Dragon Enchanted Read online

  *Dragon’s Christmas Captive

  CHAPTER THREE

  Marc~

  The ring still would not come off. He had soaped his finger, but it did not move even a fraction of an inch. He had to find a way to remove it. Jewelry was dangerous when you climbed. And with the exception of watches, forbidden in the Finnish Defense Forces. But the damned thing did not even spin. It would have to be cut off.

  How had it come to his hand? His dragon hand? It had to have found him for some reason.

  Perhaps it was a sign that soon he would find his fated mate. It had been six years since Hedda had left him. Six lonely years. At first he had nursed a broken heart. If he was honest with himself, he could understand why she had not wanted to marry a fellow who risked his life in Special Ops. And he hadn’t even told her that he was a dragon, about to transform her into one. But he had still regretted her leaving.

  Sometimes, he suspected that Hedda had only been interested in him because he was rich. If she had only known, his wealth and love of danger were both aspects of his dragon nature. He was the only son of an only son.

  His forebears had accumulated vast stores of treasure from the days when dragons were all pirates. When the Council of the Guild of Dragons had ended the Dragon Wars and the Dark Ages, they had forbidden dragons to pillage. The Vallis had switched to trade. And everything they touched turned to gold.

  Not literally. Figuratively. The Valli enterprises were always successful. The Valli bank accounts always fat. Their investments always prospered. It got boring after a while. Which was why his family had a long tradition of service in the military. The money could manage itself. Valli dragons needed an outlet for their thirst for adventure.

  His father’s death had made him Lord Valli of St. Peder, the Eldest and only dragon of his House. Marc, Lord Valli, Greve of St. Peder, needed a bride. But it was pointless to marry unless he could find a virgin. Only dragonesses could bear children to dragons. In the last thousand years, the number of dragonesses-born had dwindled from very few to none.

  For centuries dragons had seized mortal virgins and transformed them into fertile dragonesses*. His ancestors had reputedly kept harems and sired many sons. He didn’t see that it had helped much. The House of Valli had shrunk to one. He was the last of his line. And sadly, at thirty-three, still a bachelor.

  He knew he had to find a virgin. And the older he got, the harder that task was proving to be. Women did not sit around with their legs crossed as they had done in centuries past. Modern women used birth control and lost their virginity in their teens. They embraced the sensual side of their natures in and out of the bonds of marriage. As he had.

  Fair was fair. You couldn’t expect an intelligent, strong-minded beauty to forgo sex on the off chance that she could trade her virginity for marriage to a billionaire. And the type of woman who would sell her virginity to the highest bidder did not interest him.

  Knowing that, when he was younger, he had attempted to find an untouched bride. Hedda had been a virgin – at least she had said so. He had never had sex with her, so he could not know if she had lied. But despite the most careful and gentle courtship, in the end she had refused him. So here he was unmarried. Childless. About to throw himself on the mercy of Lady Drake and Lady Lindorm who had matched half of Dragonry.

  Perhaps these noble dragonesses-made could find him a mate? Every year they produced chaste maidens who had known all their lives that they were intended to marry dragons**. He knew many happy marriages that had been arranged like that. But something in him had always shied away from those docile maidens. However, Marc knew his duty to his House. And he always did it, no matter how distasteful.

  The sapphire ring was greasy with the cooking fat he had rubbed into it when the soap failed. But it had not so much as turned. He washed his hands in the basin of rainwater he had collected for bathing. The little brown owl who had kept him company all day observed him unblinkingly from a tree. He held out his hand to her and spoke to her in her language.

  For as long as he could recall, he had been able to call the birds from the trees. He had spent a happy childhood surrounded by birds he had nursed back to health. He always released his pets when they were healed, for he did not think it fair to take a wild creature prisoner.

  The owl hesitated when he summoned her. He chucked reassuringly to her. She tipped her head to one side and both eyes blinked. The feathery circles made her golden eyes seem almost as big as the rest of her. He called again. Her head turned all the way around to stare over her other shoulder. He whistled enticingly. She flew to his hand and perched on it. She weighed almost nothing.

  “You’re a beauty,” he crooned. He offered her his forefinger to perch on. She stepped sideways until she was standing beside the ring. She tapped it with her beak.

  He scratched the back of her neck. She tipped her head forward and let him ruffle the feathers there. He smoothed them down while he tried to figure out her species name. She was smaller than any owl from this area. About the size of a saw-whet owl. Which was to say, smaller than his hand. Not hard when he had such huge hands. But saw-whets were not native to Europe – they were a New World bird.

  Perhaps she was a juvenile? Despite his affinity to birds, he was no expert. He would take this little lady’s photo and show her to Cousin Noah when he got home. Noah would smile his gentle scholarly smile, before telling him that this was a common species with a wide distribution in northern Europe. The owl shook her head and hopped a little. He removed his finger from her nape.

  She pecked at his ring determinedly. It almost appeared that she was counting the stones. There were five. All rather greasy still. He needed a brush to get the fat out of the setting. The stones were smooth and rounded. Even if he had not been able to detect the age and value of the sapphires – another dragon ability that he took for granted – the lack of facets would have told him the ring was very old.

  Perhaps fat was what this little one was after?

  *Dragon’s Treasure & Dragon’s Successor

  **Dragon’s Pleasure

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Zofie~

  It was her ring. There was no mistaking the power that emanated from it. He had smeared some nasty grease on it when he had tried to remove it. But if he wanted to take it off, that meant he did not want it. Joy suffused her.

  She permitted him to carry her across to his food stores. He cut a chunk of the same yellow fat he had coated her ring with. He offered it to her on the point of a knife. Of course. He believed she was an owl. She fluffed up her feathers. She had not lost her touch. He waggled the knife. It seemed rude to reject his gift, even if she did not want it.

  She nibbled at it as courtesy demanded and eventually swallowed it. It was as horrible as she had feared. He scratched the back of her neck. “Who’s a beautiful girl,” he murmured.

  Zofie could have perched forever enjoying the touch of that big finger. It had been so long since she was touched. Her mother’s final embrace had been the last time. Still this caress did not make her feel like her mother had. She had best remember that all dragons were dangerous beasts. She flew off and perched on a rock to compose herself.

  “Dragon,” she said in her natural voice, when she was somewhat recovered.

  Not too surprisingly, he looked around the little clearing.

  “Dragon,” she repeated. “What is your heart’s desire?”

  He stalked across his campsite and bent to peer at her. “Did you say that?” he asked.

  “Certainly.” She ignored his outstretched finger. Better not let him get too close. But he was quicker than her eye, for he swooped and caught her in one great fist.

  “Ooomph. Let me go,” she cried.

  His hand relaxed. “Am I crushing you?” he asked gently.

  “No. But I would rather be free.”

  He laid his hand flat. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. She believed him. And then she remembered that dragons should not be trusted.


  Yet she remained on his palm and let him lift her to his eyes. His beautiful, dark-lashed, blue eyes. “Tell me your heart’s desire,” she squeaked. Her heart was beating ever faster. Whatever was the matter with her?

  He smiled. His lips were red and his smile made his pointed beard waggle. “My heart’s desire?”

  “I can make your wishes real,” she boasted. This time her voice did not rise to shrillness. That was better.

  “Can you?”

  “Certainly. How many talking owls have you known?”

  “None. But I had a talking starling once.”

  “Silly chatterers.”

  “Perhaps,” he conceded. “Tell me, am I dreaming?”

  “Of course not. Don’t you want your heart’s desire?” She might have known she would get the etiquette wrong. It had been a great many years since she was instructed in how to negotiate with mortals. Clearly she had forgotten her lessons. Or more likely, she had been sent a joker as well as a lunatic.

  “My heart’s desire?” he appeared to think. “Just one wish?” he asked.

  “Don’t be greedy,” she scolded.

  “World peace.”

  “What? What piece of the world do you want?” she asked in bewilderment.

  “Not a piece of the world. An end to all warfare. Peace. No more fighting. Ever.”

  “Oh.” Her feathers drooped. “That is not in my power, Dragon. I cannot alter the nature of all humanity. You must choose something less whimsical.” Just her luck, she was dealing with an ignoramus.

  He chuckled. “Less whimsical than an owl granting wishes?”

  “Dragon,” she warned. “Do not risk my wrath. Tell me your heart’s desire.”

  Once again he appeared lost in thought. He pursed his lips. Her heart thudded.

  “I want a wife,” he said at last.

  “A wife?” That was easy. The world was full of women and he was a handsome fellow, even if he was a bit of a dunderhead.

  “Yes. A wife to my exact specifications.”

  “I don’t follow you, Dragon.” What were specifications?

  “She must be black-haired and black-eyed. Beautiful. Clever. Learned. Wise. Sweet-tempered. And a virgin. And above all, she must love me.”

  “Is that all?”

  “It seems like enough.”

  “Very well.” She feigned reluctance. “You drive a hard bargain. I will find you such a woman, but I must first be paid.”

  “Paid?” he chuckled. “What does an owl want? Mice?”

  “Give me the ring you wear on your left hand,” she said.

  “This ring?” He held up his hand. “I can’t get it off. You must know that. You watched me try to remove it.”

  “You saw me watching you?” she asked in horror.

  “Of course. How not, little one. Have you not been watching me since I arrived on this island?”

  Zofie was so disconcerted that she did not know how to answer him. He stroked her head and all down her back so that she shivered with delight.

  “Can you truly find me a beautiful, black-haired maiden?” he asked.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.”

  “Then give me the ring.”

  He transferred her to his shoulder and once again tugged at the ring. It didn’t move at all. She concentrated all her powers on it. Summoned it to her. He twisted it. It stayed on his finger.

  “Let me try,” she said.

  “Be my guest.” He held out his left hand and she flew down to her ring.

  “Return to my hand,” she commanded. She laid one clawed foot over it. The ring warmed and buzzed. The vibrations went right through her body, until it felt as if she stood in a high wind. “Try again,” she said.

  The dragon obediently pulled at the ring. “Nope. It’s not coming off.” He grinned cockily. “Does this mean that I don’t get a bride?”

  “It means that I am cursed,” she wailed. Truly she was the most wretched of creatures. How could her ring refuse her?

  “There, there.” He smoothed her feathers. “Why is this ring so important to you?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell you that!” she said. She remembered that much at least.

  “No?”

  “No!” She wasn’t supposed to have to tell him how the ritual worked. “That’s not how it’s done. I grant you your wish. You give me the ring. You get to live happily ever after and so do I.” Or at least she would get to sail west and rejoin her kin.

  “How what works?”

  “The magic.”

  “Ah. You know, this ring chose my hand. Perhaps it had a reason.”

  Certainly it had a reason. Loki was mocking her. He did not care that she had been alone and lonely for a thousand years. He did not care if this dragon never found a wife. “Is there a reason a woman wouldn’t want to marry you?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Other than the fact that I am a dragon?” he asked. “And will transform her into one?”

  Of course. What sensible female would willingly marry a man who lay under a malediction that had turned him into a great scaly beast? How could she condemn some poor female to become a dragon? She was doomed. Her hero was no hero. He was the monster the hero was sent to destroy. Whoever heard of the monster rescuing the princess?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Marc~

  If he remembered his fairy tales, in exchange for his magic ring, he was supposed to have asked the owl for a purse that never emptied, or a feast that daily replenished itself, or the king’s daughter. But he thought that in the twenty-first century he might be excused for not fully buying into the whole fairy tale protocol.

  Underneath his caresses, the owl was a ragged bag of feathers. She was huddled over muttering sadly. He didn’t know what to do with this little creature who had popped up out of some long-ago fable. But she was so clearly heartbroken that he just let her crouch on his palm, while he stroked her gently and murmured foolishly.

  At last she stopped shuffling her feet and her despairing grumbles faded and stopped. She was asleep. He had calmed her enough that she had fallen into a deep slumber. That too was his gift. His heart ached for the small creature. He sat cross-legged on the ground and pulled out his book. The owl he tucked between his shirt and his sweater. She seemed too small and fragile to expose to the chilly spring breeze.

  Several hours later she roused and her head popped up from the neck of his sweater. Her feathers tickled him. She squeezed under his beard and hopped down his chest, her spirits apparently restored.

  “Hi,” he said. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I am Marc Valli. May I know your name?”

  “Greetings, Marc Valli, I am the Princess Zofie.”

  “A princess! Are you princess of the owls or of this island?”

  She sighed. “I am the daughter of King Erriki’s brother. King Erriki rules this island. Or he used to.” She sighed again. “I am the guardian of the forest.”

  “A grave responsibility,” he assured her. He suppressed his smile. “Shall I call you Princess?”

  “As you wish.”

  He kept stroking her soft feathers. “King Erriki? King of the owls?”

  She snapped her bill at him.

  Had he offended her? “Tell me, Princess,” he asked, recalling his legends, “Have you always been an owl?”

  The little owl flew off into the trees. He might have thought he had hallucinated the entire episode, except that she had marked him. His palm had eight tiny pinholes where she had dug her talons into him. They bled sluggishly for a while, then ached all afternoon and into the evening – as if she had pierced his skin with red hot irons instead of her claws. For all her smallness, she was a fierce and terrible being.

  No matter what he did, the ring remained on his finger and tugging only made it stick harder. Or at least it felt as if it squeezed his finger when he pulled on it. His forefinger turned purple, so he gave up. Perhaps he would be able to take it off in dragon?

&nbs
p; He hadn’t noticed when the ring found him. But he had been distracted fighting the kelp and diving underwater. He could at least give removing it a shot the next time he shifted. It wasn’t as if he needed another trinket. He had a treasure room full of such baubles. Even his traveling hoard contained rings as ancient and more valuable.

  Maybe the ring truly was magic? Had it not found his hand out in the sea where rings were seldom floating for passersby? Maybe he should ask it for the wish he had been promised by the owl. He laughed at himself, but he rubbed the ring with the sleeve of his sweater until it again shone brightly.

  “O, Ring,” he whispered feeling ridiculous. “Let me dream tonight of my fated mate.” The ring seemed to glow, although that was probably just the sapphires catching the moonlight. He lay down and tried to rest. The spring nights were short and tomorrow he had two days’ worth of nestlings to band and weigh.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Zofie~

  She wasn’t prepared to tell a dragon all her secrets. This Marc Valli was sneaky! She had left him before he wormed her entire story out of her. She had gone back to her home at the top of the tallest tree on the island. But even after she returned to her natural form, her ring called to her.

  What did anything matter? Loki had thumbed his nose at her. Her ring had forsaken her hand. She was doomed to remain on Misty Isle until the sun fell into the sea for the last time.

  Would Loki even let her figure out how to get it off Marc Valli’s hand onto hers? For the rest of the day and into the night, she tried to recall every tale she had ever been taught. Surely in the wisdom of the bards there must be an explanation for why her magic did not work.

  Her ruminations turned up two answers. The first was that she was herself cursed and had lost her magic. But if that was true, surely she would not be able to raise the mist that protected her forests? Or feed and clothe herself from the air?

  The second was that it was the dragon who was cursed. Like the prince in the story, he had to be kissed to release him from his enchantment. Except that in those stories, the disenchanted prince always wished to marry the princess. And she had no wish to marry. Particularly not a mortal with the odd habits of Marc Valli. Especially not a dragon who would transform her into one!