A few miles on, she found a farmhouse and was ready to slaughter the family therein as the pigs they were but sensed another dragon approaching—Lumos, a member of Dragon SWAT. She recognized his aura. So, instead of murder, she simply ran the family off, then bathed and groomed herself. Once finished, she used her aura to make the terrified humans return home with the feeling that a pack of animals had driven them to flee.
With her pockets full of stolen cash—in the mattress, really? Humans were so stupid—she returned to Detroit and purchased a black dress with rhinestones that sparkled like the night sky.
Lumos followed her the entire way. He tried to keep his distance, obviously, but she could sense him all the same.
She couldn’t afford the sapphire necklace she wanted—not with the pittance the farmers had stashed away—so she seduced a gentleman who had been shopping for a fat diamond to no doubt place on his bride’s fat finger, and made him pay for it with one of his many credit cards. Lumos might or might not be able to discern the details of this seduction but he didn’t interfere and the idea of him watching her ruin this human’s future marriage and do nothing to prevent it was a sweet thing indeed.
From there, she had her hair done—again with the credit card of the would-be groom, who’d been kind enough to give it to her—and ordered a chauffeur.
Lumos continued to follow, which simply would not do. She’d let him tag along in the hope that it would prove that she meant no violence and he would leave her alone and report that she’d changed her ways. Unfortunately, he showed no interest in leaving her, so he would have to be dealt with. She told the driver to head to the wreckage of the warehouse where she had almost killed the Steel Dragon.
Once there, she stripped off her new dress and sapphire necklace and stood naked in the parking lot to wait for him to arrive.
The golden dragon couldn’t resist the strange tableau below him and landed on the other side of the parking lot.
“Do you wish to ride me, Sir Lumos?” Obscura asked, using her aura to tell Lumos she wished to seduce him.
“After the farmyard animals you ate? Of course not.” He was an ancient and had experienced every kind of aura so no doubt saw through hers. She didn’t think he’d run into her arms like the Steel Bitch’s fat brother had but he didn’t attack either, which would be his downfall.
“How did you know about those?” she asked and sauntered closer in her human form. Lumos, to his credit, didn’t change into his human form. He wasn’t that stupid, then.
“A young dragon told Dragon SWAT about the barbarisms you’ve committed in the countryside. It wasn’t a smart way to start your time out of prison, especially if you wished to avoid being seen.”
Ah. This was a test then. The young dragon who’d seen her had no doubt been the same one who’d delivered the invitation. That meant that her benefactor had alerted SWAT before their engagement and wanted to see what she would do about it.
Obviously, she would not disappoint.
Obscura transformed into a black cloud and surged at him.
He tried to ignite his solar glow and stop her, but she was already too close. She solidified from her shadowy state and drove into him with the horns that grew across her brow.
That might have been enough to kill him outright, but the old dragon hadn’t survived as long as he had without learning to defend his heart.
Rather than try for another killing blow, she proceeded to pulverize him with methodical viciousness.
He couldn’t activate his glowing powers as quickly as she could hammer his skull with her tail, so it wasn’t much of a fight.
Still, by the time she was finished, she was winded from her first real workout since her release.
“I could stab you in the heart right now, you know.” She smiled as she took her human form and donned her dress and sapphires once more.
Lumos didn’t respond. He was unconscious and beaten almost to a pulp. She’d especially relished breaking bones in all four of his dragon legs—and his wings, which were so brittle, she hadn’t been able to help herself. Stamping on them in a half a dozen places was a real treat.
“Some gentlemen seem to forget their manners at the smallest of provocations.”
With that snide comment, Obscura got back into the car and had the driver stop once more so she could fix her hair for the second time.
She arrived precisely on time and stepped from the vehicle as a being of absolute splendor. The dress fit her perfectly and the sapphires enhanced the sparkling gown, making them look like a galaxy in the starry velvet that was the dress.
She walked into the Detroit Opera House, impressed with the grandeur humans could conjure when they tried to convince themselves that their short, feeble lives were more significant than the animals they slept in the dirt with.
It was a beautiful entryway, with elaborate gold inlays everywhere, golden banisters, and a chandelier some might consider gaudy but she actually liked. She was a little surprised to find it empty.
There were attendants but no patrons. Inside, the performance had already begun, which was unfortunate. The invitation had said six, and that was precisely when she had arrived. If the performance itself was to start then, the invitation should have indicated an earlier time. Although perhaps it wasn’t a performance at all but some kind of dress rehearsal?
Obscura set the questions aside and simply followed the attendants, noting that at least half of them were mages. That added more credence to the theory that perhaps her benefactor was responsible for the guards respecting her request for privacy when the six dragons had attacked Kristen.
She was shown to the very center of the balcony. There, amidst rows of red velvet chairs, her host sat on a throne that had obviously been brought in as it stood on clawed legs and had elaborate armrests that the rest of the theater lacked. It didn’t stand out, exactly, as it was also covered in red velvet trimmed with gold.
He almost seemed a part of the auditorium in a red robe but that revealed little about who her benefactor was. She knew it was the Masked One, however, because he wore a human skull upon his face.
She curtsied low—to deliberately display her cleavage—and stood a little to the side so he could once more watch the opera singers on the stage below. Despite the theatre being empty, the show proceeded as if playing to a full house. He gestured for her to sit in one of the auditorium’s built-in folding chairs to his right.
Wordlessly, she complied.
For a moment, he said nothing and only watched the performance. When he finally spoke, he sounded irritated. “You’re late.”
“I arrived at six.”
“The show started at six.” He tsked his tongue in disapproval.
“Forgive me, sir. I was followed by a member of Dragon SWAT but I dealt with him as quickly as I could. Thank you for securing my release and restoring my powers to me. It felt good to use them against one of our enemies.”
Again, the Masked One watched the performance for a moment without speaking. Obscura watched it too and tried not to let her abhorrence of the horrible screeching show in her expression.
He spoke without turning to face her. For a moment, she actually felt nervous she’d miss one of his words but obviously didn’t want to crane forward and get any closer to him. “That dragon appeared only after my agent delivered your invitation. How did you know he wasn’t working for me as well? Perhaps he followed you to ensure that you’d come to meet your benefactor?”
She knew she couldn’t show hesitation or doubt. “I knew that dragon. He worked with the Steel Bitch, who killed my son. I relished pulverizing his bones.”
“But he could have been working for me. Perhaps Shadowstorm died by my will. He had become messy, you know, and couldn’t do the tasks I gave him as well as he once could.”
“Sir, with respect, you do not surround yourself with weaklings. If Lumos was your agent, he was not worthy of your patronage. He was obvious in his approach and easy to manipulate.
His powers—although unusual and an excellent countermeasure against my own abilities—are sluggish and one-dimensional. If he was your agent, I am glad to have destroyed him so that I may serve in his place.”
The Masked One actually chuckled at that. The three short, low exhalations weren’t exactly laughter but definitely a show of amusement. “And how do you know I do not favor the Steel Dragon?”
“You freed me and not her, sir, unless I am mistaken. But there are few capable of navigating the Dragon Council’s bureaucracy and still remaining in the shadows. Plus, you knew of my—shall we call it history?—with the Steel Bitch. I do not think you released me so I would treat her with kindness.”
Again, his slow chuckle met her statement. A power radiated from him, wrapped in his aura—which Obscura was usually particularly adept at reading but his was well hidden. She suddenly thought of the beasts that lived in the oceans—whales, the humans called them, although she preferred the old name, Leviathan. The Masked One felt like a leviathan. Traces of its power poked through the surface, but the bulk of this dragon’s abilities lay hidden.
“You are correct, Lady Obscura. I do not wish you to treat the Steel Dragon with kindness. She has interfered with plans far larger than herself too many times. I wish you to end her miserable existence.”
“Of course, oh Power in the Shadows.” She sat back and tried to relax, but the opera was simply so burningly awful. Why anyone would want to watch portly humans scream at each other about their petty lives was absolutely beyond her. Still, she wasn’t so foolish as to think she could simply take her leave. She’d never met the Masked One before, but she’d heard stories and wasn’t at all surprised to learn her son had worked with him.
But there was only so much of the shrieking she could take. “If I may but learn a little wisdom from you, oh Venerated and Unknowable One?” Obscura asked, no longer able to sit and listen to the opera.
“You may try.”
“Why free me from that cruel prison and honor me with this task I wish to do? We have not met, but I have heard legends of you and your abilities. Surely you do not need my help with the Steel Dragon.”
“If my only wish was to leave a bloody smear where she once stood, then no, I do not need you. My agents are many, their powers multitudinous, and their origins diverse. Yet I do not believe any of them are capable of defeating her in single combat. If she were to vanquish a dragon who attacked her, she will no doubt crow about it for the world to hear, and if multiple dragons attacked, it would create far too many questions. Then, of course, there is the nature of your grudge.”
“My lord?”
“You have already attempted to kill the Steel Dragon. If you do so again, no one will suspect anything but you enacting your own plans. Your doings will not garner further questions. Even if you escape the crime scene—which you should be able to, although that will be left to you—many will assume it was your doing. After all, she killed your son.”
Obscura nodded. It made sense. She did want to kill the Steel Bitch. She needed no goading and no encouragement, only the means to do so. Now that she had her freedom, she was almost there. She might have already tried if she had not expected a meeting with the man who’d secured her release.
“If you will excuse me,” he said and stood.
She nodded but remained seated. His aura told her that was what he wanted her to do, so she obeyed. She could have fought the smidgeon of power he displayed but again, she could sense that there was far more beneath the placid surface of this dragon than what he allowed through. She watched him walk across the balcony and step off it into thin air.
His wings materialized—shredding his red robe—and he glided down to the first floor of the opera house.
The performers were obviously nervous. They darted anxious glances toward the man approaching them in a dark red suit with a human skull for a mask, and one of their piercing voices cracked as she tried to hold a high note.
The Masked One reached the stage, took the stairs up, and came to stand in the very middle of the performers. Still, the show continued, although she could now see the glisten of tears on some of the singer’s faces. They wept yet they did not stop, not until he gestured for them to do so with a single finger.
“You were sharp,” he said to a beautiful woman in a dark-blue dress.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The singer curtsied. “When you came down, I became nervous. We don’t normally have people grow wings during our show.” She attempted a laugh.
“It’s pre-show jitters,” said an older man wearing a preposterous tuxedo and an even more preposterous mustache. “I heard that too but rest assured that Aisha is merely getting them out before we have a crowd. I promise you, she’s the best we have and she never misses a note, not on a show night.”
“This is a show night. Do you not see my guest?” The Masked One gestured at the room, empty save for Obscura.
The man snorted in disbelief—a sound so quiet she barely heard it—and that was his undoing. The dragon backhanded him with enough force to careen him across the stage. The blow might have killed the man, but he landed in the thick velvet curtains that hung on one side.
No one else moved. Some flinched—it was an involuntary reaction for many lesser creatures, after all—but no one screamed or ran at the show of violence. This was not their first time to see someone displease the Masked One. A smile grew on her face.
Violence against humans was considered distasteful in the modern age, a development of dragon culture that she detested. But here, it seemed, his behavior was not only tolerated but expected. How delicious, she thought. To think he could display such brutality in this grand opera house. Yes, he had servants watching the door but there was still something wonderfully perverse about the way he treated humans so callously in one of their own buildings, while hundreds of thousands of other humans went about their lives outside. It was like the old days when dragons ruled from castles and dispensed justice as they wished while the peasants toiled in the fields and labored in their villages, oblivious to the whims of their masters until they were punished for failing them.
But what she saw next chilled even her cold feelings toward mankind.
The Masked One turned to Aisha. His facial expression was hidden behind the skull he wore as a mask, but she could feel his displeasure. It filled the room like acrid smoke. “I hate it when a singer is sharp.”
She bowed.
“It is much worse than being flat. When a singer is flat, it often indicates that they are trying to listen to their peers and their own voice. When a singer is sharp, it indicates that they are trying to hear nothing but their own voice—that they think they are the most important part of this performance.”
“I assure you, sir, I only wish to please you.”
“Well then, you have failed. Again. Do it again and this time, without that horrible dress.”
“I… Yes, sir. I’ll change.” The woman turned to go backstage but The Masked One hissed and she froze.
“I did not request another dress, merely the removal of this one.”
She nodded and began to cry as she slid one shoulder of the dress off, then the other. None of her human companions came to her defense and no one raised a finger.
Finally, the man who’d been thrown into the curtain did. “You can’t do this!” he said. “We’ve done this three times today. You acting out some sick perverted fantasy with our lead won’t make us any better. We need rest.”
The dragon moved so fast that Obscura almost didn’t see it. No doubt the humans couldn’t process the movement at all. They’d only known where to look because the man had been speaking and perhaps—based on their behavior—from past experience.
The Masked One appeared above the man, knocked him down, and proceeded to stamp on his throat again and again. First, the skin tore and then, bone crunched, but the irate dragon continued the vicious assault. He could have sliced the neck of the man with a single claw, but instead, he
stamped relentlessly until he’d severed the man’s head from his shoulders.
Blood seeped everywhere. It formed a massive pool around the corpse and began to flow beneath the stage and through the floorboards the Masked One had destroyed in his rage. Droplets had also reached every corner of the stage.
He lifted the dead man’s head and tucked it under an arm, a macabre trophy he treated with no more gravitas than an athlete would a ball.
His rampage complete, he turned to Aisha, who had frozen, still holding the dress up. “Ah…” He sounded so happy now. “That’s much better isn’t it? Those speckles on your dress look like fish beneath a still ocean. It’s an improvement. Do not be sharp again, understand?”
She nodded.
“Very good.” He lifted the head beneath his arm by its hair to show the humans around him. “Now, this buffoon was correct. We’ve had quite enough performances for one day and I’d hate for your opening night to sound anything but perfect. All of you go home to your precious little families while I have the crew clean this mess. We wouldn’t want any spots on the big day.” He turned to Aisha. “Except those, of course,” he said and gestured to her dress. “You’ll wear that dress to every show, and you will not remove those wonderful embellishments.”
Everyone scattered.
The Masked One left the stage in a casual stroll. His hands transformed into dragon claws and he peeled the flesh and skin from the skull expertly like it was nothing more than an orange. In the next moment, he vanished beneath the balcony. A few moments later, he reappeared at the top of the stairway. His skull mask was no longer bone-white and traces of flesh still clung to it here and there. Bile rose in Obscura’s throat. It was one thing to treat humans like cattle—as easily controlled, ultimately unintelligent living tools—but quite another to harvest them oneself and wear their bodies like clothing.
“Do you have questions, my servant?”
The Steel Dragon (Steel Dragons Series Book 2) Page 52