Master of Dragons (5 page)

Yes, she'd come to fear the prediction. But Eirnin had also taught her that prophecies could be derailed. What if she came up with a way to free the goddess that didn't involve the dragon and his annihilating breath? If she allied herself with this Arralt, maybe she could free Semira and save herself at the same time.

Surely that wasn't so wrong?

“Take it,” Arralt said softly.

Nineva looked up and found him watching her, his black gaze knowing, as if he recognized the hunger and fear in her soul.

Yet still she hesitated. Once her hand closed over that hilt, her life would never be the same. She'd belong to Semira, committed to the freedom of the goddess and the leadership of her people. It was the purpose she'd been raised for, yet a cold metallic tang filled her mouth.
I'm not ready for this. What will it do to me? What if I bring the prophecy about by trying to avoid it? What if Arralt can't be trusted?

In the depths of her mind, a voice that sounded like her father's sneered.
Coward.
She winced at the sting of it.

Taking a deep breath, she banished her own weapon, then closed her hand around the Sword of Semira's hilt. It felt cold at first, but as her fingers tightened, it instantly began to heat. Nineva heard a gasp and looked up, meeting the gaze of the warrior who still held it across his palms. The Sidhe's eyes were very wide, as though he, too, had felt Semira awaken at her touch. She lifted the sword from his hands.

“You must feed her,” Arralt said softly. “Let her taste your blood.”

Licking suddenly dry lips, Nineva turned the sword point upward. The Mark blazed on her breast, so bright the sword glowed in its light, iridescence sliding up the blade, hypnotic and bright. She tried to remember everything her father had told her about the sword. “There's a spell,” she said hoarsely. “Someone has to chant it while I meld with the sword.” It would form the conduit she would use in tapping Semira's energy.

“I know. I'm prepared to cast it.”

I'll bet you are
. Nineva shot him a wary look, but his expression showed nothing but that fanatical eagerness. She hesitated again, torn between wariness and hope. She'd sensed something evil earlier. What if it had been him?

On the other hand, once she melded with the sword, there wouldn't be much he could do to her. Even if he tried something while casting that spell, she'd be able to break any hold he attempted to establish.

After all, how could a mere Sidhe warrior be stronger than Semira?

The Mark pulsed in time to her heart, a tide of power rolling through her with each beat. Nineva gave him a short, fierce nod. “Then I'm ready.”

For just an instant, Arralt's black eyes blazed with triumph. Then he began to chant, the words so ancient she could barely understand them. The Mark throbbed at every syllable, sending alternating waves of heat and cold sizzling through her.

The power of the goddess…

A spell banished her gauntlets, leaving her hands bare. She wrapped both palms around the sword, sucking in a breath as the magic intensified until it felt like needles of fire and ice shooting through her skin. Gritting her teeth, she jerked her palm down the razored blade. Pain sliced her flesh, and a streak of bright red appeared against the steel. Her blood instantly began to glow and smoke.

An image bloomed in her mind. A woman, nude, glowing like the sun, so unspeakably beautiful, the sight made Nineva's heart constrict. Like the carving on the sword's hilt, her hair reached to her ankles. At first glance, it appeared white, but when she moved, streaks of brilliant color shot through it, as if it broke up the light like a prism.

Semira.

The goddess opened her closed eyes, revealing an opalescent glow brighter even than her exquisite skin. Her gaze locked with Nineva's. And slowly, she smiled—a smile that shone with such welcome and joy, Nineva felt the guilt and torment in her spirit melt away.

My child,
the goddess said in a voice like faint silver chimes.
At last you've come. I've been so lonely. I've known such hunger…

For an instant, it seemed Nineva was surrounded by cold darkness. Trapped, isolated, far from life and warmth. She shuddered, knowing this was how the goddess had felt for centuries.

I'm here,
Nineva told that shining presence, suddenly determined.
Whatever I have is yours.

She couldn't abandon the goddess to that lonely darkness.

Semira's exquisite mouth started to curve in a smile—only to freeze. Her beautiful eyes widened in horror.
Trickery! Child, beware…

Nineva jerked, opening her own eyes just as Arralt's big hand flashed out and locked just over hers, clamping down as he dragged both their palms down the blade. She gasped as his blood mingled with hers.

An image flashed before her eyes, carried by his blood: a woman, her mouth opened in an airless scream as merciless male hands wrapped around her throat, choking away her life.

Arralt's hands. Arralt's mother.

The mother who'd been raped by Ansgar, who'd raised her son as her means of vengeance. Who'd taught him dark magic and fed him a diet of hate until he despised himself almost as much as his father.

Nineva fought to jerk away, but it was too late. More images poured into her consciousness, fragmented and terrifying. Arralt, using his mother's death to power a spell that had carried him to another world. A world of evil, of death and sacrifice. He could have been killed—should have been killed. Yet one of the aliens of that world had recognized what he was. She'd seen him for the opportunity he presented and introduced him to her Dark One master, Rakatvira. Who had, in turn, made Arralt a tempting offer: the rulership of the Sidhe in return for the conquest of Earth. Arralt, obsessed with becoming king, cared only for the power he could gain.

Other images flashed through Nineva's mind: a Sidhe woman with hair the color of spring grass and yellow eyes that were unimaginably evil. Somehow she knew it was Arralt's alien host in a new form.

Horned, demonic creatures, radiating a lust for death and blood and conquest, surging through a gate in the middle of Times Square. They roared in joy as screaming pedestrians scattered amid the thunderous boom of crashing cars.

Dark Ones,
she realized.
Arralt and the alien are in league with the Dark Ones.

Magic danced and flashed around the alien witch like a lightning storm as she lifted the Sword of Semira over a woman whose belly was swollen in pregnancy. As Nineva mentally recoiled in horror, she sliced open the screaming woman, then reached inside to haul out a naked, limp infant…

Nineva jerked backward, trying to tear herself free of Arralt's grip, but magical lines of force suddenly snapped tight around her. Instinctively, she fought to jerk free, but the Sidhe general held tight, crushing her fingers around the sword, grinding the steel into her flesh.

Semira's chiming voice rang over the mental screams from her vision.
He's trying to usurp the meld!

I know!
Snarling, Nineva threw her will against his, fighting to drive him out of the link. Yet his spell only tightened.

Frantically, she tried to draw on the goddess's power and add it to her own. Even as Nineva sent a searing river of magic pouring against Arralt's spell, she realized it wasn't enough.

I've been locked in the sword too long.
Semira's chiming voice sounded even more faint, as if being drained by the effort of fighting.
I've had no Avatar to feed my power. And something is reinforcing Arralt.

The yellow-eyed woman, Nineva realized. No, not a woman. An alien. A
thing.
She could sense the black, roiling stench of the creature's magic entwined with Arralt's. It was winning.

And once it did, it would feed Mortal Earth to the Dark Ones, plunging them all into hell.

 

Bloody damnation!

Kel beat his dragon wings hard toward the source of the sinister magic he could sense blazing on the horizon. He'd been searching for that idiot girl for the past hour, but she was far too good at shielding herself.

Then, just minutes ago, he'd sensed a storm of power building—power that had rapidly taken on a very dark cast. Something nasty had Nineva, and he wasn't at all sure he'd be able to save her. Whatever it was had a lot of juice.

With his magical senses, Kel could see the fervid glow it cast as he drew closer. He flew faster, tucking his legs in tight to his body and snaking his head forward to reduce drag. His heart pounded as he remembered Nineva's ethereal beauty. She'd have no chance against that swelling malevolence.

At last he threw his wings wide to slow his flight. He could feel the evil just below him, roiling and stinking like a boiling cesspit. Yet when he looked down, he saw nothing but a stretch of frosty grass beside the highway. The girl's attackers had shielded themselves.

Reaching for the Mageverse, Kel breathed a spell downward at the moonlit ground. The illusion of serenity shattered. A group of armored warriors flashed into view, surrounding a small, blazing figure wrapped in glowing crimson bands.

Nineva.

One of the men stood in front of her, the scarlet bands spilling from his chanting mouth. They coiled around her like mating snakes, binding her arms, strangling her magic.

Kel folded his wings and stooped like an eagle. Simultaneously, he dropped his own invisibility spell.

Below him, heads tilted back and mouths opened on shouts as they heard the screaming wind of his fall. The warriors scattered in every direction, bellowing curses and cries of dismay in a language he recognized.

Sidhe. They were Sidhe.

He focused on one particular face, illuminated in the glow of the crimson bands. Nineva, still wrapped tight in the spell, eyes glowing with magic as she fought to escape. Beside her, her captor snarled up at him in rage.

Kel opened his jaws and breathed out a spell, sending another cloud of mystical energy rolling over them. The Sidhe warrior threw up a shield that sparked and glittered as it warred with Kel's magic.

Kel ignored him, his attention focused on Nineva. Around her, the bands of crimson energy began to thin as the warrior diverted more and more power to fending off Kel's attack.

But the bonds didn't break. Not yet.

Spreading his wings to break his fall, Kel drew harder on the magic of the Mageverse, intensifying his efforts, blowing more and more power over the girl.

He had to get her out of there.

 

The dragon knight
had arrived at last. Nineva stared up at him with a blend of hope and dread as his magical breath rolled over her. She could feel her bonds weakening, eroding in the face of his power. Arralt's spell gave…

Brutal hands snatched the Sword of Semira from her grasp.

“No!” Jolted from her paralysis, Nineva conjured another weapon and leaped at the warlord. “Give her back!”

Steel rang on steel as he parried with an insulting, offhand strength. She snarled and circled him, probing his defenses with a series of thrusts he casually deflected. Her heart sank as she realized he was stronger than she was, more skilled, more experienced. She didn't have a prayer against him.

Frustrated, Nineva conjured a fireball with her free hand and watched for an opening to throw it.

Semira! Where are you?
The link had thinned, now that she no longer held the sword.

The dragon!
Semira's voice was painfully faint.
You must ally yourself with the dragon…

Nineva dared a glance upward. The great beast hovered over them, his huge wings beating, an expression of what might have been frustration on his alien face.
He can't fire at Arralt without hitting me,
she realized.
So much for help from that quarter.
With a growl, she hurled her fireball, then ducked as Arralt sent one of his own whizzing for her head.

“You can't win, Princess. You know that.” He bared his teeth. “You might as well surrender and save yourself the pain.”

“Not as long as I'm still breathing, asshole.” Using every skill she'd ever learned from her father, she danced around him, alternately pelting him with blasts and attacking him with her blade. He met every attempt with infuriating ease.

She had to kill the son of a bitch before he destroyed them all.
Semira, please! I can't handle this guy on my own!

I have not the strength. I have been dormant too long—I need an infusion of magic to reach my full power again.

Tell me what to do, and I'll do it!
Nineva sidestepped the warlord's slice at her leg, then lunged. He parried and spun away.

The dragon,
Semira whispered.
The dragon is the key…

Cold, stark fear rolled across Nineva's mind. Remembering the nightmare, she could almost feel herself begin to burn.

Nineva dragged her
thoughts away from the dream. She didn't have time for panic. She had to put Arralt down first.

Her battle skills might not be sufficient by themselves, but maybe she could distract him into making a fatal mistake.

“Semira's general, my ass! Do your men know you're really Ansgar's bastard?”

“Oh, they know.” Arralt knocked her blade away with an expression of contemptuous amusement. “They've followed me for centuries while he tried to kill me.”

“The way you killed your mother?” She drove her sword at his heart.

His mouth twisted as he parried, then tried to catch her blade with his and jerk it from her hand. She barely disengaged in time and retreated from a ferocious swipe of his weapon. “You saw that, did you?”

“Oh, yeah. Just like I saw your alliance with the Dark Ones, traitor!”

“It's you who are the traitor. Afraid of the goddess. Afraid of the dragon.” Arralt laughed in her face as he deflected another desperate attack. “You're not the only one who saw visions in the blood. Mine told me you're a coward, Nineva Morrow.” Something black and ugly filled his eyes. “My patience is running out, Princess. Surrender or die.”

“No, thanks—I think I'd rather kill you.” She shot a blast at his gut with everything she had. Even as it splashed off his shields, she lunged, swinging. He parried, then darted a glance skyward and leaped backward.

Nineva charged, but before she could close with him again, something snapped tight around her waist. She looked down.

A massive clawed hand gripped her, talons curled around her body. Before she could even blink in surprise, the ground dropped away from her feet.

“Nice try, kid, but I'm afraid you're out of your league,” a rumbling voice told her over the thunderous flap of wings.

It was the dragon.

“He's got the Sword of Semira!” she yelled, kicking futilely. “I have to get it back!”

The dragon muttered an English curse and dove toward Arralt, who flung a magical blast at them. The roiling ball of energy splashed off the dragon's shields even as the huge creature breathed a spell of his own.

Arralt ducked back, gesturing. The shimmer of a dimensional gate formed in the air.

Oh, hell.
Semira!

The dragon! Take the dragon as your lover. His magic is great…

What?
Nineva looked down at the huge claws gripping her waist. She must have misunderstood.
Semira, he's a
dragon
!

Not all the time.
Was there a trace of amusement in the goddess's faint voice?

Arralt whirled and plunged for the gate, the sword glowing in his hand. The dragon snatched for him, but he dove through, hurling another blast as he fled.

Taking Semira with him.

“No!” Nineva cried in despair, thumping her fists on the scaly hand that held her.

The dragon touched down, head jerking to and fro as he looked for another Sidhe to grab. Around them, closing gates vanished, carrying the last of the warriors away. Nineva sensed the rise of magic as the dragon cast yet another spell.

“Bloody hell. Wherever they went, it's heavily shielded. I can't punch through.” The dragon sighed and released her, carefully uncurling his talons.

She turned and looked up at him. And up and up and up. He towered over her, looking more like an animated hillside than a living creature. Moonlight shimmered on his scales as ropes of muscle shifted under his skin. His head was as long as her entire body, crowned by curving horns that gleamed under the moon. His eyes blinked at her, each the size of her head, glowing crimson and flashing sparks of magic.

Semira wanted her to make love to
that
?

The memory of the nightmares only made things worse. Particularly with those scarlet eyes looking down at her, just as they'd done every time he'd incinerated her in those damned dreams.

I don't have time for this.
Nineva forced the fear away.

She had to concentrate on one thing: he was the dragon warrior the legends had predicted for thousands of years. As Semira had said, he was the key.

Unfortunately, Nineva had let Arralt escape with the sword. Which put him that much further along with his plan to unleash a Dark One invasion on Mortal Earth.

It was sickening. Arralt was right—she was a coward. In trying to avoid her fate, her duty, she'd lost everything. “We've got to get that sword back, or we're all screwed.”

“I know.” The dragon's eyes flared red. Nineva sensed a burst of magic so intense, she took an involuntary step back and swallowed a scream.

Was he going to burn her now?

But when she blinked away the magical dazzle, he was gone, replaced by a man. His starkly handsome face and broad-shouldered build were instantly familiar. “Oh, hell.
You're
the dragon?”

He gave her a crooked little smile. “Afraid so.”

It was the dream man she'd blasted with everything she had, not an hour ago. Nineva winced. “I'm so sorry. I knew something evil was after me, and when you showed up…”

His blue brows lifted. “You assumed I was it?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “I couldn't take the chance you weren't.”

“Considering what just happened, I guess that's understandable.” He gave her a speculative glance. “Impressive firepower, by the way. The last time I got hit that hard, it was by another dragon.”

“I should have saved it for Arralt.” Sighing, she transformed her armor back into a red T-shirt and jeans. “We might not be in this mess.”

Ruby eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Did you know you're glowing? That mark…”

She glanced down at the Goddess Mark. It should have been concealed by the fabric. Instead it radiated through like a flashlight beam, even brighter than it usually was after she'd used her powers. Her heart lifted a little at the sight of it. “I'm still linked to Semira. Maybe we can use it to find the sword.” If the link had survived, maybe she hadn't failed. Yet, anyway.

And the dragon was human, so making love with him to feed the goddess wasn't impossible. Just damned uncomfortable. How was she going to explain this to him?

As for her nightmares—well, she couldn't afford to let them stop her anymore. If she had to die to prevent the Dark Ones from invading, so be it. No matter what Arralt thought, she wasn't a coward. She'd do her duty.

“That's an awfully grim expression.” The dragon warrior tilted his head as he studied her.

“I'm thinking pretty grim thoughts.”

“Don't worry, kid, we'll figure it out.” He thrust a big hand out at her. “Let's try this again. Kel, at your service.”

She took his hand cautiously. His skin felt warm and smooth and strong—and thoroughly human. “Nineva Morrow. So are you a human who assumes dragon form, or…”

“Nope.” Kel gave her palm a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “I'm a dragon who prefers being human. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes it's handy being forty feet long and scaly.”

“Yeah, I can see how it would be.” Her hand tingled oddly where he'd grasped it.

Nineva watched as he conjured a dimensional gate with a practiced flick of his hand. Suddenly she was intensely aware of him—his height, his broad-shouldered build, the elegance in those long, tapered fingers.
At least seducing him won't be a hardship.
“Where are we going?”

He turned back to look at her. His nostrils flared as if catching her scent. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a knowing half-smile, and his eyes heated. “Avalon. My home.”

Alarm jolted her from her need. “But we need to look for the sword now!”

“And Avalon is full of powerful witches who can help us track down your magic butter knife.” He gave her a charming smile and laid a hand on her shoulder. “It seems we're going to be partners, Nineva. You'll have to trust me.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm as those strong fingers gave her a comforting squeeze. It was obviously intended as a friendly gesture, but her body seemed intent on interpreting it as something else. “Trust isn't my best thing.”

“Yeah, I've noticed that about you.” He gave her a gentle push toward the gate. “Give it a shot anyway.”

Nineva gave him a searching look over one shoulder, trying to ignore the sizzle and burn running through her blood.

Then she stepped through the gate.

 

Simmering with frustrated
rage, Arralt walked through the dimensional doorway into brilliant, shimmering sunlight. He snarled at the glare. He'd almost had the little bitch. If that thrice-cursed dragon hadn't interfered…

As his men gated in around him, he stalked to the huge window that ran the length of the level and looked out over the ocean a hundred feet below. He'd chosen these cliffs as the perfect location for his fortress because they lay on the other side of the planet from the Cachamwri and Morven kingdoms.

And he'd chosen well. Ansgar had never been able to find Arralt's rebel stronghold—and his murderous father had definitely looked. Given the strength of the wards that surrounded them, the dragon's luck would be no better.

In stark contrast to the darkness of the mortal hemisphere they'd just left, the sun was well up here, sparkling on the deep blue waves. Looking down at the narrow strip of beach below, he spotted an incautious mermaid sunning herself on the rocks, her bare breasts lifted, her head thrown back, spilling her iridescent hair over the black stone.

Arralt curled his lip. She'd best keep her wits about her. Hunting the Mer was one of his army's favorite sports.

For a moment he considered gating down to take out his frustrated rage on her. His cock hardened at the thought, but he reluctantly decided against it. He needed to report to Varza. She'd be unhappy enough as it was.

As he turned toward the stone passage that led to his partner's quarters, his gaze fell on a cluster of warriors. They stood with heads together, eyeing him uneasily. Knowing a budding conspiracy when he saw one, Arralt diverted to confront them. “Does someone have something to say?” His voice was low and pleasant, but several of his veterans flinched.

One of the newer recruits, however, did not have the experience to recognize his mood. “My lord, there was a dragon.” His tone was earnest, his clear gaze troubled.

“Aye.” Arralt leveled his coldest, flattest stare at the puppy.

Who still didn't have the sense to shut up. “The legends say the Avatar of the Goddess and a dragon warrior will free Semira from the sword. Shouldn't we…”

“What? Give that reptile the sword?” Arralt pumped contempt into his voice. “Hand our goddess over to Llyr? Because you may be sure that usurper is behind this. He had his ‘god' send one of those lizards in an attempt to fool us.” He scanned them all with an icy gaze and watched as even the puppy cringed. “The sword of the goddess belongs in the hands of her people, and her people will free her.”

“But the legend!” The puppy's voice was very faint. “Semira herself predicted…”

“According to whom? It's been thousands of years. The legend probably began with some addled old woman and grew in the telling.” In turn, he met the eyes of each warrior, searching for the seeds of rebellion and disbelief. He needed every man he had, but he'd kill without mercy or hesitation if necessary. “Llyr knows of the legend, and he's trying to use it against us. Or perhaps you want to be ruled by that weakling and his werewolf bitch?” The white-faced young warrior made no answer. Arralt roared, “Do you?”

“No, my lord!” The words sounded reassuringly fervent. “You are our rightful king.”

“You have our loyalty, my lord.” It was one of his veterans, a scarred, hard-eyed Sidhe who obviously recognized the danger of the moment. He turned toward the others. “Lift your voices for our future king!”

As one, the men roared. “Arralt! Arralt! Arralt!”

The puppy shouted loudest, Arralt noted with grim satisfaction.

Good. It wouldn't be necessary to kill the whelp. His life would be better spent in battle anyway.

Not that Arralt wasn't tempted. Anger still surged in his blood, and he'd like nothing better than to gut the fool where he stood. But one did not waste assets on a whim.

He gave his men a curt nod, then turned and strode away, heading for his quarters. His thoughts slid grimly to the coming confrontation with Varza. He veered up a set of narrow stone steps, his armored boots ringing. Flecks of quartz glittered in the light of torches as he climbed.

The fortress looked like the rough stronghold it was; he saw no reason to waste magic on amenities. They'd dug a warren of rooms and corridors in the black stone of the cliffs: barracks, a kitchen and dining hall, training areas, interrogation rooms. The furnishings were just as rough—handmade wooden chairs and tables, pallets of hay that served as beds. Conjured furniture might be more elegant, but it also tended to vanish when its creator was killed.

Arralt's own rooms lay deep within the cliff. Personally, he'd have preferred a better view, but Varza did not care for sunlight. Reaching the thick wooden door, he swung it wide and stepped inside. Into a haven of opulence.

The light from a magical fire glinted off gold and gems and rich inlaid wood. His lover had a taste for beauty, and saw no reason not to indulge it.

Through the diaphanous curtains around his bed, he saw a figure rise from the thick feather mattress. The curtains blew aside as if from a sudden breeze, revealing a woman—lush and naked, her hair a waterfall of forest green in the torchlight, her body as pale as new snow.

Even now, he found himself enjoying Varza's sense of theater.

Once, her name had been Ceredith, and she'd been an open, laughing beauty who had loved him with all the passion in her uncomplicated soul. He regretted her loss, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made.