SkyFall (Taken on the Wing Book 2) (55 page)

With a snap, Tempest flares her wings and
steps forward to challenge the pair. They don
’
t react other than to pause and Tempest
draws acid up into the back of her throat before she ignites it with the small
remaining charge in her portalling muscles. The dart in her chest doesn
’
t stop her from releasing a low growl
that forces smoke to curl out past her lips. The glow from the fire in her
throat lights up the silver chain and the gryphons move. The closest one takes
a step back so the two are nearly side by side.

Tempest releases the ball of flame,
spitting hard enough to pass it through their overlapping wings. A smoldering
fist sized hole appears in the nearest wing as flame and smoke rise from the
one behind it. Both gryphons draw away and Tempest takes advantage of the new
space between them to run for the tunnel and Aledaar, slashing the small dagger
at the one on her right as she goes. The blade flexes more than it should and
leaves a welt instead of a cut as it jumps and skitters along the seam between
his chest piece and trousers.

Three sluggish steps later, she
’
s knocked sideways and cartwheels up
against Aledaar
’
s chair. Her attackers have no
trouble damaging her before they lock her up. Their angry, shift blackened eyes
reflect the flames in the main chamber and one grinds his fused tooth plates
together. The mark on his stomach bleeds at one end, darkening his leathers.

Not going with you,
Tempest mouths and rolls to
the side just before one impacts with the chair. Fighting with these two isn
’
t like sparring someone her own size.
They will fight to get close enough to overpower her with sheer strength and
Tempest has to stay clear until they make a mistake.

As she gets to her feet, the feather
weight of the silver chain slides over one wing and she staggers, landing on Lawrence before the chain hits the floor. Another roll finds her pinned beneath one of the
gryphons.

“
Get the damn chain,
”
he growls and the other moves to comply.
In the seconds it takes for him to realize it
’
s disappeared somewhere between Lawrence and Torch, another set of heavy boots charges in. The rustle of feathers and tang
of smoke and dragonkin pitch come with him.

“
Get the fuck off my female,
”
Soar breathes and the hazy ceiling
scrolls past Tempest
’
s eyes as the gryphon holding
her rolls. Patches of Soar
’
s skin are nearly as black as
his armour. Steel grates on leather as Soar draws his daggers and charges the
standing gryphon. Tempest grins beneath the weight of the one holding her down.
Soar could free her and deal with the other all on his own but instead he
leaves Tempest to her own fight. His confidence bolsters hers and she makes a
silent promise to make him proud.

Soar
’
s collision with the gryphon cuts his
warning cry short as they tumble in a mass of feathers and steel. Red and black
leather ripples and twists behind flying brown feathers. Razor sharp talons
slash at Soar and his daggers and Tempest claws out against her attacker. As
she
’
s pulled to her feet, she
allows her fingers to shift, though with every second her hands are covered in
gold scale and black talon, her real fight is with her dragon who is ready to
kill everything.

Obey,
Tempest thinks as she heeds Flay
’
s lessons to culture a respectful relationship
with her dragon. Only the strong mental image of a dragonkin with shifted hands
holds her dragon back though her desire to taste blood lingers.

“
Which one hurt you,
”
Soar growls. The dart left a thick patch
of blood on her tunic and even through the smoke Soar would have no trouble
seeing it against the rough, black cloth. He doesn
’
t slow his attack though his words are
rough and indistinct. His partially shifted mouth threatens and the clack of
fused tooth plates warns that Soar and his adversary will tear each other to
pieces.

Tempest
’
s attacker lunges as she slashes out with
one clawed hand. She spins into a crouch to stay clear of his grip and lands
the hard handle of the dagger in his belly wound as her bare feet skid to a
stop on the slippery dirt floor.

Then Soar
’
s fight ends as one pair of dark brown
gryphons wings trembles and the room echoes with the wet tearing of flesh.
Tempest slashes at her opponent but her attention turns to Soar. The red
armoured figure in front of him seems to melt into the white stone floor as
blood spills down his legs. As he drops, Soar remains standing. With an angry
shake, some white returns to Soar
’
s eyes as he pushes his inner
hunter aside and regains control. Bright red blood soaks his mouth and throat
in contrast to the clean shine of his skyblades.

The sight of Soar
’
s bloodlust and victory releases Tempest
’
s dragon and before she can hold back,
her left hand moves. The lightening fast blow drives her clawed fingers deep
into her opponents throat as all her dragon
’
s power focuses on the single move. Bone
snaps
a
nd the gryphon
’
s head falls back, disappearing behind
his shoulders.

Before the rest of his trembling body can
fall, Tempest takes a cautious step away from Soar. Then, as the feathered form
slumps over onto Lawrence she charges. Tempest
’
s satisfied dragon retreats as she
’
s swallowed in her gryphon
’
s embrace.

“
Little
gryphon,
”
Soar murmurs. Tempest fists
the shoulders of his bloody, black armour and shuts out the stink of viscera
and fire and the cries from the other room. His warm mouth sticks in her hair
as his parted lips plant a heavy kiss. Only Soar and Tempest remain in their
fleeting, small corner of peace.
“
Stand back.
”

She holds on, confused by his order, then
as the tenderness fades from his eyes his gaze turns to the curtains covering
Aledaar
’
s back exit. The old gryphon
’
s indignant growl follows the clash of
metal.

“
Talon,
”
Soar points at the curtain and Tempest
understands. Talon
’
s forces have blocked Aledaar
’
s escape.

“
Awe, fuck me,
”
Soar moans as Tempest
reaches his side. His rough palm catches on her black tunic as he pushes her
aside. A mass of dirty red hair looms over Soar and his dark brown wings rise
and spread as he
’
s lifted from the floor.

Fury
’
s deep laugh accompanies an exhalation of
smoke that pours from his nose and pools beneath Soar
’
s
feet.

“
I got this,
”
Soar
breathes in spite of being suspended by a partially shifted dragonkin.
“
You get Aledaar.
”

Tempest startles at the rough tear of
shredding curtains and steps back to watch as she keeps an eye on Soar and
Fury. Hairy lion feet slash through the red drapes revealing glimpses of
Aledaar
’
s white robes. Behind, deeper
in the tunnel. Talon
’
s roar answer
s Torrent's. Panic swells and she
staggers away, rocked by the sight.

Failure.

Aledaar
’
s screech echoes through the tart smoke,
chasing her from all sides and blocking escape in all directions. The last day
of her simple life when she fled Sky
’
s
sparring chamber surrounds her.

Fury tosses Soar aside as Aledaar
’
s completely shifted gryphon form
emerges, held from behind in the arms of a gold dragon. Feathers surround Fury
as Soar returns, clinging to the big dragonkin who shifts further and draws
back a fully clawed hand.

I
’
ve fought worse,
Tempest centers her spirit
around the thought and finds courage. She didn
’
t
have something to
fight for when she faced Sky. Today she has it.

“
You waste my time, gryphon,
”
Fury growls and Tempest doesn
’
t think. By the time she realizes the
ground up silver in her pocket will affect Aledaar
’
s captor as well as Fury, the air around
them is alight in the tiny, sparkling particles. As Fury
’
s large, scaled talon drives claws-first
toward Soar
’
s stomach, the digits become
nothing more than human fingers. Still, the crushing blow empties his lungs.
Soar doesn
’
t let go, instead he pulls
Fury over with him as he falls.

“
Shit,
Lady Tempest,
”
a female behind Tempest growls
as Aledaar
’
s victorious squawk echoes
around them. He squirms free, crouches on his golden haunches and spreads his
wings in threat. The once respectable robes of the Generous Sire hang, dingy
and torn, and not a small amount of blood covers the shreds. Even the gold
relic still around his neck appears to have lost its luster.

The scent of fully shifted gryphon swamps
Tempest but rather than shy away, she inhales and saturates her senses with it.
At first, the musk of ancient, oiled feathers gags her even worse than the
smoke then her lungs relax and she lowers her chin to focus entirely on her
opponent. Aledaar
’
s scent draws her and she
faces it head on. The Generous Sire stands between her and the future.

“
Lady
Spite,
”
Talon shouts and without
looking, the healer who treated Tempest reaches out and catches a sword as it
flies from the tunnel. Her dragon form is gone and her palm doesn
’
t have a chance to warm the grip before
she tosses it to Tempest.

“
Hurry it up,
”
Soar gasps. Even with Fury sparkling in
silver like everyone else, he still outweighs Soar.

Spite moves aside, allowing Torrent and
Talon to rush past. Torrent drives hard, pushes his attack and swings his
large, two-handed sword in aggressive circles forcing Talon to retreat with his
single, lighter skyblade. Beneath Talon
’
s
fierce scowl rests a small smile of pleasure and Tempest tosses Torch
’
s small dagger to her adopted sire.

“
Seriously?
”
Talon
mutters but he doesn
’
t discard the weapon. Instead,
he swings his skyblade down to use the pommel as a fist weapon in concert with
the dagger in the other and steps closer to Torrent. He manages to land a blow
on Torrent
’
s mouth, reopening the gash he
made years earlier and earning a satisfying, pained howl. Torrent
’
s big blade isn
’
t as effective up close and Talon's
proximity forces him to yield ground.

Tempest acknowledges Spite as they turn
on Aledaar. Spite stands naked, her armour presumably in pieces somewhere down
the tunnel, but she isn
’
t unarmed. A weighty axe
swings  in one hand, its blade smeared with blood and Tempest
’
s breath catches. Con is nowhere to be
seen.

“
Lady
Tempest,
”
Spite nods and as if sensing
her fears, the older gold eases them.
“
Your sibling
rests unharmed and quite
unconscious.
”

Then the blood belongs to Aledaar.

Good.

The Generous Sire paces, as if unsure
whether to fight or escape. Blue sparks course through his flight feathers and
draws hisses and balls of sticky flaming acid from Spite. Smoldering bits cling
to Aledaar
’
s ravaged robes. Only the
cluster of white feathers around the base of his beak betrays his age. His
ranger days are long over but fully shifted, he is as dangerous as any well
trained, younger gryphon.

“
Avoid the relic,
”
Spite warns as she swings her axe to the
side. The glowing path of silver light on steel blocks the tunnel entrance,
marking the rumpled curtain and the dark beyond as hers.
“
It must belong entirely to him when he
dies.
”