Tropical Dragons Series Box Set - Naomi Lucas Page 0,100

or…

No.

A human.

Horror rushes through me. A human has found me. A great alpha dark dragon—a rarity in the world I once knew—lying paralyzed as a human nears. And not just any human, a female human.

If she touches me, I lose everything. Everything that I have not already lost. My greatness, my majesty, even my hope that I will beat this poison—that I may one day fly.

I will die human, bonded to a female, left unable to mate as the breeding heat consumes me.

That would be cruel and painful and far worse than my sorry state now. I will lie here desperate for rutting, unable to either defend myself or take my female and dominate her, and as I grow crazed with lust, terrible shame will drown me.

How much more will I be forced to endure? My thoughts roar. To be human and paralyzed…

I do not want to die while losing my mind with mating heat. A female, even a human one, will not want a mate who cannot move. I am nothing if I cannot protect her.

She will be shamed for my shame.

I need to scare her away.

I tense, strain my muscles, but nothing happens. Not even the twitching of my nostrils builds into something more. The tap of human footsteps punctures the silence, and pressure strangles my insides. Furor fills me, replacing the annoyingly delectable human scent, and my mind continues to roar.

I will not be human, I bellow.

I will meet the darkness as the mighty beast I am.

5

A Big, Dead Dragon

My foot aches, but it goes ignored as I stare at the—the giant monster before me. My breaths are shallow, my throat tight, and blood rushes from my face.

I want to scream for Haime, I want to run, but I do neither, waiting for the beast to rise and eat me whole. This wasn’t just a forgotten cave—or a naga’s nest—that Haime stumbled upon. It’s a den.

A dragon’s den.

My eyes water as I stare at the muscles and meaty curves of the beast. Minutes pass as my heart races, waiting for death, praying Haime is far away and hidden, when it occurs to me the dragon’s crooked leg hasn’t so much as twitched. The gleam of my torchlight glints, but the light does not shift upon its glistening scales.

It’s not moving.

It’s not even breathing.

Is it… is it dead?

As the thought takes over my mind, I remember what I’m staring at: a dragon. My back straightens, and my breathing eases. If it tried to attack Haime or me, it would’ve done so by now, and if it had… all I had to do was touch it to save us. That doesn’t mean the beast isn’t dangerous, but the realization gives me relief anyway.

Come to think of it, I could reach out and touch the dragon now. I’m not even an arm’s length away.

I could claim it.

I frown, glancing down at my foot that had rammed into it, curling my aching toes. My sandal shielded my body, but even if it hadn’t, would such a clumsy touch bond me and this dragon together?

I try to think back at all that happened to Aida when she encountered Zaeyr the first time. She touched his wing. Her touch had been deliberate.

Right?

Licking my lips, my eyes rove the shadowy mass. My skin prickles. It still hadn’t made a noise, still hadn’t moved, and the longer my thoughts whirl, the more I believe it has to be dead. Fate wouldn’t bind me with a dead thing, would it? And the touch of my foot hadn’t been deliberate, but then again, I don’t think my skin made contact.

Did the skin need to make contact? My brows furrow. That was a question I didn’t have an answer for.

I’m not even sure it’s male, but what if it is…

I bite down on my tongue.

Why am I even thinking of this? I take a step back. The last eight years flash through my head. The pain, the want, the envy.

The red comet, the dragons, the very few males remaining in the tribes of the Mermaid Gulf. The days upon days, months upon months, years of wishing I would have a male of my own—a family of my own. I never cared about power or being a matriarch. I loved hunting and teaching the young daughters of Sand’s Hunters how to protect themselves and provide for others—but I desperately always wanted one for myself. A daughter of my own. A little girl who would curl up under my arm,