Phoenix Aflame is back from the Beta Team and now in re-writes. A big thank you to everyone for such helpful comments. You will be able to read Harrison and Tasha’s improved story on April 23.

Billionaire Dragon Lords has been launched to great reviews. Kindle Unlimited readers are always asking for sets, and this one is for you. If you haven’t read the first three books in my Lords of the Dragon Islands, they are all in one bundle for your convenience.

This week Dragon’s Confession continues with Chapter 5. Victor must persuade his true love Ingrid to transform into a dragoness and learn to fly. Chapters 1-4 are still up on the website and can be accessed by going to ‘Blog’ and scrolling down the list of posts.

Dragon’s Confession is to be published in April 5, and will be available for pre-order until then. I will be posting all ten chapters in this weekly blog. Please continue to comment and send me emails. It is always wonderful to hear from you.

CHAPTER FIVE

  Victor tugged her back inshore so she could sit on the sandy sea floor. “I’ll watch you change,” he said, “And give you pointers.”

“Pointers?”

“It’s been six years, and you have never changed spontaneously, as you did that night.” He made ‘that night’ sound like it was in all caps.

“No. But my vision improved. And I am still growing. And my hair never stops.”

“I know. That’s normal. I’m still growing. My father grew until he was in his forties.” His white teeth flashed. “But nocturnal changes happen when you’re growing up. At least they did for me and my brother.”

“Like nocturnal emissions?” she teased.

He turned cherry red. Which with his pale hair was not a good look. But he squared his shoulders as if facing a firing squad and nodded. So much for flirting. Apparently Victor did not do flirting. Which was good, wasn’t it?

“So we know that turning doesn’t come naturally to you,” he continued. He stood before her, arms crossed over his smooth chest. He had no hair on his pecs, just that silly pink rosebud dappled with dew. A fine line of blond hair grew between his six pack, down to his belly button and darted into his swim briefs.

“We could prime the pump,” she suggested.

More red.

“Do. Not. Taunt. Me.” He swallowed and stared out at the horizon as his black banana sling stretched to its limits. “Try to imagine your legs changing,” he said softly. Dangerously.

“Visualize your toes growing talons.” He held up one muscular leg. An enormous, iridescent, azure foot merged smoothly with his pale human skin. Midnight blue claws like young scimitars grew from all five digits.

She obeyed him. At least her feet changed. One moment her ankle was throbbing and the next it was powerful. She bounced erect and stood firmly on two legs for the first time in more than a month. And then her torso wrenched and convulsed and trashing pain wracked her body. Her heavy head dunked into the sea. Four sets of claws dug into the sandy seafloor.

She hauled her dripping, spluttering face out of the water and stared in shock at what she could see of her arms. She was pink. Pearly, pale pink. Like the inside of an oyster shell. Like his silly effeminate rosebud. Her pale front paws ended in milky, razor-sharp claws.

She opened her mouth and flames licked and sizzled on the surface of the crystal sea. Victor leapt backwards about ten yards as if she had alarmed him. Good. But then he instantly transformed. He towered over her – a Goliath to her David. His scales dazzled. He was gorgeous and terrifying at the same time. Yet he made her lady parts pulse. Which had to be wrong.

He preened for her. There was no other way to describe it. He lowered absurdly long eyelashes at her in a series of blinks that made his eyes flash like turquoise lasers. He swung his long tail enticingly from side to side as if to have her admire the dark triangular tip.

The sharp edged ridges that marched from between his horns all the way to that dangerous tip were almost black. The deep and lustrous blue of his horns drew her eye. They curved over his head and neck like dangerous weaponry or the most potent of sexual lures.

He opened his mouth and exposed the deep maroon interior and a long split-tongue. A plaintive whistle emerged from between ivory teeth longer and sharper than steak knives. His song made her soul sing. She tried to match his tune but could only manage a pitiful squeak. She found herself dancing and splashing in the shallow water as if her body knew this dance and her soul yearned to perform it.

Together they curvetted and curtsied as if they were performing some intricate choreographed dance. On that thought, she plunked down in the sea and gave a bit of consideration to her situation. Crap. She was enacting some primitive mating ritual. She was in love with T-Rex. How the heck had that happened?

* * *

His mate was a beauty. Tiny and perfect. Her pale shimmering scales were the exact color of his rosebud. Despite the passage of six years, she was still a mere dragonette. But she stirred his blood like a siren. He could no more prevent himself from displaying to her than he could halt the sun.

Victor danced with his mate in the warm sea, matching her steps as if they had danced a thousand times. Yet he had never even witnessed this intensely private and personal ritual. A Lindorm danced with and for his mate. And for no other eyes. But he knew the steps. Knew this female.

Ingrid’s blood showed beneath her translucent scales. He could smell arousal coming off her in waves that made a nonsense of her small size. Of her kitten claws. She looked like a toy. Probably this was just an intermediary phase, and she would grow larger. And then without warning her scent changed, indicating alarm. She plopped down awkwardly with a splash that sent a small tsunami over his chest.

He peered at her. She was pinker. His mate was blushing. He launched cleanly into the air and circled a few times. Ingrid flapped her ridiculous baby wings as if she had just discovered them. As perhaps was the case. They were nearly transparent and her wingspan was shorter than her body.

Her horns however were deep ruby weapons that spiraled over her head projecting adult menace. The line of pointed scales that defended her back looked soft and fragile and her short tail was tipped with a milky tail dart as frail looking as her talons, but probably still deadly.

Did she know her tail was venomous? Why had no one told him how hazardous turning a female was? He called to her, hoping to reassure her before he plucked her from the sea and carried her to the tower. She crouched receptively. His two-pronged dragon cock flailed happily. But if she was off limits as a woman, she was really off limits in dragoness. He seized her in all four of his feet and lifted his prize from the sea.

She was stiff at first, but as her fear left her she relaxed. He set her gently on the platform of the watchtower and stood beside her. Then he launched himself into the wind and let it fill his wings like a sail. He angled them until the rising thermals supported him so he could use his tail to balance and turn his body. He swooped and rolled. What the fuck was he doing? He did not want his daredevil attempting such aerial tricks on her first flight.

He returned to the tower. Showed her the takeoff technique again. His little fledging threw herself into the air, corrected for her shorter, stubbier wings, and dropped like a stone to the lethal rocks so gently lapped by the aquamarine sea. Heart in mouth, he followed her, prepared to snatch her from death. But she straightened her trajectory and flew over the broken stones, skimming the water and flapping madly.

It didn’t last. She tried to glide. Her tail veered left instead of right. She slid across the water. Her little winglets stopped beating. Victor plucked her out before she could sink. She was fighting mad at his interference. She hissed like a boiling kettle and steam poured from her nostrils – proof that she had swallowed water. His mate was a game little thing.

He brought her back to the tower and she immediately threw herself back into the air. This time she went a little further before she wound up swimming. He was able to let her flounder a little longer before he rescued her. Rinse and repeat. Eventually he knew she was too tired to be safe. She squawked all the way back to the beach house.

He set her tenderly on the sand at the foot of the stairs and waited for her to realize that when she returned to human she would be naked. And then the truth dawned. To protect her broken ankle, he had to take human and carry her nakedness up the stairs. He could do this. He had served a long and severe apprenticeship, he had faced enemy fire, and his youth had consisted of deprivations of every kind.

Ingrid was crouched in a ball. Her tail lashed like an angry panther’s. She mewled like one too. Her scales flushed a darker pink. She wanted something from him, but he didn’t have a clue. Which did not surprise him. He loved her. He would die for her. But he was miles from understanding this female.

He took a backward step. Hoping she admired the dexterity with which he maneuvered his twenty-four-foot-long body (tail included – and he always did) in the sand. He leapt lightly into the air, turned 180 degrees and landed facing away from his sulky mate.

He metamorphosed swiftly. He was showing off for her. But he was justly proud of his hard won and rapid changes. Of course, a sword bearer confined to barracks when not on duty, had a lot of extra time to polish his transformations.

His real skill was in accomplishing his metamorphosis in the blink of an eye, while retaining more than ninety percent of his energy in mortal or in dragon. Changes were an enormous energy suck. Already he was ravenous, but he had lots of stamina left – in case they were attacked by sand fleas or burrowing crabs. Or she needed his services.

Ingrid’s mewls had changed to outraged bellows. He looked over his shoulder. She was still huddled on the sand. Her head remained in dragon as did her feet. The rest was human. She looked pissed. And she smelled scared. She was obviously in pain.

He bent over her murmuring encouragement. “You can do this, sweetheart. You are almost done. Imagine your hair streaming over your shoulders.”

She tried to bite him. His reflexes took over and he leaped six feet in the air. “Cut that out,” he ordered when he landed.

Strong he might be, but driven by her powerful jaws, those needle sharp teeth would puncture his skin and slice through muscle like a hot knife through butter. Ingrid was cute, but she was no kitten. With a last roar, she returned to human. The narrow line of triangular bumps gradually merged into the satiny bumps of her human spine. She was sweaty. Her braid was gone and in its place she had a tangle of damp and salty curls.

She was more lovely than she had been at sixteen. Her hips were fuller, her bottom lusher. Her breasts more generous. Her bush had darkened from platinum to gold. He gawked.

“Get me a towel,” she snapped.

“How’s your ankle?”

She was squatting on both feet. “Fine, I guess.”

“Was it worth the agony of turning?”

“I suppose. How come it doesn’t hurt you?”

“I’ve had years to get over the growing pains.” He kept his tone businesslike even though his pits were damp and his skin prickled just looking at her. To say nothing of his boner. “I’m going to take you straight to your room. We should evaluate that joint before you put more stress on it.”

“You could have gotten a towel first,” she grumbled when he had her balanced in his arms. She put her right hand over his tat. “It’s hot,” she said in surprise.

“Hmm.”

Halfway up the staircase she asked, “So do all dragons have that double dong action?”

* * *

Victor’s face flushed red. He juggled her and nearly dropped her right there on the stairs. He made a strangled noise in his gulping throat.

She giggled. “You’re such a prude, Lindorm.”

“Probably.” His arms tightened but his voice was back to businesslike. He kept mounting the stairs.

“Well, do they?”

“I have no idea. When I work out with my cousins we don’t have any reason to display our organs.”

He really was a prude. She put her arm around his neck. The cords stood out in ridges. But he opened the door effortlessly and closed it without adjusting her weight. “You’re very strong.”

“Hmm.”

“So does that mean that lady dragons have a double vag?” she whispered in his ear.

“I have no idea.” His voice was austere. But his skin was damp and he smelled aroused. She felt languid. Drained. Just as if she had had a vigorous day that had started in the gym and finished in run after run on the slopes.

She ran her tongue along his neck. He stopped at her bedroom door. “Don’t tease me.”

“I thought you wanted to court me?”

“I do. I am.” He opened her door and took her into the bathroom.

“Isn’t sex part of courtship? Don’t you like sex?”

He set her on the marble countertop. And glared at her. She used her arms to thrust her torso forward. His eyes tracked her breasts like heat-seeking missiles and his dick locked into position. It was bigger than she had remembered. She felt brazen, needy, powerful.

He put his hands behind his back, and with his cock standing at attention, assumed the position known in the military as ‘at ease’. “I’ve never had any. As. You. Very. Well. Know.”

“What?”

“Sex.” Just the one icy word.

She wiggled her shoulders and her breasts jounced. “I think I can bear witness that that isn’t remotely true.”

“We. Did. Not. Have. Sex.”

“Felt like it to me.”

He trapped her in place with his arms and his torso. He was touching her nowhere, but her pussy began to throb and her heart sped up some more. His face was hard and flushed. Pretty much the same color as his cock. She giggled and put her hand over his rosebud.

“We made love. We. Did. Not. Have. Sex.”

“And nothing since?”

“I have already told you that I have been faithful to you. I do not tell lies to my mate.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he looked fierce and deadly.

But she was not in the least afraid. In fact, she was enjoying herself. “So why don’t we have a little fun?” She placed her other hand over his bicep and squeezed. It was like squeezing marble. Hot marble.

This is material not previously published. ©Isadora Montrose, 2017

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