by Aaron Crash
They had to climb five flights of stairs, but it was worth it. The room at the top had old-world charm, lots of polished wood furniture, a creaky floor covered by an ornate Persian carpet, and baroque accent lamps. The windows were open, letting in the salt-scented breeze.
Sabina kicked off her sandals, found the big bed, and flopped down on her stomach, still in her wet clothes. She was out in seconds. At least she’d woken up long enough to get to their room.
Tessa picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. “Pierre, yes, this is Tessa. Can you find someone to get us wine, cheese, and whatever other delicious French things you have in this beautiful city? Oh, you’re sweet. And of course, you’ll get a nice gratuity. That’s a tip. We’re Americans. We tip. Yes, mercy buckets.” Her laughter was musical. She hung up.
Steven gaped. How did Tessa do it?
“What?” the barista asked innocently.
“So he’s a dick to me. You come in and win his heart, and yet he still saw me with you. He must know there’s no chance with you.”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “You have no understanding of how guys work. He thinks you are banging us both, and he’s happy about it. Everyone loves the idea of a ménage à trois. That’s French. He’s French. Voila! Also, a part of him thinks if I’m slutty enough to share you with Sabina, then he might have a shot. It’s kind of a different aspect of slut-shaming. We’ll call it slut-celebrating. Hurray for me.”
Steven glanced at the blind woman sleeping on his bed. “I don’t think Sabina’s ready to sleep with me.”
“That’s okay. I’m ready. And she will be too. Eventually.” Tessa edged up to him and ran a hand down his chest. “Just give her time.”
Steven wasn’t so sure. But he pulled Tessa close. Her kiss electrified him. And they were down on Animus.
They made love on the floor in front of the window. After the violence, the running, and the fear, the release was sweet and they both glowed from the magic of the sex.
Tessa got into the shower, while Steven watched Sabina sleep. He was touched by her beauty. She was worth waiting for.
“Come and join me!” Tessa called.
Steven padded toward her. That hot water was going to feel so good.
Chapter Thirteen
RAHAAB RELAXED INTO the bubbling mud pit. The heat felt good on his scales and every inch of him relished the feeling. Darkness surrounded him; the only light was the electricity arcing through the heavens. A massive thunderstorm had swept into Yellowstone with crackling lightning and a soaking wind. He’d found the pit in the middle of the forest near the gravel road that led to Cassius Pine’s Yellowstone Aerie. Tall pine trees ringed the expanse of burping mud heated by the geological forces threatening to destroy Wyoming, if not the world.
Rahaab grew warm, so he slithered out of the mire and relaxed on the grasses surrounding it.
Going from the heat to the cold was exhilarating. His long white beard was washed clean, as were his silver scales. Lightning flashed again, and thunder drummed. This world. This vibrant place of life. It was similar to his home world, and yet so very different in so many ways. For one thing, on Earth, the mammals had won the evolutionary game: their fur, their milk, their pregnant bellies, their dreaming minds, and their ability to adapt to changes in climate. Icharaam had been interested in them. Mathaal had more sense, though he’d proved he’d become enamored with the Dragonsouls—the half-breeds—especially the Drokharis clan. Inexcusable.
But then, Mathaal’s sins had been punished.
As for Rahaab? He found humans disgusting. They were lower forms of life. Might as well fall in love with ants. And Dragonsouls were little better. Only a shadow of the former glory of his race.
Rahaab grew chill, so he returned to the mud pit. His wives were in France, testing the mettle of the boy dragon, the unlikely messiah, that fool Drokharis. The boy wanted to visit doom on this gem of a planet. If only they knew how fragile the biosphere was. Or the things that wanted to feed on them.
Cassius Pine flew down from his Aerie and stood before him in his True Form, thirty feet long with a yellow beard that looked like it had been dipped in ink. He pulled dead trees from the forest with his massive claws and piled them together. Even wet, they burned when he exhaled his ShadowFire onto the hastily made bonfire. “I figure you and I should have some light while we talk.”
Raindrops sizzled into the ghostly flame, which was part fire, part shadow, hot enough to easily dry the wood while burning it.
Rahaab’s Knight Templars, led by Priest, a Dragonskin a hundred years old and counting, dropped from the night sky. The Knight Templars had been useful, and Rahaab had enjoyed watching the monkeys play at being dragons. He’d started using them in Europe, after he slew Samael and took over the Holy Roman Primacy, nine hundred years ago.
A dozen of the templars landed. Two held humans in their grip, a man and a woman, both naked. Their eyes were cold.
Seeing the monkeys pale and shivering made Rahaab sick to his stomach. Worms. He’d had to mate with worms back in the day. Fifty thousand years later, Bolour, Hwedo, and Shamhat weren’t so bad. They were the best of the best of the Dragonsoul females he’d met. Still, they weren’t Alpheros—True Dragonkind. Even though their bestial stink was mostly covered up by the perfume of their half-perfection, he could still detect the reek of their humanity every now and again.
The monkey man and monkey woman fell to their knees at the edge of the pit. The wind gave a last gust, a last splash of rain, and then the storm moved farther east. The bonfire blazed higher.
Priest kept silent. He wouldn’t speak unless spoken to. That one, at least, was well trained, even if he was a vastly inferior being.
Cassius Pine had no such manners. “My Magician found Mouse. She’s back in Wyoming. Her trip to France was cut short. I figured you’d want to know.”
Rahaab lifted his head from the burbling bog to grumble, “I already know much of what is happening. Steven Drokharis is still in France with two of his Escort. Where, exactly, is a mystery. But a small matter. I’ve split up his forces. And I’m testing him, testing his limits, seeing how much destiny he has on his side. So far, it would seem he has a great deal of it. So this shall not be easy.”
Cassius shifted into his human form, which was a waste of time. Yet the Dragonsouls liked going back and forth. As for Rahaab, he found it useful at times to appear human. In the end, however, Rahaab wasn’t a Dragonsoul. He was Alpheros, one of the last in the universe.
Cassius walked to the edge of the boiling mud. “I don’t see why you’d let him get access to the third volume of his father’s spell book. How does a move like that make any sense?”
“He will read what I want him to read. And he will know fear. Fear is a great weapon, perhaps the greatest weapon, to use against your enemies. You should learn that. It will save you a great deal of bloodshed and scheming.” Rahaab blew mud out of his huge nostrils. Some flecked Cassius’s chest. “Do you still serve me? Are we still of the same mind?”
“Kill the little fucker?” Cassius grinned. “Yeah, we are. Kill Stevie. Kill Mouse. And then I acquire his Primacies and his bitches. Lucky me.”
“You don’t mind serving me?” Rahaab asked. He wanted to watch this worm lie.
Cassius shrugged but kept his eyes locked on Rahaab’s. “You’re a legend. You’re a badass. I don’t mind at all.”
Rahaab nodded, swirling his beard in the mud. “I will send Priest to take care of Steven’s Escort on this side of the Atlantic. If they can, they will kill some of the vassals. At some point, when the battle has been decided, you will show up. You will save them. Do not kill Priest or any of my forty-seven Templars, but drive them off. I’m sure you’re capable of such theater.”
Priest still did not move. Did not speak. He stood tall above the kneeling humans. In his talons was his lightning flail. Behind him, two of the other Templars carried a long lacquer box with mother-of-pearl and gold inlay.
“You�
��re the boss, boss.” Cassius Pine’s laughter echoed through the trees. “I’ll get right cozy with the kid. Hell, he got his daddy’s book back. That should make him and me real good friends.”
Rahaab slithered out of the bog once more, forcing Cassius back, and he shifted into his monkey form. As an Alpheros, he could take any shape he wanted. Might as well ape the apes. Now there was no rain to wash him. His hair clung to his head, and mud streaked every inch of him, including his stupid, dangling genitalia.
He reached out a hand. Two of his templars opened the lacquer box. Inside was a hand-and-a-half sword made from dragon scales sharpened to an edge and then augmented with steel and magic. Priest took the bastard blade and brought it to Rahaab, who swept the weapon through the air.
“This is Samael’s Lash,” Rahaab said to Cassius Pine. “Samael ruled the Holy Roman Primacy a thousand years ago. He took over various other Primacies, and when he slew the Primes, he took the Dragonsouls’ scales and kept them. In the end, he made this weapon. I took it from him after I murdered him. Him, his wives, his children. He thought to rule the world, and I knew his thirst for conquest would not stop with this planet. He’d court battle with the shadows, and the shadows have teeth.”
Rahaab approached the naked man. “You have failed to pass the Dragonskin trials. You are not fit to live.” With a quick, clean, effortless flick of his wrist, he hacked off the man’s head. The severed neck spurted blood as the head rolled into the mud.
Rahaab sighed as the Animus filled him. It was life. It was a bit of the eternal spark that all creatures shared, from bacteria, to leeches, to sloths, to Dragonkind.
The woman’s eyes turned furtive. She was going to bolt. Tears covered her cheeks. The conflict was clear: if she stayed, she’d die. If she ran, she’d be tortured and perhaps exiled. She’d witnessed others who had failed and run. If only Rahaab could find the failures who made up the Onari Guard. They were walking abominations; the idea of such half-dragons made him nauseous. Especially that bitch Uchiko. In time, he would make sure that one paid dearly.
Rahaab touched the blood coating the scales on his sword. “I hear human children pull the wings off butterflies. And they do it for no reason. We all find violence so fascinating. As children, they don’t understand the horror of what they do. As we grow, we understand the horror more. The horror of living and eating. We must murder. And if our desire is to torture, we torture. And in the end, we all die. Maybe children kill because they sense their own mortality. And if they are to die, then anything smaller than them should die as well.”
The woman leapt to her feet and ran right into Cassius. He was in his Homo Draconis form. He bit off half her face. When she spun, her skull exposed, the blond man shoved her back toward Rahaab.
Another schwick. Another head rolled. She slumped over, and Rahaab breathed in her essence. Yes, it was sweet—sweeter than when he made love to his wives, though that also had its benefits. But he never took them as a human. He mated with them as an Alpheros, biting them to hold them in place, and then latching onto them with his hemipenes, which most of the time were tucked into his scales, invisible.
“These two failed me, Priest,” Rahaab said. “But you have others to join the Forty-seven, do you not? We took heavy losses at my Mont-Saint-Michel Aerie.”
Priest nodded. “Yes. The best of the best. Not failures like these two, but true Dragonskins who will serve you until their dying breath.”
“Holy shit,” Cassius breathed. “Why forty-seven?”
Rahaab didn’t answer. He didn’t need to respond to this blond worm who would betray him at the first opportunity.
There were other Dragonsouls that were worthier, but Cassius was easily manipulated. Rahaab wouldn’t kill him if he didn’t have to. He’d not taken the kill for himself but had let Rahaab strike the killing blow.
Rahaab might not like Cassius, but in the end, he wasn’t fighting for himself, but for the remnants of Dragonkind, however polluted. Better that Steven Drokharis die in his claws than be devoured by the unspeakable evil of the Zothoric. Anything would be better than that.
“Fine,” Cassius muttered under his breath. “Don’t answer me. And I won’t even ask why you call your fucking sword a lash.”
Rahaab chuckled. “I heard that, Mr. Pine. Pray you never find out.” He turned. “This planet is an amazing place, you know. While my methods are brutal, in the end, I do it to save you, the monkeys, the trees, all of it. That has been my singular mission for fifty thousand years. And I will let nothing stop me. Not family. Not morality. And certainly not some upstart whelp.”
Cassius went silent.
Rahaab took that as a good sign. “Now, let us be about our business ...”
“FUCK!” MOUSE FLUNG the Slayer Blade down. “This is fucked. This is unacceptable. This should not be happening. For the love of biscuits, we need to get back to them. Or get them here. Or do something! They could be dead!”
Aria stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She frowned, and her eyes were hard.
They’d just stepped through the portal near the bonfire in the ruins of the Infinity Ranch north of Cheyenne. It was midnight in Wyoming, and stars filled the sky, but it was morning in France, where Steven, Tessa, and Sabina were. Trapped. Fucking trapped.
Liam Strider teetered over to lay on his side. Blood covered his face from the sheer effort of casting the portal spell. It was clear he was completely out of Animus.
A full moon shone overhead, but there was a thunderstorm coming in from the west. Yellowstone was probably up to its mountaintops in rain and lightning.
Mouse, naked, sped over to Liam. She triggered DragonStrength, and that was the fucked thing: she’d killed a ton of those Dragonskins and was full of Animus. If only she could cast the portal magic, but she couldn’t.
She rolled the Yellow Ronin onto his back. She straddled his legs and attacked his belt, buttons, and zipper. “Okay, Liam, I’ll suck you off, you’ll get some Animus, and we’ll have you redo the portal. Hell, if you have trouble getting off, I’ll even give you a show with Aria.”
Aria had other ideas about that. “Uh, no. It’s pretty obvious you are straight. And you are not my type.”
Mouse nearly snarled in frustration. The Yellow Ronin wasn’t getting any wood anyway. What was his deal?
Liam knocked Mouse’s hands away. “That is not happening. I couldn’t ... not after ... not with the memories of my Escort still fresh in my head.”
Mouse stood up. “That was fifty fucking years ago, Liam. It’s time to get back on the saddle. It’s Steven we’re talking about. It’s Steven!” Mouse felt the tears come and those felt unfair. Why was she crying? Why wasn’t she tougher? “You think I want you? Not on your life! But I’ll do anything for him. Anything!”
She stomped off across the sagebrush. She was barefoot. Fuck! Her heel came down on a cactus. The pain was sharp but welcome. Feeling something other than frustration and despair felt good, however bad. She turned into partial from and kicked the prickly plant out of the dirt.
Her mind raced through their options. At her top speed—and that was using shit off the Pugna branch of the skill tree to fuel her muscles—she could fly a hundred miles an hour. Problem was, France was thousands of miles away. At least twenty hours probably. They had the funds to fly, but that would probably take just as long. Steven, Tessa, and Sabina needed their help now. How could they fight those Trinity twats alone?
Aria approached her. Of course she did. “Mouse, listen, I’m scared too. But we need to think. Liam isn’t going to have sex with us ... Nor do I think Steven would approve. We must hope Steven and the others survived. We must trust in his ability as a Prime.” She paused, jaw going tight. “But we must also find Liam a kill. Your hurricane circle is still cut. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and someone will attack us.”
“I was thinking about that,” Mouse said. “I’m a little nervous being out in the open, but then again, if anyone attacked me right now I’d
fucking cut their colon out with the Slayer Blade.”
Aria paused. “It doesn’t have to be an enemy. Anyone would do. We could find a homeless person, perhaps ...” She trailed off.
Mouse turned. “Damn, girl. That’s cold.”
“Like you said. Anything for Steven,” she replied, her voice a sharpened blade wrapped in velvet.
“Well, we don’t need to do that—which, by the way, is another little something Steven would never approve of. There’s plenty of dragons I’d love to feed to Liam. All we need to do is drive west. I know a bar in Hooper, Montana, where Cassius Pine’s mercenaries hang out.”
“Dive or fly?” Aria asked, a dangerous glint in her eyes. She was raring to fight.
“I think we’d have to drive. Liam is in bad shape.” Mouse clenched her jaws to keep her fucking tears trapped in her fucking eyes. “But, Aria, what if they’re dead? What are we going to do? You and I will have to go to this Rahaab prick. He’s probably a million years old and smells like mothballs and Ovaltine.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Aria said. “Ovaltine, I mean. But I do know that Steven Drokharis is the most powerful Dragonsoul I’ve ever seen. The things he can do ... his fight, his will to win, his sheer determination. I don’t believe he’s dead. Not in my heart. I think he either found a way to escape or he defeated Rahaab’s wives.”
Mouse remembered how tough they’d been. Hell, even the Dragonskins had been a nightmare to fight. And what was that symbol on their leather sashes? A red cross inside of a white circle?
She sighed, getting a grip on her emotions. Which wasn’t easy without vodka. “Okay, so we go to Hooper. We pick a fight and then get Liam to open some veins. He’ll get Animus and then we’ll cast another portal spell.”
Aria nodded. “I’ll get my phone. I left it in the trailer. I’ll call Bud and let him know about our situation. He can monitor things to see if we can find a trace of Steven. Who knows? They might have called him. We must believe in Steven, like we’ve been doing for months now. I’ve bet everything on him, time and again, and he’s never let me down.”