by Aaron Crash
“I couldn’t care less about Mouse,” Cassius scoffed. “She’s a drunk—worthless, erratic. I was glad her old man married her off. It meant I wouldn’t have to deal with her nonsense. The minute Rhaegen Mulk ran into trouble, she jumped ship. No loyalty. Why bother bringing the news yourself?”
“Because of her Prime, Steven Drokharis. Right now, one of my friends is flying down to kill her, the Drokharis boy, and his Escort.”
Jasmine returned with a tray. She set it down on the table, gave the six wives kneeling on the ground a nervous glance, and then stepped back.
Cassius picked up his mug of coffee. “Again, so what? I heard Mulk was taken out, but this kid doesn’t have the resources to come after me. He’s been off the grid. Hell, he’s having trouble taking control of his own Primacy. Someone is funding a small army of lawyers to ...” Cassius nodded. “That someone is you.”
“It is,” Rahaab said. “I’ve come to offer you a deal. If Steven Drokharis survives this fight against Jaxon Wenck, I want you to befriend the boy, get him to trust you, and keep me informed of his movements.”
“Be your spy?”
“Yes.”
“Hard to spy on the dead.” Cassius sipped his coffee. “I know about Wenck, his land in Australia, and what he can do. But why would he bother dealing with American Primacies?”
“Why indeed.” Rahaab doctored his tea with cream and sugar, but it was still some American atrocity. Americans ate like animals, wanting quantity over quality. They were a disgusting people.
“Oh, because you sent him?” Cassius asked. “Come on, who are you really?”
Rahaab couldn’t stomach the wretched liquid in his cup. He flung it into the fire. “I didn’t send Jaxon Wenck. He went of his own accord, and he has no knowledge of my visit to you. You see, I don’t think Wenck will win. I believe he will be destroyed. And so, I am going to use a different tactic with the Drokharis child.”
Cassius wasn’t drinking his coffee. He had a troubled look on his face, and it wasn’t just because Rahaab had thrown away his tea.
“What is bothering you, Cassius?” Rahaab asked.
“Wenck is powerful, old-school, he’s been able to hold onto his Primacy a long time. And in Australia, they do things differently. It’s a brutal place. You really think this kid can go toe-to-toe with Wenck?”
Rahaab nodded. “I do. Steven Drokharis killed Mulk, and now Wenck will succumb to his destiny. And I believe that eventually the scion will come for me. Just as Mouse will come for you. You killed her parents, after all.”
Cassius took in a deep breath, and when he released it, he growled. “I hope she tries. I’ll murder her like I murdered her daddy. One less thing for me to worry about. And sure, I’ll go to Steven, get all buddy-buddy with him. But the thing is, the minute I show up, he’s going to be suspicious. And I might have to fight him, which would be kind of fun at this point. Being a Prime can get boring.”
“Which is why I don’t rule,” Rahaab said. “Except when I do. As for Steven, you will tell him you know where the third volume of his father’s grimoire is. The minute you say you can help him find it, he might not trust, but he will need you. And that is almost as good as friendship.”
“Don’t have a lot of friends, do you?” Cassius asked.
Rahaab turned to gaze into the fire. The coals ate the wood and the smoldering logs squeaked and popped as they burned. “No, I don’t have friends. When you are forced to kill those you love best, you see everyone you meet as dangerous, perhaps not to you, but to your heart.” Rahaab remembered the blood, the Animus, the screams, the fear, the horror of the betrayal. Though it was ages ago, that memory stayed with him. But it had been necessary. What was one life in the end?
Rahaab also remembered the deaths of billions. He himself had killed millions. But that one bit of slaughter would never leave him. So be it. He’d kept himself and his kind safe from horrors worse than fratricide.
In the quiet, Cassius finally spoke. “Why get involved? If you are who you say you are, I would’ve figured you’d be retired. Or that you’d have a dozen Primacies under your control. What’s your deal, Rahaab? My dad always said you’ll never understand someone if you don’t understand what they want. What do you want?”
Rahaab turned his gaze from the fire. “I want to keep our species safe. And I will do anything, anything at all, to make sure we never have to see the skies of this planet bleed.”
“And Steven Drokharis threatens all Dragonsouls?” Cassius asked.
“He would bring revolution,” Rahaab answered. “And I’m too old for revolution and too cautious. So he needs to die.”
Cassius still didn’t understand. “Why don’t you go and take him out? You disarmed me and my Escort easily enough. You should be able to kill one kid.”
Rahaab didn’t answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was deadly serious. “When you have lived as long as I have, you know that no fight is certain. With the Drokharis scion? Fate is on his side. I understand that. But I will undo his destiny, slowly, secretly, cautiously, lest I be devoured by it.”
Chapter Three
MOUSE SAT ON THE ICE shelf she’d breathed upon the waters of Guernsey Reservoir. The ArcticWind Exhalant certainly was powerful. The snowy frozen water, several feet deep, stretched from one side of the narrow canyon to the other. The sun was in the sky, but it was going to take it a while to get high enough to shine down on her. As a result, the long, amber-colored dragon rested in the shadows.
She was rather surprised to find she wasn’t cold, but then, the adrenaline of the coming fight warmed her. Her father had raised her to be a warrior, like it or not, and Mouse didn’t like it. She wasn’t Aria. Nor Tessa, it seemed. Neither of them ever flinched, and they didn’t seem to mind the bloodshed. Mouse loathed it. She thought maybe it was her size; growing up small, pushed around, always on the weaker side, she generally wound up on the ground. Which is why she’d had to perfect her dexterity, fencing skills, and Exhalant powers.
Size didn’t matter when you were breathing a shitstorm of fire on your opponent.
She was proud that she’d mastered ArcticWind so easily. It was the Exhalant many dragons struggled with, but not Mouse. It was partly because of the second volume of the Drokharis Grimoire and Liam’s teaching, but mostly it was being around Steven. The word “impossible” wasn’t in his vocabulary. He’d never stop trying, and he’d never stop fighting.
Mouse took in a deep breath, spread her wings to stretch, and then nestled back into her body. The Slayer Blade, in its scabbard, dangled from her wrist like a bracelet. It was quite the sword, and she wondered about its history.
But she couldn’t ponder that for long. The ice on the lake wouldn’t last forever, and it would be pretty pathetic for the Australian dragon to show up just as she was sliding into the water. Yeah, so much for the badass upstarts of the Great Plains Primacy. She breathed out another layer of ArcticWind to thicken the ice.
Not a second later, a fat orange dragon, the color of an earthworm, landed on the rim of the canyon above. The smell of hot greasy smoke wafted down, like he’d been frying snakes on a barbecue. It wasn’t pleasant.
“So, Melissa Craygore, as I live and breathe,” the pudgy worm said in a thick Australian accent. “G’day, darlin’. I’m Jaxon Wenck. Is your boyfriend around?”
Oh, he was big and powerful; a yellow-orange beard dropped from his scaled chin. He’d been the Prime of Queensland for a long time, or so Liam had said. More than fifty years. Mouse was only twenty-five. So, yeah, Grandpa Worm wasn’t going to be afraid of her.
“I’m not Melissa. I’m Mouse,” she snapped back.
“And you bite,” Jaxon finished. “Yeah, Mathaal mentioned something about you saying that. Right bit of awesome, darlin’. Good on ya. Though I hear you’re a drunk and kinda slutty. Not that I don’t respect that in a woman.”
Mouse ignored all that bullshit. She knew who she was now. “You talked with Mathaal?”
“Not quite, but we got good information on that fight from a trustworthy source. Mulk’s dead. Good. I never liked that bloke anyways. A right bastard, he was.”
Mouse wasn’t sure where to go next. The plan was to lure in their enemy, but it was clear he hadn’t committed all his forces, and there was no way a Dragonsoul Prime would go into battle alone. That was why they had Escorts and vassals at their command. She was going to have to stall him until he either attacked or called in his backup. Either way, Steven wasn’t going to show his hand until then.
“Do I call you Jaxon or Mr. Wenck? Or Your Grand Primacy?” Mouse asked. “I’m terrible with Dragonsoul etiquette.”
“Aren’t we all?” Jaxon gazed about. “I don’t see him, but your boyfriend should be about. Oh, but I guess he’s a Prime now. Ha, fifteen minutes a Dragonsoul and he’s kicking ass and taking names. Respect. Too bad I have to kill him.”
“Because he’s a Drokharis?” Mouse asked, like she had no idea what was going on. Primes liked it when you played dumb—then they could do all the mansplaining they wanted.
“Right. Nasty family. I was there to take out the old man with Mulk, and it was a slaughter all right. But we had to keep our kind safe. You might not be much for Dragonsoul etiquette, but it’s kept us alive and well these past fifty thousand years, to hear Rahaab tell it.” The orange worm looked left, right, left. He sniffed at the air.
Mouse had to keep his attention and keep him talking. This was their opportunity to get the information they so badly needed.
“So every Dragonlord on Earth wants Steven dead?” she asked.
“Nah,” Wenck grunted.
“But the Conclave, twenty years ago, there was a vote.” Mouse didn’t sweat as a dragon, but this next part was critical, and she so wanted him to answer.
“Oh, you know about the super-secret Conclave?” Wenck asked. “Not surprising, since you have ties with the Yellow Ronin. I hear he calls himself Liam Strider nowadays. Don’t trust that bastard. If you knew what I knew, you’d keep yourself far away from him.”
Mouse couldn’t let him derail the conversation. “Yeah, so the Conclave was all the Dragonsoul Primes, right? They all voted to kill the Drokharis family. Do they all want Steven dead?”
Wenck rumbled laughter. “Primes only want one thing—to protect their territory and gather new primacies. Most of them could give a shit about anything other than finding a new hole for their peckers. But not all of us. Some of us have what you call vision. Twenty years ago, there were five of us ... Me, Mulk—”
Wenck abruptly stopped talking. Mouse’s heart fell in disappointment. Dammit.
“Oh, I see what you’re doing.” Wenck growled laughter. “You’re stalling. So, maybe the boyfriend ain’t here or won’t show until I take the bait. Well, I’m gonna love me some Mouse meat. You say you bite? Well, I bite harder!”
He flung himself off the cliff and dove at her, opening his mouth. The dark inferno in his throat was pure hellfire.
ShadowFlame.
“Magica Defensio!” Mouse shouted. Though she was new to spellcasting, she didn’t cast a normal shield spell, but one that protected against all heat-based attacks. Another gift from Steven’s father’s spell book and lessons from Tessa and Liam.
She launched herself upward. The midnight fire swept around her shield, but she still felt it scorch her scales. Even though she was slender in her dragon shape, she wasn’t small enough. She could change that.
She transformed into a human, protected from the ShadowFlame by her shield spell. In the same moment, she unsheathed the Slayer Blade. Green flames flashed up the broadsword’s steel.
Riding the momentum of her leap, she lashed out with the blade, slashing through Wenck’s plump orange arm, severing it at the elbow. He bellowed and went to bat her out of the way with his tail. She dodged the blow, barely. Still, she rose above him. Jumping as a dragon and then turning human really kept her speed up.
Below her, Wenck’s wings were out, stopping his descent. She could take care of that.
Mouse morphed into a dragon and then unleashed a cold blast of ArcticWind, aiming for Wenck’s back. Bingo. A thick crust of ice covered the membranes of his wings, and in an instant, he lost his ability to fly. He fell toward the sheet of ice below and crashed into it, face-first. Her ice platform cracked but didn’t break. Good thing she’d added another layer of ice.
When Mouse went from human to dragon, she’d lost her grip on the Slayer Blade. It went streaking through the air and slammed down into the back leg of the orange worm, pinning him to the ice platform. He let out a roar that was part fury, part fear. Well, that was lucky.
Problem was, Mouse had used ArcticWind three times, and her Animus was low. Worse yet, half a dozen dragons broke from the surface of the lake, about fifty feet from the southern edge of the skating rink Mouse had created. Wenck’s Escort had approached underwater, waiting for their time to attack. One dropped a human onto the platform—a woman with dark skin, dressed in white robes. The other five shot through the air, breathing a variety of Exhalants at Mouse, who suddenly felt very outnumbered.
But she’d done her part. She’d drawn out the enemy and had even gotten him to confess a bit. If only he’d told her everything. For the love of biscuits, they’d been so close!
She just hoped she survived the next few minutes. And she needed to get her damn sword back. She’d grown to love the Slayer Blade.
She might not like fighting, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t wickedly good at it.
STEVEN COULDN’T BELIEVE how fast Mouse had crippled Wenck. He was pinned to the ice, trying to get the Slayer Blade out of his back leg. He couldn’t shift into any other form because then the sword might sever the injured limb. But the Magician down there was healing her Prime, without a doubt. A blood-red Dragonsoul female stood guard while the woman cast the Magica Cura spell. The other five dragons converged on Mouse.
Steven was torn. Should he help Mouse or go after Wenck? From his hiding place in the crack in the cliff, he’d listened to the Australian Prime’s conversation. He was their true target, and they would never have a better chance to take him alive. Well, Steven planned to keep Wenck’s heart beating long enough for him to tell him everything. Then he would kill the orange worm. He’d admitted to helping Mulk murder his father. That could not go unpunished.
Gunshots cracked through the canyon. That would be Tessa’s Peacekeepers, evening the odds. A blue female, pocked with bullets, tumbled from the sky. At the same time, in a blast of cinnamon and a flash of crimson, Aria tore into the pack of Wenck’s wives.
Tessa, standing on the eastern cliffs, had both her guns blazing. Aria clawed her way through Wenck’s Escort even as she breathed fire onto their wings. The attacks were fast and brutal. Mouse joined in, exhaling a toxic cloud into the face of a green female reaching for her.
Steven would let his Escort mop up the females above. He would strike at the Prime with his Magician and red dragon wife below. It was three against one ... Oh well. Steven was used to having the odds against him.
With his dragon wings out wide, he dropped down, brandishing his claws. He wanted the red female guarding Wenck to think he wanted to go talon-to-talon with her. She fell for his feint, attacking him with her wings straining.
At the last minute, Steven let loose his Inferno Exhalant, bathing the red dragon in flames. She let out a shriek. Steven didn’t pause. He transformed into his Homo Draconis form, letting gravity pull him down to the ice, where he landed with a thud like a falling asteroid.
The moment he touched down, he cast a shield spell. Good thing he did. Flashing red boomerangs spun into his force field. Sure, an Australian Magician would throw boomerangs. Most of the angled lights hit his shield, slamming home and sending up a wave of flashing sparks. Those that didn’t spun behind him to strike him in the back. Fuck! That hurt!
He lost scales, and his wounds blistered. Anger boiled inside his chest. He harnessed that po
wer and struck back like a fucking hammer.
“Magica Impetim!” he roared. His own magic missiles burst from his hands in the form of spinning black stars. After fighting the ninjas in the Onari Guard, he’d gotten the idea of hurling onyx-colored throwing stars. He’d always wanted to be a ninja. Seriously, nothing was cooler than a ninja—except a ninja dragon.
The Magician had a red-tinged shield spell up, but she’d thought he would come after her with his claws. Most Dragonsouls hadn’t mastered magic up to that level. Steven’s stars broke through her shield with pitiful ease and peppered the Magician, cutting into her, taking her down. She wasn’t dead. Steven didn’t feel a burst of Animus from her. Yet the woman was out of the fight for the moment.
Steven transformed back into his True Form. His claws gripped the ice underfoot so he wouldn’t slide around.
Wenck managed to get a claw under the Slayer Blade, and he yanked it out. He sent the sword clattering across the ice. He’d been healed by his Magician, so he faced Steven at his full strength, minus his left arm, that was, and the hole in his leg. Thank you, Mouse.
Steven triggered his newest Pugna ability, ShadowStrength. He sucked black energy from Wenck, leeching away the other Dragon’s Animus to power his own muscles. That was the secret of ShadowStrength, you weakened your opponent while at the same time gaining their strength. It was insidious and powerful, but also rare. Most Dragonsouls—even those with their own Primacies—didn’t have access to that kind of power. Steven was exceptional in that regard.
Wenck roared, spun, and whipped his tail at Steven.
Steven caught the tail in his talons and used his attacker’s momentum to flip the orange worm around. He slammed Wenck back into the ice, stunning the beast.
Claws shredded Steven’s already wounded back. The red female was still smoking from his Inferno blast, but somehow she had mustered the sheer will to fight. Steven released Wenck’s tail. He swiveled and used his own tail to bash the female away. His tail landed like a wrecking ball, breaking bones and sending her reeling. Then—before she could regroup—Steven leapt off the ice and drove his claws, enhanced by ShadowStrength, into her belly. He ripped upward and opened her abdomen. Entrails spilled out and fresh Animus filled him. It made the victory all the sweeter.