Tempting the Dragon King Read online

  Contents

  Special Offer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  See what’s next

  More books by Kiersten Fay

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  To the incredible Michele Callahan…

  …without whom this book would not exist.

  Girl, you are a rockstar! When I was in the dark, you handed me a light.

  1

  Fire rained down over the lush canopy of an ancient forest. Enemy ships streaked overhead as Tristan Okora and his kinsmen evaded the unceasing attacks in their more agile, yet equally powerful dragon forms.

  Boom!

  The pervading scent of burning oil rolled in on the heels of the explosion’s percussion. Yet another terminally crippled ship descended in a death spiral. From his high altitude, Tristan watched with approval as his brothers, Lear and Gavin, removed their razor-like claws from the ship’s proverbial jugular and pushed clear of the smoking carnage, soaring away before it scorched a flaming gash along the unsuspecting forest floor. He’d already taken out several ships the same way and was eager for the next.

  Below, Faieara, blessed with the gift of defensive magic, had finally rallied to rise up and defend their precious home. With their combined strengths, these Kayadon interlopers were no match—

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a dark shiver skittered up his spine. A harrowing roar cried out, and he knew without looking that his father was in danger. He banked hard to the right, looping around, searching wildly. Moments later, he caught a sight that shot a fistful of dread straight down his throat to land in the pit of his stomach. His father was on the run, flying erratically as he struggled to evade a Kayadon ship in swift pursuit. This one was smaller than the rest and easily matched his every twist and turn, streaks of ammunition barely missing their target.

  But his left wing was wounded! He couldn’t keep up his pace much longer.

  Working his wings with all his might, Tristan gave chase, catching up to land on the ships back with a resounding thud, his claws digging into the metal like hot butter—

  But then his world flipped over on its side. His father was hit…falling….

  …Falling…

  …Falling…

  One month later.

  * * *

  The heavy torc wrapped around Tristan Okora’s neck like a cold snake suffocating its prey. His father’s torc. The royal symbol of the Okora clan. How long before the responsibility of it swallowed him whole? He’d signed up for this slow torture, knowing full well he might never live up to his father’s memory. He might never be good enough for his people. Might never be strong enough. Yet he was the only Okora stepping up to do what he must.

  He gazed out at the inky expanse of space that seemed to go one for eternity, dotted by sparkling flecks of faraway light. Though there was nothing to indicate it, he knew they were approaching the outer edge of Evlon space.

  Returning to the place of his father’s demise had not been his preferred choice, but he had duties now that could not be shirked.

  For the tenth time in the last hour, he reached up to touch the torc around his neck—he still wasn’t used to the stiff metal against his skin. He was even less used to his clan mates referring to him as Your Highness or Your Majesty as opposed to the title of prince he’d grown up with. It always made his gut burn with violent guilt when they did. He wasn’t accustomed to ruling and wasn’t sure he ever would be.

  “You look troubled, my son.” His mother, Lady Edel—no longer queen, though many still referred to her by the title—came to stand next to him, looking every bit as regal and stately as she always did, with her blonde hair gathered neatly into a complicated knot and her sophisticated gown swaying perfectly with her movements. Her shieldmaiden guardian, Belinda, halted several feet away as though to give them a semblance of space, but the stout, grim woman was never far enough for Tristan’s liking.

  “Does Belinda need to be with you at all times? Do you no’ feel safe here on our own ship?”

  “‘Tis a matter of optics,” replied his mother. “Displaying your soldiers is no’ only a show of strength to your own people, but to enemy and ally alike.”

  That was exactly something his father would have said. Damn, but he missed the bastard.

  “And,” she continued, “it is more important now than ever to show strength. We are a family with three generations of royal lineage. Even still, people are wary of the new young king, watching, waiting to see who challenges you. Even a son of the great King Mar has much to prove.”

  Belinda made a crass noise in the back of her throat. Of agreement or disdain? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t exactly been the most dedicated of fledglings when it came to responsibilities of the crown.

  “Plus,” his mother continued. “She can fetch me drinks.”

  He glanced down at his mother for a moment, shaking his head, then returned his gaze to space.

  Having just approached and overheard Lady Edel’s remarks, Orik, Tristan’s head of the guard and lifelong friend, slapped him on the back. “Is that why you keep me around?”

  “I keep you around because your ugly mug amuses me.”

  “Best no’ look in the mirror then. You’d laugh yourself to death.”

  Tristan simply grinned. Normally he’d invite a verbal sparring with Orik, but today was not a day for lightheartedness.

  Orik seemed to sense his mood and turned serious. “We are in range to receive transmissions from Evlon. They sent an itinerary for the treaty signing and celebration.”

  The treaty signing was more symbolic than necessary, reaffirming the Dragon’s alliance with the Faieara after they’d just won back a portion of their kingdom, thanks, in part, to the Okora clan.

  “Very well,” Tristan replied, his chest twisting at the memory of his father falling from the sky, dead before hitting the ground. The Kayadon ship that had taken him down, the one Tristan had failed to disable, shooting off into the distance and leaving his world crumbled in its wake.

  The sharp burn of failure that had lived in his gut ever since reignited with a flourish, spreading along his sternum and attacking his heart. He swallowed the searing pain and focused on his own reflection.

  “I understand your brother, Lear, is off preparing to run Phase Nine,” said Orik, “but I feel like Gavin should have come.”

  “He abdicated the throne,” Tristan reminded him. “He has no obligation to partake in these political ceremonies.” Tristan held no ill will toward his eldest brother, who’d made it clear from an early age he had no interest in taking on the role of king. Which was why their father had focused on grooming Tristan instead. However, Tristan had expected his father to live many centuries more and had wrongly assumed he’d had plenty of time to absorb his father’s wisdom. As a result, much of his youth was spent in the pursuit of idle amusements: drinking, fighting, and women.

  “Didn’t you have a fling with the Fa
ieara queen?” asked Orik, blunt as ever.

  “That was a long time ago.” Tristan shot him a stern look. “Her demon mate will not appreciate the reminder.”

  “Oh! I remember her.” His mother sighed, smiling at the remembrance. “Kyralyn. She was a lovely young lady. Your father and I had hoped the two of you would one day wed. It would have been marvelous, politically speaking.”

  “Fear not, Mother,” he returned, tone lackluster. “It looks as if I will still wed for political reasons.”

  She picked invisible lint from her shoulder. “Aye, the daughter of Prince Gideon. What was her name? Princess Leanora?” Prince Gideon was brother to the king of a dragon clan that resided beyond the hills of the Okora clan. Over the years, there had been some bickering between their two clans, mostly over territory and resources. There were also burgeoning blood rivals. A royal marriage would help put an end to the tension.

  “They’ve been staying at the castle,” informed his mother. “Making themselves quite comfortable. As though the engagement is already settled. Tell me, have you accepted the girl yet?”

  “Do you oppose the arrangement?” Tristan asked by way of avoidance. “I figured you would approve.”

  His mother lifted one delicate shoulder. “I just want you to be sure that it’s what you want. A favorable marriage could lead to a stronger kingdom than ever. On the other hand, a miserable match could ensure the downfall of a nation just as surely as any war.”

  Tristan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “To be honest, I hardly know the girl. We met a handful of times. She seems…amiable.”

  “She’s rumored to be one of the most beautiful creatures in the land,” Orik inserted. Tristan did not discount the claim. Leanora was extremely attractive. And she knew it.

  “Remember, son, your father courted me for years before I agreed to marry him.” She loved recounting the tale of her courtship with King Mar, how she had made him work to win her heart. Constantly his father would refer to his wife as one of the most stubborn women he had ever encountered. She’d refer to him as the most persistent brute she had ever met. Tristan and his brothers used to roll their eyes at what was clearly unwanted parental flirting; now he’d kill to hear his father call his mother stubborn one last time. His mother’s eyes turned down, as if she were thinking the same.

  His heart twisted for her loss.

  Her sorrow, my fault.

  “I may not have years.” He’d already been challenged by an upstart young buck looking to usurp the throne—on the day he’d returned to announce his father’s death. Tristan had been outraged by the lad’s lack of decorum and had taught him a lesson. The young dragon had retreated from their battle with an ego-check and more than a few wounds to lick.

  Still, others would try. Tristan had not spent as much time exhibiting his strength to his clan as his father had, which was why no one had challenged King Mar. His dominance had been unquestionable. No one knew what Tristan was made of yet. Many might suppose he was weak, an easy target, softened by a life of privilege. If he had a strong mate from an equally formidable family, his crown would be solidified. Challengers would think twice.

  As king, it was an option he must seriously consider, though his desire for the beautiful Leanora was lukewarm at best.

  An alarm began to squeal. Tristan called to his pilot, “What’s happening?”

  “Your Majesty”—cue the gut burn—“the ship’s sensors have picked up a single Kayadon ship approaching from the rear…fast.”

  “What are they doing all the way out here?” Orik pondered aloud. “A scout, you think?”

  Belinda replied, “If so, they are foolish to be this far out with no backup.”

  “Whatever they’re up to, you can be sure it is no good. Battle stations!” Tristan called. “Hail them.”

  “No response,” said one of the crew.

  “They aren’t slowing,” said another.

  Tristan ordered, “Send a warning shot.”

  Seconds later, a pulsar torpedo made contact with the Kayadon ship. Whoever was controlling the ship made no effort to avoid the blast.

  “No change in course,” a crew member announced. “They haven’t even brought their weapons online.”

  “Prepare to fire another warning. I want them alive if possible, so aim for their thrusters.”

  His crew made short work of the Kayadon ships thrusters, knocking them dead with a few well-aimed charges. The ship now glided on its own momentum, tilting off kilter as it went.

  “Scan for life.”

  “I’m reading only one life form on board, Your Majesty.”

  “Only one?” his mother replied, astounded. Even she knew that was unusual. Could this be a trap?

  “One Kayadon can be deadly,” grated Tristan, his gaze flicking down to his mother. “Belinda, take my mother back to her quarters.”

  While Belinda moved to obey, his mother planted her feet, eyes flashing with fiery defiance. “I think not.”

  “Mother, please.”

  “Have you forgotten who I am, son? I was leading armies while you were still weaning. I am not some whelp in need of sheltering, and I am quite comfortable where I am.”

  “This is space, Mother. This is different.”

  “Your majesty,” Belinda beseeched. “If this is an ambush—”

  “Belinda, dear, if this is an ambush, then that sorry creature has his work cut out for him. They took our king from us, my husband, and our rage is deep. I will look into the face of our enemy and slice his head from his body myself.” His mother had two speeds: kind, motherly queen and ferocious shieldmaiden. This shieldmaiden wanted revenge as much as Tristan did.

  Tristan felt the heat of her rage wafting from her body. So potent and full of malice that if she wasn’t so controlled, she’d have shifted into her dragon form. There was no arguing with her like this. And if his mother wanted the Kayadon’s throat, she would have it.

  To his crew, Tristan ordered, “Pull the ship into the lower docking bay. Have all available guards meet us there, locked and loaded.”

  2

  This is how I die, Juniper Jacobs thought to herself.

  Alone, starving to death in an alien spaceship, barreling through space until the end of time…or until the ship crashed into a planet or an asteroid or a broiling-hot star. Eviscerated.

  “What a way to go,” she muttered. If only her brother Jordan could see her now. He might just congratulate her on a righteously epic death. Perhaps he was looking down on her, or up, from wherever heaven was located here in space, if there really was such a thing as an afterlife.

  June casually lounged in what she could only assume—from years of watching science fiction—was the captain’s chair, center stage in the high-tech command station, nibbling the last of her food reserves and staring out into space. Tiny stars gazed back at her, like she were an animal on display for their amusement. She sure hoped someone was getting a kick out of her situation.

  After sucking the last little morsel from the plastic, she crumpled up the chocolate bar wrapper and tossed it to the graveyard of empty junk food carcasses at her feet and then licked her fingers clean, not willing to waste a single carb.

  That was it. No more food. Donezo. “You really fucked up this time, June.”

  Her own voice sounded hollow in the lonely metallic space. If only she’d packed more food for her innocent woodland hike in upstate New York where her bursting bladder had led her off the path, where the sun glinting off metal had lured her like a sparkling Pied Piper into what would ultimately be her tomb. All she had to look forward to now was a slow death from starvation. This alien spaceship, for that was what she’d determined it to be, was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. She could travel from the command station to a succession of hallways with too many doors that she couldn’t open and the large bay room where she had first, stupidly, wandered in. What was it they said about curiosity and cats? She still wasn’t sure if she had inadverten
tly pressed a button or if her mere presence had triggered the ship to take off, zooming into space as she screamed her lungs out and hung on for dear life.

  For what must have been several days at least, she’d been wandering the halls, trying to figure a way out of this predicament, unable to read the strange symbols on the many dials and levers. Unable to find a kitchen or pantry or even a bed. Unable to call for help—though who would be able to save her? Earth’s technology wasn’t this advanced. Within the first few hours of flight, she’d said bon voyage to Earth’s moon, tears still burning her incredulous eyes while pure terror choked sob after sob from her throat.

  Now she was resigned to her fate…for the most part. There was no telling how far she was from Earth now. No one knew where she was. No one was coming to save her.

  She fought the crippling despair, invoking the stoic, emotionless state that had protected her in her youth. Every now and again, a burst of determination crept in, and she worked to understand the ship’s controls in hopes of saving her own ass; she hadn’t survived her childhood to give up on herself now. Still, she figured it would take NASA scientists years to reverse-engineer this craft. A grad student pursuing the field of child psychology had zero chance.

  When feeling brave, she’d test random buttons because what the hell? I’m going to die anyway. Usually this sort of advanced scientific testing resulted in a low beeping that resembled a computer program returning an error. Sometimes a voice would blare over the intercom, foreign and grating, like a beast from nightmares. Sometimes the front window would become a screen displaying what, to her, were random images: an alien creature with antenna and bulging eyes that reminded her slightly of Stitch from Lilo and Stitch; a dark forest with Avatar-like plants; a river that could be located on Earth for all she knew; and endless images of planets.