. The metal is heated by his breath and molded by his magic into a pair of beautiful rings. His is plain with just the glowing stone embedded in the center, but he makes his mate’s with care, engraving it with flowers and vines and delicate etchings in the ancient tongue only Dragons can speak. He returns to where Anaire sleeps in his bed and kneels beside him. Onto that slender, fragile finger he places the ring, cupping Anaire’s hand in his own and kissing the top of his wrist. With this ring, never again will he feel fear or pain. Never again will he be in danger, for Anaire is now the most powerful living mortal in the world. There is not a blade that can pierce his skin, a fall that can stun him or a sea that can drown him. He is as immortal as Daeron, and just as strong. Daeron’s eyes gleam with triumph. Perhaps he cannot hoard Anaire in his cave with the rest of his treasures, but he can still protect his most precious mate. There is no more powerful magic than a Dragon’s heart, given freely. The ring glows on Anaire’s finger, shining brightly with the power of the Dragon’s love. Daeron blinks in surprise as it continues to glow brighter and brighter, blinding him with its strength as it pulls from the magic inside the boy’s courageous heart. All humans have a small magic of their own, but the brightness of his innocence and purity and bravery lends to the power in the ring. Anaire’s spirit turns the magic into something even Daeron himself could not have foreseen. The magic swells and ripples in the cave like silent explosions, and Daeron shields his face with his hand, unable even to look on the brightness of his mate’s magic as it combines with his own. When the magic’s will is finally done, the glow slowly ebbs and fades until finally Daeron is able to see the boy again. But he is a boy no longer. The magic has rewarded him with a new form. With tears in his eyes, the Black Dragon gazes on the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and never could have imagined. Daeron had gotten it wrong. It isn’t the heart of a Dragon’s mate that beats in the boy’s tiny brave chest; it is the heart of a Dragon itself.