Dragons Realm (22 page)

Sir Robert Cross stirred un­eas­ily, his up­per lip twitch­ing with dis­dain. He opened his mouth to com­ment, but a hor­rible snarl brought him up short: a ter­rible rum­bling from within a nearby cluster of bushes, a roar so fe­ro­cious that it clapped like thun­der, strik­ing ter­ror into the wicked mage’s heart…and Mina’s, too.

In the blink of an eye, two enorm­ous fe­line beasts sprang forth from the bushes, their al­mond-shaped eyes ablaze with fury, their sharp, lethal fangs pro­trud­ing from their gums like twin pol­ished blades, their saliva-soaked lips twis­ted back in match­ing, ma­ni­acal snarls.

Lycani­ans!

Shifters had es­caped from the beach.

“
Oh dear god­dess of mercy
,” Mina breathed. They had broken through the sol­diers’ bar­ri­cades—they had breached the princes’ fi­nal line of de­fense.

She spun on her heels to run, her heart thun­der­ing in her chest, and everything happened at once: The first beast sprang to­ward the elu­sive fig­ure in the shad­ows, to­ward Ro­han the
shade
, and the second deadly creature sprang at Mina’s back.

Chapter Twenty

T
he battle at
the beach had waged on for five har­row­ing hours, leav­ing a bloody trail of carnage in its wake: hu­mans miss­ing their limbs and heads; shad­ows de­flated into mere husks of their former selves; and war­locks withered from the in­side out as their ma­gic con­sumed their or­gans at the mo­ment of their deaths.

Dante, Damian, and Drake had fought like wild things along­side their faith­ful sub­jects, strug­gling to keep the Lycani­ans at bay, des­per­ate to con­tain them in the cove, need­ing to buy
just a little more time
un­til the king’s feral dragon could awaken at dawn to des­troy the last of the ini­tial in­vaders as well as the re­main­ing fleet.

The sun typ­ic­ally rose at 6 AM, and by 2:30 AM, the battle had be­come pre­cari­ous at best—the fe­ro­cious Lycanian beasts had at­tacked, pur­sued, and hunted their prey as if they pos­sessed no fear of death. And in a fleet­ing, chaotic mo­ment, when Dante, Damian, and Drake had been sur­roun­ded by the en­emy, two fe­line shifters on the out­skirts of the scuffle had bounded away from the beach, scur­ried into the night, and headed swiftly in­land to­ward the pro­vi­sional en­camp­ments, bent on whole­sale slaughter.

And still, there were count­less ships sail­ing their way.

No­ti­cing the breach in the de­fens­ive battle line, Damian had called frantic­ally to his brother for help: “Dante! Go after them! Don’t let them get away! If they reach the set­tle­ments, they’ll murder every­one in sight, and other shifters will fol­low. I’m fine.
We’ll be
fine!
”

Prince Drake, who had been fa­cing off with a ten-foot ser­pent, its power­ful tail coiled around his legs, had nod­ded with fury. “Go, Dante. You’re faster than me.” He hadn’t needed to say the rest:
and Damian is bet­ter equipped to con­trol our
shades
and war­locks
.

Al­though Dante hadn’t liked the idea of leav­ing his broth­ers alone, he’d had no other choice. Damian had been right. If the shifters made it to the tem­por­ary en­camp­ment—or worse, if they made it to the ac­tual set­tle­ments—there would be a night of mourn­ing like noth­ing the Realm had ever seen. The dead would be too nu­mer­ous to count.

Hes­it­at­ing just long enough to see Drake dis­patch the ser­pent, Dante had slowly nod­ded his head. “Father will be here at dawn,” he’d re­minded his broth­ers, as well as the cour­ageous sol­diers, and then he’d slipped into the night.

Now, as he broke through a thick patch of brush and entered a small cir­cu­lar clear­ing, just yards away from the traders’ rav­ine, a shock­ing and ter­ri­fy­ing sight drew his at­ten­tion away from his quarry.

Mina
Louvet!

Damian’s Sk­la­vos Ahavi.

Stand­ing be­neath the low-hanging branches of a maple tree, wear­ing a simple, dark brown doublet cross-laced with black threads, over a plain white un­der­skirt, the at­tire of a house-ser­vant, and she was fa­cing off with a war­lock and a
shade
.

What the hell was go­ing on?

“You took my sis­ter, and I want her back. We can either make a trade—my sis­ter for my si­lence—or we can split hairs over the de­tails and both get caught, in which case, we all die at the hands of our be­loved prince. The choice is yours, and I don’t have a lot of time.” She was nearly trem­bling with barely leashed rage, yet she held her chin at an au­thor­it­at­ive angle and tapped her foot on the ground with im­pa­tience. She was clearly des­per­ate and chan­nel­ing her fear.

Be­fore Dante could make sense of the strange meet­ing—
how the hell had Mina made it to the traders’ camp, and what the heck did she hope to ac­com­plish, other than los­ing her life?
—the two es­caped shifters sprang from be­hind a nearby bush, one of them lunging to­ward the shadow, the other char­ging at Mina.

Dante sprang into ac­tion as if he had been born for this mo­ment, ca­reen­ing into the werecat’s side and knock­ing him off tar­get, pitch­ing him away from the Sk­la­vos Ahavi. The cat shif­ted po­s­i­tion in midair, ro­tated its flex­ible spine so it could lunge at Dante’s throat, and forced them both down­ward to­ward the ground. The mo­ment they hit dirt, the shifter sank its lethal fangs deep into Dante’s neck and began to tear at his flesh.

Dante stiffened and let out a roar, his in­ner dragon con­sumed with rage.

Shocked by the fe­ro­city of his own feral nature, Dante jol­ted and bucked as a spiked tail shot forth from the base of his spine, crackled through the air like a bran­dished whip, and wrapped around the shifter’s neck with lethal dex­ter­ity and ease. Dante tightened his grip on the Lycanian’s throat, choked off the beast’s air, and yanked the werecat back­ward with his tail as he dis­lodged the wicked fangs. Wield­ing his tail once more, this time as a lever, he coiled it around the werecat’s waist, spun him onto his back, and pounced on top of him, glar­ing into his eyes with a match­ing bes­tial stare. He sucked in a deep breath of air and sent it back as a blis­ter­ing column of fire, scorch­ing the werecat’s fea­tures from the sur­face of his face.

Dante’s own wounds healed in­stantly, even as the werecat’s skull began to melt.

Yet it wasn’t enough.

Not nearly enough…

The beast had to die!

He had threatened the dragon’s
fe­male.

“
Mine
,” Dante snarled in a red de­lu­sional haze, and then he dipped his head down to the shifter’s chest, re­leased his own lethal fangs, and tore out the Lycanian’s heart with his teeth. In the space of a mo­ment, he shot into the air, coiled like a ser­pent about to strike, and hurled his body at the second Lycanian, who was now de­vour­ing the
shade
. With one angry swipe of his claws, Dante punc­tured the beast from the side, wrapped his fist around the knobby spine, and yanked, re­mov­ing the ver­teb­rae from the shifter’s body.

The Lycanian sank to the ground, eyes still open wide in death, and the dragon whipped his head around in a daze, un­con­sciously re­tract­ing his tail.

Hu­mans were rush­ing from the en­camp­ment, head­ing to­ward the fray, gawk­ing in fear and sur­prise, even as the war­lock sidled up be­hind the fe­male, try­ing to con­ceal some­thing in his right hand.

A
knife
?

Was he go­ing to stab
her?

“Go back!” Dante roared at the crowd, his voice bel­low­ing like thun­der. “The next hu­man who so much as glances this way goes up in flames!” As the fe­ro­city of his wrath shook the ground, and the crowd took off run­ning in the op­pos­ite dir­ec­tion, Dante took three long strides to­ward the War­lo­chian, crushed the hand that was hold­ing the blade, and sank his fangs deep into the thick, ridged col­lar­bone, just be­neath the war­lock’s throat.

The dragon’s fe­male screamed as he drank, in­hal­ing blood, heat, and es­sence.

“My prince, please, stop!
Don’t kill
him
.”

The dragon dis­missed her pleas, in­tent on des­troy­ing this
thing
that had dared to threaten what was his.

“Dante!” Her voice was grow­ing louder—
frantic
—more in­sist­ent. “Oh gods, Dante, please. He took Raylea! He has my sis­ter! Or at least he might know where she is. The girl who gave you the doll—
he made her a slave
. If you kill him, I’ll never find her. Please, Dante; stop!”

The dragon snarled with dis­pleas­ure and sucked even harder.

The fe­male groped at his arm. “Oh, my prince, please…
please
…please stop.”

The dragon al­lowed the prince to listen, but only for a mo­ment, and then he drank even faster.

Raylea.

The little girl with the doll.

The war­lock’s skin was turn­ing blue, his body be­gin­ning to tremble. His flesh was the tem­per­at­ure of ice, and his heart­beat was slow­ing…di­min­ish­ing…rap­idly shut­ting down.

He has my
sis­ter.

He made her a
slave.

If you kill him, I’ll never find
her.

“Dante, please!
I’m beg­ging you
.” The fe­male was on her knees, yank­ing on his trousers. She was sob­bing in des­per­a­tion, but the war­lock’s es­sence, his ter­ror, and his power—
Great Mas­ter of Ven­geance and Fire
, it tasted
so
good
.

As the body went limp in his arms, and the heart began to stut­ter, Dante lapped his tongue over the gap­ing wound and sank his fangs in deeper. He wanted it all. He needed it all. The mo­ment of death would be ut­ter bliss.

And then he felt the fe­male’s hand pressed against his chest, quiv­er­ing over his heart. “If you ever felt any­thing for me…if
any
part of you ever cared…then I beg of you, my prince, please help me save my sis­ter.” She soun­ded so piteous and for­lorn.

As the dragon took one fi­nal drug­ging pull from the war­lock’s vein, Dante seared his con­scious­ness into the war­lock’s mind and sucked out his memor­ies, trans­fer­ring each vile trans­gres­sion to his own lu­cid aware­ness.

The war­lock’s body froze into a block of ice.

The dragon with­drew its fangs.

And Dante Dragona shoved the corpse for­ward, watch­ing as it struck the ground with a thud and then splintered into a thou­sand brittle, ir­re­triev­able pieces.

*

Mina gazed at the frozen shards in shock.

Sir Robert Cross was dead, and Dante had killed him.

She would never find Raylea.

She took an un­wit­ting step back, dropped her head in de­feat, and let her arms fall to her side, simply try­ing to come to grips with the grav­ity of the mo­ment.

Simply try­ing to re­con­cile the fact that Raylea was gone…forever.

A deep, angry growl rose in the dragon prince’s throat. “
Mina. Louvet. What the hell are you do­ing
here?
”

Her head shot up and she gulped. Dante was star­ing at her like he had half a mind to drain her dry as well. His mouth was coated in blood; his throat was con­vulsing with need; and his claws were still ex­ten­ded, ad­orn­ing hands that were covered in hard leather scales. Yet and still, he looked deathly calm—his eyes were two va­cant cav­erns—tran­quil in a way she had never seen him be­fore.

And Dearest Bringer of Rain
, the prince had grown a tail!

It was gone now, but still…

She took a second, cau­tious step back­ward and screamed as Dante opened his mouth, hurled a swel­ter­ing ring of fire in her dir­ec­tion, and caged her within the dan­cing, cir­cu­lar blaze. Turn­ing to the left and then the right to ap­praise the fiery fort­ress, she wrapped her arms around her mid­riff and trembled. “My prince?” Her voice was a mere whis­per of a sound.

He cocked his head to the side like some kind of an­imal, rather than a man, like he was strain­ing to make sense of her words, like the
hu­man
lan­guage was a for­eign tongue. “I have no time for your games,” he spat in a gruff, gut­tural clip. “What are you do­ing here?”

Mina was about to curt­sey, but the flames were much too close. Eye­ing them through her peri­pheral vis­ion, she nod­ded. “No games, mi­lord. Life and death. The war­lock that you killed was named Sir Robert Cross. He works for the high mage of War­lo­chia, Ra­fael Bishop, and sev­eral weeks ago, the day you rode to the dis­trict to ex­ecute the trait­ors, their band of slavers at­tacked my mother and my sis­ter. They took Raylea pris­oner and—”

Dante waved his hand through the air to si­lence her, and she in­stantly shut up. “I know this,” he grunted. “I ab­sorbed his memor­ies.”

Mina’s mouth dropped open in sur­prise, and she nearly shuddered with re­lief…
and hope
. “Just now? Be­fore you killed him?”

Dante nod­ded coolly.

Her eyes filled with tears and she bit down on her lip. An emo­tional whim­per still es­caped, and she clasped her hand over her mouth to con­tain it. “Thank you,” she whispered into her own trem­bling palm, which was now quiv­er­ing against her face.

He sighed, seem­ing to re­gain his com­pos­ure. “You came here in the middle of the night, without Prince Damian’s per­mis­sion, to do what? Con­front a war­lock? Pro­voke a
shade
, a
soul eater
? For what pur­pose? To try to some­how res­cue your sis­ter?”

Mina gulped, try­ing to hide her fear. “I know it sounds crazy, but I was des­per­ate. I thought maybe, just maybe, Raylea might be here…in the traders’ en­camp­ment.”

“And you would some­how…what? Just stumble upon her?”

Mina shook her head. “I know it was a long shot, crazy, maybe even sui­cidal, but so what? What do I have left to live for, any­way? A life with Prince Damian? A life of tor­ture, rape, and hu­mi­li­ation? Yes, Prince Dante, I risked
everything
to come here, in­clud­ing your brother’s wrath, which has already been prom­ised to me, for a snow­ball’s chance in a dragon’s fire of sav­ing my ten-year-old sis­ter.” She took a cau­tious step for­ward, care­ful to avoid the dan­cing flames, and raised both hands in sup­plic­a­tion. “How far would you have gone to save your twin?” The mo­ment she said it she re­gret­ted it. “Oh gods, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I—”

Dante waved his hand through the air, ex­tin­guish­ing the fire with a slight and simple ges­ture, and then he stepped for­ward into the space where the flames had just been and glided closer to Mina. He moved with the grace of a pred­at­ory an­imal, and he didn’t stop com­ing un­til his broad, power­ful frame towered over hers.

Des­pite her re­solve, Mina took a cau­tious step back—he was just too in­tim­id­at­ing, his su­per­nat­ural pres­ence com­pletely over­whelm­ing.

“Sweet…re­bel­li­ous…Mina,” he crooned, reach­ing out to stroke her jaw.

She flinched be­fore set­tling her nerves and al­low­ing his touch—as if she had a choice.

Tra­cing her cheek with the pad of his thumb, he whispered, “Raylea is in a cabin in the moun­tains of Um­bras with a shadow named Syr­ileus Cain. The war­lock who made the sale is dead.” Be­fore she could speak, he pressed his fore­finger over her mouth. “Shh. I will find her, and I will bring her home, re­turn her to your par­ents. I prom­ise you this.” He nar­rowed his gaze with con­vic­tion. “But you; you have to prom­ise me that you won’t grow weary of serving the Realm.” His eyes scanned her vis­age as if he were
drink­ing her in
: first, her dark green eyes, and then, her raven-black hair. And his own sap­phire-blue re­flec­tion deepened with some emo­tion that Mina couldn’t quite name. “Gods, you are so beau­ti­ful,” he said. “You al­ways were.” The corner of his lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile. “And smart. And crazy. And stub­born.” His smile turned into a frown. “And I do re­gret,
deeply
, what my father has done, but you can­not take such fool­ish chances, Mina. Whether he knows it or not, my brother needs your in­flu­ence. He needs your gifts and your ten­a­cious will. The Realm needs your strength.”