The Dragon King's Prisoner: A Paranormal Romance (Separated by Time Book 1) Read online

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  The Dragon King's Prisoner

  Separated by Time:

  Book One

  A Paranormal Romance

  By Jasmine Wylder

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bonus Content (Limited Time Only)

  Paranormal Romance Collection

  Paranormal Shifter Romance: Wild West Werewolf

  About Jasmine Wylder

  Jasmine’s Other Books

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  Chapter One

  Anna

  The sword was shiny and new, freshly unwrapped. Anna stared up at it in awe, testing the weight of it in her hands. For days now, she had been waiting in anticipation for its arrival. The pictures didn’t do it justice. A deep sense of awe took her breath away, and she was half-convinced that she needed to close up shop just so she could faint in peace.

  Her boss wouldn’t like that, though. Business at the comic shop had been especially busy this week and closing, even for a couple hours, would have him angrier than Thorin when Bilbo stole the Arkenstone. With a sigh, Anna reverently laid the sword, an exact replica of the Sword of Legends from the video game, in its display case. There were no customers in the store at the moment, so she whipped out her phone and took a picture.

  Who wants to chip in and buy this bad boy? she typed, then sent the picture to her four roommates.

  Anna touched the golden pommel again, sighing as her fingers skimmed over the rubies and emeralds. Her phone buzzed, and she eagerly opened it up. Misty was the first one to respond.

  If it was an actual boy, maybe. What would we do with a sword?

  Anna sighed. She closed the display case and returned to her stool behind the counter. Don’t you think it would be epic?

  How much does it cost?

  With the five of us, it would only be $200 apiece.

  Misty’s response was quick and to the point. U crazy. I’m not shelling out that kind of cash for a lousy movie prop.

  “Movie prop!” Anna jumped to her feet, staring at her phone in disgust. “Haven’t you been listening to me the last few days? What’s the point of talking to you? Movie prop.”

  With her nostrils flaring, Anna started to type out a text saying just that, but before she was finished more texts came in. She eagerly read them, only for her heart to sink a little lower each time.

  Too much.

  Don’t really fancy co-owning a sword.

  We all know that you just want it for yourself and you maxed out your credit card on those old comic books.

  Anna sighed. Those ‘old comic books’ had been the entire run of The Dragon’s Wizard, an exceedingly rare comic book that ran in the early 60s but never got anywhere. It had a cult following these days, and it was impossible to find them all. She had been lucky enough to stumble across them in an antique store. The sword, as badass as it was, couldn’t hold a candle to that.

  It was just her luck that she didn’t have one nerdy roommate. It was a miracle that she was even able to get them involved in the Dungeons and Dragons campaign she was mastering. Guys, it would be a wicked awesome addition to D&D. I’ll pay you back, you know I never break my promises.

  Misty, again, was the first to respond. Dude, I only play that game because of the weird gross elf sex, since I can’t get any in real life.

  A stream of texts only saying ‘TMI’ came in. Anna sighed as she set her phone down and leaned glumly into her hands. That was one of the great things about having an all-girl D&D group, she was able to throw in sexual situations for the heck of it without it being weird. There were times when she wished they would take it more seriously, though. Sure, they had a weekly campaign, but it was literally only because none of them had any dates on Friday nights.

  All it would take was one boyfriend to upset the whole balance of the group.

  “Poo-poo to you guys,” she muttered, sending off a quick text to tell them that she got the message. She shoved the phone into her pocket and returned her gaze to the sword. It sat there all shiny and brilliant, and her hands itched with the desire to hold it again.

  She glanced at the clock; the lunch rush wouldn’t start for a few more minutes. There were a series of regulars who came here to eat and chat about the latest comics they’d read. And to talk to her as though she didn’t know anything about comics. Anna scowled. For once, she’d like to meet a guy who was as nerdy as her who didn’t look down at her for being a nerd or wouldn’t make her jump through a million hoops to prove she was a ‘real’ fan of comic books. There had been a couple guys she had thought she had a nice rapport with, but they always ended up complaining to her face that there weren’t any girls involved in comics.

  Anna knew exactly what they meant.

  All her life, she had felt like she wasn’t womanly enough. She liked wearing her hair short, preferred comfort over fashion, and shopped in the men’s section because it was the only place where she’d find clothes that would actually fit her without at least one breakdown in the dressing room because the XXL of one clothing line was the same size as the M of another one. She had curves aplenty, but not the kind that guys looked for.

  With a frustrated huff, Anna returned to the display case. Who cared about them, anyway? She unlocked it and pulled out the sword again. It was heavy enough that she had to lift it with both hands as she struck the same victorious pose as the hero at the end of Sword of Legends. Letting out a battle cry, she whipped it around her head and struck another pose.

  A bell chimed and Anna quickly whirled, eyes wide. There was nobody there, though. Frowning, she reached to put the sword back—

  A gulf of sound and color opened beneath her feet. Anna couldn’t even process it before she dropped. Colors burst everywhere in her vision. Heat and then ice flashed over her skin. Laughter and screaming filled her ears. Then there was another bell chiming, loud and clear, and a floor appeared beneath her feet. Her heart pounded as she spun in a circle, taking in her surroundings.

  Stone walls. Stone floor. Torches lit along the wall. The smell of smoke and cooked meat. And a dozen beautiful, hunky men wearing trousers and loose shirts under jerkins. Each of them had a sword strapped to his hip, and all stared at her with wide eyes.

  “Ahhhhh…” Anna swallowed hard, tryin
g to make her brain focus. “What?”

  One of the men charged at her. With a squeal she lifted the sword to defend herself; the man jumped back and drew his own, the rest of them doing the same. Anna’s heart pounded, a bitter taste in her throat. What. The. HELL?

  “Hold.” One of the men spoke in a deep, gravelly voice as the man who charged her lifted his sword above his head.

  Anna turned to the speaker and felt like the floor had dropped out from under her again. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, with velvety dark skin and wheat-blonde hair. Taller than her by a foot, with shoulders as broad as an ax-handle. A silver flame was stitched onto his jerkin. Stormy eyes glared at her as he approached her. She swallowed hard.

  When he reached her, he knocked the sword aside and grabbed her chin.

  “You,” he growled, and even as his gaze narrowed at her, her knees trembled.

  His lips were inches from her and for a wild moment, she wondered if she could just move to her tip-toes and press an open kiss to that very, very kissable mouth. He growled again, though, bringing her eyes back to his stormy eyes and her insides shriveled. The fury radiating off of him was something truly terrifying.

  “You are perhaps the clumsiest assassin who has managed to make their way into my throne room. Did your rebel leaders think that Dragons are so weak as to be impressed by a little woman with a big sword?”

  Dragons. Assassin. Throne room. Anna’s brain flopped here and there, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. It was no use, though. She had just been in the comic store, now she was in some medieval-looking castle with a hunky man calling her an assassin.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” the man growled again.

  “Uh… what?”

  His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he released her and stepped back. He gestured at one of the other men. “Put her in the dungeons. We’ll find out what this little assassin’s plot was. How did you get in here, huh? Have your mages figured out how to make a person invisible?”

  Two of the other muscular men came forward. One of them took the sword from her and grunted, pulling a face of disgust.

  “Please don’t scratch that,” Anna blurted, unable to stop herself. “My boss will kill me if it’s damaged. It’s a limited-edition release and costs a thousand dollars, but I don’t have enough to pay for it and he’s always telling me not to play with the props and… and…”

  The man with the silver flame cocked his head to one side. His eyes narrowed even further, until he waved his hand. “Get her out of here.”

  “Yes, King Indulf.”

  “Indulf?” Anna couldn’t stop herself from blurting out. She giggled, a mix of nerves and confusion erasing all logic from her brain. “You mean like the snowman?”

  “Snowman?” Indulf let out a growl and this time flames flickered in his mouth. Flashes of silver broke over his skin. When he lifted a hand, sharp-looking talons grew from his nails. “You come into my throne room with a sword and then insult me by calling me a snowman?”

  The silver increased, and Anna suddenly realized they were scales. Her jaw dropped open as the flames flickered blue from Indulf’s mouth. Dragon. Of course. He said he was a dragon. And he was. He was an actual real dragon. Anna opened her mouth to try to say something that would make the anger in his eyes disappear.

  Instead, her first thought burst from her lips. “Best dream ever!”

  There was a moment of silence. Indulf’s eyes widened. The other men glanced at each other with confused expressions. And then, everything crashed back into Anna’s mind. This didn’t feel like a dream. But it certainly had to be, right? She found her knees buckling. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fainted dead away.

  Chapter Two

  Indulf

  How was a girl able to just appear in his throne room?

  Indulf paced his chambers, going from the bed to the hearth and back to the bed. When the girl had appeared, he had thought he must be dreaming. The first thing about her that he had noticed wasn’t the sword, ironically. It was the wide-eyed look on her face. Awe and fear both. He hadn’t noticed the way her skin, too pale to be natural, turned pink when their eyes met. Or the darkening of her eyes, the way her gaze trailed down his body, as though they were the only two in the room.

  The way he’d frozen up at the sight of her was almost as dangerous as the fact that she had been able to get in without any detections. His fires flickered at the thought of her standing there, that ridiculous sword in her hands. It was a lousy assassination attempt, that was certain. She would have done much better if she had crept up behind him with a small dagger…

  After she had fainted (or at least, pretended to) he had had his mages come in. There was a strong magical signature where she was standing, but that was it. None of them had answers as to how she got in or what strain of magic she used to make herself invisible until that moment.

  The door opened and he gripped the pommel of his sword, a warning growl in his throat. The guard he’d stationed outside his room, Volcant, bowed toward him and stepped aside. “Your son to see you, sir.”

  Indulf let out a soft sigh and nodded. “Let him in.”

  Warmund appeared in the doorway. He bowed deeply to Indulf, then straightened. “I would like to request an audience, Father.”

  “Come in,” Indulf said impatiently. “This isn’t a formal location, you don’t have to stand on ceremony. Leave us,” he ordered Volcant

  He turned his back to select a bottle of ale from his store. He poured himself a glass and then handed one to his son. Warmund, as usual, looked grumpy and angry. He was so young still, just barely a full-grown man. Hardly even twenty centuries. Indulf took a sip of his ale, considering his son. They had never shared a close relationship; it wasn’t either of their faults, just one of those things that happened. Indulf had been only sixteen centuries old when a spring fling had conceived Warmund. His mother had abandoned him the moment he was born, and Indulf had been freshly coronated as king. He had no idea how to take care of an infant.

  Still, he remembered his little boy starting to walk, starting to talk, and the happiness that had once been on his face. The happiness that slowly burned away year by year, starting when Indulf had sat him down and explained that, since Warmund’s mother was not the king’s mate, Warmund was not eligible to be king. Indulf had faced severe backlash just giving him a title as prince.

  “Drink,” Indulf encouraged. “There is plenty to get drunk about today.”

  Warmund turned the goblet in his hands then set it down. “I heard that a woman appeared in the courtroom today with unknown magic.”

  Indulf nodded once.

  “Were you not going to tell me?”

  “There was no need.”

  Warmund’s anger flared in his eyes. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me? What if this has to do with Wildref’s disappearance?”

  Indulf flinched at the mention of his daughter. His heir, stolen from him as a baby when assassins murdered his mate. He knew that Wildref was murdered, too. There had never been ransom demands, no mention of where she had been taken.

  “She may be involved with the assassins who killed my wife and daughter.”

  Warmund flinched. “Father, I don’t believe that—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe.” Indulf took a gulp of his ale and snorted, shaking his head. “It’s been ten centuries, Warmund. I know you adored your sister, but she’s gone. There is no getting her back. She was murdered with her mother, and we were denied the ability to mourn her. It is time that you let her go.”

  Warmund’s nostrils flared. “Father, why would they take her just to kill her? You’re right when you say she’s gone, but she wasn’t murdered. They took her and hid her away. And those assassins? They were able to appear and disappear just the same as this woman did. I spoke with the mages; they think that she carries the same magical signature as—”

&nb
sp; “Warmund. I have already said that I believe she is associated with them. But was this an assassination attempt? Or just a clumsy girl playing with something she didn’t understand?”

  “She had a sword.”

  Indulf snorted. He picked up the ‘sword’ and presented it to Warmund. The thing was the worst-made blade he had ever seen. It was bulky, heavy, terribly balanced and clearly made to be impressive rather than useful. The blade was utterly dull, and the ‘gems’ in the hilt and pommel would not only cause a bad grip, but were also just colored glass.

  “What is this?” Warmund’s face twisted with disgust as he inspected the sword. “Whatever blacksmith made this ought to be flogged.”

  “And yet the girl was very concerned about it.”

  “Perhaps it is the source of the magic?”

  Indulf nodded. “That is what I thought as well. I had the mages take a look at it, but they can see no magic in it. I was about to go ask our guest about it myself.”

  “You?” Warmund gave him a disgruntled look. “Father, if she was here to kill you, then don’t you think that going to her yourself would be unwise?”

  “If she was here to kill me, she had her chance.”

  Warmund dropped the sword to the low table in the center of the room. “It’s still unwise for you to give her a second chance. Father, please. Allow me to interrogate her. I have a lot of anger that could be worked out.”

  He grinned, revealing sharpened teeth. Anger was right. Indulf narrowed his eyes at his son. It was times like this that he was actually glad that Warmund was removed from the line of inheritance. He was far too impulsive, with more interest in beating the world to fit his views, rather than negotiations and keeping the peace.

  “We do not torture prisoners, Warmund. It rarely yields actionable results, you know this. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “How would you know that it yields nothing when you have never tried it?”