The Princess' Dragon Lord Read online

  The Princess' Dragon Lord

  By Mandy Rosko

  A dragon's desire will burn for a thousand years...

  Timid Diana Winters doesn't get much excitement, until she goes for a hike in the woods and is attacked by the trees.

  Like out of a fairytale nightmare they uproot themselves and go on the offensive, and she is chased through the forest before tumbling down a waterfall, only to wake up in the bed of the most gorgeous man she's ever seen, who claims to be a dragon lord, and her husband who killed her a thousand years ago on their wedding day!

  Lord Azoth Dracamire vows to never have meant her any harm, someone put a potion in his goblet on the day of their marriage, and he has paid for it every day since for a thousand years.

  Although Diana struggles with the physical pull she feels towards him and Azoth's obvious lust for her, one thing is certain: someone sent those monsters after her in the forest, and they still want her dead. Now she must decide if her new and conflicting emotions towards her husband, a man she doesn't know, are worth risking her life.

  The Princess' Dragon Lord

  By Mandy Rosko

  Copyright 2012 Mandy Rosko

  Smashwords Edition

  Discover more books by Mandy Rosko at her website

  Mandyrosko.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you for your support.

  Chapter One

  The only thing noticeably odd about the mirror was the fact that she’d found it at all. Diana Winters turned her head this way and that, thinking maybe she’d find a tent or a camp full of people somewhere who owned it through the trees—she hadn't gone that far off the trail—because surely no one could just lose something like this.

  It was an oval shape, not much larger than a regular hand mirror, except without the handle, but she could have sworn that the metal frame that encased it was made out of silver. Real silver. The gemstones looked pretty damn good too, not that she was an expert on precious stones or anything.

  Despite that, somehow she doubted it was made from steel, and glass. It was glittery and heavy. The kind of thing your super rich, obscure relative left you in their will, passed down from the last ten generations.

  Because it was the habit of most people to look at themselves when a mirror was in front of them, Diana's eyes were drawn to those of her reflection before she could stop herself. The natural place for her vision to then focus on was the scar that ran a diagonal line from her forehead, across the bridge of her nose, before touching down on her cheek.

  She turned away from the reflection, focusing on the more interesting matter at hand, the mirror itself.

  The rubies—they were red, cut, and shiny, so what else could they be?—were bright, and added a lot of the weight to the mirror. There was even a dragon molded into the frame. Actually, the dragon was the frame. It circled the mirror like a creature possessive of its toy. The rubies acted as the dragon's eyes, as well as being an extra set of treasure for it to grip in its tiny, sharp, claws, feet, and long jaws.

  Diana Winters had never seen anything more beautiful, and though she'd never been a girl enslaved to shiny things, she wanted to keep it close and admire it forever.

  It was easy for her to admit that she was definitely going to have a hard time returning this. Providing she found the owner, of course.

  Hesitantly, she wiped away some of the moss that had clung to the frame, and then slipped it into her bag with the rest of her supplies. For now, she told herself.

  If some camper came looking she would hand it over no question, but with a tad of annoyance for not being able to keep it herself. Otherwise, it wasn't like she could ask any random tourist, hey, does this priceless looking mirror belong to you? and expect a truthful answer.

  But, she thought, I'll be honest if someone asks about it. If no other hiker came to her and asked, she'd drop it off at the lost and found back at the café. That would be the end of it.

  Feeling good about her silent, noble promise, and taking a mental snapshot of the area so she'd remember where she found the mirror, Diana continued on her hike, farther away from the wide wooden trail of the park and up the hill of trees.

  Tourists who came to see the wonders of British Columbia's rich forests didn't stray this way often. They were warned against it by the park employees, and then again by the signs cautioning the visitors to stay on the trails and not leave open containers of food lying around. Diana walked by them and went deeper into the trees. She had spoken to the people she needed to, explained what she'd wanted to do, told them which direction she was going in, and after some gentle coaxing—begging—was granted permission. She'd offered her cell number in case there was a problem, but they'd given her one of their cool black, heavy duty looking walkie-talkies instead. She'd examined it, and the thing had a radio built inside and a compass, but she already had one of those. It was probably all sorts of weather proof too.

  She didn't think she'd need it. Diana wasn't planning on staying for long, but having the added weight of the thing in her pack made her feel that extra bit of security, so she didn't argue when it was shoved on her. She didn't even pack a candy bar, much less a lunch, after one of the rangers mentioned bears and mountain lions.

  Unlikely to run into either, but she, and the park employees, didn't want to take the risk.

  She trekked higher into the hills, casting her eyes around, searching. The trails below were now lost through the distance of trees, but she could still make out the gushing sounds from the Twin Falls, a relatively small—if over fifty feet tall could be considered that—waterfall which was powered by a heavy stream running through the park, fed by the snow capped gray mountains.

  Not finding what she was hoping for, she adjusted her pack and the case in her hand and continued on, her red hiking boots sinking softly into the untouched moss and earth and fallen twigs.

  Everything was damp with the recent rains, but it made everything seem so much more colorful. The brown earth was fresh and dark, the algae on the thick branches and trunks of the cedars and spruce's was powder green. Everything was alive and singing, and since it was her day off, she'd brought out her paints.

  What she wanted was a nice view of the trees, one tree really, at a two point perspective. That would totally give her a great subject and encompass much of the scenery around her.

  The key now would be to find that perfect subject, but also hope for it to be on a part of this hill that flattened out just enough so she could set up her easel and make sure it would be steady for what she wanted to do.

  Yeah, not easy. The rain may have made everything all pretty and misty, but it was hell finding a solid surface. She'd gotten so high she stopped hearing the rush of water beneath her, and had started to fear that she'd come out of the trees altogether, before suddenly, she stumbled upon the perfect spot.

  Really, it was…well, she wasn't a poet and didn't know any words other than perfect, but there it was.

  The clouds didn't give way to let down that single ray of sunshine that would have set the scene, but it was just what she'd been searching for.

  It was a small clearing. Li
ke, really small. It would barely accommodate her stool, easel, and supplies for the view she was after, but it would work while still giving her enough room to comfortably paint without branches scratching at her or the wet canvas in a gust of wind.

  She put down her case and shifted out of her pack, not minding the cold wet from the earth that seeped through her jeans at the knees as she unloaded everything.

  Her brushes were still looking good in the ziplock bag she carried them in. Jar of water. Where the hell was her palette?

  A tiny chirp and a twitter brought her attention away from her supplies and down to her lower right. A lime green cricket, and beige-brown mouse were sitting there, looking up at her. The mouse's nose stretched out and whiskers twitching. The cricket did nothing.

  She smiled at them. "Hello there."

  They didn't move to flee from the sound of her voice. This was nothing new to her, even if Claire, who worked at the same school Diana did, thought it incredibly odd whenever small creatures decided to just randomly come up to her.

  Nope. She was used to it. The tiny blossoms held in the mouse's even tinier claws was also nothing new. It scurried forth, placed the pink petal flower at her fingers, and then scuttled back next to its companion, looking up at her again, as if to be sure she was pleased.

  "Thank you," she said, really meaning it. There was nothing more Disney princess-ish than when little woodland creatures bring you flowers, and she got a kick out of it every time.

  The mouse squeaked, turned tail, and ran back into the safety of the bushes now that its gift had been given and accepted. She watched it go. The cricket made one giant leap forward, landing on the back of her hand. It looked up at her, leaned down, its large antennae swishing around, and then turned and hopped in the direction of the mouse.

  She watched him go to.

  Unlike the mouse with the tiny pink blossom, what the cricket had done had been strange. Had its tiny head have bent down, she would've sworn it had bowed to her.

  She shook the thought away. Having birds and mice and squirrels bring her presents was going to her head in a not so good way if that's what she thought was going on.

  Whatever, she was over it. It was time to get down to the meat of her visit. She unzipped her pack and grabbed the boxed wooden easel inside.

  A cold sharp wind whistled up her back and pushed her forward. She'd have fallen all over the supplies she'd unpacked had she not quickly caught herself. It wouldn't have been strange except that the wind didn't stop.

  Her hair flew around in dark waves, and was only kept slightly in line by the knit hat she wore. Her bag of brushes nearly blew away, but she snatched her hand out and caught them, but her plastic palette was no match for the charging gusts. She watched helplessly as it flew away. A shrub thirty feet away seemed to reach out and catch it, but it was perilously close to being spirited off entirely, and then what the hell was she supposed to do without it?

  Despite her worries, the wind carried on, loud, mean, and inconsiderate.

  That made her angry. Diana grit her teeth. "Goddamnit, stop!"

  The wind stopped.

  The chill riding up her back kept right on going.

  That…was too damn weird. Way too strange. Obviously the frickin' weather had no awareness or emotions, despite her illogical anger and outburst. The fact that the wind had stopped just as she'd yelled at it was just a little creepy.

  Diana got up and ran to grab her helpless palette before the wind could change its mind and start up again. That would be just her luck.

  If the wind did pick up again, or if a storm rode in, then she might as well just pack it up now and go home. No point in painting if the acrylics were going to drip off the canvas.

  She looked up and around, keeping everything quiet, even her breathing, as she observed her little hideaway amongst the trees.

  The branches didn't flap around high above her, giving no hint that something was going down here on earth. Birds chirped and twittered as though they weren't getting ready to hide from a coming storm either. The sun even managed to make it through all the leaves and branches and pine needles to put a spotlight on exactly what it was she wanted to paint.

  It had been what she'd previously thought to be missing. The entire area lit up, and dew drops glittered like diamonds, making the urge to stay that much more tempting.

  She would take the risk, but just in case…

  Diana grabbed her red digital camera out of her bag, snapped several photos of her subjects, and then put it away, just in case she needed to finish the piece at home.

  Then she got to work in setting up.

  Even with the threat of a storm looming, she couldn't just pack up and head back home after weaseling permission out of the park employees to come all the way up here. She'd just have to be quick, no more than an hour, and if it started to rain, she'd grab the canvas and go.

  At least acrylics dried fast.

  Everything now in its place, she unfolded her stool, uncapped the lid to her water, sat down, and, before the mixing could commence, began a quick pencil outline of what she wanted to paint.

  "Run,"

  Diana spun around at the unexpected voice in her ear so quickly that she knocked over the easel itself. It collapsed in the earth and moss with a dull thud. She paid it no mind as she scanned her eyes over the trees and shrubs, searching for anyone who might be hiding behind them.

  The sight of no one at all didn't make her feel better. Her heart pumped and squeezed and just plain went insane inside her throat. The sudden mental image of Jason Voorhees in his hockey mask and machete only made it worse.

  "Hello?"

  The branches of the shrubs and trees rattled as a much more gentle wind than the last drifted by. That and the far away twitter of some anonymous bird was her only answer.

  "Is anyone there?"

  Not really expecting a reply, Diana strained her ears, listening for the sounds of boots squishing on wet twigs and pine needles over moss and mud, or maybe even soft breathing.

  Still nothing but her and the trees. Michael Myers didn't jump at her with a huge knife. No one did. She was still alone, and the trees were silent. A crow cawed somewhere above her, adding to the eeriness of the scene.

  She no longer saw a fairytale forest, that's for sure.

  What. The. Hell?

  She inhaled slowly. Diana could've sworn someone had snuck up behind her and whispered the word run in her ear. For a half second she'd even felt the presence behind her before it had disappeared, like the feeling of hands on her shoulders. Her skin tingled eerily from the imagined touch. Jeee-eeese, she'd even felt the warm breath on her ear.

  Or maybe, she'd just thought that particular heated gust of wind blowing in her ear was someone's breath. Wind made sounds too, after all.

  "Shake it off. Shake it off." Diana said, rolling her shoulders and picking her easel and canvas off the ground. It hadn't been damaged, fortunately.

  Whatever had happened was weird, but it was over now.

  Diana finished her sketch in record time, and then squeezed her greens, browns, and blacks onto her palette and began to mix them around with only a little water from her brush.

  All the while she kept both her ears open, keeping her head down while searching around just in case there really was someone sneaking around here.

  The wind picked up again, and her palette of paints flew out of her hand and splattered all over her jacket.

  "Run!"

  That was real. That was definitely real. Not the wind. Message received.

  Heart slamming, Diana grabbed her bag and began to haphazardly stuff her supplies into it, leaving the jar of water and not bothering to clean off the paint from her brush or palette before tossing them inside. She was about to reach for the easel when the voice came again, this time, from directly in front of her.

  "Get out of here!"

  There was no one there to yell the words at her. Nothing but the trees, and though their branche
s weren't bare or anything, she got the impression of reaching claws as they all seemed to bend down and reach for her at the same time.

  "Jesus Christ!" She turned tail and ran back down from whence she came. The trunks of the trees didn't snap from the blowing, tornado-like wind, but they continued to bend and fall into her path, their branches becoming hands and grabbing at her clothes and bag, and clawing at her face and hair and hands whenever they failed to get a proper grip.

  "Help!" she screamed, leaping over a thin pine tree that had bent and twisted at an impossible angle before finally breaking, and crashing at her feet.

  It was only through sheer luck that she hadn't tripped up and fallen on her face. She leaped over the obstacle and kept right on going, down, down, down, running so fast she thought she might fly.

  It wasn't fast enough. "Someone help me!"

  Where was everyone? She wasn't that far away from—the radio!

  Not stopping, she reached behind her to the pocket of her bag, her fingernail snapping as she fumbled with the zipper to free the device.

  Finally, she pulled it free and lifted it to her lips, pressing down hard on the button that would send her voice out to the rangers.

  "Hel—"

  Her voice was cut off, and the radio flew out of her hands as one of the reaching tree branched swiped out and caught her legs. Diana screamed as she found herself suddenly upside down and in the air. She kicked and flailed. The tree must have grabbed her with a weak or sick branch, because the wood splintered and snapped, and she came free.

  Her thoughts flew faster than she fell, and she recognized the rocks and water of the twin falls, and realized with horror, one second before she hit, that the tree had dropped her over the protective fencing surrounding the waterfall.

  She broke through the water and it was like a cold, hard, brick wall had smashed into her. Her head knocked against something harder, a rock, and as the blackness surrounded her like a clasping fist, she caught the glimpse of a pale man looking down on her from behind the safety of the rail. She tried to call out to him for help before she blacked out, but it was too late, and she sank lower, lower, and lower still.