Winged lovers that come to you at night. They’re dark-haired and dark-eyed and they feed upon the sap of your life. Incubi and succubae in Roman mythology, and in Romanian lore we call them zburatori (flyers) and there are songs and poems about them. Winged lovers…But some of you may recall the story of Cupid and Psyche, with Cupid taking the form of a winged beast and carrying Psyche to his castle and coming to her only at night in his true form. It is a story as old as time…Naomi Novik explored a version of this story in her book based on East European lore, Uprooted, where a wizard called Dragon takes a village girl to his castle upon a hill.
Dragons, right? The god of love in Romanian lore is called Dragobete, and the word comes from a Slavic root for love. And, coincidence or not, he is very much like a dragon if you think of it.
Today on the 24th of February we celebrate the old day of love in Romania, and those of us who are fond of lore recall that, even if the Western European Valentine came to usurp our old god’s place…
Happy Dragobete then to all of you, and especially to those who love the lore of Eastern Europe. Here’s a small excerpt from a historical paranormal romance book I’m currently writing.:
A Soft Shadowy Whisper
“That man in the square. You said he was talking about Romanian gods. And he said “DRAAG” – and it sounds like your name. Was this Draag also an old god?”
He smiled in spite of himself. She was inquisitive, he’d noted that about her. She liked watching and absorbing the things around her. In the square she’d looked happy. Carefree. Free. Not yours. Not anyone’s.
“My name is Dragu. In Romanian that means “beloved” or “darling”.
She smiled, and he held his breath as he watched her. Did she know her smile made her glow with dangerous beauty?
“So you’re Lord Darling, right?” she asked.
“Something of the kind,” he admitted rather sheepishly. “Boyar Dragu. “Boyar” is more or less an equivalent to a lord here.”
“Was Draag the god of love?”
He really should bring himself to tell Lily the truth…So he should share this myth with her. Most myths had roots in reality.
“His name is Dragobete. They also call him The Bird Lover or the Head of Spring or The Tempestuous One. The ancient god of love. Some say he goes back to Roman times. Others that he’s even older than that. The god of the people here who were conquered by the Romans.”
“A pagan god that people here still recall?” she asked.
“Yes. A sort of Cupid or Eros if you like. People here celebrate Dragobete on the 24th of February. That’s when many young people here get engaged. It’s something similar to what Western Europeans call Saint Valentine’s Day.”
“So the god of love lives on in many parts of this world. Never to be forgotten,” she said with that devastating smile on her face.
Love god, but also monster….The dark whisper inside him became deafening. She already knows what you are and has never forgotten what she is. She only claims she did, but she remembers, just as clearly as you do. And she’s already yours.
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Lily what he truly wanted of her. Tonight, she seemed to have shed that brittle detachment, that diamond coldness she’d displayed in most of their interactions. It was a coldness that she’d been using as a barrier. Tonight though, she didn’t seem distant.
He perceived that her midnight eyes were burning with genuine desire. She was here, ripe for the taking and it would be foolish to reject her. Her gaze roamed on the expanse of his chest. Then they seemed to be taking in every aspect of him. And for a moment he saw himself mirrored there, and did not feel like a monster. He saw himself as a man. A man that a woman like her could find truly desirable.
Come to me. Surrender your soul to mine. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?
She’d been fierce and passionate in his dream, hot sex clenching around his cock, nails scratching, lips claiming. A soul-thirsty succubus and he’d been prepared to surrender his soul to her. But this wasn’t a dream. People lived mostly in the real world. And it was fair to warn her. The reality of what he was…of what she herself was…There was so much darkness about it. A darkness that she might never be prepared to embrace.
“Dreams often turn into nightmares. Dragobete is as much a demon as he is a god. A monster at times,” he told her hoarsely.
She shrugged.
“I was raised in a brothel,” she replied giving him a level look.
He pictured her as a child, wise beyond her years and exposed to every grown-up thing that was taking place around her. And exposed to men such as him, ruthless men who used women as if they were things.
“Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he told her tersely.
