Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons Book 2)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Two shots fired, and a female scream came from the woods. That was no deer.

  “Got one!” a man yelled.

  I ran to the edge of the woods and leaned out enough to see the trucks. They’d stopped. The men—they were young and definitely human—sprayed fire into the trees.

  A whispered argument in a language I didn’t understand came from the trail opposite me, and I spotted two green-skinned goblins with shaggy white hair also hiding behind trees. One was male, one female, neither more than four feet tall.

  They pointed at the men, then pointed back into the woods in the direction the scream had come from. Neither of them appeared to have weapons. Clad in ripped and oversized jeans and flannel shirts, they reminded me of the refugees in Greemaw’s village. Their faces were lean, cheekbones prominent, and I doubted they’d had a good meal in a long time.

  Even though I’d never met a goblin that hadn’t made trouble for me—the ones I’d run into were notorious for stealing things—I’d also never met one that was a killer and deserved a death sentence. In short, I’d never been sent out after one.

  I tapped my translation charm and willed it to activate.

  “They got Teenah. We have to help.”

  “How?”

  “Go pick her up and get her out of here.”

  “They’re shooting all over the place over there.”

  More gunshots erupted from the truck beds.

  “Get ’em, get ’em!” one of the drivers urged, yelling through the open slider window to his gun-happy buddies.

  Two of the men leaped out and ran into the woods. What were they going to do? Cut off the goblin’s head and mount it above a fireplace?

  I pulled out Fezzik, visions of stalking down the road and opening fire on them filling my head. More sane visions of staying in the trees and shooting out their tires from behind cover replaced them.

  I ran parallel to the road, leaping brush and logs, landing as lightly as I could, not that they’d hear me over their yammering and shooting. Once I was close enough, I found a stout red cedar to hide behind and leaned out. Though I was tempted to randomly rain fire on their trucks—and maybe sink a few bullets into their asses—I calmly and methodically aimed for their tires.

  Still firing their own weapons, it took them a minute to even realize they were being shot at.

  “Shit,” one of the drivers called out the back. “One of you jackasses hit my tire.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “I’m losing tire pressure.” The driver pointed to some warning indicator on the console.

  “You probably ran over some glass.”

  “My tires are losing pressure too,” the driver in the second truck hollered.

  Man, these guys were geniuses.

  “It’s the goblins,” one of the men in the bed said. “They must be shooting back at us.”

  “You said they wouldn’t have guns!” All of the men in the truck beds dropped to their bellies, only their heads and rifles visible over the sides as they fired into the woods again.

  My senses told me that the goblins had managed to get their comrade and were carrying her out of the area, but the idea that these guys had come out here to hunt prey that couldn’t fight back—intelligent prey, not animals for the dinner table—pissed me off.

  I fired again, this time aiming for their rifles. My shots knocked two guns out of their hands before the rest of the men spun in my direction.

  “Over there!”

  They finally returned fire in the right direction. I ducked behind the tree and touched my charm to call Sindari. Their bullets flew all over the place. None of them had seen me or knew exactly where I was.

  You’re supposed to summon me before you enter into a firefight, Sindari said as he finished forming, the silver mist fading.

  Is that how it works? I do struggle with order-of-operations problems.

  You must have been a pox to your mathematics instructors. Shall I go rip off the legs of the men firing vaguely in our direction?

  As tempting as that is, I doubt the police would appreciate it if we mutilated poachers in the woods. Especially goblin poachers. As far as I knew, it wasn’t a crime to shoot magical beings, since the government didn’t acknowledge they existed or give them rights. I thought of my mother pointing out that this kind of thing wasn’t uncommon down in Oregon. Maybe it wasn’t here, either. I just hadn’t known because I lived in the city. But do me a favor and scare them, will you?

  Gladly.

  Bonus points if they wet themselves.

  I’ll give them my special roar.

  I knew you knew your roar could elicit that response.

  Sindari grinned back at me, inasmuch as tigers could grin, as he bounded toward the road.

  His innate stealth kept the gunmen from seeing him until he sprang into the bed of one of the trucks, knocking men and their rifles over the side. He must have kept his claws retracted, because nobody screamed when he struck them with his powerful limbs, but the men did shriek and yell at the drivers to get them the hell out of there.

  I trotted out as the trucks rumbled down the road, the poachers who’d been knocked out running after them. Sindari sprang from the roof of one truck to the bed of the next, knocking over more people. They couldn’t shoot at him without risking hitting each other, though that didn’t keep a few from trying. They weren’t even close to fast enough to graze Sindari with a bullet.

  I could have shot out more of their tires—the ones I’d hit were deflating with impressive speed—but there wasn’t much point. Sindari had them on the run. So, being the mature person I was, I took out my phone and recorded their flight as Sindari leaped back and forth, evading the men stupid enough to still be in the truck beds attempting to shoot him. I was fairly certain my stoic, regal tiger was deliberately taunting them—and having fun doing it. By now, most of them had lost their weapons.

  Once the wobbling, lopsided vehicles turned onto the road that led to the parking lot, I stopped recording.

  “Maybe it’s time to start a YouTube channel,” I said. Nin and Zoltan would call it marketing. Who wouldn’t want to hire me after they saw how delightfully effective Sindari was?

  As I turned, trusting he would be back, and strode up the trail toward the Jeep, I sensed the goblins scattering deeper into the brush. Soon, their auras faded from my awareness.

  If they felt any gratitude or cared that I’d stepped in, I would probably never know it. That was fine, though there was a wistful part of me that wanted them to know. It would be nice if some members of the magical community believed I was a good person and only hunted the legitimate criminals among them.

  As I got closer to the Jeep, I noticed something on the ground next to it. Ugh, had those idiot poachers done something to it? The tires weren’t flat, and I didn’t see any bullet holes… Was that a paint bucket? And… brushes?

  When I stepped around to the driver’s side, I found myself staring at stick figures painted in red on the door. My first thought was that it was mindless graffiti, but there was a definite message being conveyed. A stick dragon with a round belly was knocking a stick person—someone with a braid of long hair—into a ravine. At the bottom of the ravine, the stick person was duplicated, this time lying dead among jagged rocks.

  Sindari caught up to me as I considered two words written next to the stick figures in an unfamiliar language.

  “How’s your Goblin?” I was positive the truckers hadn’t done this.

  I understand many languages. That’s your name.

  “Val?”

  Mythic Murderer.

  “Wonderful. And that’s also my fate, I suppose.”

  I wouldn’t worry about it. Goblins are known more for being mischievous than prophetic.

  “I don’t feel comforted.”

  20

  Your new colleague is coming, Sindari informed me.

  I’d pulled a towel out of the Jeep and was doing my best to wipe off the paint that
hadn’t yet dried completely. It wasn’t working well.

  He’s not a colleague. I sensed the approaching dragon aura and looked up in time to spot violet eyes sailing into view over the trees.

  I thought you were trying to get him to see you as an equal. A dragon would typically think of your relationship as something closer to master-slave.

  In that case, I guess he can be my colleague.

  I thought you might see it that way.

  Zav landed on the road in front of us, radiating power like a sun. Too bad he hadn’t appeared earlier. His fanged maw, muscled body, glowing eyes, and sheer size might have convinced the hunters not only to flee but to never step foot in this forest again.

  Even with his wings tucked in, the trees to either side of the road hemmed in his great dragon form. I wondered if the foliage on his world was courteous enough to grow farther apart.

  Zav shifted into his human form, opting for his usual silver slippers and black, silver-trimmed robe. The rain, mud, and puddles all around might have suggested hiking boots and a poncho, but maybe shifters could only change their forms, not their clothing. If so, that was too bad. Zav wearing a vibrantly colored Mexican poncho would have amused me vastly.

  As he walked toward me, wind blowing damp leaves off the trees and batting at his robe, I debated how to admit my lack of progress without sounding like I’d been slacking off these last two days. Or like I was incompetent. Willard had only given me this assignment this morning, but I’d been researching it longer. I’d hoped to be able to hand him the location of Dob’s lair, but all I’d found were poachers tormenting goblins.

  “You’re early,” I told him. “I’m only doing preliminary scouting.”

  Zav stopped in front of me. “You assisted magical beings against humans.”

  I shrugged, surprised he’d gotten here soon enough to see that. I tried not to feel a twinge of disappointment that he knew about it and the goblins didn’t. It wasn’t that I wanted a reward, but my mother’s words had been in my mind, that maybe if I helped more magical beings, the innocent ones would stop fearing me as much as the guilty ones did. Then maybe there would be fewer break-ins of my apartment and drive-by shootings. But that would only happen if the magical community knew I was helping them.

  “From what I’ve learned, this is not usual for you,” he continued. “Typically, you side with the vermin—the humans—infesting this world instead of the magical, even though you are half magical.”

  “That’s because I was born here, and humans are my people.”

  What did he want from me? His gaze was impossible to read when it latched onto me—and more than a little disconcerting. He was close enough that I could feel that now-familiar tingle of power emanating from him, like high-voltage electricity crawling over my skin. Except less unpleasant. I didn’t have the urge to hurry away from it, like I would from power lines. No, I had the urge to step closer, to intensify that sensation, and that disturbed me. It was too much like the pull of a moth to a flame—or a bug zapper.

  “That is no reason not to embrace the superior half of your heritage,” Zav said. “Your father could teach you much.”

  “I’m sure he could, but it’s not like I can look him up on LinkedIn.”

  A gust of wind swept down the road, blowing more soggy leaves off the trees and threatening to give me a glimpse of Zav’s legs under his robe. I wondered if he was wearing socks with his slippers and smirked at the thought.

  He frowned, no doubt thinking my twitching lips indicated some disrespect or another. “He has left this world?”

  “All elves did. And dwarves. Forty-odd years ago. Nobody knows why, but there are lots of theories. Nobody left behind knew how to make portals, so it’s not like I could get a ticket and go looking for him, even if I wanted to see him. And I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “He left my mother before I was even born.” I pulled my collar up against another chilly gust. It was almost summer, but I was wet, and the rain was threatening to turn into a more serious storm. “She forgives him, or so she says, because he had to choose between leaving with his people and staying here with her and only her. He chose his people.”

  Why was I speaking about this to a dragon? What did he care?

  “Look, never mind any of this. I’ve been searching this area using the points on the map that Greemaw gave me, but I haven’t found anything yet. That’s why I didn’t call you. Also, I don’t have your number.”

  “My what?”

  “I don’t know how to get in touch with you.”

  Zav touched his temple. “I do not have my mental shields up against telepathic intrusion, not in this world. There is little need. You can reach me telepathically.”

  “Uh, sure. If I could do that, I would.” Actually, I wouldn’t. The idea of trying to touch my mind to his seemed disturbingly intimate. Either that, or he’d give me a headache with the power of his responses. Thus far, that had been my experience with telepathic communication with dragons.

  Zav lowered his hand. “You cannot?”

  “Nope.”

  “What magical powers do you have? Besides your charms and your weapons. It would be useful for me to know before we confront Dobsaurin.”

  “I don’t have any magical powers besides healing quicker than normal for a human.”

  “That cannot be possible.”

  “Oh, it is.”

  “You are half-elf.”

  “Yeah, and I tried to do magical things when I found out. Nothing ever happened. I don’t have any powers.” I remembered the magical bonds I’d broken in the dark-elf laboratory—and how I wasn’t positive the lock-picking charm had been responsible for that. Or at least wholly responsible.

  “You were trained by a practitioner and failed to show abilities?”

  “No. I tried to teach myself. That’s how it goes for most mixed-bloods here. There’s nobody left to teach. You muddle through and figure things out on your own. Lots of people manage it.”

  “Magic must be taught. Muddling is unacceptable.”

  “That’s how it works here. Let’s drop it, okay? My charms and my weapons and my ambassador are plenty.” I waved toward Sindari. He’d moved farther up the trail to sniff at something in the woods. The sky was growing darker, and his fur glowed a soft silver.

  The wind gusted again, tugging at my braid and leaving a soggy leaf on Zav’s broad shoulder. I snorted and stepped forward, reaching for it. He caught my wrist, his movement too swift for me to jerk away in time.

  “What are you doing?” He squinted at me, eyes flaring with violet light. Had he thought I was reaching for his neck? If so, there was something amusing about him being as wary about me getting close as I was about him getting close. Though he was probably more worried about me kissing his ass than strangling him.

  “Keeping you from a fashion faux pas.” I looked pointedly at the leaf.

  He eyed it, then eyed me, then released me. I brushed off the leaf and stepped back. He was still eyeing me. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind.

  “I’m not going to make a pass at you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “A what?”

  “A pass. Romantic moves. You’re not my type.”

  That was a lie. He was exactly my type, at least going on looks and that hard chest I remembered feeling, but I couldn’t forget that he was an obnoxious, haughty dragon who thought nothing of mentally compelling people to do his bidding. Besides, he’d made it clear I wasn’t his type from the day we met. Maybe he thought I would be so overcome by his virile masculinity that I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.

  “I see.” Zav clasped his hands behind his back and nodded toward the woods. “Let us walk. One of the caves is near, but I believe the forest canopy would make it difficult to find from above; nor could your conveyance fit between the trees.”

  “I guess that means we’re using Chopper as a machete.” I didn’t point out that
a cave that was hard for him to see from above would have been equally hard for another dragon to find. I’d planned to check all of Greemaw’s locations regardless.

  Zav glanced at the hilt over my shoulder. “That is not a fitting use for that blade. I am capable of clearing brush if necessary.”

  “Can you breathe fire when you’re in human form?”

  “I can make fire in this form.”

  I imagined him crouching with flint and steel and dried pine needles. A snort escaped my lips. It was almost a giggle, but I am a mature woman and do not giggle.

  I hadn’t meant for it to sound sarcastic or dubious, but Zav’s eyes narrowed, then glowed violet. I’d been walking at his side, but I paused warily, expecting something of mine to burst into flame. A long beard of moss dangling from a nearby branch caught fire and burned within a second. The rest of the tree was not damaged.

  “No flint and steel required, eh?”

  “No.”

  Zav veered off the muddy road, and I made a mental note of the Jeep’s location and nearby landmarks in case he disappeared again. There wasn’t any cell reception out here, so the GPS map was useless.

  Zav took the lead. Along the way, not much burst into flames, but the ferns and bushes leaned away from him to make our passage easier. It was still slow-going. The roar of the river drifted to my ears, but I didn’t know if we were five minutes from it or thirty.

  “What made you help those goblins?” Zav asked without looking back.

  Surprised he was bringing it up again, I shrugged. “I don’t like big guys picking on little guys.”

  He kept walking, still not looking back, and I wondered if he thought I was insinuating that dragons did that.

  “Given your reputation, I wouldn’t have expected you to help the magical, size regardless.” He sounded like he was trying to work through a puzzle.

  “Reputation is what other people believe about you. It isn’t always an accurate reflection of who you really are, but it’s damn hard to alter the perceptions of others.”

  “That is true among all the races.” Zav stopped, framed by two towering cedars, and faced me. “You will probably not believe that I also do not like big guys picking on little guys.” His emphasis on guys was careful, as if the word wasn’t familiar to him. It probably wasn’t. What dragon freshly arrived from another world could have fully mastered English in a few weeks?