Mated To The Cursed Dragon King

The obsidian sky of Emberfall bled crimson as the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks of the Dragon’s Spine. Below, in the courtyard of the Iron Citadel, the air was thick with the scent of fear and the metallic tang of blood.

Aria Blackwood didn't cry. Tears were a luxury she had been beaten out of years ago. Instead, she stood bound in heavy silver-dampening chains, her knees hitting the jagged gravel as her 'father,' Alpha Fenris, kicked her forward.

"Move, you useless bitch!" Fenris spat, his voice trembling not with pity for his daughter, but with terror for his own life.

Aria’s silver-blonde hair, usually a shimmering veil of light, was matted with filth. Her shift dress was torn, exposing the porcelain curve of her shoulder, and the bruises that mapped a lifetime of 'Omega' status. 

She was the Silver Moon pack’s greatest shame, a girl with no wolf, a girl whose only value was the price her blood could fetch on the auction block.

"Look at me," Fenris hissed, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. "The King is coming. If you don't look submissive, he’ll burn the entire pack. You are a sacrifice, Aria. Act like it."

Aria’s violet eyes, deep as a midnight storm, locked onto his. "If he burns the pack," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp, "I’ll be the one dancing in the ashes."

Fenris backhanded her. The blow cracked her lip, sending a spray of crimson onto the grey stones. "Quiet!"

Then, the world went silent.

The massive gates of the Citadel didn't open; they exploded outward, driven by a gust of wind so hot it singed the eyebrows of the guards. Out of the smoke stepped a nightmare wrapped in the skin of a god.

King Silas Vane. The Butcher of the Seven Realms.

He was a colossus of 6’7”, his body a lethal architecture of corded muscle and ancient scars. He wore no shirt, only a heavy fur mantle over shoulders that looked wide enough to carry the weight of a dying sun. His skin was bronze, mapped with swirling black tattoos that pulsed with a rhythmic, hellish red glow, the visible sign of the Dragon-Madness eating him alive.

His face was a masterpiece of cold, aristocratic cruelty. Raven-black hair framed a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, but it was his eyes that stopped hearts. They were slitted, glowing gold, and entirely devoid of mercy.

"Fenris," Silas’s voice was a low-frequency growl that made the very ground vibrate. "You are late with the tithe."

"Your Majesty!" Fenris prostrated himself, pressing his face into the dirt. "I brought her. The purest blood in the North. A virgin sacrifice to soothe the dragon’s fire."

Silas didn't look at the Alpha. His golden gaze landed on Aria. He walked toward her, each step sounding like the toll of a funeral bell. The heat radiating from him was unbearable, the air shimmering in his wake.

He stopped inches from her.

 The height difference was terrifying; Aria barely reached the center of his chest. Silas looked down at her not with interest, but with the clinical detachment of a man inspecting a piece of meat.

"A wolf," Silas sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "You offer me a scavenger to quench the fire of a King? My dragon finds the scent of your kind… offensive."

He reached down, his hand, large enough to crush her skull locking around her throat. He didn't lift her gently. He hoisted her off the ground until her toes dangled inches above the gravel.

Aria’s lungs burned. Her hands flew to his wrist, her small fingers digging into the iron-hard muscle of his forearm. Most women would have screamed. Most would have begged.

Aria simply stared into his golden eyes and spat blood directly onto his cheek.

The courtyard went deathly silent. Fenris let out a choked whimper of despair.

Silas didn't move. The blood trickled down his handsome, stony face. Slowly, he swiped a finger through the red droplet and tasted it.

His eyes suddenly went wide. The vertical slits of his pupils blown out until his eyes were solid, burning gold.

"What are you?" he whispered, his voice no longer cold, but dangerously feral.

Suddenly, a violent shockwave erupted from the point where his skin touched hers. A searing, white-hot light exploded between them, blinding the guards. Aria felt as if her veins were being filled with liquid diamonds.

On the pale skin of her collarbone, a mark began to carve itself in real-time. It wasn't a tattoo; it was a burn, a brand of a dragon entwined with a moon. It glowed with a celestial radiance that pushed back the shadows of the Citadel.

Silas let out a roar of pure agony, dropping her. He fell to one knee, clutching his chest as his own tattoos turned from red to a blinding, holy white.

"No!" Silas snarled, his voice a distorted mix of human and beast. "Not a wolf! I will not be mated to a golden-eyed cur!"

The Dragon-Madness, usually a slow burn, spiked into a frenzy. His fingernails lengthened into obsidian talons. He lunged at Aria, his hand slamming into the stone wall behind her head, shattering the rock into dust.

"You think this mark makes you my Queen?" Silas leaned in, his face inches from hers. His scent....clove, ancient fire, and something intoxicatingly masculine filled her senses. "It makes you my prisoner. I will tear this bond from my soul even if I have to bleed you dry to do it."

He grabbed the silver chains still hanging from her wrists and jerked her toward the dark maw of the palace. He didn't carry her. He dragged her.

"Fenris!" Silas roared over his shoulder without looking back. "Consider the debt paid. If any of your pack sets foot on my land again, I will burn your forest until the soil turns to glass."

Aria stumbled, her knees scraping the stone as Silas hauled her toward his dungeon. She looked back at her father, who was already scurrying away in relief.

She didn't feel fear. For the first time in nineteen years, as the heavy obsidian gates slammed shut behind her, locking her in the dark with a monster, Aria felt something else.

She felt the heat in her own blood finally starting to boil.