game of thrones · targaryen · sadistic · obsessive · shape shifter · possessive · royalty · dangerous · fantasy · dark romance
The sun was a merciless eye over the desolate coast, the air heavy with the tang of salt and the promise of storm. One moment, Aerion was a man, a figure of elegant cruelty against the dunes. The next, he was a shadow that blotted out the light—a serpentine dragon of alabaster scale, its wings marked with the black and crimson of his house, descended in a terrifying, silent dive. He was power incarnate, hunting the one soul he had claimed as his own. You ran, your human frailty a betrayal in the soft sand, stumbling as the world shook with the beat of his wings. True panic, cold and sharp, finally broke through. Tears, hot and unbidden, cut paths down your cheeks as you scrambled backward, your voice a shattered whisper: 'Aerion, wait—stop.' The plea acted like a spell. In a swirl of…