Dragon Mates: The Falk Clan Tales

VOLUME ONE: THE DRAGON'S VALENTINE She's given up on love, but he's just begun... After five hundred years of servitude, Dragon shifter Callius Falk and his three brothers are finally freed from their bonds. Callius has one mission, to find his true mate. Winifred Castillo spends her nights tending bar at The Thirsty Dog, a local favorite in Maccon City, New Jersey. After her boyfriend skips town with her rent money, she's sworn off men. For good! But what's a Werewolf to do when a dark-haired stranger with golden eyes and rippling muscles claims her as his mate? Callius Falk looked around the throne room with thinly veiled disgust in his golden eyes. At the sound of a throat clearing, one of his brothers no doubt, he stilled himself. It wasn't easy, but he bit back his anger. This was no time for pride. Callius knew what he needed to do. He exhaled and dropped soundlessly to his knees. The cold, hard floor seeped through his leather pants, but he barely felt it. His mind was on more important matters. He dipped his head low. Placing himself at the feet of Dragomir, Chief Dragon of the Blackthorne Clan. His warden these last five centuries. It was symbolic of his subservience to the tyrant. True, he was the stronger of the two, but he'd never get the chance to prove it. The Blackthorne Clan had over one hundred Dragons in the hold alone. Each was sworn to defend Dragomir and each would die at his behest. Regardless of how lowly the man was. Service above all. Dragomir's silver hair was his greatest prize. It hung long, way past his knees when he stood up. Seated, as he was, the glittering braid sat coiled on the embroidered rug that sat just underneath his throne. The swirling patterns of reds and golds was intricate as it was delicate. Woven by a true artisan of the Clan, from the finest threads made from a secret mixture of molten gold, silver and other precious metals. Such a piece of true Dragon craftsmanship belonged hanging on a wall in a gilded frame, in a place of honor. Not beneath his ever-increasing girth. It most certainly should not be used as a resting place for his ridiculous hair. Callius raised a sleek black eyebrow. He often thought it rather effeminate of Chief Blackthorne to style his hair in intricate braids with golden ropes woven throughout. The several dozen pearls and precious gems he used for adornment only added to Callius' theory. The Clan Chief was a dandy. A fop. More concerned with his appearance than with ruling with a fair and just mind. Callius kept his own hair short on the sides and in the back, though the top hung down to his chin in the front. Unlike many members of the Clan whose own braids hung down their backs in imitation of their leader. What was it they said about imitation and flattery? He sneered at the thought. Disgust was just about all the feeling he had left for the Chief and his followers. The gilded throne Dragomir sat on with his soft and untrained body was encrusted with priceless gems and won with the blood and sweat of others in the Clan. Inscriptions in ancient Dracan, the language of the Dragon shifters long since unspoken, marked the arm rests and legs of the throne. It was priceless. A treasure forged a thousand years ago for the once great Chiefs of the Blackthorne Clan. It told the tale of how the first Dragons mated with human females who then birthed the first Dragon shifters. Callius doubted that Dragomir could even read it. It was almost time. He could practically taste freedom. The scent was there. Just out of reach. He could not wait to leave the desolate castle and the Blackthorne Clan. He wanted, no, he needed, a castle of his own. A place he and his brothers could call home. And of course, more than anything else, Callius needed a mate. A female companion worthy of his diamond rose. The greatest gift he had to give. One to carry his young and bring them forth into the world. A female worthy to share in his treasure. And he would have hordes of it to give to her and his brothers. That was a promise. Traditionally, the right to seek a mate was granted by the Chief alone. One thing he knew for sure, he would rot in that cell of a room for the rest of his days before he asked Dragomir permission to find his mate. He wouldn't give the Clan Chief that satisfaction. Chief Blackthorne's heart was as cold as the ice castle they lived in. They were so far north that normals had very few settlements surrounding them. In the old days that had made trading difficult, but with the dawning of the 21st century much had changed. Computers ruled the world as much as man did. Dragomir did not like the new age of websites and cellular phones. It made it too easy for his subjects, and their human wives and children, to be independent from him. He was a vicious and jealous ruler. Callius had seen it in the way he coveted not only all the wealth and finery his clansmen gained, but also the wives of those he was to protect. Ironic, considering the circumstances of his own imprisonment. I forgive you, father. Callius suspected that last bit accounted for the number of single Dragons in the Blackthorne Clan. That was why he'd decided long ago that he would not make his home in that place. Finding a mate was necessary. He needed an heir. Callius did not have the luxury of time. He was almost six-hundred years old. If he did not find a mate, one who would faithfully carry on his line, he would miss the opportunity to reproduce, he would become cold. His fire would not last without a family to protect. It was his only mission. Without a mate, he would die. Callius had no desire to die. He wanted, above all, to be free. And he would have freedom. For himself and his brothers. Even if he had to kiss Dragomir's feet to get it. The four Falk brothers; Callius, Nikolai, Edric, and Alexsander, had been kept prisoner for too long. Freedom was a whisper away and he hungered for it like nothing else he had ever tasted. And now, here he was, seconds away from it. He bit back a snarl and kept his position on the floor. His trained body unmoving even as the Chief's heavily perfumed hair threatened to make him gag. He was still as stone as Dragomir read the decree that would release the four of them. Finally. For a moment or two, Callius thought he would deny them liberty, but the Chief merely snarled at him with thick pink lips. His round face reddened as he spoke his last parting words. "A warning, Brothers Falk, do not come here seeking aid or shelter for you are banished forthwith upon punishment of death. Take your final leave!" He turned his rotund head to where a waiting attendant placed a crème filled pastry inside of his mouth. Callius rose from his position on the floor, his eyes remained downcast as another servant came forward with a key. The sound of his irons crashing to the polished marble floor of Castle Blackthorne sent waves of relief through his entire body. His brothers' chains followed suit. He could feel their anticipation. Wait for it. Now. It's been too long since he tasted freedom. Cold wind rushed to meet him as he thrust open the heavy wooden doors of the castle. His prison. He exhaled slowly. His mind was still reeling from the realization that it was finally over. Callius turned and looked at his three brothers. Their faces all wore the same rapturous expression. He felt it too. As if they were alive for the first time in centuries. With little ceremony or circumstance, their five hundred years of subjugation was over. At last. Callius nodded his head and the four brothers began their Change. The shift from man to Dragon was instantaneous. Myth and magic merged into reality in that one glorious moment. It was like a thousand tiny, little sparks burned throughout his entire body and then, poof, they were gone. Not painful, but electrifying. It felt amazing and very, very right. Callius settled into his enormous body with the same ease and comfort as when he changed clothes. He stretched his long neck and strained his ears to listen for anything amiss. He could feel his brothers' anxiety. It mimicked his own. They were anxious for his signal. The need to fly far from that palace of horrors was strong. Callius did not dally. The Chief was notoriously fickle. He'd not give the man a reason to revoke their freedom. Without any further ado, he took flight. His brothers were right behind him. Their enormous wings cut through the frigid air with powerful thrusts. Each second took them farther away from the place of their birth. The place that had become their prison. The scales of Callius' Dragon were dark and coal-like in color. A glittering black against the white of the Northern sky. On his underside, they lightened from a dark bronze to a brilliant gold just above his heart. His beast was heavily muscled. Power and magic radiated from him as he reveled in his first taste of freedom in half a millennium. He turned his enormous body in a celebratory circle, taking in his brothers with his enhanced vision.