Stolen Queen: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Fantasy Romance (Windshadow Dragons Book 1)

STOLEN QUEEN A PARANORMAL FANTASY REVERSE HAREM ROMANCE WINDSHADOW DRAGONS BOOK ONE MELODY NOVAK Copyright © 2023 by Melody Novak All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. CONTENTS About this book Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 About the Author ABOUT THIS BOOK DRAGONS ARE REAL—AND THEY'LL FIGHT TO THE DEATH FOR ME. Fate brought me four gorgeous men at the worst moment of my life... and theirs. Half-dead and desperate for my healing touch, the dragon princes of the four winds have been searching far and wide for their fated queen. Apparently that's me. I’m the only one who can restore the fractured kingdoms and save the dragon clans before a ruthless warlord destroys their ancestral home. These fugitives, heroes, and lovers talk crazy and look like trouble. And they kidnap me straight to Windshadow, and the middle of a fight for everything they love. Someone's really gotta teach them how to woo a woman. If we're gonna make it out of this alive, they'd better win my forgiveness... fast. * * * Stolen Queen is book 1 in the Windshadow Dragons series, which should be read in order. CHAPTER 1 TRIXIE “Trix! You wanna come get your tips now? Or later at my place? Shake it, baby!” Creepy Rick, AKA the boss’ asshole son, is seriously pushing his luck. Of course he noticed how my boobs are barely staying in my low-cut shirt. I just wish one of them would leap out and concuss him. He’s standing there behind the bar, waggling a wad of cash like he expects me to dance over and let him shove the rolled-up cash in my bra. In your dreams, pal. “Fuck off,” I growl under my breath and shove the mop back into the bucket. It’s 2am, and I’m rapidly running out of fucks to give. I’m not going to stop what I’m doing because of him. He doesn’t deserve that satisfaction. I’m proud that I never hold back in anything. Even if I’m just cleaning, I wear my heart on my sleeve and give it all I’ve got. Besides, I love my job—except for Rick—and I really love making rent. I’m not going to snap at him and lose myself another job. Not tonight, anyway. “Leave ’em on the bar,” I tell Rick. Then I zip my lips and focus on what matters: I’m almost done mopping. Just a few feet of sticky concrete left before I’m free. It’s only the two of us left here. I doubt Rick would even think to steal from me. He acts like he wouldn’t even get out of bed for less than a grand, but his rich daddy owns this bar. Supposedly, he wants Rick to learn what it’s like to work for a living. Ha. Like Rick does any work around this joint. He just drinks for free at the end of the bar and gets off on power trips. Rick pops open the top button of his shirt and pretends to fan himself with a wad of cash. Then he tosses it on the bar and leans across to me. “You found my favorite sound.” What does he mean— Oh, for fuck’s sake. Every swipe of my mop makes a wet slapping sound against the side of the bar. I might be a virgin, but I’m not some naive little blushing maiden. Now I’ll never un-hear that. Thanks, asshole, I think. As men go, I guess Rick’s hot. But I’ve sure as hell never felt a spark of interest in anyone, let alone him. And guys who can’t take a hint are never attractive. Sometimes I miss silly childhood crushes: scruffy men in fantasy movies who ride around with swords, dramatically pushing open doors and saving the world. But I grew up real fast and learned that those guys don’t exist. Just these guys, in one shade or another. “Clever. I don’t know why they kicked you out of Harvard,” I mutter. Obviously he missed the sarcasm. “I know,” he agrees, his brow furrowing as he stands up straight again. “Isn’t it pathetic? They don’t know what they missed out on. I’m meant for better things than this.” “Than being stuck here with me?” I snort. Someone ought to keep track of whether he’s trying to hit on me or not. Rick switches to a crooning tone that makes me choke back a laugh. “Oh, no, baby. I didn’t mean it that way.” I scrub a little more violently at the sticky patch I’m working on and grunt noncommittally. “I’m not stuck with you. I’m stuck on you. And maybe, if I’m lucky and I buy you dinner…” Rick smirks and leans in again. His eyes are blatantly glued to my chest. “Maybe stuck in—” “Excuse me?” I whirl around so abruptly that he doesn’t even finish his sentence. Then I lift my chin and give him my best ice-cold stare. I don’t use it often, but it scares the shit out of guys trying to get into my pants. My patience is dangerously close to snapping. Rick straightens up. “I’ll just take this to the office,” he mumbles and strides off with the cash drawer. Phew. He was a few seconds away from getting a hard slap… no matter who his daddy is. This is my fourth bar in two years. I’ve learned to wear the right low-cut shirts and clingy cut-offs in order to fill up the tip jar faster. And safety comes from