One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Chapter One
The ringing in her ears drowned out everything. Gradually, it faded, and her harsh breaths replaced it. Sweat dripped into her eyes, stinging them, but she didn’t take her gaze off him. Her nightmare, the monster who had haunted her for years, lay unmoving before her.
With legs still shaking from the monumental effort it had taken to capture him and pull him through the portal, Jeyra straightened to stand over him. For years, she had feared everything to do with dragons—and especially the Dragon Kings. She knew firsthand how formidable they were, how merciless and cruel.
How lethal.
Yet the Dragon King sprawled unconscious at her feet didn’t make her tremble with fear. He looked…harmless. But that was just one of the many ways they conquered.
Jeyra drew in a deep, satisfying breath. Everything she had trained for, worked for all these decades had led to this moment. There had been a point she hadn’t been sure she would succeed, but she had done it. Now that she had the Dragon King, the ordeal felt surreal. The exhaustion of her body, mind, and soul, however, told her it was all very real.
She bent at the waist and clasped the heavy manacles around his wrists, noting the fine fabric of his clothes. His attire was much different from hers, but she could still discern that they were of good quality. The white shirt had long sleeves that molded to his upper body as if a second skin. His pants were made of a thick, dark blue material. Both were in excellent condition, the fabrics soft. Even the leather boots, which appeared to be well-worn, were in amazing condition and quality.
Her eyes lifted to his face. He was stunning, with a visage that would cause anyone to stop and gape in awe at him. Handsome didn’t begin to describe the startling beauty mixed with the raw male ruggedness. It made her sick to her stomach that someone so gorgeous could have such a black soul.
A lock of his blond hair had fallen across his forehead and lifted in the soft breeze. She swallowed as she recalled the moment his brown eyes had met hers. She had seen a million different colors in his eyes. The word brown didn’t begin to define them. They were unique, sporting a mix of light and dark. Of leaves in autumn, and summer soil after a torrential rain.
Fathomless. Mysterious.
Beguiling.
Jeyra looked away from the Dragon King’s exquisite face, but it wasn’t long before she was staring at him again. She wanted to know what kind of monsters the Kings were to cause such chaos and death without so much as a blip in their conscience.
“Bloody hell. You did it!”
She jumped at the sound of Rankin’s deep, gravelly voice—half in surprise, half in guilt at having been caught staring at her prisoner. Jeyra straightened once more and faced the man who had raised her. Rankin was a tall, broad-shouldered, gruff, and loud man. But he had a tender side that he only showed her. He’d never married or had children of his own. He wasn’t much to look at, even without the scars of war on his face and body, but he was one of their best warriors. That in itself earned him the respect the others of their village showed him.
He wore various shades of brown and tan to better blend in with the thick forest they called home and carried a double-bladed war axe that Jeyra still had trouble lifting. His pale brown hair, liberally laced with gray, was half pulled away from his face, the rest hanging free to just past his shoulders.
Before Jeyra could reply, Rankin enveloped her in his thick arms and squeezed so tight, she couldn’t breathe, his dark brown beard—nearly down to his chest now—tickling her face.
He released her almost instantly and leaned back as he held her arms in his hands, smiling brightly down at her with his gray eyes.
“I’ve always known you could do this,” he said, blinking rapidly. “I knew this was something you had to do. But I’m proud of you, girl.”
She beamed under his approval. “I couldn’t have done it without the training you’ve given me.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat and shot her a crooked smile. “We both know that’s a load of shite.” Rankin dropped his arms, his smile gone as he looked at the Dragon King lying unconscious at their feet. “We need to get him locked away quickly. We don’t know how long it’ll be before the other Kings realize he’s gone and come looking for him.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
Rankin’s brows were drawn together as he swung his head around to look at her. His eyes narrowed, and he looked her up and down. Then he peered beyond her, noting how close they were to the border of the land of the dragons.
When his gaze returned to her, Jeyra fought not to take a step back. Rankin had never lifted a hand against her. He had disciplined her with chores, words, and, like now, looks of anger and displeasure. She hated when she disappointed him. He had opened his home and his heart to her, and she had worked hard to make him proud. But this was one time she had to do something for herself—no matter what he might think.