Marked By A Dragon

I HATE HIM. My thoughts were a blur, but my feelings toward Zaydon Icarus were crystal clear. Even as I lost sensation from the shoulders down—paralysis creeping in from the venomous bite at my neck—the need to punch him still made my fingers twitch. With my vision blurred from the blood seeping from the gash in my head, I could only make out the silhouette of his 6'8" frame, slowly closing in on my prone body. "Move!" I shout, almost sobbing with rage as my body refuses to comply. The crunch of debris beneath his combat boots and the sudden darkness that obliterated what little visibility I had told me he was now looming over me. I couldn't feel them, but his large hands grasped my shoulders, propping me up against what remained of the bedroom wall. His movements were fluid and unfeeling as he positioned me. With a leather-gloved hand, he gripped my chin and lifted my head. His hot breath washed over my face as he let out an irritated sigh. My eyes shut tighter as he wiped the blood from them with some kind of material. Loathing the gentleness of his touch. I blinked to rectify my blurred vision. With my eyes open and vision clear, his familiar, unnaturally glowing, siren-like red eyes greeted me. Those eyes consumed anything in their sight, hotter than a funeral pyre—they would burn the flesh of lesser men and women alike. "Can you see better now, sweetheart?" he asks, practically purring his little pet name for me. The word "sweetheart" didn't match the depth of his voice. I'd witnessed him command the minds of weaker beings and make souls tremble with each vibrating syllable. He didn't use it as a term of endearment for me. He knew it would provoke my temper, and that's why he used it so often. Unable to respond adequately in my current state, I did the only disrespectful thing I could. I mustered the largest collection of spit I could and spat right in that smug little s**t's face. He chuckled and used what seemed like a handkerchief soaked with my blood to wipe away the spit running down his cheek. His hand moved swiftly from my chin to wrap around my throat, bringing his face inches away from mine. The black pits of his pupils narrowed, almost reptilian, and his once-human tongue slithered out, revealing its forked shape. Those thin, bow-shaped lips that I used to longingly wish would kiss me curled up into something sinister. I was grateful to be paralyzed because I would have shivered in response to how murderous he looked right now. A rogue strand of blue-black hair fell into his right eye as he took a deep breath in. I knew what he was doing. In this demi-form, he could smell exactly where I was injured and what caused my sudden paralysis. I didn't want him to know, but I couldn't stop him – even without his powerful sense of smell, just looking at me would be enough to know. "Zaydon, leave me alone, you bastard flying gecko!" I snarled, willing a threat of murder into my eyes as he analyzed me further. He ignored me and straddled my lap. Even while paralyzed, I could feel the weight of his muscled body. Suddenly, I was enveloped by the scent of him as his chest, barely covered by a torn, bloodied shirt, pressed against me. The smell of blood overwhelmed my senses, but beneath that overpowering iron scent was his musky, almost exotic aroma. I blushed deeply as I felt his forked tongue slide over the gash on my forehead, his saliva healing the nasty injury. Before I could protest, he had quickly moved his nose and lips inches from my neck. His movements were swift, fluid, and precise as his hand shifted from my throat to press against the wall behind me. My head rested against his thick forearm, exposing that particular side of my neck to him. My breathing shallowed and quickened. Surely, he wouldn't… "That little leech got you good, didn't he, my poor little sweetheart," he whispers against my neck. "I've failed you yet again." My body may not have physically shuddered, but internally, it felt as though it did. I hated that I'd let such a spineless louse get to me. I couldn't think about Prince Darrin yet—not when I could feel Zaydon's suddenly sharp canines pressing against my throat. He didn't move and was trembling. Perhaps he was feeling conflicted about healing my injuries. "Did you come to finally free yourself from your bindings to me?" I ask, hating the quiver in my voice. He didn't move away. "You forget that I chose to be bound to you in this way willingly." I managed to restrain myself from flinching at his words. His Dragon Bond was a black mark on every good memory I had of him. When I felt his hot breath on my neck, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself to feel his tongue on the vampire bites left by Prince Darrin. Nothing came. I slowly reopened my eyes to find he had repositioned himself so that his gaze was locked with mine. "I will not force what I'm prepared to do to fix this, no matter how much of a villain you think me to be," he hisses in his demi-form. "And if you're already paralyzed, it means the change will begin the second your heart stops, and you will become a vampire." I blinked at him, struggling to connect his words with what I'd expected him to do. Was he not going to let me die? He waited for me to understand, and as a hot drop of blood raced down from my neck between my breasts, I was reminded yet again that I was in a dangerous position. Prince Darrin, a young vampire prince, had tricked me and somehow slipped past Zaydon's protection to deliver the bite. That meant I belonged to him now, didn't it? So, what did Zaydon intend to do to change that? I looked into Zaydon's steady gaze and watched his nostrils flare. The rage in his eyes reignited, darkening the red to a deeper shade. He could smell Prince Darrin's second violation of my body. He confirmed that he knew as his gaze broke, only to glance down at my torn pants and shirt before meeting mine again. His silence on what had been done to me was his act of kindness, and somehow, Zaydon's kindness cut far worse than all the torment he'd put me through in the last seven years. If we didn't act soon, not only would I turn into a vampire, but I'd be forced to marry Prince Darrin and become a breeding mare for the vampire race. There was nothing worse I could think of than being bound to that villain for all eternity, feeding from him while rearing his spawn. It was then that I realized what Zaydon wanted to do—what he was suggesting. Zaydon wanted to draw out the venom, but to do so, he'd need to replace the vampire bite with his own and drink what little blood I had left. Since he was part dragon, the weak vampire venom wouldn't affect him. However, I'd already lost a significant amount of blood, and taking more could kill me. There was also the possibility that if I survived, having his mark would mean I'd be his—in some way. Varagons were a dragon shifter species, sharing a mating custom similar to that of vampires. Once a male and female chose one another, they would mark each other for life. I knew little else about his people since they were highly secretive. This was a big deal. Even I could sense that much. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through my chest as if a sword were being driven into it. I screamed, wishing for death as the pain twisted my heart and burst like shrapnel in my chest. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, steeling my resolve. I had nothing to lose, and he knew more than I did of what he was offering and sacrificing in order to save me. I looked at Zaydon with pleading eyes, surprised to see the panic in his usually steady gaze. I was out of time, and he needed an answer. I fought to get my lips to move, my head to nod—anything to give my consent. I failed yet again to get my body to comply. Despite my failure, he could sense my consent. His sharp canines sank into my neck, breaking the skin with ease. Each tug on my vein as he drank brought a twisted sense of relief, but I knew this was far from over. Death's hand got closer with each mouth full of blood Zaydon had to swallow. [Zaydon] I had to save her. All of this would be for nothing if she didn't survive, and I would sacrifice anything to prevent her death. Her body felt too limp in my arms. It made my heart beat so loud I could barely hear myself think. I knew vampire venom was potent to females, but I hadn't realized how devastating its effects were on its victims. I would never let her become a vampire. The turned females of their kind are treated as nothing more than breeding tools. She deserved better than that. Her blood was clearly tainted, vile tasting from the venom, but with each pull, it grew sweeter. Bringing some relief that it was not too late for her despite the pain she was clearly in. As I tried to control my labored breath, the scent of salt and soured yeast clung to her skin, making me nauseous, and without thinking in blinded rage, I bit down harder on her neck. She cried out, and regret hit me harder than any being I had ever fought. That bastard would die by my fire and my fire alone. I vowed venomously as I took another pull from her vein.