Dragon's Descent

Chapter 1: The Price of Salvation

The forest was a graveyard of silence, save for the ragged gasps of Nowel, the once-mighty leader of the Red Dragons. Pain was a relentless sun, burning through every shattered bone in his body as he lay face-down in the wet earth, the copper tang of his blood staining his lips. The beast—a hulking monstrosity of fur and fury—lay dead nearby, but its victory was etched in the ruin of his form. He was done for. Finished. A broken king drowning in the mud of his own defeat.

A shadow sliced through the weak sunlight, tall and unyielding. Not another beast, but a man. Nowel forced his bleary eyes upward, meeting the sharp, severe features of a stranger. Targdan. His dark eyes gleamed with a knowing, dangerous light, and his presence was a storm waiting to break.

“Quite the mess you’ve made, Dragon,” Targdan rumbled, his voice deep and smooth, like gravel rolling in a riverbed. “Didn’t think the great Nowel would end up kissing dirt.”

Nowel spat blood, his voice a broken rasp. “The beast… is it—?”

“Dead. You fought with a savage kind of beauty. Until you didn’t.” Targdan knelt beside him, unfazed by the gore, and pulled a vial from his belt. He uncorked it with his teeth, the sharp scent of herbs cutting through the metallic haze. “Drink. This’ll stitch the worst of it.”

The bitter liquid burned down Nowel’s throat, but the white-hot agony in his ribs and arm dulled to a throbbing ache. Color bled back into his vision. He pushed himself up on trembling elbows, staring at his savior with raw awe. “Gods… I owe you my life. Name your price. Gold, land, my allegiance—anything.”

Targdan’s gaze didn’t waver. It roamed over Nowel’s sweat-slicked, tan skin, the hard planes of muscle beneath the blood and dirt, lingering on the startling white of his hair. The look was a caress, heavy and deliberate. “Anything?” His voice dipped to a predatory purr.

“Anything,” Nowel swore, the warrior’s honor in him binding the vow.

A slow, wicked smile curled Targdan’s lips. “Good. Then I want this.” His hand gestured lazily, encompassing Nowel’s battered, half-naked form. “I want you. I want to see if that legendary Dragon pride breaks as sweetly as your bones. I want your gratitude carved into every inch of that body.”

The words hit like a physical strike, sharp and shocking. Nowel’s jaw dropped, indignation clashing with a sudden, traitorous heat pooling low in his gut. “You mean to… to…”

“I mean to fuck that perfect ass until you forget your own damn name,” Targdan growled, leaning in close. His scent—leather and cold night air—flooded Nowel’s senses. “I want to use that grateful, broken body until I’m spent. That’s my price.”

Nowel’s breath hitched. He should’ve drawn steel, should’ve spat defiance. But the potion warmed his veins, smothering his pride and stoking a fire he hadn’t known existed. This man had saved him. This man saw him not as a leader, but as raw, aching flesh. And that hunger in Targdan’s eyes—it was a drug, potent and undeniable.

“Yes,” Nowel whispered, the word slipping out like a surrender.

“Yes, what?” Targdan’s hand snapped out, gripping Nowel’s jaw, forcing his gaze up. His thumb brushed rough against Nowel’s split lip.

“Yes… use me.”

Targdan’s smile was a triumph. He hauled Nowel to his feet with brutal strength, the remnants of pain flaring and fading under the stranger’s strange magic. He shoved Nowel against the rough bark of a nearby tree, the texture biting into his bare back. “Look at you,” Targdan sneered, his hands tearing away the tattered remains of Nowel’s leather tunic, exposing the hard lines of his chest. “All that strength, laid low for me. You’re just a desperate little thing now, aren’t you? A prize begging to be claimed.”

His calloused palms scraped over Nowel’s skin, thumbs flicking over sensitive nipples until Nowel hissed, a sharp, broken sound escaping him. “Already making such pretty noises,” Targdan mocked, though his voice thickened with raw desire. He stepped back just enough to undo his trousers, freeing himself. His cock was thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip, a blatant demand that made Nowel’s knees weaken.

“You see this?” Targdan taunted, stroking himself with a slow, deliberate hand. “This is what you’ve done to me. You were born for this, Dragon. Born to be on your knees.”

A firm hand on Nowel’s shoulder pushed him down into the damp earth. His face was level with Targdan’s length, the musky scent filling his head, making his mouth water despite himself. “Open that pretty fucking mouth,” Targdan commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance. “Let’s see how a leader serves.”

Nowel’s lips parted, and Targdan didn’t hesitate. He gripped Nowel’s white hair, pushing forward, the broad head of his cock stretching Nowel’s mouth wide as it slid into the wet heat. The taste, the weight—it was overwhelming, and Nowel’s eyes watered as he struggled to take it. Targdan’s grip held him fast, his hips setting a shallow, relentless rhythm.

“That’s it, take it,” Targdan grunted, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re a natural, aren’t you? A filthy, perfect little mouth made for me.”

The wet, obscene sounds of Nowel’s mouth being used filled the forest, mingling with Targdan’s ragged breaths and Nowel’s own choked gasps. Shame burned hot in his chest, but it was drowned by a terrifying wave of need. He was losing himself to this, and as Targdan’s dark eyes locked onto his, commanding him to look up, Nowel knew the real descent was only beginning.