The Dragon's Unwanted Triplets (Paranormal Dragon Romance Book 1) Read online

  THE DRAGON'S

  UNWANTED TRIPLETS

  A PARANORMAL DRAGON ROMANCE

  SERENA ROSE

  Copyright ©2018 by Serena Rose

  All rights reserved.

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  About This Book

  When Alaia discovered that a gentle, handsome man named Zorion was her fated mate she was very happy.

  However, Zorion had a secret.

  On his 21st birthday he would finally awaken his power and become a weredragon.

  And because of this, he could only spend one night with Alaia before saying goodbye.

  However, Zorion never expected Alaia to fall pregnant with his triplets.

  And for him the timing could not be worse.

  Would the dragon return and show his babies he wants them? Or was Alaia set to do this all by herself with no idea why she was ever abandoned?

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  The sun was setting, sending fiery hues rippling over the river’s surface. Alaia carefully placed her lit lantern into a little reed boat and pushed it out into the current. She sang the traditional song, her own voice lost among those of a dozen other young ladies as the chorus swelled.

  Each of them was hoping that on that night, the last night of the spring festival, Heartfire, the gods would lead them to the one they were destined to marry. They sang to the gods to bring them someone strong and loyal, handsome and true. Earlier that afternoon, as she had painted the dragons on her lantern, much different than the flowers adorning the ones belonging to the other girls, she’d thought about what kind of man she would wish for, if she could have whoever she wanted. Clever, she decided, and gentle, but brave and full of laughter.

  For three years running, no one had returned Alaia’s lantern. She was content with her life, spending her days spinning clay into the cups, bowls, plates, and other objects that were fired in her father's kiln and sold in his shop.

  As the only surviving child, she would someday inherit it all; it wasn't as if she needed a husband. So she told herself when she was feeling particularly bitter. But she longed for love, for the warmth of arms around her and the sound of a child’s laughter, things that many of her friends had already found.

  She watched the glow of her lantern drift out of sight and hoped that this was the year it would be found.

  **************************

  It was a perfect night for riding. The moon was bright and full, lending a silver-blue cast to the countryside. The air was warm, the breeze was light, and Zorion couldn't resist humming under his breath as they traveled at an easy pace. There was an inn just a few miles away, and after that, only another day’s journey until they would be home.

  His life had been nothing if not difficult since the death of his father six years ago, and his home was not exactly a haven of peaceful respite, but he would be glad to see his sister again, at the very least, and to sleep in his own bed. It seemed to be a rule that the mattresses of inns were lumpy and uncomfortable.

  “What's that ahead?” asked Itzal, his closest friend and confidant, from behind him, prodding his horse into a canter to catch up. Zorion squinted toward the horizon and saw two or three glowing orbs seemingly floating toward the path. He blinked to clear his vision, but they didn’t disappear.

  “Let’s go and see,” he said. They spurred their horses and raced forward. As the strange objects grew closer, Zorion began to suspect what they were, a suspicion which was confirmed with the echoing of his horse’s hooves on a wooden bridge. A wide slow river flowed below them, rippling in the moonlight.

  “Tonight must be Heartfire. I can't believe I forgot. The girls in the villages are all sending their lanterns down the river,” Zorion said. They didn't celebrate the old feast days in the capital. King Imanol did not approve of such superstition. Or, more likely, he didn't approve of the reminder that there were powers beyond his grasp.

  “You ought to participate,” Itzal said, giving him a playful shove to the shoulder. “Osane would be thrilled. She's been aching for you to get married.”

  “I don't think that's a good idea. It would be unfair, to bring some unsuspecting woman into this mess. Maybe once things are settled…” Zorion replied, though his eyes never strayed from the lanterns as they bobbed lazily downriver. There was something captivating about them.

  “You're assuming that will ever happen. If you're waiting for the perfect moment, one day you're going to wake up to realize you’re eighty years old and have no heirs.”

  Zorion snorted. “You should talk. You're older than I am.”

  “I don't need heirs,” Itzal replied bluntly. As they watched, one of the lanterns bumped into an unseen obstacle and drifted toward shore, snagging in the bushes along the bank. “Now you have to go, or else some poor young lady is going to end up all alone.”

  Zorion shook his head, but he dismounted his horse. “I'll just send it on its way. The village men should only be a little way further.” Already more lanterns were passing under the bridge. He skidded down the bank and grabbed a long branch, intending to prod the boat back out into the river.

  But by some stroke of fortune, good or bad, he wasn’t sure, the stick caught on the lantern’s handle, and no amount of jiggling would shake it loose. He pulled it back toward himself with a sigh. Perhaps this was what he got for trying to intervene in the will of the gods.

  He lifted the lantern from the boat, careful not to tip it, and then he laughed. There was a dragon painted on it with surprising skill. Of all things to see, it was the one thing that would have convinced him not to try to return the lantern to the river. This was meant for him; that was clear. He carried it back to Itzal, holding it up wordlessly. As soon as he saw it, he nearly doubled over with laughter. “Well, my prince, it seems tonight is your night after all.”

  *************************

  Alaia smoothed the blanket over the grass, not because it was wrinkled, but because she needed something to do with her hands. It was hard to wait; it seemed to get harder every year. Nineteen wasn’t an old maid by any means, but ever since her best friend Esti had married, a month after last year’s spring festival, Alaia had been feeling left behind. Esti was happy with Gotki, the smith’s second son, and their daughter was already half a year old.

  Alaia’s stomach rumbled, caught somewhere between hunger and nervousness, but unless a suitor appeared, the food spread out before her wou
ld remain untouched until dawn. She sighed out a breath, and then, the unmistakable sound of footfalls on the nearby path made her heart beat faster.

  Don't get your hopes up, she told herself. It's probably just someone passing by. But as the footsteps drew nearer, she clenched her fists, and her palms were slick with sweat. Far away in the other direction, a peal of laughter sounded through the trees. Someone was having fun.

  A tall shadow appeared in the archway formed by the trees overhead, but the lights on the path behind him left his features in darkness. “Excuse me, my lady, but is this your lantern?” He took a step forward, bringing it out from behind his back, still glowing enough to illuminate his face and reveal dark hair and straight brows, eyes of indeterminate color, and a long, narrow nose.

  The question was part of the ritual. The matching lantern was hanging over the entrance to this clearing, one of many spaced at discreet distances along this forest path; that was how he had found her.

  But now was her chance to refuse. It would be considered a little rude, without a compelling reason, but no one would question her decision. She only considered for a moment. Though she didn't know this man, she doubted he was from another village. His clothes, dark leather and dyed linen, seemed too fine. She was unsure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Still, she trusted that this was what the gods intended for her, and she smiled.

  “It is mine. My name is Alaia. Will you eat with me?” He smiled back, a little hesitantly, she thought.

  “My name is Zorion,” he said, and it was familiar, somehow, but she couldn't place it. “I've brought some wine.” He held out a wineskin as he sat down across from her on the blanket. The scent of honey and herbs drifted into the air as he poured into the mugs she’d brought.

  The Heartfire wine was only served on this night and was always brought by the man, so this would be the first time she had tasted it. She wondered if it was the same for Zorion. There was no requirement that you wed the person you shared the night with, after all. It was just expected that, barring any glaring personality conflicts, a marriage offer would at least be attempted.

  “You aren't from one of the villages?” she asked, as she passed him a bowl of miniature pies. His expression was guarded for a moment but relaxed into a smile so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.

  “No, but my father was,” he said. “I found your lantern by chance. I was traveling along the road and stopped to watch the lanterns go under the bridge, and one of them got tangled in the bushes. I felt it must be fate that led me to see it, so here I am. It was lucky I ran into the priestesses, or I would have had to come empty-handed.” His eyes gleamed with humor. “I’ve never heard of anyone painting a dragon on their lantern. I thought it was usually flowers.”

  Alaia grimaced, though his words had not been unkind. “I painted flowers three years in a row, and my lanterns were never returned. This year, I decided to paint something I found pleasing, rather than follow tradition.” Zorion’s smile widened a fraction.

  “It was a compliment, not a complaint. You’re skilled with a brush,” he said. She flushed. It was only natural for a potter to have an artistic streak, she supposed, but she had always been proud of her painting ability, and it wasn’t often noticed.

  “Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice. They ate for several minutes in silence. Alaia wasn’t sure what to say. There were many things she might have asked him, but as they had only met a few moments ago, it felt rude to pry. She drank the sweet, fragrant wine, and almost immediately, she could feel it warming her insides, like sitting before a fire on a fall day. He finished his pie and met her eyes.

  “May I sit next to you?” he asked. She nodded, her heart already pounding again. He moved to her side of the blanket, so close that their knees touched, and took her hand. He had long fingers, somewhat slender for a man, but there was strength in them too. “We don’t have to do this,” he said in a soft voice. Now, instead of thundering, her heart did an alarming flip-flop in her chest. She looked up into his eyes, and in the faint light, she could see that they were a pale brownish-yellow, like honey or amber.

  “No, I do… want this. But I am nervous. I haven’t exactly… done anything like this before,” she replied, her cheeks coloring. There would have been no shame if she had. It was only that there were few men of her own age in her village, and she had never seen any of them in a romantic light, not since she was about ten and kissed the butcher’s boy on a dare. There was a shortage of young men in the village, since the war five years ago had claimed so many lives.

  Zorion’s free hand moved up to brush her cheek. “You’re a beautiful woman, Alaia. I’d like to know more about you, but my life is a bit… complicated right now. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to come back here.” She sighed, but it somehow felt inevitable. It was disappointing of course, but if that was the best fate could offer her, she would seize it with both hands.

  “It’s all right,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, painfully aware that she had no idea what she was doing. He turned his face to meet her lips with his own, gently at first, but growing ever more insistent as she reciprocated. His tongue traced over her upper lip, and when she opened her mouth, it delved inside.

  She shuddered as his tongue brushed hers and realized her fingers were gripping his clothes for dear life. She wanted to touch him, but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. He pulled her closer, into his lap, and his mouth moved along her jaw to the side of her neck. The sensation was so unexpectedly intense that she let out a quiet moan. He kissed her neck again, and his hand moved to her breast. She gasped, and he froze.

  “Is this all right?” he asked, his voice gone low and hoarse. She nodded, not even sure she could speak, but his gentleness gave her courage, and she reached up to slide her hand along the side of his face. He closed his eyes at her touch, and she could feel the rasp of stubble against her palm as he kissed her again.

  It seemed like only a moment later that she was helping him pull his shirt over his head, feeling his warm skin under her fingers as he unlaced her bodice and slid it over her shoulders. He kissed the tops of her breasts, caressing them through the thin linen of her dress, and his hands left trails of fire just under her skin. She felt molten and wild. He pulled her down to lie beside him on the ground, and his hand caressed up the side of her leg, under her dress. She shivered. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he said, though she could hear the need in his voice.

  “No, please no,” she said, rising up on her elbows to kiss him. She never wanted to stop. He hummed low in his throat, and then his hand moved between her legs. Her head fell back at the first gentle touch. She’d been told that being with a man could be pleasurable, but she hadn’t quite realized what that meant.

  She clutched at him, burying her fingers in his hair. Fire was running through her veins, lapping at her fingertips, glowing in her belly. It was amazing, but something was missing, and she knew, though she could hardly form the words. “I want… Can we…?”

  He leaned back, his eyes blazing. “You’re sure?” She nodded and sat up, pulling her dress over her head. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin, but she hardly noticed. His eyes never left her as he unlaced his breeches and threw them aside. She would have enjoyed just looking at him; in her eyes, he was perfect, neither too slender nor too muscled.

  He was not as fair-skinned as she was, and the lantern light gave him a warm bronze glow. A dark patch of hair on his chest trailed in a neat line down his stomach, leading to his manhood, erect and quivering.

  Her mouth was dry. He moved over her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, all her shyness erased by desire. His teeth scraped over her lip at their next kiss. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips brushing her cheek.

  “Yes,” she replied. He entered her slowly, his arms shaking, and his breath coming in short pants. Her mother had warned her about the pain too, but the stinging and stretching wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, an
d she kissed him again, part reassurance, part distraction.

  The sensation of being filled was deliciously satisfying, and the first time he moved within her, a careful retreat followed by a slow rocking thrust, she felt it sparking something deep inside her. She moved with him as the discomfort faded, arching up to meet his hips. Something was building, an ecstatic pressure in her mind and in her abdomen. Moans fell from her lips; she couldn’t have stopped them even if she wanted to. He was making noise too, soft little groans every time they came together, and the sound of his enjoyment made her burn for him more.

  The climax took her by surprise. One minute it was pressing in on every side, and then it burst open, a flood of rapture that bore her up even as it threatened to drown her. She cried out with relief and overwhelming joy and felt Zorion thrust once deeper within her, and then he let out a long, gasping groan. He shuddered all over and pulsed within her as held himself above her on trembling arms.

  After a moment, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on her chest. Alaia was supremely content, and she stroked her fingers lightly down his back just for the pleasure of feeling his skin. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, but as they laid together in silence, it slowed. She felt, for a moment, a sense of perfect harmony, with him and with the whole world.

  Everything was as it should be. Eventually, the chill of the night air got to her, and she shivered. “If I’d been thinking, we would have been on the blanket,” he murmured, sitting up, but she hardly had time to miss the warmth of his body before he was back with his cloak around his shoulders, and he lay down beside her and held his arms open.