Bring the Heat

  “STOP TALKING.” HE PULLED THE BLANKET OFF HIS HEAD, PUSHING HIS GOLD HAIR OFF HIS FACE. “ARE YOU JUST USING ME FOR SEX?”

  “At the moment, yes. It’s the easiest way to work out anxiety.”

  “I just read a good book,” he suggested.

  “That’s what Annwyl does.” She glanced off. “And me dad.” She shrugged, dismissing his suggestion. “I’m not much of a reader. I’d rather have someone tell me a story than make me read a book. With words.”

  Aidan’s eyes crossed and he fell back onto his bedding.

  “I don’t know why you’re mad.” She felt the need to argue when all he wanted her to do was stop talking. “It was a valid question.”

  “It was a valid question for a camp whore.”

  “Now you’re being a baby.”

  Aidan propped himself up on his elbows. “Do you really think so little of me?” he asked.

  “I have no idea how to answer that.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “No, no. I mean, I don’t know what you’re asking me. Do I think so little of you . . . how?”

  “That I am just good for sex?”

  “Of course I don’t think that. You’re not good just for sex. You’re good for lots of things, as well as sex.”

  The Dragon Kin series from G.A. Aiken

  Dragon Actually

  About a Dragon

  What a Dragon Should Know

  Last Dragon Standing

  The Dragon Who Loved Me

  How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

  Light My Fire

  Dragon on Top (eBook novella)

  Feel the Burn

  Bring the Heat

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  BRING THE HEAT

  G.A. AIKEN

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  “STOP TALKING.” HE PULLED THE BLANKET OFF HIS HEAD, PUSHING HIS GOLD HAIR OFF HIS FACE. “ARE YOU JUST USING ME FOR SEX?”

  The Dragon Kin series from G.A. Aiken

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by G.A. Aiken

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3163-5

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3164-2

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-3164-8

  Prologue

  “Your son.” It swept through him. Cold. Brutal. The rage that had made his name for him. The rage that allowed him not to care. About anyone. Anything. Growling now, he said again, “Your son.”

  Vateria, not quite the last of the House of Atia Flominia, wrapped her forearm around her offspring’s body. For the first time ever, Gaius Lucius Domitus, the Rebel King, saw fear in his cousin’s eyes. True, absolute fear. Because for once, she cared about something other than herself.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Vateria told him.

  But this Gaius would dare. This Gaius, who remembered his sister, trapped with Vateria, tortured by Vateria, would dare many things to right that wrong.

  Gaius raised his blade over his head, his entire body shaking, his gaze locked with his cousin’s, enjoying the pain he knew this blow would cause her.

  Even understanding that this was wrong, he knew nothing would stop him. Nothing.

  Gaius yanked his forearms back a bit more to get the most power behind his attack when he heard Kachka Shestakova scream at him from above, “Gaius, no!”

  He fought against her voice. Fought against how right it sounded.

  “Do not! He is just child!”

  “Vateria’s child,” he reminded her.

  “Would this make your sister proud? Or are you finally becoming Thracius himself? Do not do this.”

  Gaius’s will began to wane. Kachka was right. Harming a child to get at its mother? That’s what his uncle not only would do but had done.

  And now he was about to do the same.

  Don’t, Gaius.

  Aggie—

  Please don’t.

  He’d let his sister into his mind and hadn’t even realized it. So, if he did this, she would do it, too. It would be her memory as well as his.

  That he couldn’t do. She had enough bad memories to last her a lifetime. He wouldn’t add the guilt of this sin.

  Gaius lowered his weapon and, gripping her offspring tight, Vateria reached back and opened a doorway. She was in it and gone in seconds.

  * * *

  Vateria rolled out of the mystical doorway she’d opened and gripped her eldest son against her chest. He might look human—and mostly was—but he was her son. Her true son. Part human. Part dragon. All hers.

  And, for what felt like an eternity, she’d thought she’d lose him to that bastard cousin of hers. He was ready to do it, but his sister . . . weak as always. Vateria could hear the bitch’s words in her head even though she only spoke to her twin. “Don’t, Gaius. Please don’t.”

  Pathetic. If the situation had been reversed, Vateria would have cut down any offspring of Gaius’s without delay. And she would have laughed as his child died.

  But, like his sister, he too was weak.

  Still, Vateria had her son and that was all that mattered.

  “Mother?”

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked, slightly panicked. “Are you hurt?”

  “No . . . I . . . Father.”

  Shit.

  She hadn’t shifted back to human before going through that doorway. She hadn’t shifted back to Duchess Ageltrude Salebiri. The very human wife of Duke Salebiri. A pretense she had been keeping up for years.

  Slow
ly she lifted her head and saw her human husband and his elite guard across the enormous Main Hall, staring at her.

  In horror.

  She carefully placed her son on the ground, but didn’t push him away. He was old enough now, at eleven, to learn what his role would be one day. And what that role would entail.

  Vateria moved until she was sitting back on her hind legs. Then she thought of the spell that would shift her to human. In an instant she was covered in flames that also engulfed her son, but those flames would never harm him. They were part of him. When the flame was gone and she was in her human form, she smiled at her husband.

  “My dearest . . .”

  “Kill it!” the head of his elite guards screamed out.

  Swords were pulled and men charged.

  Vateria raised her hand and, with the power of Chramnesind, the eyeless god, she tossed them back with a flick of her fingers.

  Still staring at her husband, she said, “Call them off or I’ll kill them all.”

  The duke gazed at her, their eyes locked.

  His voice low, he growled, “In the name of our mighty god . . . kill that bitch.”

  The men got to their feet and charged her again. This time, she folded her arms over her chest and unleashed another gift from her loyal god.

  Multiple tentacles snaked out from between her legs and out her back, shooting across the room and impaling the guards in their chests—near their hearts but not through them.

  With a shove, she pinned their screaming bodies against the stone walls.

  Shaking, filled with rage and loathing, Salebiri unsheathed his sword.

  Vateria watched him, her son moving behind her. Hiding behind his mother. If she died, all her offspring would die, and she would not allow that.

  But as Salebiri neared her, he suddenly froze midstep. His eyes widened in shock; his head fell back; his breath came out harsh.

  She saw it, too. The spirit of their god moving through the human, filling him up, empowering him with His blessing.

  Still shaking, Salebiri lowered his head and looked straight at her.

  “Now do you understand, my husband?” she asked. “Now do you see?”

  He dropped his sword and came to her, standing in front of her. He slid his hands into her hair, looked deep into her eyes.

  “I understand everything . . . my wife.”

  She turned her head and kissed his hand. “He’s never broken a promise to us. He’ll give us everything we’ve ever wanted. Blood. Revenge. And the unrelenting suffering of others. We just need to be loyal to Him. To bow before Him. To promise Him our souls. Can you do that, my love? Can you love me? All of me?” she asked, letting one of her tentacles stroke the back of Salebiri’s neck. “Love me and commit to me as you do our god?”

  “I can. I do. I see now that you are His blessing to me. That our children . . . a blessing to me.”

  Vateria rested her hands on his hips and another tentacle stroked his cock through his chain mail leggings.

  “That is all I ask, husband. All I need.”

  Salebiri glanced at his men still pinned to the wall, still screaming.

  “What about them?” he snarled, seeing them now as betrayers. “They can’t be trusted.”

  Vateria reached down to his sword belt and pulled the dagger from its sheath. She held it in front of her husband.

  “Don’t worry, my love. We’ll find you loyal guards who see only what our god chooses to show them.”

  She leaned in, kissed him softly on the lips . . . and handed her son the blade.

  Benedetto Salebiri took the blade from his mother and, as his parents watched with immense pride, began the process of gutting the entire squad of elite guards because he couldn’t yet reach their throats.

  While the men screamed in death and begged for mercy from a child, Vateria rubbed her nose against her husband’s jaw and said, “We will bring that bitch and her vile offspring to their knees.”

  “I’ll bring Annwyl’s head to you myself,” he promised, speaking of the human queen of the Southlands.

  “Not Annwyl,” Vateria replied with a quick head shake. “She is meaningless. A mad whore who will find her true destiny soon enough.”

  Salebiri gazed down at her, confused. “Then . . . who?”

  She kissed his cheek, licked his chin. “I talk of Rhiannon, my dear heart. The Dragon Queen. The only one that has ever mattered in all this.”

  She gave him a wide grin, knowing that now he truly understood everything she wanted and that she no longer had to pretend. That he saw her just as she was and he was loyal to her.

  “We take down Rhiannon the White—and this world will be ours.”

  Chapter One

  Seven winters later . . .

  The broken spear caught her on her right side, knocking her off her war horse. She landed hard on the blood-soaked ground but allowed herself no time to get her breath back. She forced herself to her feet and quickly blocked the damaged spear with her armor-covered forearm.

  She swung at her attacker with her free hand, her fist slamming into his chest, sending him flying back into the wave of soldiers coming toward her.

  She reached over her shoulder and grabbed her halberd. A long poleax that she liked using because the head was made up of an ax, a spear, and a steel point. To her it was like three weapons in one.

  Impaling the first man she saw, she jerked her weapon to the side, tossing her victim off and readying herself for the next attack.

  They surrounded her and she took a quick moment to size them all up. She crouched a little lower, adjusted her stance a bit more . . . then she struck.

  She slashed the tip of her weapon across several throats, lowered it, turned it slightly, and then thrust the tip into the sockets where some of the Zealots had eyes, but she pushed it in far enough to tear through skull and brain.

  The remaining soldiers moved in, and she dragged her weapon closer, lengthened her stance, and anchored the end of the staff against the inseam of her foot. Turning it, she thrust up with the ax head and into the groin of one soldier, sending his bowels pouring onto the ground. She yanked the weapon out and used the ax head to cut legs off at the knees.

  She felt a breeze, a change of energy around her, and quickly lifted the staff while lowering the head. She blocked the oncoming blade attack and twisted her weapon to disarm her attacker before slamming the staff end against his head and knocking him out.

  She then swung the weapon up and over, letting the momentum turn her around to face those behind her.

  She moved in time to avoid a blade aimed for her head and thrust her weapon at her attacker’s inner thigh, piercing flesh and tearing open an artery. With a twist of her hands, she brought the weapon over her left forearm, jabbed it forward, and impaled the man next to her before he could strike. Did the same in the opposite direction and impaled a soldier on her right.

  She blocked another attack from the front and brought the man down to the ground, holding him there with her foot against his throat while she used her halberd to dispatch the last two of those who’d attacked. Once they were dead, she impaled the man under her foot and finished off the one who’d just started to come around from his bash on the head.

  Letting out a breath, Branwen the Awful, Captain of the First and Fifteenth Companies of the Dragon Queen’s Armies and Colonel of the Ninety-Eighth Regiment of the Southland Armies, slammed the end of her halberd against the blood-soaked ground and took a moment to look over the carnage she’d caused on this mountainside.

  Her troops were in the valley below fighting the ones they now just called the Zealots—those who were loyal unto death to the eyeless god, Chramnesind.

  As she stood there, staring, she instinctively knew someone was coming up behind her. Turning only at the waist, Brannie brought the weapon up and through the head of the blood-soaked priest who stood behind her. As her weapon tore through the top of the priest’s head, she had to jerk her body slightly to the lef
t to avoid the spear that came through the back of the priest’s head, almost skewering her in the process.

  “Sorry!” Aidan the Divine called out. The gold dragon winced a bit when he realized how close his spear had come to impaling her. “Just trying to help.”

  That’s what he always said. “Just trying to help!” He should have that branded on his bloody forehead.

  “Yes, I know,” Brannie replied. “But I didn’t need your help.”

  “Everyone needs a little help now and again.”

  “Not me.”

  Yanking her weapon from the priest’s head, Brannie secretly enjoyed the way blood splattered across that pretty face and right into those bright gold eyes.

  Aidan said nothing as he attempted to wipe the blood away, but then he gave her that wide smile again, showing Brannie those annoying dimples. Or, as her uncle Addolgar called them, “Pits in the face.”

  Turning away, she took a step, but then heard, “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a thank-you kiss?”

  She faced the gold dragon. Like her, he was in his human form, shoulder-length gold hair perpetually falling in front of his gold eyes and nearly blocking the sight of those sharp cheekbones. Brannie stepped close to him and put her fist under his nose. She didn’t hit him, just held her chain mail–covered fist there and asked, “What about a thank-you punch to the face?”

  “Is that my only option?”

  She chuckled, even though she didn’t want to. Bastard.

  Branwen didn’t know when it had happened or why, but somehow she’d become friends with Aidan the Divine. An actual royal from the House of Foulkes de chuid Fennah. A far cry from Brannie’s low-born Cadwaladr Clan roots.