The Dragon’s Price (RNoodles & Alex)

[MoldaviteGreen]

“Absolutely not.”

“Izarra, you need to consider and not think only of yourself. What if this world was to crumble into nothing because of a war you refused to partake in, simply because you wish not to involve yourself in ‘petty quarrels’?” The dark oak of an elegantly carved chair groaned beneath the shift of weight, a man dressed in riding leathers leaning closer to the table to speak in lower volumes. His speech was interrupted only by the joyous laughter of the drunken men a table over and the clanking of jugs. “I know you well enough to say that I bet you would be kicking yourself for not taking a stance when you had the chance to. You could make a difference, Izarra. Do not just stand idly by and allow this to happen when your participation could save so many lives.”

Seated within the shadows, the outline of the company he’d chosen to keep this night was cloaked in gloom, not a single feature visible as she pressed her back against the hard wood of the tavern’s wall. A huff of hot air rushed from her nose, setting his hands burning as they clasped a jug of ale on the table between them. “And why do you believe it necessary for me to become involved? You know very well that I refused to become tangled in the politics of this world, for many reasons. Must I remind you?”

“Fine.” The leather-clad man reached down to his hip and beneath the black of his cloak. Soon enough, there was the soft clink of gold as a red satchel was deposited atop the table roughly, the bag splitting open enough to reveal the hefty contents. “I didn’t think it would come to this, but there.”

Nothing was said, the silence indicative of brooding. Several minutes passed and not a word was uttered, the human man left to take a long swallow of his ale while riding out the uncomfortable silence. Was she such a creature that could be swayed easily? No. But was she a creature that could be bought with gold and jewel? Absolutely she could, if one knew where to find her favourite of the latter.

Finally, the accented voice replied in a murmur, “How much?”

He grinned. “Several hundred.” His jug was set down atop the table before he continued. “This is only a quarter, the rest I keep for insurance. I have a moonstone with the rest of the coin, for safe keeping, that will be delivered upon the conclusion of the war.”

Several long seconds awaited him, before a slate grey hand reached out from the gloom and captured the bag, charcoal claws digging into the fabric as it dragged it across the wood of the table and into the shadows where it was pocketed.

“Do we have a deal then?”

A huff of hot air was his answer as she grumbled. “Deal.”

~​

Chilled grass crunched under leather boots, the final approach to the sea of tents done so by foot. The battlefront sat just far enough away that this place could offer some comfort, but the raging war offered something far less sweet than a lullaby to sleep to. The very same man that had been at the tavern cut a careful path across the field, now dressed in colours more befitting to a rebel. Dark hair was tied at the nape of his neck with a thin leather strap, a long sword at his hip. He glanced towards the feminine figure to his left as they cut through the tall grass. “Having any doubts?”

“You better give me that darn coin once I am done here or else I will have the pleasure of ripping you limb from limb.” Blazing golden eyes were cast his way, watching him from their almond corners. There was not even the slightest bit of excitement present in his female companion, who stomped rather heavily through the grass in clear displeasure of being here. “Do not go playing any games, boy.”

The man smirked as they reached the edge of the tent city, guiding them towards the largest in the centre. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The makeshift town was sprawling with life, all races scurrying and rushing about clad with weapons or dressed for work. It was clear that all who were here had purpose, shared a common goal even, and she was most certainly the odd one out. As they pressed on towards the larger tent, circular in shape with a peaking roof, many took pause at the edge of their path to watch on as they walked by. Such an usual sight was she that she seemed to be drawing more attention than she appreciated.

“I do not like this. Why do they look at me this way?” She growled beneath breath, shifting a little closer towards her male companion as they made the final approach to the tent.

“People are curious about things they do not understand,” he offered gently, sweeping an arm across the tent’s flap to usher her inside, “and they do not understand things they have not yet seen; such as you, Izarra.” He was met only with a sharp grunt as she ducked inside, and he shrugged his shoulder before following as he said; “You’re welcome.”

What met them inside was not lavish, but rather something crafted out of necessity. Eyes were drawn towards the pair as they stood just inside of the tent for all to see, a gathering of war-hardened males frowning slightly. Only one made move towards them, a small and impish looking man that she placed as being of dwarves descent. He shook hands with her male companion, welcomed him and engaged in small talk, before turning his gaze upon she and smiled politely.

“You must be who he has been talking about all of this time.” The impish man captured clawed hand and shook it roughly, earning him the twitch of her lip in disapproval. “From what I heard, you weren’t interested in our cause. What was it that he said that got you to change your mind?”

“Go—”

A firm hand found her shoulder and squeezed. “I simply reminded her of our goals, and it was enough to sway her. She’s a creature of good-nature, after all.” The grip upon her shoulder remained until the impish man had decided that answer was good enough, returning to the cluster of men that stood over a map pinned to the top of a mahogany board. Her companion’s voice lowered into a whisper that only she could hear; “You will say nothing of our deal, understood?”

Golden eyes flickered to his face as she immediately understood. He’d gone behind them, had done it without directive, and gods only knew where the gold had come from. The corner of her mouth twitched with a wicked, knowing smile as she nodded just once.

“Come closer!” The impish man beckoned. “We are waiting for one more good gentleman to join us before we begin talks. As a Minotaur, he runs on his own time. Come take a seat by me and I will share with you all that you need to know.”

The hand at her shoulder fell away and pressed to the small of her back, as she was ushered further into the tent.

 

[RNoodles]

Grizzled men and women around the war map seemed at odds with each other, heatedly arguing over flags stabbed into the wooden table. There’s a sense of urgency in their voices, a heated discussion as some of them pound the table.

The impish man takes a swig from a flask, then offers her some. “The tree of a woman there’s Griselda, she’s a retired knight from the Merce Kingdom. After the war Merce only protected its capital, seat o power. Dame Griselda grew resentful, he drew her in after the horde defended her hometown for a fortnight. She’s wicked smart, and I haven’t seen anything pierce her armor.”

Griselda rises a good few inches taller than anyone else here with hair grayed, a sickly scar down her neck marking a failed assassination attempt. she holds her ground in an argument against a blustering dwarf with a great big red beard, braided with gold trinkets. As he shouts he buries a hand axe into the table with a loud thunk.

“And that’s Bolson. He was one of his first recruits. From a far off place called Tyrune, bunch of dwarves who cut wood instead a stone and sail around on boats. Can you imagine? The two have been at it all morning. Dame Gris says we go to the farming regions for supplies for the horde. Bolson says he’s tired of taking walks around the country and wants the glory of taking cities.”

The arguing continues with what feels like clearly defined sides. Behind them the tent flap parts, an a mountain of a man passes into the room immediately commanding everyone’s attention.

The great minotaur stood eight feet tall, a presence that towered over all in the room. His horns were sharp, turned up, a silver nose ring contrasted the deep black of his short fur. Without a shirt his burly, thick muscles were on full display, traced with scars shallow and deep that marked incredible resilience. His shoulders were so broad set he was wider than two men, his bicep thicker than her body. His broad pecs trailed down to dense abs, rippling muscles along his sides, down to a thick belt with a great iron dragon buckle the size of a small shield. The broad strip of leather held around an assortment of fur wraps. Below came thick thighs, scarred like his torso, down to black hooves that sunk into the ground with his immense weight. His deep brown eyes look down to the map in contemplation, the minotaur’s huge form looming over the map, leaning onto the table causing it to groan beneath his bulk.

“That’s him- Demos. Been following him for six years now and there isn’t a day I regret it.”

The crowd moved for him, silenced by his very presence. He took his time studying the map, when the argument broke out again as Bolson accused Griselda of being without pride. All sides erupted into conflict with shouting, pointing, stomping, the noise made the minotaur’s eyes slowly close, his fist on the table drawn tight.

There was a deafening slam as Demos pounded the table with a single fist so hard it cracked the hard wood in half, collapsing it before them all and completely silencing them. He held the room’s entire attention.

“Starving wolves cannot hunt. They fall into a ditch and freeze in winter snow. Our army cannot take glory when we starve. This will not be left to debate, we need food for hungry mouths. We agreed to give our word to Adelsborough: food and safety through winter-“ he glared severely at Bolson, who let his eyes fall to the broken table.

“If we cannot protect and feed our own, and we so gluttonously chase personal pride, then we are the thing we hate so much. Dame Griselda: prepare ranks. The Merce calvary will be enough. Bolson-“

His hand dwarfs the hand axe as Demos pulls it from the table, now broken in two with a great fracture running top the bottom, and hands it to the dwarf.

“You will not damage my table.” The minotaur’s words came level but severe, slow but intentional as the dwarf meekly took the hand axe back. Dame Griselda bowed to the warrior.

“Will that be all.” His voice more commanded than asked, Demos looking to his advisors, then to Izarra and the dwarf she sat with.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

Izarra said nothing as she was drawn further into the tent, her companion, Duthark, making his way over to the lingering shadows as he watched her be guided towards the table by the impish man. The look that she gave him was a dark glower that came with a silent; I will not forgive you for this. Not a single fibre of her being wished to be here. Izarra was disinterested in the frivolities of short lives, of the politics that did not involve or matter to her. She’d lived for Centuries, had seen so many kingdoms and empires rise to soon fall. It was the natural order of things, and Izarra wished not to be involved for many reasons. How many had tried to sway a beast such as her to join their cause? She couldn’t remember any longer, each blurring into the next, but none had been successful. They’d been crafty, of course, appealing to her instinctive need to collect and hoard gold and jewels, but still she’d denied them. So why had this time been different? Why had Duthark been able to sway her with the promise of coin and moonstone?

Because she had heard whispers of the male she was soon to serve, and Izarra’s curiosity was equal to her pride.

Duthark settled into a simple wooden chair, not to be privy to the transpiring conversation about supplies and plans. He was here to deliver the dragon, and that was all. That was all that he had been tasked with, his mission clear. ‘At whatever cost.’ As he leaned back on the dark wood of the chair, he wondered what they might think should they discover how much purchasing the dragon’s loyalty really had cost them. Something, he hoped, they wouldn’t ever come to know. He watched with dark eyes, running knuckles under his chin, as the dragon was guided closer into the large space by the impish man, Duthark smirking a little under her sharp scowl.

As the impish man continued to introduce the people milling about the table, Izarra looked to the two squabbling with great disinterest. This was precisely the reason why she had never been bothered dealing in such pathetic things. No matter how intelligent some races were, no matter how battle-wise, they often were unable to organise themselves out of a hat. Their childish argument made Izarra frown darkly, pacing to the other side of the table to escape it all together.

Just as Izarra came to the edge, a slate grey finger running the tattered corner of the map laid out before them, her attention was soon stolen by the heavy thud of footsteps and the sudden smack of the tent flap opening. Narrow shoulders pressed backwards, chin lifting, Izarra forever a prideful beast, before she turned slowly in place. She had all the time in the world, did not even wish to be there, and she’d be sure to make them aware.

But as smouldering golden eyes came to rest upon the tall male by the flap, she grew eerily still.

In her current form, he towered above her at a height that had her slender neck flex upward as he approached in order for her to take in the bovine features of his face. He was a vision of masculine bulk, muscles rippling with each movement as he paced through the tent. The air seemed to leave the space, the tent becoming a void as the Minotaur swallowed everyone’s attention.

This was him.

This was why she had accepted the offer of gold and moonstone.

Izarra shifted away from the table, her hand falling to her side. She didn’t wish to have his attention, not yet, but was instead far more interested in watching him. Slipping away, forgotten, Izarra came to stand beside Duthark as he reclined within the chair; smirking. The human man chuckled lightly under his breath as he looked up at her, noting that the scowl had dissolved slightly as she watched the Minotaur approach the table with such authority.

“Glad that you accepted the offer then?” Duthark remarked smugly, chuckling again when he received another dark glower.

“Keep your mouth shut should you wish to still have a tongue.” Izarra snarled, a deep rumble within her chest as lips curled and flashed her sharp canines. As human-like as her form might have appeared, bar several draconic features that remained, Izarra was still very much a beast and they’d do well to remember that.

The impish man made his approach then, despite the lingering snarl that twitched at her lip, and stood at her side. “Don’t mind his mood,” he murmured gently, “he is not as bad tempered as many believe him to be. But Bolson certainly does irk him when he carries on like this about pride.”

Izarra kept silent, though a lock of copper hair fell forward into her face.

As Demos made his final orders, his gaze lifting from the table to take in the three that lingered by the edge of the tent, Duthark grinned. “Actually, Sir,” he called across the short space, “there is something else.” Wood groaned as the human man rose from the chair and wandered lazily over towards the Minotaur. “As promised....” hand swept sideways, gesturing towards the woman who had not moved forward with him. “Her name is Izarra and she has conceded that she will aid in our efforts.”

A hot rush of air left her nose in a sudden exhale, though she made no move to approach; stubbornly remaining within the dim shadows.

 

[RNoodles]

Demos gave the three his attention, then let his eyes move to Izarra. The minotaur made a contemplative snort as he took her in for the first time, as if by looking upon her he could wholly understand her. It was an intense gaze, commanding, dominant while being so silent, displaying such a keen interest that betrayed stories of his brutality. The warrior rose to his full heigh again while maintaining eye contact, giving a wave of his hand.

“I dismiss you all, save for this one. I wish to speak with you.”

His masculine voice filled the room, and the other captains, soldiers, and warriors filtered out of the command room to the world outside. The tent flap swayed, leaving the two alone for the first time.

“I wish to speak with you on even footing. Not in the throne room, but in my personal chambers.”

With that he turned back, holding the tent flap open for her. He guided her through a great makeshift hall of a throne room: a large wooden chair had been crafted, banners stolen from two other kingdoms hung, and beside the throne sat an absolutely massive great axe, the blade as wide as she stood as a human, an incredibly heavy weapon that required incredible strength. The axe was buried in a tree stump splitting the wood in half.

Demos opened another tent flap for her. Inside she found a great assortment of cushions and chairs of all sizes, with one larger one near the center. Small endtables were dotted with rare wine bottles and kegs lined the wall. Breads and cheeses lay on a smaller, lower table alongside grapes and apples.

“I invite you to eat, drink as you wish. Become comfortable.” The minotaur made his way with slow yet deliberate steps, sinking into the largest cushion as it yielded to his weight, closing his eyes with a steady sigh.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

A hot breath slipped from between parted lips, scolding at it licked the shoulder of the man before her as he announced her presence. He flinched from the heat, stepping to the side as he motioned to her with a hand, bowing his head to the Minotaur in a clear show of respect. Izarra’s nostrils flared as she lifted her face, the sharp of her chin rising in a proud show on defiant confidence. Demos knew little of her, let alone her kind, she decided, and such a bold challenge he gave her by way of unwavering eye contact was met with the confident roll of her narrow shoulders.

His dismissal was soon to leave her alone, though Duthark lingered for only a minute more as he hissed between grit teeth; “Behave, please, for your own sake.” A brush of a calloused hand to the back of her elbow was a brief touch before all of those still within the tent filed out and left the pair alone.

Izarra made no move towards him, just as she didn’t dare speak. She was far too pleased to remain out of his grasp, to assess his true intentions from afar, before she would cement any kind of deal to aid in his goal. Even as Demos announced his intention to speak with her on even footing, in a place where politics and hierarchy was less likely to reign, Izarra remained stoic and silent. It was becoming apparent that the dragon would keep silent until she felt the desire to speak, even if Demos deserved some kind of answer.

His answer, however, came by way of the female peeling away from the shadows; revealing her figure. She could have passed for an elf with the sharp features of her face and pointed ears, save for the voluptuous shape of her figure. She wore dark skin-tight trousers that did little to hide the toned shape of her legs and the flare of her wide hips. The white of her hair appeared iridescent under the light, shimmering silver that was braided thickly, wisps falling into her face and over the pointed tips of her ears. Cheeks appeared to be painted with shimmering diamonds, but that was not the case. They were scales, though small in size, that decorated the rounded edges of her cheekbones that caught the light whenever she moved. Two sets of dark blue horns jutted from beneath silvery hair, one pair jutting straight backwards in a horizontal fashion with the other curling downwards to follow the flow of her hair. Everything about the woman before him screamed otherworldly, that there was more than what met the eye as she stalked towards him, not daring to look away from his gaze.

She followed him, her footfalls silent as she moved through the connected tents. This place was quickly proving to be a warren of conjoined tents, a city crafted from canvas and secret entryways. Izarra did her best to note their twist and turns, in order to keep herself from becoming lost and reliant upon the hulking Minotaur she paced behind. In this form, he towered above her, casting her in his shadow before he swept aside the final flap and revealed another large space.

Hesitating by the entry for less than a second, Izarra invaded this space that clearly belonged to Demos, and Demos alone. She sauntered before him, her steps padding softly now as she meandered across to the large chair in the centre. Izarra cared little if this was for him, if this beautiful carved chair was something he refused anyone else to sit upon. Izarra snagged a bottle of wine on her way past, stabbing a dark claw into the cork and plucking it from the glass neck to take a swig. Then, she fell into the seat and lounged brazenly, tossing her legs over an armrest and crossing them at the ankles as silver hair was tossed over the other, her figure petite enough that she folded perfectly into the seat.

“The food is yours,” Izarra spoke suddenly, her voice a silken tone that licked at his ears as she called to him. “I find myself without appetite for anything but wine.” She held up the bottom as if in toast, before pressing the neck of the bottle to soft lips as she sculled several mouthfuls. Wine did not effect the draconic kind like it did many other races; needing a grand amount to make them even the slightest bit tipsy. Izarra would be expensive company to keep, Demos would come to realise.

Golden eyes fell upon him as Demos fell into a large cushion, watching as his dark eyes closed and a sigh left him. The neck of the bottle popped audibly from her lips as she pulled it away, resting it on her stomach as she lounged across the chair unceremoniously.

“Why don’t you begin with why you had Duthark hassle me to join you in your fight?” Izarra offered, rolling her neck out as if there were a kink. “What is it that you seek from me?”

 

[RNoodles]

As Demos first beheld her, he seemed entranced by the otherworldly nature to her, the shine of her scales, taking a few extra moments to collect his thoughts before speaking. She had seen men consumed by overt lust before, and the look he has was not that but one of wonder.

As she took what was clearly his seat in the room he took another chair without skipping a beat. The seat creaked as it bore his full weight, bowing and bending as he sat back. The way she so crassly drank wine from the bottle was one he subtly appreciated, an act that did nothing to put him off, in fact he was visibly impressed at how much she was able to handle. As she spoke the food was his he took a “small” handful of fruit to eat, relaxing in the comfortable room with her.

He regarded her words with a subtle snort, then allowed the bass of his voice to fill the room. “Duthark claimed he knew what would speak most to your heart, and it was not ideals or visions. I will be direct with you, you do not need a mortal to waste your time. This war we wage has not been easy. It has been tiring, and the warriors in my command are weary. As you saw, they want to run for cheap victories over sensible captures. To make matters worse, some patrols report the king has some great mechanical beast that belches flame like a forge. It scares them, and its meant to.”

Demos pauses, a ribbon of sunlight bringing out the sheen of his deep black fur, outlining the thick muscles of his body.

“I ask you to join this fight, and become a god to these people. Become a beacon of inspiration. When they see you, they’ll become filled with such an indescribable joy, maybe even come to worship you as your very roar bolsters their courage.

Duthark may be a more shrewd man than I when it comes to courting your interest. The emotional plea of ants means little to a human. So I ask you, to join us on this next raid. I want you to experience what we do, and see why we do it.”

Demos pauses for her consideration, her thought, taking a dried meat to eat as they sit together. As he moves the chair protests and groans, against all odds it holds together beneath him.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

As the large space of the tent was filled with the baritone voice of the male lounging in the chair, Demos was not gifted her attention. At least, not entirely, or so it seemed. Izarra appeared much more concerned with the label upon the wine bottle that she held up to the light now, turning it slowly over, than she did his words. While it may have seemed rude, it was simply her nature, and all those who had come across a beast such as she knew that dragons often paid little attention to those who tried to sway them, even if they did listen. And listen she did, Izarra silently mulling over his words in contemplation as she feigned interest in the dark bottle, soon to take another thirsty swig from its neck.

There came a twitch of her lips as he mentioned how Duthark believed he knew the way to garner her interest in their cause, and that it was not by way of preaching morals or good intent. When one was as old as the world itself, the happenings of battles and moral wars mattered little. This kingdom would fall, peace might be restored, but it would never last. The mortals of this world were so convinced that they needed to fight over something that they never felt comfortable in peace. Izarra had always been amused that many such races had lasted as long as they had.

A thought struck her then, that had golden eyes lazily sliding towards Demos as he clutched at a handful of fruit. Did he know of the deal she had struck with Duthark? Was he aware of the price he had paid in order for her to even be here, let alone agree? Or was he completely unaware of the sly determination of the human man within his ranks that would have done anything to have her accept? As Izarra met Demos’ gaze, she lifted the bottle to her lips and finished the wine, soon setting it down upon the ground by the leg of the large chair.

He might not have known the promises his ally had sworn, but Demos surely knew how to bait a creature such as she. The casual stroke of her ego came by way of suggesting that she could become god-like, reminiscent of her kind’s past when they had been worshipped rather than hunted and feared. It had a forked, inky tongue slipping from between the seam of supple lips, dragging across the soft tiers to capture a bead of red wine, drawing it slowly into her mouth to savour. Become a god, he had said. Izarra liked the sound of that.

Face turned away once more, her gaze cast upwards at the peaked ceiling of the tent as she stretched in a manner almost feline. Back arched from the wood, arms stretching overhead as she lengthened her spine and released a pleasured sigh. This form, as beautiful as it was, always felt too small and left her with tense muscles. Arms once again fell down by her sides, Izarra silently chewing over his words as he continued to speak.

But it was Demos’ offer for her to join them on their next raid, to catch a glimpse into what it was they fought against perhaps before making up her mind, that had Izarra suddenly rising from the chair. Demos might have been three times her size while she was in this form, but Izarra looked every bit as deadly and predatory as ever. Those eyes glowed a brilliant gold, almost serpentine yellow as she met his gaze and dared him to look away. There was an air about her, one that was ominous and foreboding as she made quiet steps from the chair she had stolen. Her stalk towards him came in an arc, Izarra moving swiftly behind the chair too small for his frame.

“You are right,” she sung darkly, voice licking at his ears as she paused behind him. “The emotional plea of ants does mean little to a human, but that does not mean that the human is not curious in the happenings of such short lives.”

Demos would feel her hands first, small palms that came to fall upon his shoulders and gather thick ropes of muscle in a firm squeeze. Her touch was scorching, as if embers had fallen against his skin, but it was nothing in comparison to the heat that washed over him as Izarra leant forward, draping herself over the back of the chair and against his shoulder. If anyone spied them, they’d see that her feet had risen from the floor. Toned legs hung, her weight pressed down into the meat of Demos’ shoulder. She wasn’t modest as she draped over him, stealing what personal space he had as she reached around him to pluck a grape from his hand, setting it between the sharp fangs of her canines. The fruit was bitten and swallowed, the hand that had captured the fruit coming around to brush creamy knuckles against his jawline.

“I’ll join you,” Izarra purred into his ear, “on one condition.” The knuckles at his jaw shifted away, instead smoothing over broad chest with fingers splayed between dark fur. “Why me?”

 

[RNoodles]

The warrior-king watched the way she stood and walked over to him with a measured gaze, a depth to his look she’d seen in so few mortals. His ear flicked as she spoke more intimately, and as she wrapped herself around his back the minotaur say up straight. She could feel the deep breath he took then held, but unlike other mortals he lacked the fear of her prey, lacked that quickened heartbeat and sickly scent that came with inspiring terror. At the flow of warmth over his back he loosed that breath, she could feel it drawn from his hulking form as she rested against him. Reflexively, he turned his head into her touch, a contemplative rumble sounding deep in his chest and against her as she lay over him. Fingers drew through the short fur of his broad chest, felt the ponderous drum of his heartbeat, such a unique and powerful feeling compared to any human.

“Because,” Demos began, choosing his words slowly, with purpose. “I had seen your wings from the ground. They were more precious than any polished gold or red wine, your roar such a powerful sound it could drown out an army. I wanted to behold the one so strong. I would enjoy fighting her, but I would enjoy fighting alongside her more. You, because the years I’ve lived and paths I’ve traveled, you are unrivaled. I wanted to experience you.”

She could feel the sensations of his voice as he spoke, his tone level, even, exceptional control over it and his body as he regarded her without fear, unwavering. Staying entirely still the broad muscles of his back made an excellent place to rest, and he was very receptive to her touches.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

Izarra most certainly felt his chest rise with the sharp intake of breath at her touch, Demos straightening within the chair that seemed of comically small proportion to his larger frame. Draped over his shoulder as she was, it was easy to mistake her as a shawl. A wisp of silver hair brushed against the side of his face, tickling bovine ear as she leant in that little bit closer. A breath was exhaled from between soft lips, a scorching rush of scolding air that felt like summer’s heat.

“To experience me,” Izarra purred hungrily, the hand smoothing down striated core stopping just short of his navel, the dimple out of her reach. A low rumble vibrated in her chest, the supple flesh of her breasts captured between the muscle of his shoulder and her petite frame, the cotton of her shirt doing little to hide them. Clawed fingers began to drag upwards, raking through dark fur to leave behind angry lines in his skin from the sharp tips. “If that is what you desire—to experience what I have to offer—then you could have merely asked me yourself.” Serpentine tongue found the edge of his bovine ear, dragging hot saliva against it before returning to her mouth as she grinned.

Then, she was gone.

As quickly as Izarra had stalked towards him and claimed his personal space, Izarra disappeared from his back. She slipped away, out of reach, leaving behind the chill of the air in her wake. Her absence, however, did not last long.

Demos was gifted the view of her as she sauntered around the chair to stand before him, small in stature with a soul more fierce than any he’d come to know. “You know how to flatter, I have to give you that,” Izarra acknowledged, allowing golden eyes to lazily take in his form as she crept closer until she was standing between his parted knees. “You have done your research, I’m impressed. Not many know that stroking a dragon’s ego is a sure way to earn their respect.” A small, soft hand pressed into the meat of his thigh, Izarra immodest in her handling of him. “Tell me, Demos....” Izarra climbed atop of his legs, setting her knees between the space of his outer thigh and the arm of chair, settling to straddle his lap, “....is that all that you want from me? To fight beside me while I concede to battle in this war of yours?”

Hands settled atop her own thighs, Izarra seeming to gift Demos some semblance of control. Golden eyes shimmered with unbridled mischief. She was testing him, taunting him even, and it was clear she was earning pleasure from stealing so much control and space from him. Head cocked to the side a little, a wisp of white falling to brush over the scales at her cheeks as she smirked devilishly.

“Or is there perhaps something else that you seek?”

 

[RNoodles]

As her hands drifted downwards one brushed and was caught by his own, dwarfing her in size as his fingers encompassed his hand with a surprisingly gentle squeeze, and allowed her to slip away and she drifted her hands back up. His noble horned head turned to her, the cold silver of his nosering and his hot lips in contrast brushed her skin in the fleeting moments she drifted away. The tease to his ear drew a sharp breath and steady release, settling back in his chair as she left her.

Continuing to give her his attention, the minotaur moved for her as she made herself comfortable atop his lap. As she spoke, as she seduced he remained attentive but respectfully restrained. She climbed atop his thighs, atop the thick furs around his hips and felt his firmness between his thighs. Thick, hot, despite his appearances of restraining himself Izarra could feel the effect she had on the minotaur. Massive hands wrapped around her hips, deep black eyes staring back. The closeness didn’t deter or scare him, it intrigued him.

“Far be it from me to disagree with a dragon, but my words are not here to flatter you. If I were to flatter you I would offer you false promises of gold and jewels. I would make lofty exaggerations. I do not offer you flattery. I offer you my intent.

Concede? No. I want you to concede nothing. I would have you join me at my side.”

The great minotaur bowed his head towards Izarra, meeting her teasing with a muted intensity like the bellow of distant thunder. “What I would have, is your enthusiastic consent. A dragon takes what she wants, and I will give her what she wants.”

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

The settle of large hands at the flare of her hips had a silver brow arching in amusement. Izarra said nothing as Demos spoke, the Minotaur earning enough of her respect that she gifted him time enough to speak. She mulled over his words, the rumble in his chest making toes curl against his thighs. There was a shine to the golden hue of her eyes, an otherworldly shimmer that hinted at an unsatisfied hunger.

“Oh?” She mused, hot breath licking at his face as a hand found the centre of his chest, palm pressing firmly against the muscle as fingers splayed. “Is that a promise that you’ll give me what I desire then, and in turn I fight beside you?”

Izarra shifted, that hand pressed to his chest running up over shoulder. Demos would find the slight weight of the female shift in his lap, her lap drawn low over the firmness beneath loincloth. Dragons were not a modest bunch, and Izarra was even more wicked than most. Hand found his ear, tugging at it teasingly as she rose to kneel over his lap. Heavy orbs of her breasts smoothed against tense pectorals, pillowing between them as she rose to meet his eyes.

“I know what I want,” she promised, her voice a sultry purr as she leant to the side and found the edge of his ear. Serpentine tongue flicked from the heat of her mouth, capturing the cartilage to drag it inward between teeth. Izarra bit down, Demos’ ear nibbled and tugged playfully before it was suddenly released. “A crate of wine to the tent where I will be staying.”

And, with that, she slipped from his lap and sauntered towards a bowl of fruit, piercing a strawberry with clawed finger before she turned in place and grinned at him darkly. “Our conversation will begin tomorrow.” Izarra sauntered towards the flap of the tent from which they had entered, laughing darkly with a melodious sound that echoed.

 

[RNoodles]

As she teases the minotaur he drew in a long, slow, controlled breath. She could feel the rise in his chest as she teased him, hands holding her tighter. When she pressed her body flush against his he made a muted snort, the wall of muscle firm, unmoving. With the movement hands glided up her back, bracing her atop him as she teased him. Instead of falling into a lustful stupor as weaker men have, Demos became more focused, more keen. His growing arousal she felt beneath her was no distraction to him, but he was far larger than any mortal she’d encountered. The furs obscured, only hinted at girth, at length. Even then she knew he was well over a foot long, deliciously thick, something her dragon form may even have found pleasing.

With the nibble his ear made a reflexive flick, his chest sounded another deep rumble, and she slid from his lap. The minotaur rose to his full, towering height again, a defined bulge between his muscular thighs, he rolled back thick shoulders as he caught up in a few strides.

“Done. What else will your quarters need.” His question came as a statement, lifting the tent flap ahead of her out of her way.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

If Demos was beginning to forget that the creature in his company was more than just a beautiful specimen, then he would surely remember. As he swept aside the tent flap and asked what else it would be that her quarters would acquire, Izarra turned in place.

Gone was the burning fire within those smouldering eyes that had been aflame with sensual lust. Instead they had darkened to something near black as she lifted face upwards to behold him in her pointed gaze.

“Peace and quiet.”

Her words were sharp, suggestive. If Demos thought that any of his previous lovers had ever played the game of hard to get, then he had surely been mistaken. Just as quickly as the winds changed, so too did the dragon’s fierce moods and just as equally unpredictable. While she had settled so keenly over his lap mere moments ago, she now sought the solace and isolation of a tent without company.

“I have much to consider,” Izarra said after a little while. “I cannot think while I have bias company.”

 

[RNoodles]

Like a broad mountain weathering a storm Demos remained stoic in her sudden shift. He regarded her with the same serious look he had their entire meeting, taking no offense. Unmoving, consistent, he met his her twist in moods with determination.

“Peace and quiet will be granted. We have arranged quarters here in the hall, should you want space I can give you quarters where you wish. If you need food it will be provided. If you desire armor it will be made.”

The tent led to a round rotunda with a central pole that held it up. Chests sat around the pole, across the way was an open room longer than it was wide, with tall ceilings, what appeared to be a shower and washroom, an open, empty wardrobe, and a bed of fine but mismatched silks. It was hardly large enough to contain her dragon self.