Rebel Bride: Drakoryan Brides, #4

By Ava Sinclair

For centuries, the Drakoryans have taken sacrificial maidens. As a village widow, I thought myself safe from the dominant men of this dragon shifter race.

I was wrong.

I am Thera the Healer, and I blame the Drakoryans for the death of my husband and father. I know in my heart that they would be alive today were it not for the greed and cruelty of our dragon overlords.

Now as war begins between the Drakoryans and the Shadowfell Dragons, it is once again my people who must pay. We are forced to relocate from the villages where we have lived our lives to resettle in the valley between the mountains that are home to the Drakoryans.

But I am not docile. I will not submit to them or their rule. I have already lost all that I love and am ready to lay down my life to resist their rule. These Drakoryan dragons may be able to transform into men, but I see them for what they are. They are monsters.

I want to lead an uprising, but five strong dragon men have other plans. The Drakoryan tradition have long been for brothers to claim human women as their shared mate. The Lords of Kri'byl seek to take me as their own, to turn my defiance into trembling surrender with their skill.

I'm determined to deny them. But these are no ordinary men, and I'm about to find out that the fabled talents of these dragon shifters extend into the bedchamber. Can I continue to resist? Or will they conquer me as they conquered my people?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pandora's Box Publishing
• Release date: Jul 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223880547

Ava Sinclair

USA Today bestselling author Ava Sinclair has been penning steamy romance for over twenty years, infusing sensual heat into captivating stories that also offer world building, relatable characters, and believable plots to the reader. She lives in on a farm in the Virginia foothill country. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains, catering to her cats, and tending her small flock of wool sheep and dairy goats.

Book preview

Table of Contents

1. JAREO

2. THERA

3. ERDORIN

4. THERA

5. TYRI

6. THERA

7. ERDORIN

8. JAREO

9. GYRVIG

10. THERA

11. ERDORIN

12. THERA

13. YRKO

14. THERA

15. JAREO

16. THERA

17. ERDORIN

18. THERA

19. JAREO

20. THERA

21. GYRVIG

22. TYRI

23. THERA

24. GYRVIG

25. THERA

26. ERDORIN

27. THERA

28. YRKO

29. JAREO

30. GYRVIG

31. THERA

PREVIEW OF BOOK FIVE: KING'S BRIDE

Other Books in the Drakoryan Bride Series

About The Author

Connect with Ava

Rebel Bride

A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy

Ava Sinclair

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Copyright © 2018 by Ava Sinclair

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1. JAREO

2. THERA

3. ERDORIN

4. THERA

5. TYRI

6. THERA

7. ERDORIN

8. JAREO

9. GYRVIG

10. THERA

11. ERDORIN

12. THERA

13. YRKO

14. THERA

15. JAREO

16. THERA

17. ERDORIN

18. THERA

19. JAREO

20. THERA

21. GYRVIG

22. TYRI

23. THERA

24. GYRVIG

25. THERA

26. ERDORIN

27. THERA

28. YRKO

29. JAREO

30. GYRVIG

31. THERA

PREVIEW OF BOOK FIVE: KING'S BRIDE

Other Books in the Drakoryan Bride Series

About The Author

Connect with Ava

Chapter one

JAREO

PROLOGUE

It is my last night in Castle Kri’byl. I plan to make the most of it.

I was almost afraid you wouldn’t send for me. Even though the raven-haired maid just entered my bedchamber, she’s already undoing her bodice. If you’d left without giving me one last fuck, I’d have never forgiven you, Lord Jareo.

I can’t help but grin. If I left without giving you one last fuck, I’d not forgive myself.

I’m naked on the bed, staring down the length of my body, watching as Mila frees the soft, pendulous breasts I’ve grown so fond of. She was my first, and of all the maids I tumbled, remains my favorite. Like most household maids, she is always available, but not possessive. This is good, for we Drakoryan lords are known for our appetites, especially unmated ones like me and my brothers. I’ve had three women this night, and my cock is still stiff and hard.

See how wet I am for you, Lord Jareo? Mila grins through her curtain of hair. She’s naked now, and places a foot on the edge of a chair as she spreads the plump lips of her pussy to prove she does not lie. I can see the glistening pink petals of flesh, the large clit already hard with need.

You speak true. You are wet, indeed. I give her a wink. As wet as your sister was when I took her.

Mila pouts prettily. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to speak of one woman in the presence of another? Do that when you land a fancy lady and she just may put a knife through your lusty heart. Would serve you right.

Listen you, the only impaling done in this bedchamber will be you on my cock, I say. I hold out my hand. Stop making me wait, Mila. You’ll be sorry if I have to get up from this bed.

Oh, really? She leaves her leg up on the chair, moving her hips in slow, seductive circles as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger. I rather like the sound of that.

I stand from the bed. Mila likes it rough, and I’m in the mood for a wench who can take a hard fucking. I need to expend some of this energy. Where I am going, the maidens are off limits. I walk over, cock leading the way, and grasp Mila by the hair at the nape of her neck, jerking her head back so that she has to look at me. She’s biting her bottom lip. Her brown eyes swim with lust.

You’ve taunted a lord, I say. And now he’ll punish you by fucking you until you can’t walk. Do you have any last requests before I carry out your sentence?

The corner of her mouth quirks in a smile. Will you do that thing with your cock? That thing that makes me beg?

I grin, push her foot from the chair, spin her around and bend her over. Mila’s thighs are coated in arousal. I inhale the sweet, musky scent as I shove into her, enjoying the pitch of her cry. As wanton as she is, my cock is still a tight fit in her slick, hungry sheath. I grasp her hips, fucking her hard, enjoying the little mewling sounds as her pussy ripples on my cock. Then her moans begin to change as the surface of my shaft becomes ridged, the ridges moving to caress her pulsing walls as I thrust. I reach for her clit, pinching it. She is holding onto the chair, her breasts swaying back and forth.

Ohhhhhh....my lord! My lord! It’s too much! She’s developing a sheen of sweat on her back as I continue to fuck her.

There is no such thing as too much, my hungry little minx. I fuck harder, faster, wringing climax after climax until she goes limp. As I lift her from behind, my cock changes shape, curving as it vibrates inside her. She is impaled on me, her soft buttocks pressed into my loins. She cries out again. I take her to the bed and push her down, committing this moment to memory—the hot squeeze of her pussy, how her hair glows black in the firelight, the generous globe of her bottom and the tight pucker I will take before this evening is over. I spill into her with a cry.

I’m sated. But not completely.

A Drakoryan lord can only be truly satisfied by a mate, yet my four brothers and I have been ordered by King Vikurcus to guard the village against the threat of the ShadowFell. We are not to avail ourselves of the maidens there, who are sacred to us as future brides. And because we do not know when war will begin, or how long it will last, there is no hope that we will be given a bride.

We will have to wait, and I’d be lying if I said I looked forward to the charge. The village is not without its problems, given the fear and hunger of those we have resettled in the valley below our castles. There will be plenty to occupy us, save pleasures of the flesh we will surely miss. However, we have no choice.

Those who rule must be prepared to serve. When the king calls, a lord obeys. The king has called the Lords of Kri’byl.

Chapter two

THERA

I’ll always remember my husband’s last words to me.

Promise me you’ll sleep tonight, Wife. If you promise me this, then I promise that come dawn, you’ll wake with me by your side.

I still remember the feel of his hand, so large and warm, against my face. I still recall how the edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. Or, maybe you’ll wake with me inside you, my love.

Bran always said I fretted too much, usually over things I could not control. The winter he died — nearly two years ago now— I’d been fretting more than usual, but with good reason. There had been too much snow and too little food, and because hunger walks hand in hand with illness, many villagers in Darly were unwell. Each reedy cry of a child was like a knife in my soul. At night, I tossed and turned with worry.

It was concern for me that sent Bran out into the cold that fateful snowy day. He would make things better, he said. He would bring back meat—enough for us and enough to share with the families whose needs vexed me day and night.

Oh, had I known what else hunted in the woods, I’d have fallen on my knees and begged him not to go. But he told me all would be well, and to ease my worry bade my father go with him to help carry back the stag or boar he swore he’d kill for me. I remember small things, like how the fire had crackled that morning as my husband and father disappeared into the dawn woods.

The day passed as usual. Night fell. The following morning I did not wake from my fitful sleep to the warmth of my husband. Dawn’s gray light found me alone. I hurried from my bed and rushed to seek out my mother. I found her wringing her hands. My father had not returned, either. By breakfast the other village men went to search.

I sought to comfort my mother, but my words were lost on her. That morning, she’d seen a redbird dead in the snow. An omen, she said. She would not look at me as she watched from the window, rocking back and forth.

I tried to be hopeful. My beloved Bran—my quiet Bran—was so big and strong. So certain and dependable. I passed the hours imagining our reunion, how he would hold me tight as he offered a plausible explanation for his late homecoming and chided me for fretting. This part of my fantasy faltered, however. What possible reason could he and my father have for not coming home?When my Uncle Releg and the other men returned late in the afternoon, I’d known right away that my husband and father were dead. Only a man who’d lost a beloved brother would have looked so stricken. In his hands, my uncle carried the bloody shreds of the shirt I’d sewn for my Bran.

Thera. Thera? A rap at the door accompanies the voice calling my name, and I rise from the fire I had been feeding. It is my childhood friend, Sybil, come around to bring my portion of food.

A gust of wind enters along with her. Two years ago, I saved Sybil’s son from fever. She has not forgotten, and when the villagers line up at the storehouse for their weekly rations, she collects mine for me. This is convenient, since all too often I am away caring for some ailing person.

There’s dried apples today. Sybil puts my basket on my table. Oat flour, corn, turnips, potatoes, a smoked cod... She pulls out a small crock. I brought you butter. I made it fresh this morning.

I smile. You shouldn’t have. I walk over to a small crate lashed together from sticks I gathered on my walks. Inside are two hens. They cluck in protest as I wedge my hands under their warm breasts to retrieve the eggs. Here. I turn back to Sybil. Take the eggs in trade.

No trade needed, Thera. She shakes her head, but I can see she longs to accept my offer. When the men went over the mountains to reap the doomed harvest, they’d managed to ferry back some small stock on their return. I was pleased to find my two young hens had been saved. But Sybil’s older chickens had stopped laying and long since gone into the stewpot. Eggs are a treat for her children now.

I insist. I put the eggs in her basket. Come spring, I’ll pair my hens with Inga’s rooster and give you chicks to raise.

And I will give you a baby doe goat to make up for all the times you’ve cared for my family without pay.

It’s no trouble, really. Thank you for fetching my rations. I glance back at her as I begin to put the food away. Any gossip from the village?

Sybil considers this an invitation to take a seat. I overheard your Uncle Releg grumbling to one of the other men. Wilem and Grinfel are joining the Drakoryan army.

My jaw tenses at the news. They’re weak, I say.

They’re worried. Sybil sighs. "Did you see those five lords have finished their cottage? They intend to live among us now, to protect us, they say, and to train the men to fight. At night they sit around the village fire, sharing pipes