Margaret Carter - Dragon's Tribute_

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DRAGON’S TRIBUTE

An Ellora’s Cave publication, November 2003

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. USA

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Ltd. UK

PO Box 787

Hudson OH 44236

ISBN

MS Reader (LIT) # 1-84360-695-X

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

Dragon’s Tribute © Copyright Margaret L. Carter, 2003.

permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events

or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used

fictitiously.

Edited by Pamela Campbell

Cover Art by Rose Hurst

Dragon’s Tribute

By Margaret L. Carter

Chapter One

By the time sunset reddened the horizon, the procession of village elders had vanished. Rowena squinted

through her tears to watch the last of them retreat into the woods along the path winding back to town.

Back to their safe homes and barred doors. No one wanted to risk meeting the dragon. Not the elders,

the parish priest and curate, or the Baron’s chaplain. Not his men at arms, who had stood guard to keep

the peace during the offering of tribute. Not even his dark-robed household wizard. Not her neighbors,

who had acted friendly enough until this day came. Least of all Rowena herself, chosen for the creature’s

annual feast. With the fading daylight, the poppy-tinctured wine began to wear off. Fear trickled through

her veins. Her throat, still raw from the crying she’d done before the priests had dosed her, was parched

with thirst.

Already numbness crept up her bound arms. She strained against the rope that tied her to the withered

tree at the verge of the stony foothills where no shepherds dared graze their flocks. The edge of the

dragon’s land. She choked down the scream that welled in her throat. Nobody would come to her

rescue. Anyway, if released, where could she go? Any of the hamlets that owed allegiance to the local

Baron would cast her out if she begged for refuge. It was considered a dire omen for a dragon’s sacrifice

to return alive. Rowena’s own grandmother had been driven from her home in a distant land for that very

reason.

Rowena tried to find comfort in her grandmother’s amulet hanging from a thong around her neck, hidden

under the traditional white shift. Grandmother had slipped the charm over Rowena’s head at the last

moment. According to Grandmother, the bronze disk had enabled her to escape alive from a dragon’s

lair. Her native village had exiled her for fear that the dragon’s rejection would bring a curse upon the

community. After months of wandering she had found her way here and given birth to Rowena’s mother

A breeze sprang up, drying the clammy sweat on Rowena’s bare limbs. A chill prickled on her skin,

despite the season. Every Midsummer Eve the dragon swooped down at sunset to collect his annual

tribute. As tradition demanded, the Baron and the priests had cast lots to determine which town would

supply the maiden. The lot had fallen upon Rowena’s village, and within the village, her name had been

chosen. Of course the lot never fell upon the Baron’s household, a village elder’s daughter, or a priest’s

sister. This year, with sickness rampant among the local children, the choice had not been left to chance.

Rowena knew she had been sacrificed because of her grandmother’s dubious past, suspected of having

unleashed a curse upon the community.

Rowena squirmed to work her way around the tree until she faced the hillside instead of the path to the

village. The rope scraped her wrists. She saw no bones scattered nearby. Maybe the monster carried his

victims to his lair instead of devouring them on the spot. She prayed that if the amulet didn’t protect her,

the end would come quickly. Would his jaws bite her head off, or would he first incinerate her in a roar

of flame? On countless winter nights she had listened avidly to the ballads and tales Grandmother had

picked up while wandering the countryside and wished she could live those adventures. Now she would

have emitted a bitter laugh at her silly notions of adventure, if her throat hadn’t been clogged with fear.

A winged shape glided toward her from the peaks in the distance. Her chest tightened, and her heart

hammered against her ribs.

The creature loomed before her like a giant bat as it sank to the ground. Her unbound hair blew in the

wind it stirred up. It settled in front of her and folded the wings on its back.

Her stomach cramped with terror, although the dragon looked smaller than she’d expected. She had

imagined him as large as a church or perhaps even so huge his wings would blot out the sun. Still, at twice

the size of the Baron’s warhorse, the monster was fearsome enough. Instead of thick-bodied like a

horse, though, he looked sinuously elongated, with a serpentine tail.

His crested head, with jaws the length of her forearm, lowered toward her. Holding her breath, she

waited for the dagger-size teeth to rend her throat. Her legs trembled. The glittering eyes fixed upon her.

She squeezed her own eyes shut. His hot breath blasted her in the face. It smelled like a bonfire of pine

branches with a trace of incense.

Something like a scorching whip lashed her neck. She choked back a scream. Now the fangs would

pierce her flesh.

But they didn’t. Hissing, the dragon withdrew his tongue, the “whip” she’d felt. When she dared to look,

he was staring at her with his oval, slanted eyes—the color of emeralds. Not that she had ever seen an

emerald up close, but she could think of no other word for that green glow.

He stretched one of his front feet toward her. His claws touched the skin just above the neckline of her

shift. She couldn’t suppress a whimper. The dragon withdrew his talons and used them to snap the ropes

that bound her to the tree trunk. Her legs crumpled. The dragon’s leg wrapped around her like a cat’s

paw scooping up a mouse.

With a cry, Rowena shoved against the scaly chest. It felt smoother than she’d imagined and as warm as

the outside of an oven. A rainbow of greens, blues, and violets rippled over the creature’s hide, as if

coated with powdered gems. No wonder legends claimed kings would pay a fortune for a dragon’s skin.

There was no knight here to slay this beast, though, and no matter how beautiful, he would still devour

her. Tears trickled down Rowena’s cheeks.

The next moment, panic dried them. The dragon leaped into the air and spread his wings. Her stomach

lurched. She swallowed bile. A scream ripped from her throat. The dragon spun her around to face away

from him and clutched her against his chest with both forefeet. Wind whipped her hair and stung her eyes.

Her legs dangling, she gripped the creature’s front limbs and babbled a frantic prayer. Better to get her

throat slashed by his fangs than fall to the rocky ground and perhaps writhe in agony for hours with a

broken spine.

With her back to the dragon’s body, she could see the rocky hills ahead. In the dying light she saw they

were heading for a dark gash in a cliff above a ravine. After several minutes of flight, the dragon glided to

a stop on a ledge barely wide enough to hold him. No wonder the Baron’s men at arms had never

stormed the dragon’s lair. Only something with wings could reach this entrance.

The dragon put her down and nudged her inside. She stumbled, fell to her knees, and crouched there,

shaking. The nausea subsided to mild queasiness. She looked up at the dragon, who towered on his rear

legs in the “doorway.” His wings, though shaped like a bat’s, weren’t black or brown, but iridescent with

shades of emerald and turquoise.

She almost fainted when he spoke to her: “Get up, girl.” She had to think a second to understand the

guttural phrase. She couldn’t tell how he formed the words, with his mouth open but not moving. His

voice rumbled and made the nerves quiver in the pit of her stomach.

When she didn’t move, he hooked his claws around her elbow and dragged her upright. The floor of the

cave felt like polished marble under her bare feet, instead of the rough stone she expected. A pearly glow

emanated from the walls, weaker than the sun, but she could see much clearer than in moonlight.

“Walk,” the dragon growled. His tongue snaked out to lash her arm. Shivering, she obeyed. He slithered

into the cavern after her.

The entry tunnel opened into a huge chamber with a vaulted ceiling, much higher than the roof of the

village church or the Baron’s hall. Through a rift far overhead she glimpsed the gray of the evening sky,

rapidly dying toward night. Several portals opened off this central room. At the far end lay a heap of

gems and coins. So the tales about the dragon’s treasure hoard were true. If she could escape from this

lair and take a handful of those jewels along, she could flee to some far country as a rich woman.

She reminded herself that she couldn’t escape, not unless she learned how to fly or to crawl down the

cliff like an insect. Besides, no doubt the dragon would kill and feast on her this very night.

He prodded her toward an alcove near the pile of treasure. Satin cushions filled the space, with covers of

silk and finely woven wool spread over them. The dragon pushed Rowena, and she collapsed onto her

back. His talons snagged the upper edge of her shift. He tore it down the front, leaving her naked body

exposed.

Her skin prickled. Now he would surely rip her heart out.

He sniffed her, and his muzzle touched the amulet. One claw plucked at the disk, about the size of a

woman’s palm, etched with a dragon’s profile and encircled by runic symbols. Raising his head, he

snorted a puff of smoke. “S-s-s-so…what is thisss?” He nudged her again.

The long, sinuous tongue circled her neck and snaked between her breasts. Bolts of heat and cold shot

through her.

Knowing the dragon understood human language gave her the courage to speak. “Are you going to kill

me now?” She gripped the amulet. It hadn’t kept the beast from carrying her off, but at least she wasn’t

dead yet.

He raised his formidable head. “Kill? Why?” His breath behind the words hissed like a snake’s. The

sound echoed in the vast chamber.

“To eat me.”

“I did not bring you here as food.” Now that her ears became attuned to his speech, she understood him

more easily.

“Then what—” Her voice came out as a thin squeak. “Didn’t you devour the other girls?”

A puff of smoke displayed his contempt for that question. “I burned to ash the ones who died of sickness

or starved themselves to death. Those who lived longer, I set free at the turn of autumn.”

Was he lying? Dragons had a reputation for deviousness. “None of them came home, that I ever heard.”

Possibly because they feared the kind of reception her grandmother had suffered?

“I am not to blame for that.” He loomed over her, and again she felt and smelled his hot, incense-scented

breath.

With his clawed forefeet he tugged off the remnants of the shift. Again his tongue tasted the hollow of her

throat and swept down the front of her body. It circled each breast in turn. She shuddered with each lash

of the whip-like appendage. If he didn’t want her as food, why did he seem to be testing her flavor?

She forced herself to lie still, her nails digging into the fabric under her. The dragon’s tongue spiraled

around one breast, tightening the circle until the forked tip brushed the nipple. Rowena let out a yelp of

surprise. Swallowing, she stared into the emerald eyes and prayed the noise wouldn’t provoke him into

biting her. Instead of sinking his fangs into her flesh, he licked the nipple. It hardened the way it did in

cold air on winter mornings. The other nipple crinkled up at the same time. Shivers not completely

unpleasant prickled her bare skin.

The rapid flutter of the dragon’s tongue made her tremble with renewed waves of fire and ice. She

wondered how she could feel chills when his breath almost scorched. The untouched nipple tingled in

sympathy with the one he was tormenting. Hardly aware of her own action, she moved one hand to her

breast, cupped it, and flicked the nipple with her thumb. That touch brought some relief, but an ache

grew in both breasts and spread over her body to the pit of her stomach. Wetness collected between her

legs.

The dragon licked his way from one nipple to the other, displacing her hand. His tongue danced over her

breasts, teasing each one in turn. Her hand, meanwhile, slid downward to cover the hair on her mound.

Tracing circles on her chest and belly, the dragon’s tongue seared her with painless heat. She imagined if

she looked at her skin, she would see forked patterns etched there.

While he lapped her stomach and thighs, she rubbed her nipples. She would have cringed in shame if any

man had seen her easing her own aches that way, but a winged, fanged monster didn’t matter. The

tongue flicked faster, up and down her inner thighs. The clawed forefeet pushed her hands aside and

rested on her breasts. On each side, a curved claw scraped the nipple lightly, drawing no blood, but

making each taut peak tickle unbearably.

His tongue-tip brushed the nubbin nested in the damp folds between her legs. She gasped and flinched.

“Delicious,” the dragon hissed. He sampled the wetness gathering in her slit.

Now he would surely tear her to shreds. Her stomach knotted, and her heart raced with mingled terror

and excitement. In the midst of her fear, her flesh still throbbed from the relentless licking. A hot flush

spread over her whole body.

The length of his tongue slid between her thighs and snaked up her slit to the swollen bud. She moaned

and clenched her fists in the bunched-up silk she lay on. The dragon licked up her moist cleft, down, and

up again over and over. Her bud twitched with impatience whenever the tongue-tip stopped licking it.

Rowena wasn’t completely untouched in her private parts. She’d fondled herself many times in her bed in

the loft on summer nights, holding her breath for fear of waking her parents. And she had spent hours in

secret frolic with Will, the baker’s son, with his fingers probing her slit and tickling the nubbin at the top,

while she rubbed his cock through his breeches. Because his father would never allow him to marry a

poor farm girl of dubious ancestry, they hadn’t risked a bedding that might get her with child. Still, she

knew the feel of carnal pleasure.

But Will’s fumbling had never caused such exquisite torment as this. She trembled all over. Now the

dragon’s claws clutched her thighs to hold them apart. The sharp points stung but didn’t gouge deeply

enough to produce real pain. The tongue whipped faster and faster. Her bud quivered. Her inner muscles

rippled. She needed to squeeze her legs together, but the dragon wouldn’t let go of them. She arched her

back, screaming.

His tongue flickered over her bud while convulsions of release ripped through her.

When the tremors stopped, she lay flat on her back, gasping for air.

The dragon licked the scrapes his claws left on her inner thighs. “Deliciousss,” he hissed again. His tail

curved around to lie across her legs.

She placed a timid hand on the side of his neck. The warm smoothness of the iridescent scales fascinated

her. Under his glittering, emerald eyes, she felt like a bird in a snake’s coils.

He exhaled a puff of smoke. It startled her anew when he rumbled deep in his chest, “Are you sated?”

“What?” She flinched and emitted a stifled cry when he gave one of her nipples a casual lick.

“You still show signs of fear. I would not have you cower from me. Perhaps you need more pleasuring.”

“More—?”

“To make you fully open for me. Here, perhaps.” He snuffled her neck and lightly licked it. Shivers raced

over her bare skin. “Or here.” His breath heated the hollow between her breasts.

Her nipples crinkled when his tongue grazed them. The flutter in her stomach started again. Her legs

trembled. While he lapped his way down her body, his tail slithered over her thighs and insinuated its tip

between them. Without thinking, she parted her legs. The tail-point probed her slit.

She jerked in surprise and let out an involuntary yelp.

“Have you never been penetrated?” the rumbling voice asked.

A blush suffused her body. “I’m a maiden. The sacrifice has to be a virgin.”

With a curlicue of smoke from his nostrils, the dragon said, “Indeed? I never gave any such command.

Your kind have strange notions.”

Of course, Rowena mused, why should the monster care about the state of his dinner’s maidenhead? The

thought pierced her with renewed fear. A fear that flew out of her mind when the end of his tail began

stroking up and down the cleft between her moist folds. A gush of wetness welled up. She clasped her

thighs to trap the appendage between them.

The pressure on her slit and the button nestled in the damp hair erased all terror and shame. She found

herself rocking her hips in time to the dragon’s rapid licking of her nipples and belly. He chased the

unbearable tingling from one point to the next so fast her head whirled. The tail-tip tickled her button until

it throbbed, and her sheath pulsed until she almost fainted in the exquisite delirium.

At last his tail, tongue, and claws withdrew. Rowena opened her eyes.

Panting, her skin dampened with sweat, she gazed up at the dragon. He reared on his back legs,

exposing his belly.

He roared a gout of flame toward the ceiling. His penis stood up, thicker and longer than a stallion’s,

inflamed to a lurid scarlet.

She scrabbled backward, eyes widening in alarm. The thought of getting ravished by that weapon

terrified her more than a quick death from his fangs.

While she stared, though, the organ receded out of sight like a horse’s. He grasped her arms and pulled

her to her feet. “Come along, you need food and refreshment.”

Dazed, she didn’t resist while he guided her to one of the side chambers, just big enough to hold his

serpentine length. There she found a pool with a miniature waterfall flowing into one end. The other end

of the pool bubbled with steam and a faint egg-like aroma. A linen sheet lay folded on the floor. On a

shelf in the stone wall sat a silver pitcher and goblet and a bowl filled with peaches and berries.

“Be quick,” the dragon growled.

When he disappeared into the main room, she let out a long, shuddering sigh. The knot in her chest

loosened for the first time since her neighbors had dragged her to the tree of sacrifice. Checking the

pitcher, she discovered it held pale, crisp wine. She poured a glass and drank, then found her stomach

cramping with hunger despite her fear. She dubiously examined the bowl of fruit, which she had always

heard caused sickness if eaten raw. With no other food in sight, though, she decided to take a chance.

She gobbled a peach, its sticky juice trickling down her chin. A circuit of the chamber revealed a niche

containing a chamber pot. If the dragon provided all these necessities, could he be telling the truth about

keeping her instead of slaughtering her? Or did the caresses and wine only serve to lull her and the food

to fatten her for a later meal?

And another fear invaded her thoughts. The priest’s homilies called Satan “the old dragon.” Could this

monster be a demon in reptile shape, damning her to Hell by seducing her into wantonness?

To her shame, she realized she would rather submit to his seduction than have her bones scattered in the

ravine below the cave. If letting him goad her to heights of ecstasy would prolong her life, she would

gladly embrace that fate. She could always repent later.

Remembering her captor’s instruction to hurry, she stepped into the hot end of the spring. She didn’t

want the creature to interrupt before she could have a bath. The water, just hot enough to bear, made her

skin tingle. Bubbles clustered around her. She immersed herself up to her neck, gulped a deep breath,

and plunged her head in to soak her hair. The sensation felt nothing like her weekly hip-bath at home or

even the occasional dip in the weed-clogged stream that served the village mill. She stood up and waded

toward the cold end of the pool, delighted by the gradual change in temperature from hot through warm

to chilly.

A low growl from the entrance snapped her back to reality. How could she enjoy anything while

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DRAGON’STRIBUTEAnEllora’sCavepublication,November2003Ellora’sCavePublishing,Inc.USAEllora’sCavePublishing,Ltd.UKPOBox787HudsonOH44236ISBNMSReader(LIT)#1-84360-695-XOtheravailableformats(noISBNsareassigned):Adobe(PDF),Rocketbook(RB),Mobipocket(PRC)&HTMLDragon’sTribute©CopyrightMargaretL.Carter,2003.A...

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Margaret Carter - Dragon's Tribute_

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