1 (part II)

AN HOUR AGO.

The ancient stone walls of the Royal House trembled under the guttural growls of Andronikos-- Alpha King Draekon’s dragon.

Today, the beast sounded restless, almost aware of the incoming clan spirits.

Indeed, the DragonBorns had just arrived Iron-Vale, their elegant dragons cutting through the sky in formation.

Crowds of werewolves lined the streets, gasping at the sight.

Meanwhile, inside the royal chambers, tension hung thick in the air amongst the three brothers.

Zayn, the ever empathetic one, paced the room restlessly, while Dione who could care less, sat in a corner looking bored.

Draekon, the cold and eldest one amongst the brothers remained silent, towering like an angry god while maids worked around him, fastening his ceremonial robe.

“Are you really sure you want this, Draekon?” Zayn asked, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time.

After losing his mate seven years ago, Draekon had also lost a huge part of himself.

As a DragonBorn-WereWolf hybrid, the idea of having a second chance mate was almost impossible. Most DragonBorns were fated to only one soulbound in a lifetime, so he really didn’t see the harm in his decision to take a choosen mate today.

"Veylor." The royal Gamma entered.

"Ambrose," Draekon replied in a rather bored tone. "What is it?"

"The DragonBorns are approaching."

"I am aware." Draekon nodded, waving the maids away with a flick of his hand. As they retreated, his gaze fell on one of them.

"You," he called, and they all halted their steps.

He made his way to the maid in question. She was pleasant to look upon, with full lips that could serve purpose.

"Are you new here?" he asked, lifting her chin with his index finger.

"Yes, Veylor."

She looked down, unable to hold his gaze.

"What is your name?"

"Marie."

"Pretty." He exhaled lightly, his clean breath brushing across her face.

"Marie, how well can you use your mouth?" he asked, eyes sparkling with a deep sense of lust.

At his question, her cheeks drew colour.

"Ambrose," Draekon called over his shoulder, "take my brothers with you and welcome our guests. I'll join you shortly."

At his request, his brothers and the Gamma shared knowing a look amongst themselves.

***********

Not too long after, Draekon arrived the arena in his usual regal splendor, his presence commanding immediate silence.

He nodded approvingly at Zayn and Dione, who had kept things running smoothly in his short absence of lustful exercise. Then, he approached the Prince of the DragonBorns.

"Merakkai," he called, voice low. "Welcome to Iron-Vale."

The prince bowed stiffly, disdain flickering beneath his polite smile. No DragonBorn wanted to kneel to a werewolf, hybrid or not.

But they had no choice. They were here for freedom, and only Draekon could give it to them because he had the one thing they didn't have. The Golden Dragon.

The DragonBorns had been cursed for the past six hundred years, and everyone knew the ancient tale.

Six hundred years ago, the six supernatural races lived in uneasy peace. But the DragonBorns grew greedy and unleashed fire across the realm, wanting to be the race who ruled over the others.

While the other kingdoms cowered in fear, only the Werewolves were brave enough to fight hard against the DragonBorns, even as they died in masses.

Hope was almost lost on the blood-soaked battlefield, until a werewolf-witch hybrid named Nali’yum had slit her own throat and laid a curse on the DragonBorns:

'No Golden Dragon shall be born again, until after six hundred years. And when the time comes, it will not be born alongside a DragonBorn, but a Werewolf. This werewolf would be tied to both fire and fang, and the future of the DragonBorns will rest in his hand. Then, I shall return.'

That same night, the Werewolf King slew the Golden Dragon of the DragonBorns, ending their sacred flame. The DragonBorns lost their ability to spit fire.

Until now.

Draekon had been born holding the first Golden Dragon egg in centuries.

The curse had chosen him.

He was the hybrid who would decide whether the DragonBorns rose again or remained cursed.

Draekon had finally agreed to give the DragonBorns their ability to spit fire again, after several meetings and agreements.

He was going to take one of the noble DragonBorn females offered to him today, as his chosen mate. In exchange, the DragonBorns would bend the knee, recognizing him as their Sovereign ruler.

After that, they would perform the power surge ritual through his Golden Dragon, to finally free them from their curse.

To him, it was a fair trade.

"Let us begin," Draekon commanded.

The rituals progressed swiftly.

An hour later, Draekon raised his sword and severed the head of the white horse--the final blood sacrifice sealing the pact of the treaty.

The next step was the power surge ritual.

Then all of a sudden, Draekon caught whiff of an intoxicating scent. He paused in shock, the bloodied sword in his hand. He knew what that meant, and it was a shocking development.

He had found his second chance mate.

He looked around the ceremonial arena for her, but his shock heightened when his eyes fell on Vaelora, his younger brother's mate.

She stood in the middle of the arena, just a few steps away from him. He had been so sure that scent was hers.

But how?

Draekon wasn't sure what exactly was happening, but he found himself walking toward her, his gaze pinned on her.

"Vaelora..." he muttered, still confused.

Just then, his wolf emerged from within and declared possession.

"MINE!!"