Touch of the Fey 4: A Tale of Revenge, Romance, and Deadly Dragons

Finally reuniting with his love, Cora, the enigmatic Lord Damon discovers her to be under a powerful curse that binds her will to the twisted Lord Vallen. Now, with the aid of a powerful warlock, he must hurry to break the spell and defeat Lord Vellan before it claims her life. But when his draconic heritage threatens to be revealed, will Cora's love stay true?

Warning: This story contains 10,500 words of monstrous lovers, in-flight sex, BDSM, magic, and, of course, dragon lovers.

Excerpt:

Lord Vallen sat atop his steed just outside the Rendoran courtyard. He was surrounded by a unit of armed guards. A smile tugged at his cheeks when he heard the distant stomp of footsteps approaching. The wide double doors swung open and banged loudly as Damon swept down the steps. He struck an imposing figure with his fine black and green attire and a scowl darkening his handsome face. Gravel crunched under his boots as he marched past the gates to glower up at Vallen. The horses whinnied and stamped at Damon’s approach and the men strained to keep them under control. Even behind the line of soldiers, Lord Vallen could feel an unusual heat arrive with the Lord of Rendoran. His brow knitted in mild confusion, but he quickly composed himself.

“I have come for my bride,” he announced loudly. “I understand the Lady Cora is being held captive here.”

“I know why you are here,” Damon’s voice was low and steady.

“Ah. Good, then. Bring her to me,” Vallen pressed. The tall young man’s scowl deepened. His yellow eyes seemed to glow. Vallen blinked in surprise. He must have imagined it.

“If you do not release her from your geas,” the air seemed to stir around him as the heat intensified, “I will destroy you and your men.”

The front line of men’s eyes watered as the inexplicable heat enveloped them and stung their faces. They felt as though they were suddenly standing very close to a massive bonfire. Damon took a step toward them, then another. The horses neighed and stamped, forcing the cadre to retreat before him. Vallen blustered in confusion and indignation.

“What is going on?!” he demanded. He wheeled his horse further away. “Lord Damon! You are...”

“Release her, Vallen. I will not ask again,” Damon’s voice boomed louder as he walked further from the gates of the manor, driving Vallen’s men back with the increasingly hot aura that surrounded him.

The men shouted in alarm as the Lord’s clothes began to smolder and, in a sudden bright flare, caught fire. Damon raised a hand to the men he knew must be advancing to aid him.

“HOLD,” he commanded. His guards stopped in their tracks, watching in awe as the flames consumed his fine clothes, wrapped around his muscled form, and floated his wavy auburn hair around his face. The fire did not seem to have any effect on the Lord himself.

Vallen, his men, and the people of Rendoran watched in amazement as Damon was consumed whole, with smoke and wisps of ash and burnt fragments flying off in every direction around him.
Then, from the black cloud, two great, leathery wings, suddenly freed of their confines, stretched and unfurled behind him in the billowing wind. They flapped once, twice, clearing away the smoke and debris. Sunlight glinted off the glittering iridescent teal scales of the wings. Their surface glimmered as they tapered out to his chest, shoulders, and back.

“Allow me to fully introduce myself,” he declared, standing naked before them.