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To Tame a DragonThe prophecy foretold an end to dragons. One person holds the power to deny fate.
Visions of his soulmate haunt Eldyn’s dreams all while the half-dragon seeks the savior who will stop the extinction of an entire race. When the assassin’s guild master learns that Eldyn possesses a powerful artifact, he abducts him, delaying the quest to save dragon-kind. Plagued by his role in the destruction of those he loved, Zeroh seeks to redeem himself. Killing Kuval, a member of a rival guild, would prove the impoverished fire mage’s worth. Surprisingly, the tables are turned, and Zeroh’s attempt leads to terrible consequences. Imprisoned, tortured, and seduced, he discovers an unexpected attraction to his captor. When Kuval finds himself infatuated with Zeroh, he hopes the fire mage will help him forget his first love, Eldyn. But destiny has a plan for these three men. |
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Excerpt from To Tame a Dragon
© S.N. McKibben
Chapter 1
Zeroh
“Interesting pastime for an assassin.” The barkeep eyed the open book in my hands. He slapped a mug down on the wood-finished top, sloshing ale too close to the pages and adding another stain to the weathered cover.
My eyes rolled up to stare into the burly face of the man who owned the largest bar in the city of Aleenia.
The barkeep, whose only known name was “Barkeep,” tried his best intimidation tactic by looking down his nose at me. The man could pick me up and throw me out with one arm. Not an impressive feat of strength, as I was five foot nine, and weighed no more than a nuisance. That is, if I didn’t turn him to ash first.
“Listen, boy, I won’t have trouble in my establishment.” Barkeep picked up a rag and started wiping the inside of wet empty mugs. His forearms bulged against the rolled sleeves of his tunic while he tried pushing his too large hands inside the wide-rimmed maple tankard. Leave it to Barkeep to look intimidating doing everyday tasks.
I shook a tobacco stick out from its parchment holder, put my lips over the butt, and pulled a smoke out. The magic residing inside me warmed. As I snapped my fingers, a spark ignited. Like a wick feeding the fire, a tiny flame danced above my only unflexed digit—the middle one. I lit my tobacco stick while folding my other fingers down, expressing my thoughts on being called “boy” with a hand gesture.
“Zeroh. . .” Barkeep growled my name in warning.
The circulation in this place was horrid. I expelled smoke from my lungs. The scent of burnt parchment and dried plant-matter from my tobacco stick served to refresh the stale air. But what could I expect from a seedy tavern nestled in a remote alley of a crumbling village?
I perched the tobacco stick between two fingers, grabbed my drink, and took a gulp.
“Your establishment is safe.” I threw my words at him. “At least from my fire.”
If Barkeep made a scene, he’d draw attention. It was essential I didn’t let my mark know I was here. Burning the alehouse down to the ground would’ve been my preferred method of assassination, but I liked this place too much. Not every pub in Aleenia, or any place, allowed my kind. Pyromages were dangerous, and I was on the lethal end of that spectrum.
Most mistakes cannot be undone. Some foibles can be let go with an apology. Then there are the disasters from ignorance that are unforgivable. Which was why I had to prove myself to a clan of murderers, or become a mistake of the never-coming-back variety.
Scotch burned down my throat as I returned my attention to the ancient book. A rowdy group of men cheered in the open space of the bar. They looked ready to purchase one of the rooms upstairs and have a go with one of the “available” ladies.
As long as they were away from my corner, I didn’t mind. I sucked in another hit from my tobacco stick and slumped my shoulders forward to hide my face with the lapels of my coat. My head sank closer to the pages of the book.
The target was in the middle of that group of men gallivanting in the center of the tavern. Kuval was a member of a rival guild. The Acquisitions Guild employed its share of thieves called “errand boys” who gave discounts of the five-finger free variety. Merchants employed them. It kept certain businessmen operating “legitimate” shops. I portrayed a typical errand boy with my slim physique. Kuval’s reputation alone could have him inducted into my guild. Arkenu’s guild. Most called it the Assassins Guild. Its name alone preceded our reputation.
Kuval, my target, was the lead acquisitions agent. He was not an assassin. But when Kuval “acquired” items for his guild master, sometimes a person would be found with a knife in their body.
At first glance, a person might consider us from opposite guilds. Fortunately for me, Kuval killed in a personal way—up close, front, and center. He could afford to be that brash. The master thief had muscles that made his tribal tattoos look natural, as if he’d been born with ink etched into his skin. He used those muscles not just to steal but to kill whoever gave the Acquisitions Guild trouble. If I had to go toe to toe with someone, without magic, I’d rather take my chances with Barkeep. Kuval was honed for war while the man serving me drinks was mountainous but not dangerous.
I did better as a long-range assassin. And that’s all I was good for. Some in the Aegis guild would make their targets talk, then kill them. I was no good with questions. Point at something, and it will burn. Just don’t make me talk to it or care for them. The less personable meant the less I parted with my humanity. In theory. Them, they, thing, it, and that were much better on the psyche than him, he, her, and she when it came to annihilation by fire. I gave death as fast as possible. Burning had to be one of the worst ways to go, but I’d never find out. Pyromages didn’t burn. Not by fire anyway.
Turning half my attention back to the tome of cursed magic, I kept the other half on Kuval. But something on the page pulled my attention. A strange dagger with a key inlaid in the pommel. It looked uncomfortable to hold. Illustrations showed sacrifices of the sharp end of this dagger imbedded inside a person and the pommel inserted into the keyhole of a door. The door to hell. The Devil’s Dagger was the only thing blocking an ancient demon army. Or so the book said. And people said reading was worthless. That’s why they didn’t know anything of worth.
A shift in movement brought my attention back to my target. Kuval moved like a panther sliding up to higher ground before pouncing on a buckeye doe. He advanced toward me, and I did my best to blend into the wall beside me. But Kuval’s presence physically reached out and sent a wave of unease through my corrupt soul.
People didn’t ignore Kuval. Already, I could feel the aura of his dynasty. The man’s list of deeds was longer than a palace corridor. Hell, as he strode up and loomed two feet away from me, his confidence washed away my pride, courage, and mental fortitude. The essence of vigor and charisma himself leaned so close I smelled his musk washing over me.
My hands shook, and smoke wavered its wispy tentacles in my face. I smashed the tobacco stick out in a tray on the bar. The guild master would be less than pleased if I got caught. Hell, he’d be pissed if he knew what I was doing.
Kill the mark. Raise the Assassins Guild’s reputation. Make Arkenu proud for taking me in. Then maybe I’d be accepted as a full-fledged member.
The feeling of being stared at unnerved most people, especially the guilty, and it wasn’t long before I glanced at Barkeep. His eyes were turned away on the person next to me. I tried to force my eyes down, but some other command told me to face the danger. I turned to glance at Kuval.
The acquisitions agent beamed at me, and his smile widened when our eyes met.
Shit.
All my concentration went to keeping my magic from blazing outward. I snapped my face back down to the book and turned pages, but I couldn’t read a fúrr damn thing. My inner pyro hadn’t threatened to rage out of control like this in a long time. But I told Barkeep I wouldn’t burn down his place, and that’s what I would fúrrdamn do.
“You’re, Zeroh, right?” Kuval leaned his back on the bar, resting his elbows behind him. His smiling face pointed right at me.
It was my eyes that always gave me away. I’d never found another human being with Fire burning within their pupils. Literal Fire danced in my eyes like a Hessian princess taunting the next unfortunate soul to their death. People had blue, green, or brown eyes. Flames danced where color should be in mine, as if my irises were fuel for the flames. Those that didn’t know me, knew of me.
I responded to his query with a sideways glance and returned to “reading.”
Heat rolled off Kuval’s bare chest. The type of heat that crawled down my spine and made me feel like a slab of meat.
“Yeah. . .” Kuval rolled a lazy wave my way. “You’re the secret weapon the Kenwald guild keeps stashed away.”
My vision narrowed trying to ignore this force of nature posing as a man. The masculinity incarnate probably had no trouble with women. I was his polar opposite. His silky blue-black hair, skin that matched his mocha eyes, and strong jaw was in deep contrast to my tossed-salad white-blond mane and my complexion that never saw the sun.
“So what?” The urge to set him on fire and run grew stronger.
Kuval licked his lips. “Why don’t you join us?”
My mind went utterly blank. Join you? “I already belong to the Kenwald guild.”
He smiled like he’d won a new contract. “I meant, join our party.” He waved to the group beyond the bar. “You looked like you could use some fun.”
“No, thanks,” I said with as much bland neutrality as I could muster.
Kuval turned his back to the bar and leaned against the top with a nonchalant air. His eyes raked me up and down. I’d just been visually molested. I wanted to leave and wash away his leering glances. Of course, my way of “washing” was burning his face off.
“You sure? You haven’t stopped advertising since you walked in here.” He pointed up and down at my chest.
I looked down at myself without thinking. Advertising? My shirt was open because, duh, Pyromage. I radiated warmth. A closed shirt would be uncomfortable. I wore the same black pants, the same unbuttoned white shirt under my open black coat every day. A show of proof I wasn’t carrying a weapon. Of course, I was the weapon.
“He don’t know what you mean,” Barkeep said. “The boy can hardly bother to button his pants or lace his boots, much less keep the rest of himself covered. Or groomed.”
I huffed at the insult and raked my fingers through my hair.
Kuval casually reached out, lifted back the side of my coat, and exposed my bare chest. I slapped his hand away and leaped back, hitting the wall. My book resounded with a clomp to the floor.
His eyes were fully dilated and his lips curved in a mischievous grin. Fire walked up my throat, and my magic rolled down my arms, forcing its way out in defensive maneuvers.
“Zeroh!” Barkeep’s voice broke through.
Barkeep wouldn’t allow patrons to brawl in his establishment. If Kuval didn’t attack, I’d keep my promise. Don’t burn his pub down. You like this alehouse. Barkeep lets you drink in his tavern.
The assassin let out an appreciative whistle. “Wow. If the eyes are windows to the soul, then you’re burning inside.”
I rolled my eyes. “My soul is about to leave you as a pile of cinders.”
Chapter 1
Zeroh
“Interesting pastime for an assassin.” The barkeep eyed the open book in my hands. He slapped a mug down on the wood-finished top, sloshing ale too close to the pages and adding another stain to the weathered cover.
My eyes rolled up to stare into the burly face of the man who owned the largest bar in the city of Aleenia.
The barkeep, whose only known name was “Barkeep,” tried his best intimidation tactic by looking down his nose at me. The man could pick me up and throw me out with one arm. Not an impressive feat of strength, as I was five foot nine, and weighed no more than a nuisance. That is, if I didn’t turn him to ash first.
“Listen, boy, I won’t have trouble in my establishment.” Barkeep picked up a rag and started wiping the inside of wet empty mugs. His forearms bulged against the rolled sleeves of his tunic while he tried pushing his too large hands inside the wide-rimmed maple tankard. Leave it to Barkeep to look intimidating doing everyday tasks.
I shook a tobacco stick out from its parchment holder, put my lips over the butt, and pulled a smoke out. The magic residing inside me warmed. As I snapped my fingers, a spark ignited. Like a wick feeding the fire, a tiny flame danced above my only unflexed digit—the middle one. I lit my tobacco stick while folding my other fingers down, expressing my thoughts on being called “boy” with a hand gesture.
“Zeroh. . .” Barkeep growled my name in warning.
The circulation in this place was horrid. I expelled smoke from my lungs. The scent of burnt parchment and dried plant-matter from my tobacco stick served to refresh the stale air. But what could I expect from a seedy tavern nestled in a remote alley of a crumbling village?
I perched the tobacco stick between two fingers, grabbed my drink, and took a gulp.
“Your establishment is safe.” I threw my words at him. “At least from my fire.”
If Barkeep made a scene, he’d draw attention. It was essential I didn’t let my mark know I was here. Burning the alehouse down to the ground would’ve been my preferred method of assassination, but I liked this place too much. Not every pub in Aleenia, or any place, allowed my kind. Pyromages were dangerous, and I was on the lethal end of that spectrum.
Most mistakes cannot be undone. Some foibles can be let go with an apology. Then there are the disasters from ignorance that are unforgivable. Which was why I had to prove myself to a clan of murderers, or become a mistake of the never-coming-back variety.
Scotch burned down my throat as I returned my attention to the ancient book. A rowdy group of men cheered in the open space of the bar. They looked ready to purchase one of the rooms upstairs and have a go with one of the “available” ladies.
As long as they were away from my corner, I didn’t mind. I sucked in another hit from my tobacco stick and slumped my shoulders forward to hide my face with the lapels of my coat. My head sank closer to the pages of the book.
The target was in the middle of that group of men gallivanting in the center of the tavern. Kuval was a member of a rival guild. The Acquisitions Guild employed its share of thieves called “errand boys” who gave discounts of the five-finger free variety. Merchants employed them. It kept certain businessmen operating “legitimate” shops. I portrayed a typical errand boy with my slim physique. Kuval’s reputation alone could have him inducted into my guild. Arkenu’s guild. Most called it the Assassins Guild. Its name alone preceded our reputation.
Kuval, my target, was the lead acquisitions agent. He was not an assassin. But when Kuval “acquired” items for his guild master, sometimes a person would be found with a knife in their body.
At first glance, a person might consider us from opposite guilds. Fortunately for me, Kuval killed in a personal way—up close, front, and center. He could afford to be that brash. The master thief had muscles that made his tribal tattoos look natural, as if he’d been born with ink etched into his skin. He used those muscles not just to steal but to kill whoever gave the Acquisitions Guild trouble. If I had to go toe to toe with someone, without magic, I’d rather take my chances with Barkeep. Kuval was honed for war while the man serving me drinks was mountainous but not dangerous.
I did better as a long-range assassin. And that’s all I was good for. Some in the Aegis guild would make their targets talk, then kill them. I was no good with questions. Point at something, and it will burn. Just don’t make me talk to it or care for them. The less personable meant the less I parted with my humanity. In theory. Them, they, thing, it, and that were much better on the psyche than him, he, her, and she when it came to annihilation by fire. I gave death as fast as possible. Burning had to be one of the worst ways to go, but I’d never find out. Pyromages didn’t burn. Not by fire anyway.
Turning half my attention back to the tome of cursed magic, I kept the other half on Kuval. But something on the page pulled my attention. A strange dagger with a key inlaid in the pommel. It looked uncomfortable to hold. Illustrations showed sacrifices of the sharp end of this dagger imbedded inside a person and the pommel inserted into the keyhole of a door. The door to hell. The Devil’s Dagger was the only thing blocking an ancient demon army. Or so the book said. And people said reading was worthless. That’s why they didn’t know anything of worth.
A shift in movement brought my attention back to my target. Kuval moved like a panther sliding up to higher ground before pouncing on a buckeye doe. He advanced toward me, and I did my best to blend into the wall beside me. But Kuval’s presence physically reached out and sent a wave of unease through my corrupt soul.
People didn’t ignore Kuval. Already, I could feel the aura of his dynasty. The man’s list of deeds was longer than a palace corridor. Hell, as he strode up and loomed two feet away from me, his confidence washed away my pride, courage, and mental fortitude. The essence of vigor and charisma himself leaned so close I smelled his musk washing over me.
My hands shook, and smoke wavered its wispy tentacles in my face. I smashed the tobacco stick out in a tray on the bar. The guild master would be less than pleased if I got caught. Hell, he’d be pissed if he knew what I was doing.
Kill the mark. Raise the Assassins Guild’s reputation. Make Arkenu proud for taking me in. Then maybe I’d be accepted as a full-fledged member.
The feeling of being stared at unnerved most people, especially the guilty, and it wasn’t long before I glanced at Barkeep. His eyes were turned away on the person next to me. I tried to force my eyes down, but some other command told me to face the danger. I turned to glance at Kuval.
The acquisitions agent beamed at me, and his smile widened when our eyes met.
Shit.
All my concentration went to keeping my magic from blazing outward. I snapped my face back down to the book and turned pages, but I couldn’t read a fúrr damn thing. My inner pyro hadn’t threatened to rage out of control like this in a long time. But I told Barkeep I wouldn’t burn down his place, and that’s what I would fúrrdamn do.
“You’re, Zeroh, right?” Kuval leaned his back on the bar, resting his elbows behind him. His smiling face pointed right at me.
It was my eyes that always gave me away. I’d never found another human being with Fire burning within their pupils. Literal Fire danced in my eyes like a Hessian princess taunting the next unfortunate soul to their death. People had blue, green, or brown eyes. Flames danced where color should be in mine, as if my irises were fuel for the flames. Those that didn’t know me, knew of me.
I responded to his query with a sideways glance and returned to “reading.”
Heat rolled off Kuval’s bare chest. The type of heat that crawled down my spine and made me feel like a slab of meat.
“Yeah. . .” Kuval rolled a lazy wave my way. “You’re the secret weapon the Kenwald guild keeps stashed away.”
My vision narrowed trying to ignore this force of nature posing as a man. The masculinity incarnate probably had no trouble with women. I was his polar opposite. His silky blue-black hair, skin that matched his mocha eyes, and strong jaw was in deep contrast to my tossed-salad white-blond mane and my complexion that never saw the sun.
“So what?” The urge to set him on fire and run grew stronger.
Kuval licked his lips. “Why don’t you join us?”
My mind went utterly blank. Join you? “I already belong to the Kenwald guild.”
He smiled like he’d won a new contract. “I meant, join our party.” He waved to the group beyond the bar. “You looked like you could use some fun.”
“No, thanks,” I said with as much bland neutrality as I could muster.
Kuval turned his back to the bar and leaned against the top with a nonchalant air. His eyes raked me up and down. I’d just been visually molested. I wanted to leave and wash away his leering glances. Of course, my way of “washing” was burning his face off.
“You sure? You haven’t stopped advertising since you walked in here.” He pointed up and down at my chest.
I looked down at myself without thinking. Advertising? My shirt was open because, duh, Pyromage. I radiated warmth. A closed shirt would be uncomfortable. I wore the same black pants, the same unbuttoned white shirt under my open black coat every day. A show of proof I wasn’t carrying a weapon. Of course, I was the weapon.
“He don’t know what you mean,” Barkeep said. “The boy can hardly bother to button his pants or lace his boots, much less keep the rest of himself covered. Or groomed.”
I huffed at the insult and raked my fingers through my hair.
Kuval casually reached out, lifted back the side of my coat, and exposed my bare chest. I slapped his hand away and leaped back, hitting the wall. My book resounded with a clomp to the floor.
His eyes were fully dilated and his lips curved in a mischievous grin. Fire walked up my throat, and my magic rolled down my arms, forcing its way out in defensive maneuvers.
“Zeroh!” Barkeep’s voice broke through.
Barkeep wouldn’t allow patrons to brawl in his establishment. If Kuval didn’t attack, I’d keep my promise. Don’t burn his pub down. You like this alehouse. Barkeep lets you drink in his tavern.
The assassin let out an appreciative whistle. “Wow. If the eyes are windows to the soul, then you’re burning inside.”
I rolled my eyes. “My soul is about to leave you as a pile of cinders.”
Thank you for reading a sample of To Tame a Dragon.
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Commissioned Character Art
Illustrations by Cynthia Hlady
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