§
Thank the flaming dragon gods Ezaara had come into his life. He’d been so bitter, so mistrusting, so broken—and her love had healed him. She was snug and warm in his arms, but the winter wind would soon chill her. Roberto reached into one of Zaarusha’s saddlebags and pulled out some furs, wrapping them around her. “You looked so beautiful tonight. Absolutely radiant. Are you ready to come to Naobia with me and discover the land of my littling years?” He kissed her hair again.
“So that’s where we’re going? I’d love to.”
“Then I’d better hop back on Erob.”
“Have you got Pa’s ring?” she asked.
“Yes. Have you got your ma’s? They’re both from my grandmother. Funny how our families are intertwined, isn’t it?”
Ezaara leaned forward and Roberto shuffled back, swinging his leg over Zaarusha’s side, instantly missing Ezaara’s warmth. “Erob, ready?”
Erob flew below Zaarusha and Roberto slipped off the queen’s back, landing neatly in Erob’s saddle.
“Ana,” he cried.
“Kisha,” called Ezaara.
With a pop, they were surrounded in golden clouds riddled with deep cracks of dark mist. Anakisha floated toward them.
“We’re hand-fasted,” said Ezaara. “Me and your grandson, Roberto.”
“That’s wonderful.” Anakisha addressed Roberto, “I’m sorry Zens found you all those years ago, despite your mother being in hiding. Lucia was a fine daughter, and her blood runs in your veins. I’m proud of you for withstanding Zens and the temptation to use your extraordinary talents for evil. Stay strong and remain true to the realm and the Queen’s Rider.”
Roberto bowed his head and pounded his fist on his heart. “I will, Grandmother.”
“Now let me guess. You want to go back to the cottage in Naobia.”
“Back?” said Ezaara.
“I went there this morning to prepare,” melded Roberto.
With a crack, Zaarusha and Erob were in the warm night air above the black Naobian Sea, tipped with white crests. Roberto breathed in the familiar briny air, the warm breeze rustling the ribbons in Ezaara’s braids.
“Oh, I’d forgotten how good this air tastes,” she said, inhaling deeply. She took off her furs, stowing them in a saddlebag.
They flew along a strip of beach, pale in the moonlight, and Erob alighted behind a small cottage. Zaarusha landed. Roberto lifted Ezaara down into his arms. Gods, he couldn’t wait. He had to kiss her now. He leaned in and she did too. Their noses bumped and she gave a little laugh.
So, he swept her off her feet, carrying her to the door and over the threshold.
§
Ezaara nestled against Roberto as he carried her into a shaft of moonlight drizzling through a window, and lowered her onto a couch.
“Just wait here,” he said, brushing his lips against hers before disappearing out the door.
Just that single brush sent fire through her veins.
A hearth was laid in the corner with a huge rug sprawled before it. Through an archway, there was an enormous bed, draped with canopies of white net. She swallowed. She and Roberto had loved each other for moons, but neither of them had ever …
Roberto entered the cottage with the saddlebags and Ezaara leapt up to help him.
Zaarusha poked her head inside the door. “Enjoy yourselves. Erob and I are going hunting.” She shot a jet of fire at the hearth. The wood ignited, bursting into flame. “Meld if you need anything, but I imagine you’ll be too busy.” She winked, and left them alone.
Ezaara knelt before the blaze. Roberto sat behind her and gathered her hair in his hand, tracing his lips down her neck.
She turned, Roberto’s dark eyes burning into hers, the familiar heat of dragon fire coursing through her veins. As he took her in his arms and kissed her, they created a magic of their own. Sathir swirled around them, dancing with the fire, and the flames crackling on the hearth burned brighter.
Promise
High on a bluff above the beach, Bruno lowered the far-seers and wriggled back on his belly to join his son, Simeon. “I was right,” he said. “The Queen’s Rider and Roberto are down there, dancing on the sand without a care in the world.”
“So that sharding arrogant shrot-heap got the girl,” Simeon snarled. “I should’ve taken her when I had the chance.”
Bruno sniggered. “A fine thing that would be, your seed in the belly of the Queen’s Rider.” He scratched the scraggly beard that had grown since he’d been banished to the Wastelands. “Good idea, Son. Let’s arrange that. We’ll bide our time—strike when their dragons are gone. When you’ve taken your fill of the girl, she’ll make good shark fodder.”
Simeon grinned, eyes glinting with lust.
Good, that had put a bit of color into his son’s cheeks. Gods knew, they both needed something after that awful orange hell, the tragic raft trip and burying poor Fleur in a shallow grave. Someone had to pay for his wife’s death. Why not Roberto and that snivelly girl?
Dragon Strike Preview
Prologue
The moon slunk out from behind dark clouds, scattering a broken shaft of silver on the waves crashing against the shore. Bruno held tight to the raft carrying his son and dead wife, kicking through the cursed water to angle it toward the moonlight—although it was hardly a welcoming beacon guiding him home. He tested the depth, his boot barely scraping sand. Fangs and bleeding teeth, it was too deep to gain a foothold. And his legs were so numb it was a miracle he could even feel the ocean floor. He kicked the raft closer to land, so weak his efforts were as pathetic as a littling’s.
His foot struck the ocean floor. And again. He slid
