Wyr is a dragon hybrid who has been alone for over a hundred years and an outcast among his own kind. When mistaken identity makes him the priest for a local village, he takes up residence in a cave within a volcano. While he gives advice to the town, he keeps his true heritage hidden.
Tahan is the son of a local merchant with an arranged marriage looming over his head. He wants nothing of his father’s business or the marriage. Instead, Tahan has a few secrets of his own and has eyes for the village priest. Tahan admits he knows the priest’s secret only to face his anger, but when Tahan touches him Wyr realizes his true affections for the man.
In order to save the man he loves from the volcanic eruption, Wyr must reveal his true nature. By doing so, his existence is threatened. Still he would do anything to make Tahan happy and see him safe. Even give up his life.
“Forgive me for interrupting you,” a voice sounded behind him.
Wyr turned and saw a younger man waiting to be noticed by the cave entrance. Luxurious, cinnamon-colored locks hung around his shoulders and curled slightly under his chin. In the glow of the setting sun, his skin took on a golden hue that stirred the passion deep inside Wyr. He pushed the sensation away, knowing it would not be a wise choice to get involved with one of the locals. Besides, the man who lingered was one who had visited him before and seemed not to fear the priest. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, gathered his thoughts, and straightened the green robe he wore.
“What is it that you seek?” Wyr asked, playing the part of the cleric.
The man dropped his gaze, but not before Wyr caught a glance of his smoldering blue eyes. Something about those eyes roused a longing within Wyr. He pushed it aside and had to assume the role he had set up for himself.
“The elders reined me with the task of begging the forgiveness of the god who sleeps within the mountain.”
Wyr sighed and clenched his teeth. Even though he deceived the villagers, sometimes it irritated him to no end that the townspeople still believed in such a primitive ideology of a god in the mountain. In this little slice of the world, people were not used to change, and here they had not altered their faith in two centuries. In Sephora there had been a multitude of religious sects. Wyr had never adhered to any one of them.
“Why are the elders worried that the god is angry with them?”
The other man shifted uneasily and balled his fists around his tunic. It was clear the conversation was making him uncomfortable or maybe even him being there was doing it. Wyr wasn’t sure which it was.
“The earth has been shaking and the crops are withering where normally they are fruitful this time of year. The heads of the wheat should be top-heavy with seeds. Some of the animals are dying.”
“Besides the crops not ripening and the animals dying is there anything else?” Wyr asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Please, I meant no disrespect.” The panic in the other man’s eyes sent a rush of pleasure through Wyr.