Mated to a Dragon

Tomorrow, I was set to leave home for the prestigious University of Magi. Ever since I was young, my sister Liza and I had dreamed of awakening great abilities and being accepted there. Liza, now twenty-two, had been accepted through years of hard work and her immense knowledge of Brewing. Our parents, who are now both in their fifties; wanted her to become the next head Arcane Brewer for the Stelfire family line. But they also knew she would never settle for that.

Because Liza had lied—years ago.

We used to play in the fields of dandelions that grew year-round. There were many other magical flowers scattered across those lands, but everyone called it the Dandelion Field. At first glance, that was all you noticed. I still remember the day my powers awakened, just behind the dandelion fields. We had wandered too far, laughing as we made our way toward the small stream at the edge of the field. I slipped on a slick rock and fell hard. My leg split open, and I screamed, crying in shock and pain.

But Liza only stared, not at me—but at the wound, as if she were fascinated. When I had looked down I realized my blood was moving. Not in any natural way, it moved intentionally. It curled and stitched my open wound back together like a living thread, sealing the cut shut before my eyes. Liza reached out and touched my leg, then slowly lifted her hand, studying the blood on her fingers as if searching for an answer she already suspected.

Blood mage.

I had already awakened, somewhere deep down, into a rare and dangerous magic I didn’t understand yet. As I stood to dust myself off, Liza stood too. That was when our mother arrived, and her bonded magi partner—Alma—in wolf form. Alma shifted back quickly, her expression sharp as she studied us both. Our mother followed, elegant as always, her presence colder, more controlled. “Whose blood is it?” she asked firmly.

I shook too hard to answer. So Liza spoke instead. “Lana’s!” she said quickly, hiding her hand behind her back. Alma sighed, she was softer than our mother ever was. She was quite the opposite counterpart—the kind, steady wolf-shifter who balanced my mother’s severity. “Who performed the magic?” she asked gently.

My throat locked and I couldn’t speak. Before I could force the truth out, Liza stepped forward, smiling brightly, holding out her hand like it all belonged to her. “I healed her with my blood.”

LIAR.

And from that moment on, everything changed. I could have corrected it. I could have spoken, but I never did. Instead, I hid myself away and experimented in silence, testing the smallest traces of what I could do. Meanwhile, Liza lived in praise—brilliant, gifted, perfect in every way that mattered to our parents. They gave her tutors, special training, and recognition.

But then, my mother insisted on finally addressing the magic training she would need: as a blood mage. That’s when I first met my great-aunt. She was a renowned blood mage, the second one of her generation, and the last one born—till me. Our great- aunt Gigi, came to see the supposed “blood mage of the century,” she frowned—and left without a word.

Liza had been furious. She was fifteen and I was twelve. That night, Liza came into my room. “Please, Lana,” she begged. “I need to know how you did it, all those years ago. Teach me and I can protect us both.”

But I couldn’t teach something that lived in me. All I could offer her was a book I had found in the study about bloodlines and ancient magic. She took it without hesitation and left me alone. A week later, I overheard my mother and great-aunt arguing in the garden. “She’s a liar,” my great-aunt said flatly.

“Auntie, please,” my mother pleaded.

But my great-aunt only scoffed. “I’ll train the other one. I can feel it in that one.”

“Oh god, here we go again,” my mother muttered. “My daughters would not lie to me. Lana has little magic. She’s not strong at all.”

I remember clenching my fists, ready to run out and scream the truth, but I stayed hidden. The argument ended and my mother left. My great-aunt, however, lingered and when she spotted me she smiled like a cat. From that day forward, she visited weekly to secretly teach me what I truly was.

Years later, at twenty years old; I was finally leaving for the University of Magi. I was going to be the true third Blood Mage. That evening, my great-aunt was coming to dinner to announce my official acceptance letter from the Head of Magical Orders. But of course, my sister had chosen that exact night to bring home her boyfriend.

The Dragon Prince.

At twenty-two, he was the firstborn heir to the dragon throne, destined to become king after his father. Dragon shifters were the most powerful beings in the realm—everyone knew that. Everyone bowed because of it. Our family being of high status, and power were often invited to attend royal events. The Stelfire family was the second highest ranking Arcane Brewing family and Arcane Brewing Business owners. Even though our family rank had gotten us invited to attend many events, I’ve never seen the great prince.

Liza, apparently, had. During her last summer break, she spent every day writing to him. I had been the one to carry those letters to and from the mailbox. I had told myself I wasn’t curious. But that was a lie. Because every time I held one of his letters, it smelled… lovely, clean. As if he had been intentionally using expensive cologne on paper. And now she was bringing him home. Part of me wondered if he would smell just as nice in person.

The sun had begun to set as I stood in the gardens, the night of our dinner. The air had turned cold, shadows stretching long across the grass. I couldn’t stay outside anymore, so I turned toward the house. But just as I reached the double glass doors that lead inside, searing warmth blazed behind me, a gust of hot wind pushed me ever so slightly forwards. Before I could look back a warm arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back against a solid chest. Heat flooded my skin. A sharp awareness I couldn’t place curled down my spine.

“I knew that smell wasn’t hers,” a seductive voice whispered into my ear. Then he inhaled deeply into my hair. His grip tightened slightly on my skirt.

“Who are you?” I breathed, my voice unsteady—like my body had already decided that the moment belonged to him more than it belonged to me.