My Dragon Master Read online

  My Dragon Master

  Broken Souls 6

  Alisa Woods

  Check out all of Alisa’s bestselling Paranormal Romance...

  READING ORDER

  Dot Com Wolves

  * * *

  Claiming Mia (Book 1)

  Saving Arianna (Book 2)

  A Christmas Wish (Book 3)

  Riverwise Private Security

  * * *

  Jaxson (Book 1)

  Jace (Book 2)

  Jared (Book 3)

  Wilding Pack Wolves

  * * *

  Wild Game (Book 1)

  Wild Love (Book 2)

  Wild Heat (Book 3)

  Wild One (Book 4)

  Wild Fire (Book 5)

  Wild Magic (Book 6)

  Fallen Immortals

  * * *

  Kiss of a Dragon (Book 1)

  Heart of a Dragon (Book 2)

  Fire of a Dragon (Book 3)

  Chosen by a Dragon (Book 4)

  Seduced by a Dragon (Book 5)

  Touched by a Dragon (Book 6)

  Loved by a Dragon (Book 7)

  Marked by a Dragon (Book 8)

  Claimed by a Dragon (Book 9)

  Of Bards and Witches: Leonidas’s Story (Book 10)

  Fallen Angels

  * * *

  A Deadly Sin (Book 1)

  Guardian of Light (Book 2)

  The Sin of Wrath (Book 3)

  Seraphim (Book 4)

  Prince of Shadow (Book 5)

  Tempted: Tajael’s Story (Book 6)

  Kiss of an Angel: A Christmas Story (Book 7)

  Legal Magick

  * * *

  Ever Strange (Book 1)

  Mercy Strange (Book 2)

  Verity Strange (Book 3)

  Broken Souls

  * * *

  My Dragon Lord (Book 1)

  My Dragon Keeper (Book 2)

  My Dragon Mate (Book 3)

  My Dragon Bodyguard (Book 4)

  My Dragon Lover (Book 5)

  My Dragon Master (Book 6)

  Akkan (Book 7)

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  My Dragon Master (Broken Souls 6)

  Copyright © May 2020 by Alisa Woods

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author. For information visit: Alisa Woods

  Cover by BZN Studio

  My Dragon Master (Broken Souls 6)

  I’m stuck in an endless loop…

  The evil elves and their torture chair.

  Or floating on a dark lake under a purple-gray sky.

  One’s a memory, and the other is a dream.

  But no matter what I do, I can’t break free.

  I’ve always known the Universe was made of magic… but what if that magic is evil? What if there’s no purpose, no kind and gentle Universe beckoning me, and the Tarot cards that have always faithfully guided me are a lie?

  Maybe the card I’ve drawn is Death.

  The elves have succeeded, my mind has shattered, and this is all that’s left.

  The Universe wasn’t supposed to be this dark.

  Daisy is trapped in a coma, traumatized by her torture at the hands of the Vardigah. Akkan has been waiting faithfully by her bedside, even though he’s convinced the fates will conspire against them both. But if Daisy breaks the spell and awakens, the truth awaits discovery like a card before it’s turned. And the Universe has more in store for them than either could possibly imagine...

  My Dragon Master is a steamy dragon shifter romance that’ll heat up the sheets with love and warm your heart with dragonfire.

  One

  Daisy

  They’re using their magic wand on me again.

  Their energy is so cold. It radiates from them like Death, blowing across my skin… my mind… I’m trapped in their chair. They touch the crystal wand to my temple. I scream. So loud. It hurts my own ears, my throat, and my mind punches back against the assault, but it’s my heart… my heart is tearing into pieces. I know Jayda hears me. She’ll worry. And poor Grace—she’s just a young one and so light of heart. This might break her.

  It’s breaking me.

  I scream and scream, but the sound is far off now, fading like mist. The chair dissolves. The magic beings with their pointed ears blink away like they always do, leaving darkness behind. This isn’t real, Daisy. It was real once, but this is just an echo. I know this, but its power is so strong, it holds me captive, like when they pinned me and tortured me. But it’s just a memory now, I tell myself.

  I survived.

  The darkness lightens, and I’m floating again in an infinite lake of deep, calm waters. Above me is a troubled sky. Purple shimmers across graphite-gray clouds pregnant with rain. This is where I come to center myself. If I lie perfectly still, the clouds will keep their water above, and the darkness will stay down below. Balance. I can hold it, if I just breathe and live in the space between, floating between here and there. I’ve always been out of place. Not quite in the world, inhabiting the threshold between the earth of humanity and the magic of the Universe. It’s always been abundantly clear to me, visible, this magic. In every life I’ve lived, it was there, just out of reach, whispering its secrets through the Tarot cards. I’d always thought—hoped—that someday, I’d breach the veil and touch the magical half of the Universe.

  And then it came for me.

  How horribly disappointing to find the magic was evil.

  I ponder this as I float. The beings who tortured me—I think they’re elves. Their pointed ears are a sign, but they could be fae or pixies or even angels. Not that those creatures are real in the earthen realm, but then neither are elves. And the long, ugly faces? Their soulless eyes? It’s like the stark coldness of their auras has frozen their bodies into a grimace. Then they pour all that malevolent energy into their crystal wand and use it to torment us—Jayda and Grace and me.

  But for what purpose?

  The water trembles around me. I sway, still floating at the surface while the darkness churns below and the purple-gray clouds convulse above. Each time I touch upon the why of all this, the balance threatens to upset. Then I get thrown back into that torture chair, triggering a flashback that’s so real I can smell their alien bodies and feel the cold pinchers pressing into my legs through the folds of my skirt. Each time I’m drawn back there feels like it weakens me—it frays the tether that holds me, suspended between the realms.

  What happens if it snaps?

  I spread my hands on the water’s surface and breathe, deep and slow. Balance.

  I think of the Temperance card. It appears before me, massive, life-sized, hovering in the air as I float above my troubles below. I’ve studied the cards for so long that I can see every detail, even though I’m conjuring this from memory, just like I did for all those readings back in the cells with Jayda and Grace. My deck at home is worn but top quality—I’ve carried it with me for years—and the artwork is gorgeous. Temperance is a young man with angel wings, the sun and the moon in each hand, a balance of forces, light and shadow, both material and spiritual. Temperance is strength. Patience. He would float in this placid lake for as long as it took to quell the passions below. Let the healing begin. I welcome the energy of this strong card. The Major Arcana are sources of power, and as I breathe it in, the image of Temperance dissolves into a mist that rains down on my face and body, granting me the positive energy I need.

  I float a long time. Brea
thing.

  Sometimes, I can stay here for days. Years? Time has no meaning in this realm. I know it is magic, just like the dark elves and their wand. I know the Universe has all manner of wonders yet to be revealed. But if I probe it too deeply—if I ask what all this is for—I’m quickly drawn back to the chair. It’s like an endless loop, and I can’t break free. Haven’t broken free. Yet. But if I have to be in this loop, better to be on the lake than in the chair.

  I made promises to Jayda and Grace. That the Universe still had a purpose for them. That they had to survive because their purpose was unfulfilled. What of my purpose? I’ve always felt it was there, just out of reach as I was stumbling toward it. That eventually I would reach it.

  What if it was all a lie?

  The lake trembles beneath me.

  I breathe in. Breathe out. The truth awaits discovery like a card before it’s turned. What if the magic of the Universe is made of darkness? What if there’s no purpose, no kind and gentle Universe beckoning us to our higher and greater selves? Maybe the card is Death, and that’s all there is. Maybe Grace and Jayda have escaped or died. I could still be in the cells, the dark ones breaking my mind—or my soul, because I know that’s what they’re after. Maybe they’ve succeeded, and this is all that’s left. Shattered pieces. The dark lake and the purple sky.

  Is this forever?

  Something stirs inside me, deep in my chest. That’s a question, and a question is for the cards. I’ve read Tarot my entire life and several lifetimes before this one. Sometimes, I read for others, but mostly for myself. The cards don’t foretell the future as much as guide you to your higher self, your purpose, bringing out the truths you already know.

  I decide a simple draw is best. Three cards. Past, Present, and Future.

  They appear above me, where Temperance was before, hovering, only these have yet to be turned. The star-burst pattern on the backs of the cards stares at me like unblinking eyes of cool-green radiance. I breathe deeply again, clearing my mind and readying myself to receive whatever message the cards will facilitate. I understand each one’s symbology and significance, the many permutations and layers of meaning they can hold, but it’s the connection with my own inner self that’s most important. Given that my mind is conjuring these in the first place, it’s doubly imperative that I open myself to whatever my fractured mind needs to tell me.

  I briefly close my eyes, and when I open them, the first card is turned.

  The Fool. Of course. This is my past. The girl in her full skirt and bare feet about to fall into a deep still lake. It’s almost too close to where I am, and I wonder if I’m living in the card itself. I’ve always identified most with the Fool. The innocent knower of deeper truths. You can’t live the many lives I have without bringing some of that with you. I always trusted in the greater goodness of the Universe, and maybe the cards are saying that trust was misplaced. It’s part of my past, not my future.

  I close my eyes again, a lengthy blink born of weariness. When I open them, the second card is turned.

  The Chariot. This quickens my interest, bringing me more fully awake. The Chariot is drawn by two horses, one black, one white. It is definitely going somewhere, a young man crouched on the curtained car they pull, holding on for the ride. The Chariot signals that a choice is to be made, right now, here in the present. An action must be taken, but what? I don’t even know the choices, but this card is dynamic, insistent. The moment is now.

  I wet my lips and stare at the unturned third card. The future. Its promise is intrinsic. There will be a future. I’m not trapped here in the eternal present. Which has been hinted at by the Chariot. It’s heralding the future and not very subtle about it, either. I pull in a breath, steady myself again on the surface of the lake, the Fool I am, and blink my eyes with a rather strident intention.

  The third card turns.

  The Emperor. I actually inhale with surprise. The Emperor is the divine masculine. The Master. He builds a better world, like the red desert planet he sits upon as his throne. The world, in turn, hovers above a cosmic chessboard. He’s patient, wise, and calm, his gaze on the horizon. His legs are casually crossed, his arm resting on the back of the globe he rules. A king’s chess piece dangles from his fingertips. But there’s something wrong about this card…

  I squint, studying the Emperor’s face. This isn’t the card from my deck.

  Then he moves.

  It startles me so badly, I twitch in the water and almost lose my balance. I hold still again, my breath coming quick as my heart thuds in my chest.

  The Emperor turns his far-away gaze to me. His eyes are slate-blue, beautiful and deep, and his face has the angular beauty of royalty. He’s an Emperor of ancient Rome, pale-skinned and regal-nosed, but a face I’ve never seen. The corner of his mouth lifts into a soft and knowing smile as if he sees me seeing him, and it pleases him, this god among men. Tiny lines form at the corners of his eyes as the smile reaches them. A feeling of warmth spreads across my skin, like stepping into a sunspot during a walk in the woods. Everything relaxes. My lungs fill more easily. My shoulders loosen. Everything in this place seems suddenly new and sharp and wondrous, simply because he’s here, seeing it.

  And me.

  His gaze relaxes my tired muscles, clenched too long, trying to keep the balance.

  Still holding my gaze, he slowly uncrosses his legs and leans forward. Out of the card. His one hand still holds the king’s chess piece, but the other extends down toward me.

  He hovers above me, the hint of smile gone, the warmth faded from my skin, his hand waiting. The other two cards are motionless.

  I know what the Chariot means now. I have to leave the Fool I’ve been and accept the Emperor’s hand. Trust in his wise leadership. Believe that the Master knows the way back. The way out. Or stay forever in this place.

  I want to lift my hand and take his, but this water I’m floating on is holding me. I’m wasted and frail, and lifting my arm out of the water feels like raising a thousand pounds by my fingertips. The lake trembles around me even with the thought.

  But I’m determined. I focus. My hand shakes as I lift it infinitesimally from the surface. The water surges, making me sway. My arm smacks back down in the water then up again, the waves rocking me so much I can almost reach him.

  The Emperor’s hand stays fixed, waiting. I have to come to him. I have to act.

  I strain and reach. The lake rumbles. The waves turn violent, tossing me so my arm swings, wild. Water soaks my skirt, my blouse, splashes my face. Even with great energy, great will, it seems like I’ll never reach him. The gap is too much. The water is covering me now, each wave threatening to pull me down. I can’t stay on the surface—can’t keep the balance—if I want to have any chance of reaching him. I feel the scream building deep in my chest. The frustration and the determination. I let it build and then let it loose from my mouth, arching my back and lifting my hand to find his, but that only plunges my head back, into the water… I’m screaming under the waves, drowning, drowning, drowning...

  His hand clasps mine and pulls.

  Two

  Akkan

  Daisy is my sleeping beauty.

  Her sleep is restless, filled with frowns and pursed lips and an occasional ominous word that whispers out. But her beauty is nearly restored. When our rescue team first arrived for her three weeks ago, I could scarcely believe she was alive. Cracked lips and sunken cheeks, the ghostly white of her skin, the utter stillness of her body… I thought we were too late. And, in the deepest, most honest place of my heart, I expected as much.

  The fates have never been kind to me.

  I’ve chased this spirit—Daisy’s dragon spirit—for over two hundred years, never once reaching her. And now that I have, it’s fitting the fates would deliver her body but keep her mind locked away inside. Her bruised and cracked lips have healed, but I fear her spirit may be forever broken.

  Not dead, though. The Vardigah did not succeed in their quest t
o destroy her dragon spirit, that much I know. I live… so, therefore, her dragon must still be slumbering within her. Otherwise, I would have perished like Kashin, dropping dead suddenly, eyes wide in surprise as his other half was destroyed and his soul unexpectedly left his body. Not that I have much more time on this earth, either. There’s only so long a dragon can last without mating, and I’ve lived longer than most.

  If only I could awaken my sleeping beauty with a kiss.

  Daisy sighs, a trembling sort of sound that verges on frustration.

  I scoot to the edge of the plastic hospital chair, leaning in to hear any words that might escape from her lips… but she falls silent. My gaze is drawn for the millionth time to the machinery of the hospital. The steady trace of her heartbeat. The percent oxygen in her blood. All normal. The IV sustains her body with fluids and nutrients during the slumber from which she never truly wakes. When she first arrived at the hospital, here in the heart of New York City and not within the safe enclave of the North lair, I was vigilant—I feared the Vardigah might return for her. Then we discovered they’d been tracing the soul mates by the clothing and items they’d had in captivity. I quickly destroyed the bag of clothes leftover from Daisy’s admission to Mount Sinai, so that danger was eliminated over a week ago. During her whole stay, I’ve brought the softest nightgowns I could find, creams for her skin when nurses’ sponge baths left her raw, and a boar bristle brush for her beautiful blond hair. I’ve taken the liberty of brushing until it shines. The nurses have long ago stopped questioning my constant presence.