FF Samantha Sabian - The Dragon's Lover

Dragons are a lusty lot known for grinding their lovers into dust. Talan’alaith’illaria is no exception and has found no man or woman her match or equal in a thousand years. That changes when Raine, the sole survivor of two mythic races, stumbles across the ancient dragon queen in her lair. Raine possesses her father’s strength and her mother’s passion, and the combination ignites the dragon’s desire to an inferno. Talan, greatest of the twelve ancients, at last finds her perfect lover.

Their domestic bliss does not last long, however, as events conspire against their peace. The Hyr’rok’kin, monstrous demons of the underworld, are spewing forth from the Empty Land. Raine is called to join a band of humans, elves, and dwarves in a quest to stop the invasion. She fears no enemy, no injury, not even death itself. But something is waiting at the Gates of Hel, something that seeks to separate Raine from the dragon she is bound to for all of time.

170 Pages - November 2012

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Sample

CHAPTER 1

Raine studied the slave child. The girl was seven, perhaps eight years old and tied to a stake in the center of the village square, the rough rope knotted about her neck like a dog. The child was filthy, her clothing little more than rags hanging off her thin frame. Intense blue eyes stared out from beneath a tangle of matted hair.

The slaver studied Raine craftily. She appeared well off, her lightweight leather armor gleaming and in good condition, her clothing simple but well made and of high quality. She carried a variety of weapons, a longsword, two shortswords, a dagger, and something that looked like a longbow folded in two. The slaver tried to get a better look at the unique weapons to assess their worth, but it was difficult to do so without staring. Normally he did not bother with subtlety but the woman gazed at him impassively in a way that made him feel she could see right through him.

His graft outweighed his misgivings, however, and he launched his sales pitch anyway. “You are aware of the legend of the Arlanians?”

The woman examined him with skepticism. “I know a little of their story.”

“Ah,” said the man, moving closer as if to take her into his confidence. Raine wrinkled her nose at the man's pungent odor, but he did not appear to notice as he began spinning his tale.

“The Arlanians were the most stunning creatures in all the world, surpassing even the Elvish in their beauty. Skilled artisans and musicians, they were desired by all other races. It is said,” the man said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “that Arlanians were not truly man or woman until their 18th year, existing in a neither/nor state that was irresistible.”

The woman gazed at him in contempt, which he did not seem to notice as he continued. “This child before you is a remnant of that race, one of the very last of that beautiful people. She could be yours if you have the coin.”

Raine was not certain what disgusted her more, that this oaf was selling the child as a slave, or that he was selling her in a manner that would certainly result in the most awful sexual abuse.

“First off,” Raine said coldly, “this child is clearly not Arlanian. It is said that Arlanians have eyes of a deep purple that is unmistakable.”

The man took a step back. Clearly the stranger was a little more familiar with the legend than he thought.

“Second,” Raine continued, her voice even colder, “although I do not believe the Arlanians were ever real, even if they did exist at one time there is nothing left of them. Myths say they were all captured or sold into sexual slavery. They may have been skilled at music and art, but from what I've heard, they were completely incapable of protecting themselves.”

The slaver nodded sagely at this recount. “Yes, 'tis true. It is said there were so few of them in the end that kings started great wars just to possess them, and fortunes were forfeited for a single night in one's arms.” His eyes gleamed with lust and avarice at the thought and Raine's jaw clenched spasmodically. She threw a bag of coin at him, striking him squarely between the eyes.

“This is for the girl. It is far more than the market rate for a slave, and if you even think to barter with me, I will run you through with this sword where you stand.”

The slave merchant juggled the bag of coin and even though it had struck him squarely, he still managed to keep it from falling to the ground. He hefted the weight and took a quick peek in the bag. It was a small fortune.

“Very well, stranger,” he said with all the dignity he could muster, a bright red splotch appearing on his forehead. “The girl is yours.”

Raine drew a shortsword and sliced downward and across in one smooth motion, freeing the tether from the stake and the girl from the tether. The merchant was stunned. The movement had been so fluid and fast it had been almost invisible. He was very glad he had not bartered with this woman.

Raine leaned down and scooped the scrawny child up, tossing her onto her back where the girl clung to her neck.

“Let's go,” she said with a sigh, “I'll have to find a place for you.”



Raine watched the farmhouse from a distance, the girl still clinging to her back. She counted five children, two girls and three boys, ranging from toddler to teen. They were laughing as they did their chores, and their round-hipped, apple-cheeked mother scolded them good-naturedly. The father was shoveling hay, lanky, thin, and far quieter than his gregarious wife.

The farmer lifted his eyes at the approaching stranger, squinting, and his weathered features took on a wary expression. He was relieved to see it was a woman, although that was not always the lesser of two evils. But she had a young girl on her back and that was generally a good sign as well.

“Hail, farmer,” Raine said in greeting as she slung the girl down to the ground. The girl hid behind her, clutching the hem of Raine's cloak.

“Hail, stranger,” the farmer replied in a taciturn manner. To his dismay, his wife rushed past him to get a closer look at the girl.

“Look, Sven! It's that babe from the village! The one that monster was trying to sell for,” she paused, her indignation getting the best of her limited vocabulary, “for unsavory things!”

Raine nodded. “Yes, the slaver in the village sold her to me, but I can't take her with me, it would be too dangerous.”

The farmer eyed the woman. She was bristling with weapons and armor and carried herself with a deadly grace. She might have been a mercenary, but it was more likely she was a soldier or possibly an imperial knight.

“I don't have any money to give you,” the farmer said, “we would 'a bought her if we could. Not for anything unsavory,” he added quickly, “but just to get her out of that evil man's hands.”

Raine nodded. She had judged the family correctly.

“Then take her in,” Raine said. She tossed the farmer a bag of coin far larger than she had given the slaver. “This should cover her keep until she can pull her own weight.”

The farmer's wife was overjoyed and didn't wait for her husband's response. She clasped the dirty urchin to her ample breast, then scurried away with the rest of her children skipping behind. The farmer watched the exit of his impulsive wife, then let out a deep sigh. He turned back to the tall, imposing woman, eying the gleaming leather and weapons.

“You heading out to fight the Hyr'rok'kin?”

Raine nodded. “The threat's still a ways out, but I mean to start heading in that direction.”

The farmer nodded. “Be safe then.”

Raine nodded and started off down the dusty road. The farmer took that opportunity to glance in the pouch she had tossed him. He had assumed it was copper, possibly even silver, but what he saw almost caused him to drop the purse. It was the emperor's script, pure gold, more money than he had ever seen in his life. It would support his family for the next twenty years.

The farmer glanced after the stranger but wasn't really surprised to see that she had already disappeared.



Raine tossed her rucksack to the ground. She had assessed the surrounding area and found a strategic spot for camp in a small clearing on the side of the hill. It was protected from above by a rock outcropping and below by thick, gnarled trees. She thought it was safe to build a small fire and began collecting sticks, twigs, and the few logs that lay about. She was just about to strike a spark with her flint when she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“You're not going to sneak up on prey that way,” she said “You'll have to work on that.”

A gray wolf peeked out from the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. He was young, plainly a juvenile by his size, and wore an expression somehow suggesting embarrassment.

Raine struck the flint and a tendril of smoke curled upward as the tinder caught fire. “Come on over,” she said, mildly exasperated, and the young wolf trotted into the clearing, settling at her feet. She turned to the darkened forest around her. “And the rest of you as well.”

Three more juvenile wolves trotted out, turning here and there seeking the perfect spot, then plopping down about the campfire. Raine eyed each of them in turn. “Does your mother know where you are?”

One wolf barked indignantly and Raine sighed. “Yes, yes, of course, you are all quite grown now.” She slung the rack of hares she had from her shoulder. “So I suppose you are too proud to take handouts?”

An anxious bark clarified any imagined resistance to the proffered meal, bringing a smile to Raine's lips. “I see,” she said, “cooked or uncooked, then?”

Raine sliced one hare into four equal pieces, tossing each wolf a chunk of raw meat. She sharpened a stick, impaled a second rabbit, then set the spit over the flame. It was not long before she, too, was munching on dinner. When finished, she unhooked the bedroll from her pack and spread it outward with a snap. She sat down on the makeshift bed and maneuvered her pack behind her, preparing to use it as a pillow. Instead, the young wolf that had first entered the clearing crawled forward on his belly, his expression hopeful. He squirmed in behind her and Raine adjusted her position, leaning backward and laying her head on the canine's side. She shifted her weight, enjoying the warmth of the wolf and the softness of his fur.

“You are right,” she murmured, feeling her eyelids grow heavy, “you are a most excellent pillow.”

The wolf growled happily, the others moved close, and the impromptu pack went to sleep.



This village looked almost exactly like every village before it. Little in the way of fortifications, it was built primarily around agriculture and livestock. The fields in the outlying areas looked fertile and the cows, sheep, and goats all looked healthy. Clearly the Hyr'rok'kin had not reached this area yet.

Raine passed the chapel, home to those looking for greater meaning in life, and headed toward the local tavern. She pushed past a drunken dwarf and entered the pub, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dark, smoky interior. The occupants were the usual motley array of customers, mostly human, farmers, mercenaries, merchants, and a couple of thieves. There were a few soldiers lucky enough to draw duty at this peaceful outpost, and even an imperial knight sitting off by herself in the corner. A group of dwarves, probably miners from the local mountain, were downing huge flagons of ale, and an elf sat half hidden in shadow against the wall.

Raine examined the only two in the room that attracted her attention, and both were returning the favor. The female knight was assessing her as a potential threat, but when her eyes lingered on certain portions of Raine's anatomy, Raine correctly surmised she was assessing her as a potential conquest as well. Raine turned her attention to the elf. His expression was far more guarded and his intentions were not so obvious. He held her gaze coolly and Raine's eyes drifted downward to the elaborate yellow stitching on his green jerkin. The symbols were Alfar and she examined them with casual interest. He was an assassin, and from a particularly dangerous guild. She smiled at the obscure motto written on the jacket, one without a direct translation outside of the Elvish language, but essentially meant “if you are close enough to read this, you are already dead.”

The elf was surprised that the stranger had correctly interpreted the ancient markings on his clothing and nodded to her with newfound respect. Raine nodded back, the restrained recognition of one killer to another. She moved to the bar.

“I'll have an amber sting.”

The humans within earshot turned in surprise while the bartender blanched. An amber sting was a deadly drink, causing convulsions, blindness, severe vomiting, and various other maladies to those who could not handle the cinnamon liqueur. Those who could successfully ingest the drink generally turned violent upon swallowing the liquid fire, and for that reason, the drink was banned almost everywhere.

But not here.

“Very well,” the barkeep said. He reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down the honey and spice concoction, blowing the dust from the seldom-used bottle. His actions caught the attention of everyone in the bar and resulted in raucous cheers from the dwarves who began pounding on the solid wood table. The bartender carefully poured out a shot glass full of the dark yellow liquor, giving his customer a once over. She actually looked like someone who could handle the drink, but she also looked like someone who could destroy the entire room if this went sideways. He glanced over at the knight, who had gotten to her feet.

Raine lifted the shot glass, swirled the dark amber liquid so that the red highlights spiraled in a miniature vortex, then drank the deadly concoction in one swallow. She set the glass down solidly, enjoying the rush of fire that suffused outward, reddening her cheeks, giving her a flush of pleasure that went to every extremity. The barkeep watched her nervously, but when it appeared she was experiencing no ill effects, a roar erupted in the pub. It had been years since anyone had even tried the amber sting, and no one had ever drunk one so effortlessly.

“Here you go then,” the barkeep said, able to finish the ceremony surrounding the drink for the first time in his life. He lifted a sconce from its holder and held the flame in front of Raine, who forcefully exhaled the fumes from the alcohol. A pyre of flame shot from her mouth as if she were breathing fire and another roar erupted from the crowd. The flames subsided, fortunately doing no more damage than singeing the hair of those closest to her, and she was surrounded with well-wishers who pounded her on the back in congratulation.

“By the gods,” the bartender said, “that is a feat that would do even a Scinterian proud.”

Raine smiled mockingly. “That is a myth, my friend. There are no more Scinterians, and maybe there never were.”

Suddenly, the shadowy elf was at her elbow, and he, too, was mocking. “So you don't believe in Scinterians, ancient allies of the dragons, the most skilled and invincible warriors of all time?”

Raine laughed at the handsome elf. “Well, I sure as Hel don't believe the dragons gave them amber sting so that they, too, could breathe fire.”

This produced much more laughter from those around her and Raine became aware that the knight was heading in her direction. She leaned down conspiratorially to the elf, winking at him. “Got to go,” she said.

The elf grinned. He understood exactly. The stranger was much like him and it was always a little dangerous to attract too much attention. He shifted his position, shielding her from view, and Raine slipped through the crowd and to the door. She gave one last wave to the handsome elf, who watched the skilled departure with admiration and a little regret. The Alfar were rarely attracted