Claimed By The Pure-Blood Dragon Tyrant

Ayla POV:

A splitting headache stale wine pulled me out of unconsciousness. My limbs felt heavy, my veins burned with a drugged heat.

As I struggled to open my eyes, I felt the cold air hit my bare shoulder as one of them yanked my collar down. The thin fabric of my dress had already been ripped open at the front, and a calloused hand was fumbling with the ties at my waist.

"Hey... hey, wait. Are you sure about this?" one of the men muttered, his voice tight with nerves. "She's the Crown Prince's fiancée. If anyone finds out-"

"You think a dragonless nobody can actually walk down the aisle and become royalty? Please," the second man's voice dripping with contempt as his fingers hooked under the torn edge of my dress and pulled it further down. "Cut the crap. Miss Camille Mcintosh gave us a lot of money, and now she's on her way with Kamden prince. Let's hurry up and finish our business before they come."

Camille Mcintosh, My half-sister, the illegitimate half-blood daughter born to my father's concubine.

At the party last night, she handed me a glass of wine, and after I took a sip, I went unconscious. So all this is her conspiracy.

Because she had decided I didn't deserve to marry Kamden and paid these two to finish the job.

I felt a surge of anger, when I was a child, because I didn't have a dragon soul and couldn't transform, the whole dragon regarded me as dirt. I was the despised eldest daughter of Earl Mcintosh.

Later, before her death, my mother sent me back to the human world and gave it to my human grandfather to raise.

But a few months ago, my father had dragged me back for the sake of the family's interests and forced me into this engagement.

Memories of medical training and fighting training brought from the human world have poured into my mind violently, intertwined with the humiliating memories I suffered as the spurned eldest daughter in this dragon castle.

I can't just sit back and wait. Camille is on her way with Kamden. I suddenly opened my eyes.

The drugged heat in my veins made my limbs heavy and dizzy, but as the burly mercenary lunged at me with a nasty grin, I forced my shaking legs to step back until my spine hit the freezing stone wall of the dimly lit room.

His heavy body missed me by an inch. In that split second, I slid to the side, locked both hands around his thick right arm like iron clamps, and twisted my waist with all my weight.

A loud crack echoed through the room as his elbow joint snapped backward in a textbook armbar. He let out a pig-like squeal and crashed onto the messy carpet.

"Shit-she's a fighter?"

The second thug froze for a heartbeat before roaring and drawing a rusty iron dagger from his belt. A faint orange-red glow of low-rank dragonfire flickered along the blade as he slashed straight at my face.

I tilted my head back. The blade sliced through a few strands of my dark chestnut hair.

In the human world, my grandfather taught me medical treatment and fighting training.

My right hand shot out to trap his wrist while I stiffened the two fingers of my left hand and jabbed them hard into the soft cartilage of his throat.

His eyes rolled back into his head. The dagger clattered to the floor, and he collapsed, clutching his neck and twitching as he choked for air.

Panting heavily, I reached into the hidden leather sheath inside my sleeve and pulled out the steel scalpel my mother had pressed into my hands before she sent me away to the human world.

The cold metal against my fingertips cleared some of the fog in my brain.

Heavy metal boots suddenly pounded against the floorboards in the hallway outside, accompanied by the clanking of gold-plated armor.

It was the unmistakable marching rhythm of the Royal Dragon Guard closing in fast.

"Break it down! I want to see how that shameless whore explains herself to the Royal Family!" an arrogant, sharp male voice shouted through the wooden door, dripping with excitement and disgust.

That was Kamden Griffith, the Crown Prince of the Flame Kingdom, and my high-and-mighty fiancé in name only.

"Immediately afterward, Camille spoke in a soft, trembling voice, "Your Highness, please let me go in first. She is my sister – perhaps she will listen to me. I believe she simply made a mistake. I don't want her to be humiliated in front of everyone."

I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue. The sharp taste of blood pushed back the dizzying waves of the aphrodisiac. My eyes darted around the locked room.

There was no way out through the corridor. The only escape was the floor-to-ceiling window carved with cheap imitation bloodline gold patterns.

Beyond it lay a sheer stone drop hundreds of feet above the ground and the howling night wind.

Without hesitation, I climbed onto the windowsill. My thin, unpatterned dress whipped violently in the gusts just as a blast of dragonfire blew the wooden door to pieces behind me.

As the shattered door panels hit the floor, I leaped out into the dark and dug my fingers into the rough mortar between the exterior wall stones. My fingernails tore instantly, smearing blood against the rock.

"Where is she? Search the place!" Kamden's furious roar echoed right above my head. Several torches poked out of the window frame, their orange light sweeping across the stone wall.

I held my breath and pressed my chest flat against the shadows half a meter below the sill. Cold sweat soaked my back as the freezing wind cut right through my torn clothes.

The moment the torchlight shifted away, I moved sideways like a lizard along the narrow crevices, inching toward the right to get away from the surrounded guest room.

A few yards over, I spotted a massive, half-open carved wooden window. Embedded in its frame were deep-blue dragon cores-a symbol of supreme authority that gave off a cold, oppressive glow.

My arms were shaking from the drug and exhaustion. My bloody fingers slipped on the damp stone, and my body dropped half a meter into the empty air.

Gritting my teeth, I gathered the last bit of strength in my legs and kicked off the wall. The rebound sent me flying sideways like a broken kite straight through the half-open dragon-core window.

With a heavy thud, I crashed into a pitch-black space thick with the smell of freezing snow and fresh blood, rolling twice across a thick carpet before coming to a stop.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, squinting through the darkness at the heavy black velvet curtains hanging around the room.

Mixed with the copper stench of blood was a terrifying, pure-gold dragon scent that made my very soul tremble.

The air was so cold it felt like it could freeze the marrow in my bones.

Gripping my scalpel tightly, I stood up and used the dim blue light of the window cores to make out a massive black-wood bed carved with coiling dragons in the center of the room.

On the bed, a tall, broad-shouldered man was curled up in agony.

His dark-gold scale-patterned formal robe-a garment reserved only for the highest royalty-was ripped open, revealing a chest covered in rampaging red-and-gold veins.

His eyes were shut tight, his black hair drenched in cold sweat, and every ragged breath he took carried a terrifying mix of frost and roaring fire.

I took a cautious step toward the bed, and the man's eyes suddenly flew open.

A pair of icy, commanding red-gold dragon pupils locked onto me in the dark, and a wave of pure murderous intent slammed into my chest like an invisible fist.