“I took a calculated risk. It turned out well.” Nikki glanced at the mob of people. “Look, I gotta get back to work. Enjoy yourself. Tell Phil the drinks are on the house.”
“Will do. Thanks!”
Nikki winked. “Go break some hearts.”
Adrianne found herself doing just that. She danced a couple of numbers with a leather-clad “police officer” with the body of a boxer, drank way too much and danced some more. The music pulsated through her. She relaxed, laughed at the outrageous requests some people made, flirted with men and blushed furiously when a couple of women asked her out. The crowd was a mix of twenty- or thirty-somethings with a smattering of older folks.
Around one a.m., the band laughingly played a heavy metal polka at someone’s drunken request. She never heard “Roll Out the Barrel” screamed into the microphone before. Adrianne spun from person to person, completely at ease.
A man dressed in an executioner’s hood, black t-shirt, tight leather pants and almost comical glow-in-the-dark skeleton gloves caught her and spun her away from the stage toward the exit. She’d seen him earlier in the evening watching her, but she’d never given him more than a cursory glance.
“Hey,” she protested, bracing her hands against his chest. When he didn’t respond, she said a little louder, “Please let me go.” She glanced toward the bouncer standing at the door.
The executioner leaned close. “Create a scene, Dragoness, and I will skin out that pretty little friend of yours.”
Her blood ran stone-cold.
The Hunter’s scent filled her nostrils or maybe it was only the smell of her own fear.
“That’s better.” He tugged her toward the exit. She managed to paste a smile on her face as they passed the pair of bouncers at the door. She knew the men vaguely as she knew all of Nikki’s employees. Even if she hadn’t known them, she wouldn’t have gotten them involved to save her life by jeopardizing their own.
The winter air struck her bare skin like a slap in the face. She shivered. She had but one chance. Putting as much strength into the mental call, she screamed, Quince!
“Fool!” The immediate blow to her head would have sent her to her knees had the Hunter not kept his grip on her.
Something furry brushed against her bare leg. When her vision stopped jumping like a bad television tube, she saw it was a hound. Its crimson eyes watched her with an uncanny intelligence. She tasted blood in her mouth.
Then they were moving. Her body screamed in protest at the sudden jarring. They leapfrogged through space as if Earth’s three-dimensional objects, like trees and buildings, were only pictures on a badly painted canvas. She struggled to keep her footing although she could neither see nor feel the stepping stones the Hunter used. She was afraid if he let her go, she’d fall.
Nothing around them had substance. She put her hand “through” a brick wall when she tried to steady herself. If she fell now, what would break her fall? Or would she plummet right through the Earth like it was hollow and emerge in space?
How could the Dragoon ever hope to stop a creature who didn’t obey the normal laws of reality?
They stopped. Her feet, thankfully, found purchase on the rooftop of a building. Where were they? She could see the river and beyond that, a bridge. She wrapped her arms around her bare shoulders to protect them from the bite of the winter air.
“The last Queen,” the Hunter sneered, snapping off his neon gloves. His hands were fleshless, each finger bone a piece of glimmering silver metal. “You are a poor substitute for a Dragoness.”
So everyone said. Anger surged through her. She kept her eyes focused on his hands, but he was too quick for her. Abruptly those hands were around her throat.
She gasped for air, clawing at his grip.
“Have you no tongue?” the Hunter taunted.
Adrianne! came Navarre’s mental shout.
The Hunter chuckled. “Answer him.”
When she didn’t respond, he loosened his grip. Doubling over, she sucked in the cold air, her lungs searing. She could feel the Hunter’s gaze on her, the wash of pure evil rolling over her like the tide coming in. Evil had a stench unlike anything she’d ever smelled before. Like paper processing plant waste combined with overripe bananas, gaggingly sweet.
“Call him,” he commanded.
She coughed. The smell of evil stayed. She tasted it, feeling her pores oozing it. “You’ll kill me either way.”
“Ah, but I wish to see the hope die in their eyes.”
If she was going to die now, she was going to make damn sure Vespero had something good to write about. “Screw you,” she spat.
The Hunter grabbed her by the throat again. Her eyes flashed sapphire fire. He could feel her tremble beneath his grip, but all he saw was rage in her eyes. Not like the others, this one. This one thrummed with power. The very earth called out to her, offering her its strength. Pity she didn’t know how to bend the power to her will. If she did, she might prove to be a worthy combatant. Either way, this one would be fun to hurt slowly, to savor each insult he did to her.
“How do you feel about pain, Dragoness?” he asked in a conversational tone.
Fear flecked her eyes.
That was better. She was not so unlike the others after all. Licking his lips, he fed upon that fear. “Do you know that not all dragons can fly?” Her heart fluttered beneath his grasp. He wanted so badly to taste her heart’s blood. Patience, he cautioned himself. “The last one I killed couldn’t.”
Her gaze shot over his shoulder, then back to his face.
He turned his head to find one of the dragon men standing there. Holding her out over the edge of the building by the throat, he said, “Let’s see if your Queen can fly.”
The dragon man shot forward.
The Hunter laughed. It was too late to save her. The building wasn’t that tall.
He opened his hand.
Adrianne’s eyes went wide with terror.
She fell.
The wind snatched feathers from her corset. Her hair spun loose, floating around her. A scream tore from her throat. She flung her arms wide, trying to slow her fall. Around her she caught the glimpse of moonspun silk and abruptly felt dragon breaths upon her. They flitted in and out of the moonlight, but shadows themselves. Their bodies interlaced, wings outstretched, tails tangling. In this space, she did not fall, nor feel any fear, held aloft by the whispery remains of former Queens.
The moonlight played strange tricks. The dragons’ forms blurred when she tried to focus, though her side vision swore she hovered in midair, cradled in a dozen dragons’ winged embrace. She gave up the last whisper of herself, then, letting her essence spin free of her body.
That’s all instinct needed. All it had ever needed was a release from conscious thought.
Her breath caught in her throat. She was iridescence and light. Her body screamed or had she never stopped screaming? The world subtly shifted around her, shadows layered upon shadows. The moon was brighter, the shadows multicolored instead of a flat gray. She tipped her head back and saw only sky and stars.
She was flying.
She veered away from the ground, her tail striking the pavement of the parking lot, and angled over the icy river. The moon made it a ribbon of glass. She saw herself streak over it like a shimmering comet, her body sleek. Around her the city lights shimmered like millions of holiday bulbs.
She was alone, her ghostly retinue gone.
She did not know where to fly. The wind whispered secrets, enticing her to climb higher, but the night air was chilly. This weather wasn’t made for dragons. Her wings beat silently of their own accord, keeping her out of the icy drafts, but riding their edges nevertheless.
A silhouette blocked the moon from her. She rolled and glimpsed another form just above her. This was not one of the shadow figures which had helped her gain her wings.
The Hunter? Lords, could that thing fly as well?
It is Quince. His voice held an awed note.
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Protect Nikki! She turned back toward the city.
He abruptly dropped beside her to block her return, a gleam of silver and black scales. She is safe. Follow me. They were wingtip to wingtip. His eyes whirled, like multifaceted rainbows.
She hesitated, broke the rhythm of flying and dropped a few feet. Quince maneuvered himself beneath her. If she fell, she’d kill them both.
You give me little credit, Quince said.
Where is Navarre?
He is waiting for you. Focus now, my Queen, for you will tire quickly.
She felt a stab of remorse that Navarre had not been there when she changed. Why should he be? She’d called out to Quince for help. He was the closest. She was an idiot. Navarre should be flying beside her. Being in her dragon form kept her from shedding tears at the thought.
The town faded away, melting into the landscape. She soared over a woods pockmarked by pinpricks of light, then those spots vanished as well and there was nothing but snow-frosted trees beneath her. She wanted to continue on, but already her wings had begun to ache with the strain of unused muscles.
Not much farther, Quince assured her.
They dipped through a fringe of trees. She saw the arc of the ship buried beneath the frozen earth, its domed top speckled with rocks and snow, looking like nothing more than a small hill. Lower still and she could make out the forms of the members of the Dragoon. She was truly their Queen, now, and she raised her head in pride at that.
But she still did not see Navarre.
Quince landed first, gracefully, wings tucked to keep their fragile membranes safe. She panicked. She had no clue how to land.
Easy, lady, Quince advised. Let instinct guide you.
But she landed in an ungraceful somersault, with Quince halting her sliding skid across the meadow. Her nose plowed into the snow. She closed her eyes, wallowing in a bit of mortification. How dignified was that? It was short-lived. Too bad, she was their Queen.
Are you injured? Quince’s voice was worried.
She opened one eye and snorted snow from her nostrils. I’m alive, I think.
The members of the Dragoon stood in a half circle in front of her, their expressions ranging from awe to concern. She closed her eye. Navarre wasn’t with them.
She sent out a faltering thought. Navarre?
I am here. It was equally as hesitant. A hand was laid upon her shoulder. You are displeased with my service, he said, more statement than question.
She couldn’t find the words to answer him just yet. Help me.
His hand moved to the ridges on her neck and stroked an itchy spot. You need only to think of yourself as you were.
As she was? Who was she? She was Adrianne Benedicta Harris, a computer trainer. She led an uneventful life, at least until a couple of weeks ago. She saw herself as she did in the mirror, pale, with washed-out blonde hair, and sharp blue eyes, a nose too well-defined and full lips that always hid a snide comment or two.
That is not my Erifydal, Navarre said, breaking into her thoughts. Then she saw herself as he did. Shoulder-length icy blonde hair tucked behind her ears, with a face almost delicate, save for the sharpness to her nose, and mischievous eyes. Rose lips pursed as if ready to speak. He drew her to this image as if a moth to flame. She sensed the transformation and kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her body tingled and her sense of balance fled.
Sit back, Navarre ordered.
She followed his command before she realized what she was doing, sitting back on dragon haunches, her wings folding against herself. She felt the merge of her wings into her human skin and mourned their loss. Then her arms elongated and thinned and her face shrank. The process wasn’t quite painful. The change felt as if someone was giving her a deep tissue massage and intermittently compressing a nerve ending or two.
She teetered, shivering, and stood naked in the snow. Navarre wrapped his cloak around her. She stared at him with blind eyes. She couldn’t see. The moon was impossibly bright against the snow. “Navarre?” Her voice felt tiny within this smaller chest.
“Blink,” he cautioned, shading her eyes until she did.
A membrane retreated like a third eyelid and her world swam into focus. “Oh God,” she whispered. She looked around at the expectant Dragoon members, then at Navarre. He stood stiffly, uncertain. “I’m sorry to have worried you.” She threw herself into his arms.
He cupped her body protectively as if she were glass. One hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed the small of her back. She quivered.
“You need to be warmed,” he murmured into her hair.
“You aren’t angry with me?”
The worry in her voice left him stunned. “I? It is you who left us. I feared I drove you to it.”
She held him tighter, stifling a breathless laugh. “You asked so much. I couldn’t stand to disappoint you again.”
“Sh’niedra.” He pulled her away and shook her gently by the shoulders. “I have waited a hundred years for you. What is another hundred?”
She smiled sheepishly, raised her hand to his face and touched his lips with the tip of her finger. “I am sorry.”
He took both her hands in his. “It is forgotten.” He tugged his cloak more closely around her. “Let us get you out of the cold.” His gaze never left her face.
She felt consumed by the look. Desire and decorum waged a private battle. Which would win? The man or the beast? She almost hoped for the beast.
Then she broke her own spell. “Nikki’s outfit!” She glanced down at the cloak draping her entire body.
“Ah yes.” A smile played at his lips. “Quince mentioned it.”
She shot Quince a dark look. His face remained impassive, humor glinting in the depths of his dark eyes.
“As warning only,” Navarre added. “I wish I had the chance to see it.”
“Nikki will kill me.”
“Nikki is relieved you are safe and well.”
“Oh!” Another glance at Quince, but this time she saw a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”
She held the cloak close with one hand and offered her other to Navarre. He took it and she felt a smattering of nervous sensations when his fingers closed around hers. “Shall we go inside?” he asked.
Holding her head high, she gathered what dignity she could. “Sure.”
The ship had created a ramp descending into its belly, complete with a red carpet running down the middle.
Navarre stared at the swath of color, bemused.
“I told it how we treated royalty here on Earth.” She tried not to snicker.
“I see.”
The others fell in behind him.
Her stomach abruptly growled, interrupting her “regal” descent, if her tumble in the snow and her subsequent nakedness hadn’t already ruined it.
“Adonthe will prepare you a meal if you so desire.”
Adrianne paused. “I need to face them all, don’t I?”
“You have done so already.”
“As Queen.”
He turned his head and regarded her with approval. “Yes.” Then they stepped into the ship. It rumbled with pleasure at her return.
She sighed. “Like this?” Naked underneath Navarre’s cloak and covered with the Hunter’s stench?
Navarre’s eyes twinkled and she could tell he was trying hard to keep his composure. “It may be more appropriate after you have had a meal and donned clothing.”
She was too tired and cold to seize the opportunity to torment him. “All right then. Tell them please.”
“I already have.”
She’d never truly get used to the blinding speed of mind speech. She turned around. Most had already vanished, leaving only Altarre, Quince and a guilty-looking Vespero. It was just his temperament to choose to make a public apology. “Vespero, can we speak privately later?”
“My lady, my Dragoness, my Queen.” He took two steps forward, dropped to his knee and took her reluctant hand. “A thousand pardons. I never really doub
ted.”
She raised an eyebrow and gently extracted her hand. She wanted to make him pay for whittling away at her psyche, but she let him do it. She shared fault. “I can hardly be angry at my own personal historian, can I? The man who holds in his hand the power to edit out certain undesirable events.”
Altarre and Quince exchanged a glance.
“Certainly not, Dragoness.” Vespero stumbled to his feet and stroked his hand in a broad arc. “You descended from the sky like a picture of poise, ever our noble Queen.”
“And I was dressed?” she prompted.
He bit his lip. “I will work on that, I promise.”
“Thank you, Vespero. You may go.”
He looked startled at her dismissal, but recovered smoothly. “But of course, you will wish to freshen up.”
“A diplomat already,” Navarre murmured at her elbow. “Care to explain?”
“No.”
She approached Quince and gave him an awkward hug with one arm as she held the cloak closed with the other. “Thank you.” She gazed into his dark hooded eyes. “You hold a special place in my heart. Do I request too much if I ask you to return to Nikki?”
“It is my honor to serve you.”
She hesitated. “About you and Nikki.”
“She is a beautiful woman, Dragoness.” His look was guarded.
She would respect at least their privacy. “Thank you.”
Glancing quizzically at Altarre, she said, “And you?”
“As the Dragoon’s healer, I have the dubious honor of making sure you are unharmed.”
“I’m sure Navarre can do the same.”
Taken aback, Altarre looked at Navarre, then back at her again. “Do you know what you ask?”
She laughed. “I believe I do.”
“As you wish then.” He gave her a sharp nod, then left.
It was just she and Navarre in the hall. Alone. Finally.
He faced her. Taking her hands in his own, he kissed the top of each hand. “How does it feel to fly, my Queen?”
She smiled and the smile lit her entire face. “Wonderful.”
The Last Queen Page 18