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

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Of course. We should all solve the problems that arise from the inequalities between people by adopting isolationist tendencies interspersed with brute force.”

  “Did I invite you here to be reasonable and wise?”

  “You didn’t invite me at all.”

  “I knew it. I shouldn’t have let you in.”

  “I came to pay you.”

  “Never mind. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Just watch out for the stuff on the floor. I haven’t cleaned in there yet.”

  Willard tossed the envelope onto the rug next to me and picked her way into the kitchen. “You didn’t mention that your apartment had been ransacked again.”

  “Didn’t I? I think it was a dark elf looking for a notebook I took when I was in their complex.”

  “Dark elves?” Willard took two berry-flavored cans of sparkling water out of the fridge and frowned at me. “Are you sure?”

  “No. The note he or she left was in English. But the bone daggers looked like something dark elves would have. And I don’t know who else would have stabbed a blade through Zav’s face.”

  “Pardon?”

  “His face in that poster.” I waved to where it remained on the desk.

  Willard dropped off one of the drinks next to me and went to look. “Should I find it odd that you have a poster of a shape-shifted dragon in your apartment, or is it simply another sign of the inevitable marriage?”

  “Trust me, he’s more likely to kill me—or tote me off for punishment and rehabilitation—after last night. He was not cool with me finishing off his enemy. Apparently, dragons don’t kill dragons. It’s a thing.”

  “Like homicide?”

  “I guess. The note is on my bathroom counter in case you want to take it to your office for forensics stuff. Can you get fingerprints on dark elves?”

  “Only if they’re in the government database.”

  “I think the ink is someone’s blood.”

  “That would let us know who they killed, not who they are.”

  “Look, Willard. I can only hand you so many clues. You’re going to have to do some legwork on your own.”

  “Says the woman napping on the floor.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom, came out without commenting on the freshly stabbed black bra left on the counter, and waved the note. “I’ll give it to the forensics tech on Monday.”

  “Good.”

  Willard came around the couch to frown down at me. “This ennui isn’t like you. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” I didn’t know how to explain my frustration with the Zav situation and would prefer not to try.

  “It’s clear that you need something to do in order to distract your mind from your woes.”

  “Are you going to ask me to hang out with you this weekend, Colonel? Is that allowed? Fraternizing with the lowly civilian contractor who doesn’t properly salute you?”

  “Oh, that’s highly discouraged. But I signed the lease for a new less incendiary apartment in the city, and some of the guys from the office are coming to help me move tomorrow. I thought you might like to help.”

  “What can you possibly have to move? Didn’t all your stuff burn?”

  There went her judgmental eyebrows twitching again. Though maybe I shouldn’t have made the joke. She’d probably lost a lot of her treasured belongings in the fire.

  “Most of it, but I had a three-bedroom house on base at my last assignment, so I still have furniture in storage. And I bought some new exercise equipment to celebrate being alive.” Her eyes narrowed. “I have some nice fifty-pound dumbbells you can carry into the apartment.”

  “You bought celebratory fifty-pound dumbbells? You’re a weird woman.”

  “Says the pot to the kettle.”

  “Most women get the purple, pink, and teal dumbbell set that maxes out at twelve pounds.” Admittedly, I would laugh my butt off if I saw Willard wielding a pink six-pound dumbbell.

  “I used to have a squat rack in my bedroom.”

  “I bet that excites men and gets you a lot of dates.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Enjoy your money. I’ll text you the address of the new place and see you tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t say yes.”

  “You’ll get tired of your ennui and want to come.”

  I waited until she left before opening the envelope. She’d arranged for the double combat bonus, as promised.

  After taxes, there might be enough left to pay off the auto loan on the destroyed Jeep. That was a good thing, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about being rewarded for this, since killing Dob had pissed off Zav and broken some Dragon Justice Court law.

  I reminded myself of the dead goblins and workers in the water-treatment facility and decided I’d done the right thing. Zav was wrong—or naive about his silly judicial system—not me.

  I carried the fifty-pound dumbbells out of Willard’s Honda CRV, wondering what she did with them. Squats? Shoulder shrugs? Chest presses? The colonel was definitely a beast. I carried them easily enough, but that was more thanks to my father’s blood than my exercise routine. When I went to the gym, I spent more time doing sprints, practicing sword-work, and pummeling the bags than hurling weights around.

  Willard’s “new” apartment was in another fifty-year-old building with external staircases and doors. Maybe she worried about being trapped in another fire—or an attack—and wanted to be able to flee straight outside. Given how her last apartment building had burned down, I couldn’t blame her.

  When I reached the second floor, Corporal Clarke, who’d been pressed into this duty along with two other soldiers from Willard’s office, waited on the landing.

  “I’d offer to help, but the colonel said you personally requested to unload her dumbbell set.” He smirked, his dark brown eyes twinkling.

  “She said to make the forty-something woman carry the heavy weights while you strapping youngsters carry shoeboxes?”

  “You’re forty-something, Thorvald? That can’t be right.”

  “I’ve got a young face.” The dumbbells were putting a strain on even my half-elven forearm muscles, so I passed him and headed into the apartment. It had a higher ceiling than the last one, with an overhead fan stirring the warm summer air. Here in Seattle, that counted as the air conditioning.

  As I set the weights down on the rack in the living room, Clarke walked in, his fitted brown T-shirt showing off his bulging biceps as he carried in a flat-screen television. He winked again and hefted it up and down—either demonstrating how heavy the burden was or demonstrating the curve of his biceps—before settling it on the stand. After Clarke removed the blanket protecting the TV, he sidled over to me.

  “Val, I’ve been meaning to ask…” He wriggled his eyebrows flirtatiously. “Can I see your tiger?”

  “I thought you were going to make a pass at me.”

  “Nah, you’re not my type.”

  I was fairly certain it wasn’t because of my age.

  “I’ve heard your tiger is amazing,” Clarke added, “but I’ve never gotten to see him.”

  “Willard doesn’t like me to take him out in her apartment. She has a cat.”

  A yowl came from the bedroom, as if Maggie was listening and had an opinion on this subject. That was possible, though she’d been yowling all morning. Probably protesting that the door to freedom was open, but she was locked behind bars in her cat carrier. From what I’d heard, she had already escaped twice from the apartment and down to an active bird feeder in a picnic area for the tenants. She’d been wooed back with canned tuna fish.

  “We could do it on the landing out there. I’ve never seen a tiger up close. We don’t have them in Jamaica. No lions or panthers either.”

  “You sound disappointed, but after the week I’ve had, I assure you that’s a selling point.” Maybe if I saved up like Nin, I could buy a house there and retire.

  Clarke looked confused, but only for a second, before enlightenment dawned. “Ah, yes. I hear
d about the neighborhood you demolished in Bothell.”

  “I had help.” I waved for him to follow me onto the landing, then touched my charm and summoned Sindari.

  Another battle so soon? Sindari looked up and down the walkway and then out to the parking lot.

  “No. One of Willard’s soldiers wants to see you.”

  To see me? Sindari turned to face me, his green eyes judging. You interrupted my stalking of the delicious yerboka so some tourist can gawk at me?

  “Oh, he’s completely dope,” Clarke said.

  Completely what? Sindari asked.

  Don’t ask. Out loud, I said, “Dope? Does that rate higher or lower than dank?”

  That had been Dimitri’s adjective for Sindari.

  “Dank? Who said that? He’s not a dub bag of weed.”

  I do not understand the language this man is speaking, Sindari told me.

  I know. Me either. Just look regal for him for a minute, and then you can go back to hunting.

  He may not touch me.

  Feeling persnickety today?

  A yowl of complaint came from the bedroom.

  “What is your tiger doing here?” Willard asked, coming up the stairs on the way back from the recycling bin. “You know Maggie doesn’t like him.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re outside. Clarke wanted to see him.”

  Maggie yowled.

  “Maggie knows he’s here.” Willard frowned.

  “Maggie was complaining even before he showed up,” I said. “Does she like the new place? Should I have brought a housewarming gift for your cat?”

  “You didn’t bring one for me.”

  “Because I’m here doing manual labor for you. That’s a gift that few receive.”

  “Uh huh.” Willard pointed to the moving truck. “Lots more waiting in there for you, Corporal.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Clarke smiled, told me thanks, then slid a hand along Sindari’s back as he descended the stairs.

  The presumptuousness! Fortunately, Sindari glared at me instead of biting off Clarke’s hand.

  A neighbor came out of one of the apartments above, and I shooed Sindari inside. “You better stay out of sight, so Willard’s neighbors don’t think she has weird visitors. I’ll be right back.” As I jogged down the stairs, I silently added, And don’t scent-mark any of the furniture, or I’ll ask Corporal Presumptuous to come back up here and rub his hands all over you.

  You are the oddest handler I’ve ever had.

  You’re welcome for making your life interesting.

  Hm.

  As I was toting the forty-five-pound dumbbells out of the SUV and to the stairs, a familiar orange camper van with galaxy curtains pulled into the parking lot. Dimitri waved out the open window. Nin sat in the passenger seat.

  I nodded to let them know I’d be back in a minute. When I went inside to set down the dumbbells, Sindari was still by the door, rubbing his cheek on the back of a stationary exercise bike.

  “Are you leaving your scent on that?”

  Merely scratching an itch.

  Maggie meowed plaintively, as if she knew exactly what was going on out in her living room. I squinted suspiciously at Sindari and vowed to look up all the ways felines left their scents on things.

  “Dumbbells go in the bedroom, not the living room,” Willard said, walking out as I was trying to leave.

  “Is that official home-gym etiquette, or do you just like seeing me carry heavy weights around?”

  “Yes.” She pointed at Sindari. “What is your tiger doing?”

  “Scratching an itch, he promises me.”

  “If Maggie is terrified to go near that exercise bike later, I’m going to dock your combat pay on the next assignment.”

  “Why would a cat want to go near an exercise bike?”

  “Maggie likes to spin the pedals with her paws.” Willard strode up to Sindari and made shooing motions with her hands. “Outside, large feline. Out.”

  Sindari gave her an indifferent look, then turned his gaze on me. Not only did you not bring me forth to do battle, but I must endure the disrespect of humans who do not acknowledge my supreme eminence.

  “She’s my boss. If you would be so kind as to go outside?” I waved at the door. “Dimitri is out there. I know you find his hands acceptable.”

  Sindari made a noise that sounded like the tiger equivalent of hmmph. He padded toward the door but brushed his side along the front of Willard’s dark pants and shirt on the way out. She scowled and brushed at the impressive amount of silver fur that came off on her clothing.

  “You need to groom that tiger. Maggie’s going to have a fit.”

  Sindari sashayed out the door, his tail swaying jauntily. Since there were a handful of people around, I dismissed him back to his realm. Hopefully, he could finish that hunt.

  Though I was eager to know what Zoltan had found, Nin intercepted me before I reached Dimitri.

  “Thank you for your assistance with the Pardus brothers,” she said formally and solemnly. “I know you did not wish to kill anyone, and that was never my wish either. I apologize for not foreseeing that my request would turn to such violence.”

  “It’s all right. They were asses, and I probably would have ended up hunting them down for crimes sooner or later anyway.” I remembered the shifter on the lawn who’d been eyeing the couple with the stroller.

  “I am still sorry. Were you badly injured? Dimitri said the dragons were there.”

  “I’m all right. Thanks for asking.”

  “I am working on your armor already. I will attempt to make it so good that it protects you even from dragons.”

  “That’s good, because I have a feeling I’m not done with dragons yet.”

  Unfortunately.

  Dimitri looked over at me from his van. He stood beside it, talking to Clarke, who was telling an animated story, judging by the hand gestures. I couldn’t tell if Dimitri was entertained or wanted a way to escape the garrulous corporal.

  “Clarke,” I said, walking up. “Willard wants you to personally carry the rest of the dumbbells up to the apartment.”

  “She said that? Does she want to admire my biceps?”

  “Oh, I’m positive.”

  “I’m the delight of many older women,” Clarke told Dimitri with a flirty wink identical to the one he’d given me. He strutted to the Honda, his arms held just so to display his ropy muscles.

  “I’ve crossed paths with him numerous times in the last year,” I said, “and I haven’t the foggiest idea which way his tastes run.”

  “All ways, I think.”

  “I don’t know exactly what that means, and I don’t want to know.” I pointed at the notebook and piece of paper. “Are those for me?”

  “This is most definitely for you.” Dimitri handed me the sheet of paper. “I’m on my way out of town. My landscaping employer has gotten a bunch of gigs and has work for me, so I’m going back to Bend. Zoltan asked me to deliver the notebook to you on my way out if you agree to pay him.”

  “Of course I’ll pay him.” I read the sheet of paper, expecting a translation of the notebook, but… “This is an invoice. For six-thousand-and-seven-hundred dollars.” I thought about fainting. I’d never fainted in my life, but this seemed like an appropriate time to start.

  “Yes. I understand it’s itemized—charm, gas grenades, and translation services—for your bookkeeping convenience.”

  “He charged me more for the translation than for anything else.”

  “Because the translation took the longest. He said he settled on an official hourly rate for his services and billed you accordingly. He didn’t charge you for materials.”

  “What a deal. Dimitri, professional hookers in Hollywood don’t make this much per hour. Lawyers don’t make this much per hour.” I pointed a thumb at my chest. “I don’t make this much per hour, and I risk my life every time I take a job.”

  Dimitri lifted his hands. “If you don’t like his rate, you’ll ha
ve to take it up with him. I’m just the delivery boy.”

  “I always assumed that if I was gouged by a vampire, blood would be involved.” So much for getting out of debt on that car loan.

  “Here. This is the part you want.” Dimitri handed me the notebook.

  I opened it and found a stack of folded papers inside, Zoltan’s old-fashioned calligraphic handwriting detailing what he’d translated. The word orbs leaped out at me, and I shivered. Willard came down as I was scanning the pages, and I waved for her to come read over my shoulder.

  “They’re recipes and shopping lists with instructions for making what Zoltan translated as poisonous pleasure orbs along with several other devices,” I said. “They’re all called pleasure something-or-other.”

  “Was the one you saw poisonous?” Willard must have already read the report I’d turned in that morning.

  “The shifters were pressing themselves right up against it, and it seemed like they’d been using it for a while, so it would have to be something long-term.”

  “That’s possible,” she said. “Dark elves are long-lived, so they wouldn’t be in a hurry to get immediate results. Did any of the shifters who were using it live? If we could question one…”

  “Maybe some of the ones who didn’t come down into the basement. Nobody down there survived. Once Dob showed up, Sindari and I were in purely defensive mode. No time for sparing lives or questioning anyone.”

  “I’ll talk to my informants in the north and see what I can learn in the next couple of weeks.”

  “You can start with this.” I thrust the notebook and translation at Willard. “You better make a whole bunch of copies of this stuff and then throw the notebook in the Sound. The dark elves want it back, but I don’t think we want them to have it back.”

  “No.” Willard took it. “I wonder how many of these devices they’ve already made and how they intend to use them.”

  “I don’t know, but if the shifters were an indication, they’ll lure in a lot of people. They must plan to use honey instead of vinegar to get what they want.”

  “And what do they want?”

  “I was hoping you knew that. You’re the intelligence gatherer. I’m just the muscle.”

  Clarke walked past, carrying a set of dumbbells in each hand.