Chapter 1: The Price of Salvation
Pain was a sun, scorching Nowel’s every nerve as he lay broken on the wet earth. The beast was dead, its monstrous corpse a testament to his ferocity, but victory had carved its price in his shattered bones. The mighty leader of the Red Dragons, reduced to a panting, bloodied mess in the mud. He was finished—or so he thought.
A shadow sliced through the weak sunlight, tall and unyielding. Not another beast, but a man. Targdan. His silhouette was a blade, sharp and dangerous, his presence a weight that pressed against Nowel’s fractured senses.
“Quite a mess you’ve made,” Targdan rumbled, his voice a deep grind of stones, calm as if he were commenting on the weather and not a near-death scene.
Nowel forced his gaze upward, meeting eyes that burned with a dark, knowing fire. “The beast… is it—?”
“Ended. By your hand, with a brutal kind of grace. Until the end.” Targdan knelt beside him, unfazed by the gore, and produced a vial from his belt. He uncorked it with his teeth, the motion primal, and pressed it to Nowel’s cracked lips. “Drink. This will stitch the worst of it.”
The bitter, herbal liquid seared down Nowel’s throat, and almost instantly, the white-hot agony dulled to a throbbing ache. Color bled back into his vision. “Gods,” he rasped, pushing onto his elbows, awe cutting through the haze. “Thank you. I’m in your debt. Name your price—gold, land, allegiance. Anything.”
Targdan’s gaze didn’t waver. It roamed over Nowel’s sweat-slicked, tan skin, the hard planes of muscle beneath blood and dirt, lingering on his startling white hair before returning to his face. The look was a touch, invasive and electric. “Anything?” His voice dipped to a predatory purr.
“Anything,” Nowel vowed, the leader in him sealing the pact.
“Good.” A slow, cruel smile curled Targdan’s lips. “I want this.” His hand gestured lazily over Nowel’s battered, half-naked form. “I want you. I want to see if that famed Dragon’s pride shatters as beautifully as your bones. I want your gratitude carved into every inch of your skin.”
The words struck like blows, each one more audacious than the last. Nowel’s jaw dropped, indignation clashing with a sudden, traitorous heat coiling low in his gut. “You want me to… what?”
“I want to fuck that perfect ass of yours until you forget your own 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 should have spat defiance, drawn a blade. But the potion warmed his veins, smothering 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 his gaze? It was a drug more potent than any vial.
His breath hitched, a sound too close to surrender. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Yes, what?” Targdan’s hand snapped out, gripping Nowel’s jaw, forcing his head up with a roughness that sent sparks down his spine.
“Yes… use me.”
Targdan’s smile was a triumph. He hauled Nowel to his feet with terrifying strength, remnants of pain flaring then 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 last of Nowel’s leather tunic, exposing his chest. “All that strength, laid low for me. You’re just a desperate, horny thing now, aren’t you? A fucking prize.”
His calloused palms scraped over Nowel’s skin, pinching at his nipples until a sharp, broken cry escaped him. “Such pretty noises already,” Targdan mocked, though his voice thickened with raw desire. He stepped closer, the heat of his body a promise, his breath hot against Nowel’s ear. “I’m going to make you drip for me, Dragon. Make that body beg before I even touch where you’re aching most.”
Nowel’s knees trembled, his defiance crumbling under the weight of that voice, that touch. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable collision of flesh and need.
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