Captive Of The Dragon Warlord by M. L. Smith

Author:M. L. Smith [Smith, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

“I want to die,” Anya moaned pitifully, lying on a lumpy blanket in Isis’s tent. Her bejeweled outfit dug into her skin, pinching her stomach and chafing right under her boobs. “I officially hate these outfits,” she whined, though she didn’t move an inch to correct her discomfort.

Her head was pounding and the room was spinning.

She didn’t even remember the clan stopping to set up camp for the night, or coming into Isis’s room and passing out on the floor. And yet, here she was, in all of her hungover glory. Hell, maybe she was still drunk.

How much time had even gone by?

Isis snorted, dropping down to her knees beside Anya. “Lift your head, witchling. Here’s a tonic to help you feel better.”

Anya did as instructed, grimacing at the drink’s putrid smell as it neared her face. She grabbed the cup, holding it away from her. “This smells disgusting.”

“It tastes even worse,” Isis added. “But it will heal your ailments. Believe me, you’ll want to be clear-headed when you drink the potion.”

“Then why did you give me wine earlier?” she asked incredulously, eyeing the cup warily.

Isis shrugged, refusing to answer until Anya took her first sip of the tonic. She barely managed to choke it down, swallowing a thick clump of something slimy as she did. “I figured a few drinks would relax you, not cause you to harp on about Khalder for eight hours.”

“Eight hours?” Anya groaned, reluctantly taking another drink before she sat up. “That sounds about as awful as this tastes.”

She’d been hoping to forget all about Khalder with some wine in her, but clearly that hadn’t happened. Ugh, what had they talked about? She couldn’t even remember.

Isis laughed. “I found it entertaining until you kept crying into the wine. I’ve endured enough strife in my life, drinking your tears just seems excessive and cruel.”

“You want to talk about it?” Anya asked hesitantly, accepting Isis’s hand and letting the other witch pull her to her feet.

“I’ll need more than two bottles of wine to spill my secrets, witchling.”

“That wasn’t a no,” Anya joked weakly, exhaling in relief when the room didn’t sway. “I take it Khalder hasn’t come by to grovel for my forgiveness?” She looked around the room as if she expected to find him there.

But he wasn’t, and her stomach twisted into knots at the knowledge that he’d left her alone all day. Perhaps she didn’t mean that much to him after all.

Isn’t this what you wanted? For him to leave you alone?

Yes. Anya sighed, refusing to lie to herself. No. I wanted him to come back and fight with me. To tell me I was wrong. That Isis was wrong, too, and that there is no other woman for him but me.

Even if it jeopardizes what you’ve been brought here to do?

Anya hesitated, but she didn’t change her answer.

“He’s a warlord,” Isis stated, as if the answer were obvious. “It isn’t in their nature to bow down and ask for forgiveness. You may need to seek him out if you wish to reconcile.

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