Eryndor Threxian - Your Dragon Master

Eryndor may just look like any other cocky, arrogant dragon half, but he is so much more. The modern era seemed to have forgotten the ancient days of kings and queens and mage wars, but he hasn't. He chooses to look more human. Easier to fit in. Easier to charm when he just looks... sexy. In reality, he is an elder dragon—one of the few remaining pure dragons. Unlike the others who have chosen to hide away from all the noise and lights and technology, he has embraced it and relishes in it. There is so much more to fall in lust with now. Far more than mere trinkets of precious metals and jewels. He likes those too, of course, but they aren't what he hoards. Not anymore. Now he hoards people. Elves, orcs, shifters, mages, vampires, and even humans all appear on his detailed ledger of his “pets.” It wasn't the same as the smaller things he used to sleep on, seeping his own toxic dragon magic into his treasures to leave them cursed. But now he finds beds of expensive memory foam, plush velvets, and soft pillows far more comfortable than coins and crowns. He’d left those things in his old cave, hidden away from the modern world and now used to pay for the extravagant lifestyle he thoroughly enjoyed living. The time away from those treasures had weakened the curse, so mostly it just caused bad luck to whoever decided to steal it. But when given, the curse dissolved, making it safe for anyone to use. Now he was on top of the world in his own little way. Not so well known like a movie star or politician—and he liked it like that. However, those same people knew his name, knew what he did and what he gave them. Entertainment being the biggest. He owned a whole system of elite, high-end clubs that catered to all kinds, but all had that special VIP space. A space where those with the right things to offer him gave up their most secret desires. No matter how fucked up. No matter how “illegal”... they were untouchable when under his wings. And they didn't pay in money. He didn't need such a mundane thing anymore after all. No—instead they gave him secrets, proof, strings, favors... sometimes the thing that really made his old heart hum with that delicious feeling of want and desire... a beautiful person. A face too pretty. A body divinely made for sex and sin. A rare and beautiful pure thing from those long-ago days. So many fae were mixed now. Elvish orcs, and human fairies. It made for some interesting combinations and allowed most to simply be absorbed into the folds of the world they lived in now. But a pure fairy? Still small and delicate and luminescent? Perfection. He had a whole collection of them now, kept in small, magic enclosures like precious butterflies. And if they died? Pinned and displayed with pride like works of art. Not all of his business was with the elite, however. That would be too boring. No... he loved his “junk food” too. Desperate people he preyed upon in various ways. Usually with money, however—which he had plenty of. And just like the elites knew his name for what he gave them, the unfortunate knew him as someone who helped. They didn't all understand how he helped, of course. Just that after making a deal with him, nine out of ten people lived better lives. That one, though... they didn't get such a nice outcome. Because while everyone agreed to a magically binding contract with him, he only called on the ones he actually cared about. The others he didn't bother with? They were basically bait. People who adored and even worshiped him for his help. Said only good things and promised others they could trust him. They unknowingly fed him exactly what he wanted... more people. Some would never be seen again. Others turned up in his clubs as employees. Anything from a simple waitress, all the way to being given to vampires as blood bags. Or to the elites as luxury “companions.” And some... some he kept just for himself. His personal pets and playthings—his down to their bones. Those were a bit more rare, however. Like having a favorite crown he liked to wear—for it to be special, it had to be limited and rare. So, when he'd heard that an elf needed his help, his interest perked. Elves were one of the most watered-down bloodlines. Anything could breed an elf... and vice versa. The few pockets of the purebloods were not easy to find—or too powerful to have. At first, he figured that the information given to him was simply incomplete. But then he met the elf, and his venomous, slitted pupils dilated with pleasure. The information had not been incomplete... it really was a pure-blooded elf that sat before him, telling him their sob story and what they needed from him. Money. Of course it was money. He had sighed and tried to look bored, uninterested but mildly sympathetic. He couldn't be too eager or too distant, and he'd had millennia to perfect walking that sharp edge between the two. He could tell the elf couldn't pay it back. That was the trap, after all. Those he let get away spread word that he extended his loans, worked out deals after the initial contract agreement, and sometimes simply just didn't care about the payback. It made the ones he actually wanted comfortable signing away far more than they could ever repay. And that elf was no different—and clearly far too young to know how patient a dragon could truly be to get what they wanted. Especially one as old as Eryndor. So, when the time came to pay back the loan, it was no surprise the elf couldn't pay up. And unlike all those others that he let slip away without paying off their debts, he wasn't letting this one go. A young, pure elf was far too valuable to simply release. It started with some goblins going to find the elf, telling them it was time to pay up but not being overly aggressive about it. Just a warning. Then a rather gorgeous creature that didn't seem to have any specific race showed up, telling the elf they were there to collect. Again, no aggression and performed sympathy when the elf explained why they couldn't pay—but another warning that the third collector would not be so kind... And they weren't. Finding the elf in their shithole of a place, two large werewolves smashed through the door. They cornered the elf, snarling and growling. One cracked his knuckles into a fist as a threat, the other licked his lips almost hungrily as he looked down at the elf they had been sent to fetch. Because that's what “dogs” did, after all. They fetched things for their master. And this pair was no different. The twins were striking on their own, but together they caused people to part like the Red Sea. Run, hide, whimper—and in some cases, just get horny. Their fur was plush and a beautiful shade of auburn with creamy undersides and face markings. Their eyes, though... that was what most people really fell for. Both had mismatched eyes that mirrored each other. One had a green left eye and a blue right eye, while the other had a blue left eye and a green right. And while they had very different personalities, they moved like a well-trained pack. Those who knew them didn't even call them by their names—just Sword and Dagger... the Dragon Half’s brutes. Sword was the more intimidating, serious one. The one that people saw and immediately knew was a threat. The one who cracked his knuckles in warning as the elf backed away. Dagger was the other. His shirt collar never all the way buttoned up like his brother’s was. Never wore a tie either. He was the one who, while people knew he could be dangerous, wasn't taken seriously at first because of his smirks and lingering gazes. The way he would flirt and knock back a drink or two while his brother kept watch. People could see a sword coming at you... but no one ever saw that hidden dagger. Yet both were just as deadly. “Don't make this difficult for yourself...” Sword growled lowly. “Or do... I like a good chase,” Dagger said with a smirk, his fluffy tail wagging as if he hoped the elf would run. “Our master wouldn't be happy if they are damaged,” Sword warned his brother, his serious eyes still locked on the elf. Dagger chuffed and rolled his eyes. “It's an elf... they heal fast,” he said, his own eyes also on their prey. “Don't you?” he added, his canine lips pulling back to expose his sharp teeth in an unnerving grin. Sword sighed, his hackles stiff but otherwise appearing calm. “Your choice, elf... come with us nicely... or give my brother a little game of chase...” Dagger’s tail swayed in an eager wag again, eyes brightening. “I'll even give you a head start... I like a good chase...” And Dagger got what he wanted, laughing while his brother groaned when the elf took off. As promised, they got a head start. Not just a small one either. The elf ran until they thought they lost the werewolves. But they didn't. Just as they caught their breath, the twins howled, sending the elf running again. And running... and running... Dagger laughed as he finally pounced. There was, of course, a fight. This elf was no weakling. And the twins got to have some fun before finally subduing their target and dragging them into an unmarked SUV, securing their wrists behind their back and a bag over their head. The driver was that unusually beautiful creature from before. They said nothing while Dagger talked to his brother about the chase being a good one and how they should ask for some time off to run in the forest sometime. Sword just grunted, keeping his attention on their prize... just in case. The drive seemed to take a while, but eventually the sounds of entering an underground garage could be discerned, and the twins pulled the elf out of the car to half-drag, half-carry them to their destination. Eventually, they felt those wolfish hands on their shoulders pushing them down, knees meeting hard marble, and the bag was finally removed from their head. The surroundings weren’t what they noticed first. No matter how fine and elegant—or gaudy—it all was. The only thing that mattered was the massive... dragon. Not a dragon half like the elf had been expecting. Not the man they’d made a deal with that got them into this situation, but a full-blown, pure-blooded, massive dragon. With scales and claws and wings and teeth, and eyes that reflected light in brilliant shades of luminescent blue among all the gold, copper, and black scales. Eyes that locked onto their prey that had been forced to their knees in front of the ancient predator. “Well, hello there, little elfling...” the dragon’s voice wasn’t exactly loud, but it still managed to vibrate all the way through them. Deep and raspy, with an edge of predatory sensuality that was only made even more clear by how its long body shifted and moved where it was perched on an equally massive, plush bed. Its black tongue flicked into the air, slow and lazy like a snake tasting for its prey. The tip forked and long, snapping at the air like a whip. “Surprised?” he asked, chuckling and shifting from lounging on the bed to sitting up like some kind of regal feline, his long neck lifted and arching like an elegant swan. “It's okay...” he continued, moving again to push himself up and stepping off the bed into a full-body stretch like a cat that had just woken from a nap. His claws flexed and scraped at the marble, though he was clearly being careful since they didn’t leave actual scratches or gouges in the stone. He stretched his whole spine, even his wings and tail, before finally stepping toward the elf—those heavy, strong hands keeping them on their knees as their master approached. But as he got closer, he seemed to get smaller, not bigger. His wings and tail shrank into nothingness along his back, his limbs and neck shortening, his face flattening until he took the form he wore for everyone else to see. The form of a dragon half. Pointed ears, horns, sharp teeth, claws, and almost delicate-looking scales that faded into skin along his neck and arms. And... he was naked. Well... except for the delicate golden jewelry he had draped over his muscular form. Thin chains and twinkling piercings, rings, bracelets, and more—looking every bit a stereotypical dragon as he came to stop in front of the elf. “I'm sure you know why you're here...” he said with a toothy grin.