The Smoldering Dragon

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Gabriella Bradley

ISBN :978-1-4874-4338-2

Page :154

Word Count :45000

Publication Date :2025-06-26

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats :

Category : Erotic Romance , Fantasy Romance , Paranormal Romance , What's New

BrandsExtasy Books
Product Code: 978-1-4874-4338-2

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Roshia’s sister’s wedding celebration takes a macabre turn…

A wedding is rudely interrupted by an alien invasion, killing guests and family. Princess Roshia, having a quiet interlude in her room, is spared. She escapes from the castle and runs into the forest, where exhaustion overtakes her.

Upon waking, Roshia finds herself in the world of the dragon people. She’s assigned to serve the two dragon warriors, Cyton and Yerith, who rescued her from the monsters lurking in the forest.

Can Roshia guard her heart from being captured by the dragons?

Cyton moved with practiced silence, each footfall whispering against the underbrush while his senses tingled with alertness. The forest loomed around them, shadows twisting like serpents in the dim light filtering through the thick canopy. The scent of moist earth and moss mingled with the faintest hint of decay—a reminder that danger lurked just beyond their sight. Beside him, Yerith’s presence was a solid force, his eyes scanning every corner, every rustle, ever watchful for threats. “The Kalamatians have retreated,” Cyton murmured. “Finally. We can go home.”

“If we still have a home,” Yerith answered somberly.

“They weren’t after us, only after the royals and the king’s hidden treasure,” Cyton answered.

“If that exists,” Yerith said and snorted.

A soft sound reached Cyton’s ears—barely a murmur, but enough to stir his instincts. He paused, tilting his head to catch the sound again, a delicate sigh lost among the trees. With a nod to Yerith, he followed the noise, pushing aside ferns and branches until he arrived at a clearing.

Beneath a massive tree lay a young woman, her form crumpled and vulnerable against the gnarled roots. Cyton’s heart quickened as he approached, kneeling beside her. The moonlight kissed her hair, weaving through the golden strands like threads of sunlight spun by a weaver’s hand. Her face, though pale, bore an ethereal beauty, delicate features framed by cascading waves, and her eyes were closed in peaceful oblivion.

“Princess Roshia,” he murmured, the beautiful young woman he had admired from afar, and recognizing the royal insignia embroidered into the fabric of her torn clothing. A sense of urgency washed over him. She was not merely a stranger. She was royalty, and here she lay abandoned in peril’s grasp.

“Cyton!” Yerith’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. He remained standing, muscles taut, his eyes darting toward the shadows that danced just beyond their reach. “Hurry! We can’t linger here.”

“She needs help.” Cyton’s voice was low, almost pleading, as he gently brushed a strand of hair from Roshia’s face, his fingers lingering against her skin. She felt warm despite her unconscious state. He detected a flicker of life that tugged at his heart.

“Those Gonks could be anywhere, watching us even now, waiting to pounce on us,” Yerith urged, his tone laced with protective intensity.

The weight of duty pressed upon them both, yet the sight of Roshia stirred something deeper within Cyton—a fierce desire to protect, to shield her from the dangers that prowled these darkened woods.

Cyton’s fingers brushed Roshia’s delicate wrist, checking for a pulse beneath her soft skin. She felt fragile in his grasp, her royal insignia glimmering with a muted sheen against the forest shadows. He frowned, his heart racing as he searched for any sign of injury beneath her shredded garments. In a glance, he took in a bared breast, a rosy nipple hardened from the chilly night air. Only scraps of her clothing remained. Her arms had suffered scratches, and her still face was streaked with dirt and the path of shed tears.

“Help me get her up,” Cyton said, compassion igniting in his chest. He knew they had to move swiftly. When Yerith’s help was not forthcoming, with one last glance at Roshia’s serene face, he gathered her gently into his arms, cradling her as if she were made of glass. She fit perfectly against him, and an unexpected warmth spread through his body.

“Saving her is asking for trouble, but stay close,” Yerith commanded, stepping forward with purpose, each stride echoing their urgency. Cyton tightened his grip on Roshia, aware of the world closing in around them. The forest felt alive with unseen eyes, and the distant howls of Gonks were a haunting reminder of their precarious situation.

They slipped back into the shadows of the trees, the weight of destiny pressing upon them as Cyton carried her toward the safety of their clan.

The silence of the forest enveloped them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant howls that twisted his gut into knots.

“Cyton,” Yerith’s voice cut through the tension, low but firm. “We can’t be seen aiding her. The clan’s laws—”

“Yerith, look at her!” Cyton interrupted, his voice rising with urgency. “She’s small and fragile and utterly vulnerable out here. The Gonks will tear her apart if we don’t act.”

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The Smoldering Dragon

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