The Elven Lord's Concubine

The Elven Lord’s Concubine VOLUME TWO LEONA SURE Contents Prologue 1. The Dragon’s Will 2. The Nephew 3. The Connection 4. The Colors 5. The Lady Concubine 6. The Tree 7. The Unwellness 8. The Light Thief 9. The Surprise 10. The Petitions 11. The Descent 12. The Unquietness 13. The Nest 14. The Declaration 15. The Day The Elven Lord’s Concubine: Volume Three Read Now in Kindle Vella About the Author Glossary Prologue Isael choked on his blood. Only the blade of the great sword lodged in his chest kept liquid from flooding his lungs and drowning him. He gripped at the sword, trying to hold it steady as he drew in a labored breath. It came with a fresh lancing of pain that cut through the numbness of shock. He turned his eyes up to the figure looming over him. The dragon stared down. It was wearing its human skin, but Isael wasn't fooled. The emerald eyes staring out of it were alien. No longer wholly dispassionate, but rather curious. As if he were waiting to see what Isael would do next. As if Isael could do anything but slump over and die. "I said no magic," Isael said, his malice undercut by a bloody wheeze. The dragon blinked. Finely wrought lips, so much like Isael's own, turned downward. When he spoke, it was with the accent of a bygone era. "I used no magic." "You called the wind," Isael shot back. The dragon scoffed. "You call the wind. I am the wind." As if to make his point, the sword was swiftly dislodged from Isael's body. The dragon lifted no hand to pull it. He didn't have to beg the wind's compliance, as Isael so often did. As if held by an invisible hand, the sword wrested itself free, cleaned itself on the snow, and went sailing back in the direction of the dragon's lair. Just as he'd anticipated, blood began to pool into his chest cavity. Isael gripped at the wound, mindless of the pain, as if he could somehow bind his flesh together through sheer will. With something like a sigh, the dragon held out his hand. He drew a clawed finger across it, slicing open the skin. Blood the color of rubies pooled in his palm. Understanding dawned on Isael, and he jerked his head back. The The Dragon’s Will Isael woke, all at once sharp and alert. He sat up and called the air to him, inhaling deeply. The room smelled of fyristle, early morning dew, and lingering smoke from the charred logs in the fireplace. No scents of intruders, nor undue sounds within the confines of his chamber. But something had roused him. He expanded his awareness further, beyond his room. After a couple of seconds, he picked up the distant sound of footfalls against marble. It was Maewyn's shuffling cadence. Stifling a groan, he rubbed sweat from his face and then looked down at the woman using his arm as a pillow. Softly, he muttered, "Such madness you've inflicted upon me." He sank back onto the bed and pulled her close to his body, her warm, supple flesh melding with his own. Resting his face on the top of her head, he took in a long drag of her scent. It conjured memories of his visit to Kyta more than a century past. His mind went to the opium dens, darkened rooms with bodies splayed about, eyes staring without focus. Cera smelled nothing like those places, but she made him understand those people, to an extent. He was starting to understand how a man could so thoroughly surrender his will to something. How he could lie in one place until night gave way to day, and then day to night, wanting nothing more than to take in a wondrous scent. She stirred in his arms and tried to move closer to him. In his efforts to sleuth out what had disturbed him, he'd chilled the air around them. Reminding himself that she didn't possess his resistance to cold, Isael pulled the blankets up around her, tucking her in tightly as he conjured heat in the air. Once she was comfortable, he settled down as well, stroked her hair, and watched her face to see