The dragons are dying, victims of merciless attacks by a foreign clan. The dragon council, desperate to replace the females they've lost, uncover eighteen-year old Maayin - the last female capable of breeding a full-blooded dragon. Maayin, who has spent her life far from any dragon, is horrified by the claim that, despite her human appearance, she is a dragon. She agrees to go with them on one condition: they must bring her home when they're proven wrong. The old dragons laugh at her demands but a younger dragon, Jaimin, agrees.
Once imprisoned in the mountain lair, the evidence against Maayin quickly mounts up. Still, she struggles to believe the truth. Then she begins having feelings for Jaimin, who teaches her to accept her dragon heritage and, for the first time, Maayin feels like she belongs. Although ancient law deems it too dangerous for their two kinds to breed, being unable to choose Jaimin as her mate is only the beginning of Maayin's troubles.
When Maayin discovers the council's plans to mate her with another dragon, by force if she refuses, she flees - landing right into the hands of the enemy clan. There, she discovers other dragon females, kept captive until they're too old to reproduce. The same fate will be hers if she doesn't escape. But escape means being with the dragon the council has chosen, leaving her with two choices: convince Jaimin to fight for her, or return to her human life and forget everything she's learnt to be.
First 150 Words:
Maay hummed as she worked the old loom, the dull clack of wood a lullaby to her ears. Sunlight blazed into the solarium, its normally stifling heat cooled every so often by a gust coming through the open windows. She cocked her head to the sound of footsteps echoing from down the hall. Men. It had to be, for their boots hit the stone with such a racket and the occasional, punctuating clink of metal.
Frowning at the woven threads before her, she idly looped another through the strands. It sounded like guards. What would they be doing here? Not many men came to this quarter of the castle, mostly servants with their soft shoes and the irritating habit of blending into the background.
She glanced over her shoulder, perusing the room. Her gaze settled on the plants that separated the solarium from the other rooms and screened the bulk of the sunlight from those entering.
"Another day, another nickel." -Squidward
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