Ragnar: Dragon Lord of Wye Page 4

  “What happened to your shirt?” At least he wore pants.

  “Ruined. I had an unexpected growth spurt.”

  “So those are new. I wondered how I missed them.”

  Ragnar crawled into the bed, his massive form easing over hers. He pressed her back down into the mattress. “We have unfinished business.”

  “We do?”

  He rumbled, his chest vibrating and the sensation went straight to her core. He pressed his lips to the base of her throat. “We do.”

  The male was some kind of magician, he had her out of her dress with far less hassle and struggle than she had putting the darn thing on. Practice, she guessed. Wearing just the fancy black underwear she bought special for the occasion, she was bare to him. Her thighs pressed together, no gap there, and she had an extra fat roll at her waist and her breasts were ready to pop out of the bra. She went warm all over and knew it was a blush, suddenly shy about her body.

  He rose to his knees, his gaze eating up every exposed inch of her. His verdant green reptilian eyes contracted and expanded, growing black. It was like being fixed in the gaze of a hungry dragon. “Damn, you are luscious.”

  He leaned over her again, this time capturing her lips. His kiss was demanding and hard and Priya responded in kind, losing herself in the heat of him.

  “Tell me your name,” he said, finally pulling away.

  “Seems a little late for introductions, doesn’t it?”

  “Tell me. I want to know the name of the woman who—”

  “Abducted you?”

  “Tell me.” Another kiss, this time he mouthed over the lacy fabric of her bra. Her nipples hardened immediately. Seeing this, he smiled, stroking the swell of her breast. “I could interrogate you, but I’d rather we had a friendly conversation.”

  She wasn’t sure why she hesitated. The male knelt between her thighs, stroking her breasts and teasing her nipples. She could feel his erection grind up against her sex. She wanted to taste him, to experience him, but something in her warned that if she gave a dragon a piece of her, even her name, she’d never escape.

  “You already know who I am. No introductions are just rude,” he prompted.

  “You’re nobody,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He frowned for a moment. “I am a lord and I am the grandson of the queen.”

  “But you’re not a prince. You’re worthless.”

  Ragnar

  She sat up, clutching a sheet to her front. The sheet slid down, revealing the creamy perfection of her chest. Ragnar growled in appreciation and his fires stirred. He could take her now and immediately again, such was the strength of the fire this soft Terran called forth in him,

  She blushed. “I mean, you’re not worthless but you don’t… Fuck. That’s worse. You’re not who you I thought you were.”

  “You’re not very practiced in abducting nobility?”

  “Apparently, my information was old,” she snapped before taking a calming breath. “Sorry. I’m not in the habit of abducting and ransoming strangers every day. I don’t suppose I could just return you to Aslan station and forget this ever happened?”

  Ragnar surged forward, pressing her back down into the mattress. “Act like this never happened?” Never. She called to his dragon. She was his. He could not walk away and pretend that nothing had changed when everything had changed.

  “But I didn’t hurt you. No harm, no foul, right?” Priya gave a nervous smile. “Your people might not realize you were gone if I get you back fast enough.”

  “They know.”

  “Oh.” Hope left her dark eyes. Ragnar did not like the flat, dead look. Did not like it all. “I suppose you’ll want to report me to the station police or something.”

  Ragnar rolled to one side, keeping a firm arm on her waist. “It depends. Tell me why you did this thing. You are not a pirate. This is not a pirate ship. Explain.”

  “I need credit. A lot of credit.”

  Ragnar snorted. Money. How disappointing.

  “For my family,” she added.

  Still not impressed. Priya must have sensed his disdain. “Oh, go ahead and be all judgy, Mister High and Noble, sitting on top of your family’s mountain of credits. You don’t understand what it’s like to be desperate.”

  “So desperate you would steal a person and sell them?”

  “For my family’s freedom? Yes!”

  A chill settled over him. The contempt and petty superiority he felt at her need for fast credit vanished. “Freedom? They are enslaved?”

  “My father had debts.”

  “So make a payment arrangement.”

  “With a loan shark.”

  “I am not familiar with this animal. Is it Terran? A mammal?”

  “He’s a Talmar, actually. Gracious. He took my family into indentured servitude to work off the debts. As well as the farm and all our possessions.”

  “But not you?”

  “I’m an adult. Only minor children are considered part of their parents… property.” Her voice grew small. Frightened. He liked this less. Ragnar gathered her into his arms for comfort. She did not resist, but buried her face into his chest instead.

  “How much?”

  “1.5 million.”

  He sucked in his breath in shock. “So much.”

  “Being bad with credit runs in the family, I guess.”

  “You’d never get that amount for me, even if I were Prince Ragnar and not humble, impoverished Lord Ragnar.”

  “Like I said, I was desperate.”

  Her breathing slowed. Her heart ceased racing. She grew calm. Ragnar liked the feel of her in his arms.

  “You could return me to Aslan Station. I will not press charges.”

  “Really?”

  “I would have gone with you regardless. You called my Fever.” He had little choice. He would have followed her into a pit of vipers. Still would.

  Ragnar frowned. He was not the type of male to keep a female for long. Hit it and quit it was how he operated. Yet there was something about Priya. He did not want to leave her yet.

  “Let me help you,” he said. “I have the credits to pay off the debt.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you help me?”

  “The people of Wye were once enslaved by our brethren from Gye. It happened centuries ago but Wyers have long memories. It would give me satisfaction to free your family.”

  Priya sat up, sheet still persistently and frustratingly clutched to her bosom. “And I’m to believe you’ll help me out of the goodness of your heart? You? Heartless Prince Ragnar, playboy and pauper?”

  “I never liked that name,” he said. He reached to the bedside table for the bottle of viski and downed the fiery liquor without a flinch. “I have a heart.”

  “Sure. Black and selfish. Or pickled.” Priya took the bottle from him and set it on the floor, out of reach.

  “You believe me incapable of compassion?”

  “I believe you capable of lying so you might as well tell me the real reason you want to help.”

  Ragnar ran a hand through his hair, thinking fast. She shot down the platitudes of helping the oppressed, though he still thought that was gold. He would gladly help her scrape algae from the reclamation tanks if it meant a moment between her thighs.

  Something about her posture and the hard glint in her eyes told him if he suggested she trade sex for his help, he’d end up jettisoned like so much rubbish.

  “Well? As pretty as you are, I don’t want to waste all my good oxygen on you,” she said.

  “I need to marry,” he said. “For... my... inheritance.” He flinched as the words left his words. They sounded so fake, so phony.

  Priya climbed out of the bed, taking the sheet with her. He caught a glimpse of tender upper thigh before she wound the sheet tightly around her form. She folded her arms over her chest, studying him. “You need to marry?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding.

  “For an inheritance?”
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br />   “Yes.” He took a breath, summoning a lifetime of half-ignored Wyer laws. “Males can own property on Wye but certain parcels of land have entailments. I’ve been promised Stoneledge House.”

  “And it has an entailment.”

  “Exactly,” he said brightly. “In order to take possession, it must go to my wife. The queen, my grandmother, is very strict about these things and will not make an exception for family. She is always telling us that we have to hold ourselves to a higher standard. I cannot become the master of my birthright until I marry.” His reasoning was weak and flawed. And Stoneledge House? That tumble-down country estate wasn’t worth the effort to demolish.

  “I believe you.”

  “Let me build a nest. For us. Be my wife.”

  “You want to marry me?”

  Growling with satisfaction, Ragnar pulled Priya back to the bed. The sheet slipped away. He rolled her underneath him and used a knee to spread her thighs. He settled into the space between, returning to paradise. He ground his hips into her, letting his hard cock demonstrate his enthusiasm.

  Her dark eyes grew wide with surprise but her hips responded to his body’s demands.

  “You want me to fake marry you to save my family?”

  He wanted a real marriage but had the sense that saying so would drive her away. “A trade.”

  “And you think sex is part of that trade?”

  “I think there’s no reason why two adults who are undeniably attracted to each other can’t enjoy physical comforts.” Another thrust of his hips drove his point home.

  “How long will we have to pretend?”

  Forever, his dragon proclaimed. Now that he had her, he refused to let her go.

  “That’s negotiable,” he said. “My family will expect a wedding. A year. Give me a year.”

  “Why me? I’m not like the women you normally go for.”

  Good question.

  Ragnar planted a hand on either side of her head and held himself above her, studying the guarded expression on her face.

  By all the fire, she was lovely. Gentle. Wanting to trust but guarded. He could spin a fantastic line about her being the most beautiful treasure he’d ever seen and how his dragon coveted her, would never let her leave his clutches. Every word would be true. Still, simple honesty would be better.

  “You called my Fever.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Ragnar rolled to the side. “I am unusually old for a male to have his first Fever.”

  “How old is unusually old?”

  “Thirty.”

  She snorted. “You are so old.”

  “I’m a late bloomer,” he informed her. “It happens that way sometimes in my family. The Fever is the last stage in Wyer sexual maturity.”

  “You’re not giving me a biology lesson, are you?”

  “Depends. Do you think biology is sexy?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. More snorting and eye rolling. “Apparently not. What you need to know is that we go into a breeding heat two or three times a year. It happens for the first time in our twenties and can be a very… intense experience.”

  “Does it hurt? Did it hurt to grow the wings?”

  “Yes but more of an overwhelming need. It’s all you can think about. And yes. They are very sore.”

  “So what does this have to do with me?”

  Ragnar smoothed back the hair from her forehead. Normally a female asking this many questions would irritate him but with Priya, he did not mind. He wanted to lay in bed and stroke her smooth skin. He’d answer any question she wanted. He’d even listen to her prattle about nothing for hours, if that’s what she desired.

  “Something about you started my Fever. Pheromones. Genetic compatibility. I didn’t pay that much attention in school.”

  “I wish you would have.”

  “As do I.” He chanced a kiss on the lips. She opened for him, tongue entwining with his own. She tasted better than the finest meal or the finest viski. He could drink nothing but her and live a happy life. Breathless, he pulled away. “The Fever is still in me. Only you can ease my suffering.”

  Priya laughed, sweet and without reservation. “That is the corniest line I’ve ever heard.”

  “You are sure? I could say something much worse.”

  She giggled for a solid minute before catching her breath. “So you’re picking me because we have chemistry?”

  “Essentially.” Chemistry. He liked it.

  “Do I get a title? Fake Lady Priya?”

  “There is nothing fake about you.”

  She grew serious. “But our marriage will be fake.”

  He needed to answer cautiously. Priya could sense a lie in him and she demanded the truth, but he knew the truth of his raw possessive desire for her would frightened her away. “A marriage of convenience.”

  “And you’ll help me get the money to buy my family’s freedom?”

  “And you’ll be my wife.”

  “Fake wife.”

  “For a year.”

  “I’ll be your fake wife for a year and you’ll pay off my family’s debt?”

  He nodded. If she needed to believe that their binding would be false, he’d allow it. He’d take her any way he could get her.

  “No sex until we get my family,” she said, pulling away.

  He reluctantly let her go and nodded. His Fever was in the early stages and tolerable. For now. “I will only have you willing. Anticipation makes the fruit sweeter.”

  She blushed a charming pink. Terrans’ colors were fascinatingly changeable.

  “And since we are to build a nest,” he said, “can you please tell me the name of my bold wife?”

  The blush intensified. “Priya,” she said. “Priya Marie Barber.”

  She gave him her full name. His dragon chuffed, pleased. Use of a formal name— He stopped himself. She did not know Wyer ways. She did not understand that exchanging formal names between mates was good as being married.

  Ragnar, however, knew exactly what he did.

  “Priya Marie Barber, I am Ragnar bin Raes Sorrel, only son of Lady Sorrel ban Tannar Solle, of the Thirty-first Province of Wye. You are my mate. There is no other for me. I will build us a nest. Tell me yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she studied him. Judging him. For the first time, Ragnar’s confidence was shaken. Why would his bold female hesitate to answer?

  “Yes. Deal.” Priya held out a hand and looked at him expectantly. “A handshake? To seal the deal?”

  “No.” He’d seen Terrans exchange the greeting countless times and he refused to shake hands with his mate like they were strangers or business acquaintances.

  She withdrew her hand, frowning.

  “A kiss,” he said, covering her with his form. He found his rightful place between her thighs and claimed her lips for his own.

  Priya was his now, whether she knew it or not.

  Chapter Five

  Ragnar

  “You did what?”

  Olver’s laughter came through the communicator crystal clear.

  “It’s not that funny,” Ragnar grumbled.

  “Oh, it’s marvelous is what it is. And who is the lucky female to tame the rapacious Prince Ragnar.”

  “She called my Fever,” he said, skipping over the part about her drugging and abducting him for ransom. Details. Hardly mattered at all now.

  “Oh, yes, your Fever. I’ve managed to have my Fever twenty times and not marry the first female I came across.”

  “She’s different.”

  “You say they're all different.”

  Olver had known Ragnar since he was an adolescent and had been his martial trainer. The advantage of their long relationship was that Ragnar trusted Olver without hesitation. The downside was that Olver could see through all Ragnar’s bullshit, and he had a lot.

  “She’s my mate.”

  “You decided that, did you?”

  “I did.”

  Silence, then, “Tell me about the lucky fema
le, then.”

  “Her name is Priya.”

  “And?”

  Ragnar searched through their two encounters. What he actually knew about his mate was scant. It felt wrong to mention her family were indentured servants due to defaulted debt, like a violation. No one, not even Olver, needed to know that. “She has a ship. I think she’s a pilot.” That was a solid guess. If she was the only crew operating the ship, she had to be able to pilot it.

  “You think? By the Celestial Mother, your lordship, you know nothing about this female.”

  “I know she called my Fever! I know she is for me!”

  A sigh. “How long will you be occupied with this one?”

  Until his Fever was resolved, and not until the Barber family were freed, as per their agreement. “Until after the wedding?”

  “Wedding!”

  “My mother ordered me to find a bride and come home. I did.”

  A new voice cut into the conversation, his cousin Korven. “I won’t be able to attend your wedding, cousin. Our grandmother will not lift my exile, not even for your surprise nuptials.”

  “Blame my mother, then. An order is an order.”

  “And you just happened to immediately find your mate? And your Fever?”

  Ragnar did not appreciate the jovial tone in Korven’s voice. He sacrificed much for his cousin and did not appreciate being mocked. “Call it fate. If we had visuals, you’d see my wings. They are larger than yours,” he added for good measure.

  “You wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

  “That’s not what your mate told me last night.”

  Korven’s growl came across the line, sinister and low. “If you were here, I’d knock you on your ass.”

  The comment about Korven’s mate was a step too far. “Peace. How is my favorite nestling?”

  “Missing a favorite chew toy.”

  That brought a smile to Ragnar. “I will be gone for several weeks. Do not mention this to my mother. I prefer to tell her the news myself.”

  “You will tell her? Or do you plan to show up on her doorstep with a mate?”

  “Like you did?”

  “With a mate and nestling,” pride coloring Korven’s voice. “If something is worth doing, it is worth overdoing.”