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  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOKS BY ISADORA MONTROSE

  NOTE TO THE READER

  DRAGON ENCHANTED

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DRAGON'S CONFESSION PREVIEW

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY ISADORA MONTROSE

  Dragon Enchanted ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2018

  Cover Art by Isadora Montrose ©Copyright 2018

  Dragon’s Confession Preview ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2017

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author, Isadora Montrose.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  Books by Isadora Montrose

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  Bear Possibilities

  Bear Affinities

  Bear Infinities

  Bear Fursuits Books 1-4 Bundle

  Bear Cubs for Christmas (available only in Bear Fursuits Books 1-4 Bundle)

  Bearly Begun

  Bearly Enough

  Bearly Ever

  Bearly Forever

  Bearly Beloved

  Dragon’s Treasure

  Bear Skin: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Dragon’s Successor

  Brides for the Bachelor Bears Books 0-4 Bundle

  Bearly a Bride (available only in Brides for the Bachelor Bears)

  Dragon’s Pleasure

  Bear Pause: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Dragon’s Christmas Captive

  Dragon’s Possession

  Phoenix Aglow

  Phoenix Ablaze

  Phoenix Aflame

  Billionaire Dragon Lords Books 1-3 Bundle

  Dragon’s Confession

  Bear Sin: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Phoenix Alight

  Bear Fate: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Christmas Flame

  Desired by the Dragon: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance

  Cherished by the Cougar: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance

  Amazon Author Page: https://amazon.com/author/isadoramontrose

  Note to the Reader

  Welcome to the exotic, international world of my romantic, billionaire Lords of the Dragon Islands. No matter where in the series you start, I promise you a smoking hot read with a complete adventure and a guaranteed HEA and no cliffhangers.

  To connect with me, send me an email to: [email protected] or sign up for my newsletter at isadoramontrose.com/newletter for notification of upcoming works and new releases.

  There is a complete list of my books at the end of this book, after the preview chapters.

  You are about to burn up with delight! Enjoy!

  Isadora

  DRAGON ENCHANTED

  A VIKING DRAGON FAIRY TALE

  BOOK 6.5

  LORDS OF THE DRAGON ISLANDS

  by

  Isadora Montrose

  CHAPTER ONE

  Marc~

  He was formulating a plan for dignified retreat, when out of the gray fog two demons attacked with razor-sharp beaks and ear-splitting curses. They went for his eyes and hands.

  His assailants had no difficulty navigating in the blinding mist enveloping him. The nestling in his hand joined its parents in shrill curses. Its sibling on the rocky ledge screamed to be fed.

  Marc finally located the kittiwakes’ crumbling ledge by touch and sound. He replaced the scrap of white fluff he had been banding beside its squawking nestmate. The parents continued to dive bomb him.

  Only his helmet and goggles kept him from being killed outright by the murderous birds. But his cheeks and hands were gouged and bleeding. Every peck hurt like a mother.

  The fog thickened. Shift on a stick, even dragon vision would not enable him to climb up or down without stepping on several of the thousands of nests on this cliff. He swung like a pendulum from his climbing harness, as first one and then the other parent savaged his head and hands and set him spinning.

  It was his gift to be able to speak to birds. These black-legged kittiwakes however had only two thoughts: Hate and Death. He fended them off as best he could, murmuring assurances in their guttural language. It was no use. They were on autopilot. He had to leave, or they would keep up this savage assault until their chicks died of starvation. Or he fell off the cliff.

  Crap. Major Lord Marc Valli, veteran of Special Ops, terror of Finnish Counterespionage, Dragon Lord of St. Peder, was fricking going to die birdwatching. That would make a fantastic obituary. He could just imagine his pals slapping their thighs at the thought.

  No, his squad wouldn’t laugh. Not at his death. But they would shake their heads at the irony that one of their own had survived underwater mines, and prolonged surveillance during blizzards, to say nothing of double agents and snipers, only to come to grief rock climbing.

  He removed his pack and hung it from his harness while the hawk-sized kittiwakes swooped and lunged. Shift. Each blow felt like a whack from a lead spike. He struggled out of his supporting webbing, added his helmet and goggles to the rest of the hanging gear, and launched himself into space.

  The kittiwakes shrieked a victory song as he soared out over the sea. The mist muffled their cries, and hopefully kept mortal eyes from seeing a twenty-six-foot-long dragon with a matching wingspan flying over the Gulf of Bothnia in broad daylight.

  For twenty years, his cousin Dr. Noah Kerhonen had been coming to the heap of forested rocks evocatively and romantically designated as by the Finnish government as S385614. Noah counted the eggs in the black-legged kittiwakes’ cliff nests for two weeks. Counted, weighed and banded the nestlings for the other two weeks. His research on these sea birds was considered definitive.

  Last month Noah had broken his leg. He had implored Marc to take his place. “Piece of cake for you,” he had said. “The cliff is only five hundred meters tall. You like birds. It’ll be a walk in the park.”

  Sure. Marc liked birds. With his gift, that was a given. Noah was family. His mother’s first cousin. And a friend. Marc had two months’ leave. He could easily spend part of it camping on a remote island in the Gulf of Bothnia. Still he had argued.

  “Why can’t you send a couple of your research assistants in your place?” he asked. “You know, expert ornithologists.”

  Noah had rapped his fiberglass cast. “Has to be someone who can survive in a place with no electricity, no potable water, and damned little communication. Someone who can handle being lowered by helicopter in a howling gale. Someone who can climb a cliff all day, every day, for four weeks. I need you.”

  That was pretty much a description of Marc’s skill set. What did it say about him that a month of research on a desert island, rappelling down a vertical cliff, while six thousand kittiwakes shr
ieked and made whoopee, sounded like a pretty good time? Like a damned fool, he had agreed to substitute for Noah.

  The sea beneath him was black, the gray mist still curling up from it as it so often did. He had to fly far out from S385614 before the fog thinned and disappeared enough that he had to go below the surface.

  He spent a couple of hours swimming just inside the patch of mist, to hide from mortal eyes. If film of him flaunting his plumage in a shipping lane made the media, he would be hauled before the Council of the Guild of Dragons to explain himself. And fined or worse.

  It wasn’t exactly boring deep diving out here in the Gulf. This late in the year, the sea ice had broken up. He only had to watch for the rocks protruding from the sea bed. His dragon vision worked just fine underwater.

  Although unlike his cousin Lars Lindorm*, he could not breathe underwater, he had always loved diving. Diving in dragon gave him a freedom that skin-diving as a mortal, with all the paraphernalia required for that sport, did not.

  The sea floor was littered with the debris of millennia of wrecked shipping. Some of it was left over from two world wars. Some dated back to the days of his Viking ancestors. They had probably foundered on these jagged rocks trying to approach S385614, tempted by its tall trees.

  Both sides of the Gulf of Bothnia had been logged by a wood-hungry populace for centuries. But the trees on S385614 were old growth, lush, tall and broad. Saved from Viking axes by the ring of rocks around the island. He could imagine his forebears risking all to cut them down. The wrecks were a reminder that boldness could often be the same as stupidity.

  The wooden ships had mostly rotted away. But between the coldness of the Gulf, and the fact that storms sometimes buried their victims in silt, there were a few surviving boards to indicate that his people had come to grief here.

  The modern steel ships were thickly covered in barnacles and seaweed which had attracted fish, lobsters and other creatures to forage and hide. Watching them was a good a way to pass his time until the fog lifted. These waters were certainly spooky. When he came up for air, he could see brilliant sunshine on one side and thick gray fog on the other. Weird.

  It was on his forty-fourth dive that he made a mistake. He put out a great forepaw to move some kelp aside so he could better observe a crab. It crept ponderously sideways along what must once have been the bridge of a destroyer. The crab’s shell was completely covered in acorn barnacles. Until it moved, Marc had thought it was part of the wreck.

  The kelp wound itself around his arm and paw. He gently waved his arm and talons around, trying not to damage the plant. The Gulf of Bothnia had enough problems without him wantonly destroying its flora. The long plant bound itself more tightly around his wrist. And then as suddenly as it had seized him, it released its grip. Lungs burning, Marc surfaced.

  The mists had retreated as quickly as they had fallen. He rose out of the water and staying low, flew over the ring of sharp rocks that acted as a natural barricade to the island. Even today, no boat or sea plane could get near to it because of that impenetrable defense.

  He landed by his campground. In dragon he almost filled the small, natural clearing. He noticed absently that his sleeping bag was sodden. He had left it airing on a tree in the spring sunshine, but the mist had soaked it. He returned to human and only then did he notice that he had somehow acquired a ring on his left forefinger.

  It was shining gold, engraved with runes and set with five sapphires. He tugged at it, but it might have been sealed to his finger, for it would not budge. Where had it come from? And why? He looked around, as if someone might appear to enlighten him, and tugged at it again.

  This was ridiculous. But a fellow who could become a huge flying monster at will was in no position to doubt the existence of magic. He had been gifted with this ancient and mysterious ring. Cool.

  The wind off the sea was brisk, he dressed himself swiftly in work pants and a heavy wool sweater. He would have to return to the top of the cliff and haul on his ropes to retrieve his equipment and data. He only booted up his laptop once a day to download his data from the little tablet on which he recorded it. Then he transmitted it to Noah.

  This was also the signal that all was well on the island. If he missed his transmission, he would worry his cousin and might initiate an unnecessary search and rescue. His batteries were just sufficient to get him to the end of the week when Noah would send a helicopter to take him back to the mainland.

  Job one was to recover his equipment. He would worry about this ring when he had done that and eaten lunch. Shifting used a lot of energy, which had to be replaced with food and sleep. But meeting his obligations came before personal comfort.

  *Dragon’s Possession

  CHAPTER TWO

  Zofie~

  She wrung her hands in flat despair. Although it was all her own fault. How many times had she been warned never, ever, to ask Loki for a gift for herself? Her mother, her grandmother, her cousin Lexi*, had all warned her time and time again.

  Everyone knew that Loki was obliged to assist forest elves to protect Odin’s trees. But he was also the prankster god, who could not resist a jest, especially at the expense of others.

  When Loki had tempted her with a vision of a young man as elegant and as beautiful as any courtier in the retinue of her uncle, the elven king, she had succumbed. The youth had been so splendidly attired. So fair faced and golden haired that she had believed he was intended for her. Had she not awaited a hero for a thousand years?

  Her dream man had been dressed like a magnificent warrior, equipped with a sword as finely wrought as the chains that proclaimed his status. A king’s ransom of gold had encircled his brawny upper arms. And every finger had a ring with a richer jewel than the other. And there, on his left hand, was her ring that had been taken from her when the world was young.

  The incautious plea she had breathed at the sight of that gorgeous male wearing her sapphire ring had been her undoing. As she had asked, Loki had sent him. But he had turned out not to be an elf like herself, but another giant. And not even a man. He was an accursed dragon. He had probably eaten the harmless gray-beard.

  How could she have been so foolish and so heedless? Loki had deceived her and undoubtedly was still laughing at his prank. Marc was no finely dressed warrior with many jewels, but just another plainspoken, plain-dressing bumpkin who climbed cliffs for pleasure and hunted birds he never ate. Until today, she had never seen him wear any ring, let alone hers.

  She had sent thick mist to protect her forests from the flying ships that she had seen coming. The dragon had been out climbing again and her fog had enveloped him too. Those black-legged devil birds had attacked him – his face was still pocked with wounds that had bled and dried. And now, instead of eating as he normally did, he had gone back to the cliff. The dunce.

  She just hoped that he did not lose her ring while he was chasing those evil birds. She dozed off waiting for him, and only his footfall in the camp roused her. He removed his ropes from his shoulder and unbuckled his helmet before setting down his pack. She could see where the birds had dented the helmet. Whoever heard of a warrior who fought birds? She had asked for a hero. This man was a lunatic.

  And worse than all the rest, Loki had sent her a dragon. She knew full well that entering into any kind of bargain with a dragon could not end well for an elf woman. All the cautionary tales she had learned in her youth returned to remind her of the treachery of dragons. Yet she had to retrieve her ring.

  It would be better if he did not know who he was dealing with. She would appear to him as an owl. He seemed to like birds. If he did not eat the black-legged gulls, probably he would not eat her. Probably. She transformed herself and peered at him between the needles of a pine tree.

  He produced one of his shiny pouches of food and set up his magic fireplace. She enjoyed watching this magic. The fireplace was just a small green box, like the one that other gray-bearded giant used, but when dragon turned a knob and showed i
t his magic fire-stick, a ring of flames instantly appeared. He needed no wood. Not a single stick. She had watched through twenty summers while the gray-beard cooked, and that trick had never lost its wonder.

  She fluttered off upwind as soon as the stink from his pot reached her. She knew that mortals were always eating. But the nasty messes that the gray-beard and the dragon ate bewildered her. But it was better than them hunting on her islands. No big animals roamed her forests. She didn’t think squirrels and mice would satisfy those enormous men.

  Zofie watched until he had scraped the last disgusting morsel from his pot and swallowed it. She waited until he had put his fireplace away and scoured his pot with sand. He drank from his flask, and his strong throat moved in a manner that made her feel quite odd. Truly, lunatic or not, he had the oddest effect on her insides.

  She had never paid much attention to the gray-beard. Once she realized that all he did was watch and count the quarrelsome black-legged gulls, she had given up worrying about him. They were a noisy, wicked race of birds and she did not love them. But it was her duty to protect these islands and that included those birds. Gray-beard, and Yellow-beard, did not threaten them, so she had no real reason to drive them away.

  But Yellow-beard was the man from her vision. How could she have ignored him? And now he had accomplished the feat that Loki had sent him to perform. He had found the ring she needed to rejoin her people. When her uncle King Erriki and his whole court had sailed west, she had been refused passage on the ships. Without her ring she had not been welcome.

  It was so unfair. But life was bitterly unfair. Had she not had a thousand years to learn that harsh lesson? What did it matter if her ring was lost because King Erriki had demanded it to ransom his daughter? What did it matter if he had regained the Princess Alexandra*, but left her ring on Jörmungandr’s dead hand?

  For a thousand years she had tried every art she knew to find her ring – and failed utterly. And in just a few hours, this dragon had found it. Surely that was a sign that her long vigil was coming to an end? All she had to do now was take it away from him.