Caress of Fire (Dawn of Dragons Book 2)

by Mary Auclair

  The feral had wreaked havoc indistinctly throughout the battlefield, bringing down the Knat-Kanassis army with his fire and fangs, talons and rage, plowing through Fedryc’s men alongside them without pause.

  The brown killed as easily as he breathed.

  Another furious hiss coming from the ground had Fedryc staring into the red eyes of Chazal, Lord Anion’s dragon. Nyra’s larger body had him pinned down, her talons wrapping around the beast’s throat as he thrashed uselessly. He wouldn’t prevail against her. She was at least twice his size and ten times fiercer, but still the other dragon struggled.

  Fedryc’s eyes left Chazal, Nyra and the ongoing massacre to look at the tall, well-muscled Draekon man standing twenty feet in front of him.

  “You have lost.” Fedryc raised his dragon blade and lazily swung it at a Knat-Kanassis soldier who ran toward him with his sword raised high. The hooded figure fell to the sand, cut in half from the neck down to his chest.

  “I have lost nothing.” Lord Anion held his own dragon-forged blade low, blood running from his sword arm. His silver eyes gleamed with a fanatical intensity as he spoke.

  “Your army is no more. Isobel Haal is in my dungeon, along with her dragon.” Fedryc shook his head and took another step forward. “All you can do now is surrender to save the lives of the few of your men who are still alive.”

  Lord Anion lifted his sword higher, his face twisting with pain, but the fanatical glee remained in his eyes. He didn’t back away from Fedryc. “Their lives?” He chuckled, his thin mouth curving in a bitter grimace. “Their lives aren’t worth the sand I walk on. You cannot stop the tide of the Knat-Kanassis. We are everywhere. You can kill me. She will avenge me and this entire planet will be washed away by fire.”

  “Isobel Haal and her dragon are in my dungeon.” Fedryc took another step until his sword was just out of range of Lord Anion. “If you don’t care about your men then surely you must care about her.”

  “Isobel Haal is weak. I never cared about her.” Lord Anion lifted his sword, but instead of attacking Fedryc, he brought the blade against his own throat. His gaze widened and religious fervor made his mouth tremble. “When this entire world has been cleansed of the impure, I will come back from the Night Lands. She promised me that.”

  Fedryc shouted and rushed forward but he wasn’t close enough. Lord Anion’s sword sliced through the soft flesh of his throat and blood poured over the pure gray silk. Lord Anion fell to his knees, his eyes wide as his blade dropped to the sand and his hands reached for his throat, grasping uselessly. His expression turned to regret, but only an instant before the veil of death blanketed his face and he fell onto his stomach.

  Behind him, Chazal roared and thrashed anew. Fedryc turned his head just in time to see Nyra ripping through the smaller dragon’s throat, cutting it clean out in one mighty bite. The gray dragon fell in a growing pool of red.

  The remaining Knat-Kanassis soldiers watched, then all their will to fight deserted them and they ran in a disorganized retreat. Fedryc lifted a hand to his men, signaling not to chase them.

  None of them would survive the desert.

  The ground trembled as the brown feral approached Nyra, Henron sitting on his neck. Fedryc turned and the vision of the brown’s blood-covered jaws, eyes drunk with violence, filled him with dread.

  Then the brown stopped and Henron bent over his neck, speaking softly and rubbing his hand over the dark scales. Fedryc watched with wary eyes as his friend jumped down on the sand and walked over to him, the dragons coming closer to each other behind them. They were completely absorbed in each other, ignoring the fearful soldiers around them who stared at the brown feral with terror.

  “Henron.” Fedryc locked gazes with his old friend as he stopped in front of him. “I did not think I would see you again.”

  “Me neither.” Henron smiled, but it was strained. “I still don’t understand what happened, but the brown and I, we bonded.”

  Fedryc stared at Henron, at the subtle change in his body, the power radiating from him, shimmering in the air like hot air above a bonfire.

  “So this is the end. The Knat-Kanassis are dead, or soon to be for those who ran.” Henron cast a wide glance over the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands of bodies littered the desert sand, broken or burnt to ashes. Not a trace of pity showed on Henron’s face as he looked at his Bound’s work. This was such a contrast to his old self that Fedryc eyed him with a sudden careful assessment. There was no telling how much of the dragon’s feral savagery had leaked into Henron’s mind when they’d linked together like long separated pieces of the same soul.

  Henron might not have died, but his friend was not the same man.

  “No, it is not.” Fedryc spoke carefully. “I thought Isobel was the traitor in my house, but she wasn’t.”

  “Then who? It had to have come from Lord Aymond’s old household.” Henron’s voice was cold as he stared at Fedryc’s men, who came closer to see the miracle of a Draekon made and not born. “There is no one else.”

  She was very beautiful. But her dragon was all wrong. It was small, and it looked like a jewel.

  How could he have not seen it? It was never Isobel.

  “It’s Silva!” Fedryc locked gazes with Henron for a second before running.

  Because the snake was still in his house. And it was about to strike.

  A great noise of flapping wings filled the throne room, reverberating off the curved ceiling. Marielle looked up from her despair to see Silva’s face light up. The Draekon girl stared down at Marielle with a predatory grin.

  “It is done. Lord Anion is back.”

  Marielle dropped her head back down. There was nothing more to do but wait for death to come. She was done fighting.

  Silva walked past her and in her wake, the golden dragon, Hyrio. Silva didn’t look back. Marielle was already dead in the girl’s eyes.

  Marielle’s hand gripped her stomach protectively, even though she knew it was futile. She was nothing against a Draekon.

  I’m so sorry.

  Shouts came from the far end of the throne room. Marielle lifted her eyes to see Silva, standing in the middle of the room in stunned surprise as men in gray flooded the area, fear in their eyes and panic on their faces.

  They dragged a bloodied man, his head hanging loosely on his chest, his feet dragging lifelessly on the stone floor, leaving two streaks of bright red blood.

  Lord Anion. And he was obviously dead.

  “Close the doors!” the guard on Lord Anion’s left shouted, looking over his shoulder with frightened eyes. The guards dropped him unceremoniously on the floor and the man fell face first on the stone with a sickening, wet sound.

  The same guard turned to the door, pulling his curved sword out of its scabbard. “They’re coming!”

  A high-pitched scream filled the room as Silva rushed to Lord Anion’s side. She turned the much larger man onto his back with a pained moan, then screamed some more as she cradled the Draekon man’s head in her hands.

  Marielle watched, unable to stifle her jolt of pity for the girl who had just plotted the death of everyone she loved.

  Silva wailed, high and loud, bending over the lifeless body of her mate, grabbing his clothes in her clenched fists. From somewhere high above the throne room, a terrible roar shook the stone of the mountain. Pebbles detached from the ceiling as the roar turned into a deafening crash.

  Rocks were shredded like cabbage, and the castle shook in its foundation.

  Dragon. That had to be a dragon. But that roar, that feverish anger—Marielle didn’t think it could be Nyra. Nyra was strong and wild, but not so much as to shred an entire castle with its inhabitants inside it.

  It’s him. It’s the feral brown dragon.

  The thought made Marielle’s heart quicken, and fear battled with a bitter satisfaction in equal measure inside of her. Silva might still kill her and everyone she loved, but she wasn’t getting what she wanted. There would be no Aalstad lef
t to rule after the beast was done.

  “He’s coming!” the guard shouted, yanking Silva away from Lord Anion’s dead body. “My lady, you have to leave Aalstad, now.”

  “No!” Silva yanked her arm free of the guard, producing a thin, long blade from the folds of her gown as she stared him down. “Aalstad is mine. I won’t leave it.”

  “It’s Lord Fedryc, Lady Silva.” The guard shook his head despite Silva raising her blade threateningly. “And he’s got the feral with him. That beast has the spirits of the old Gods, and it wants revenge on us all.”

  Silva scoffed, then pushed the guard away with disgust. “He’s just a feral dragon. He’s no God. He’s just an animal without a soul. Now go out there and shoot him with Venemum Ardere.”

  But the guards looked at her with fear, none of them moving. They were petrified of the feral dragon, more so than they were of Silva.

  From some distance behind her, Marielle could still hear Isobel crying softly, curved into her tight ball on the floor. She didn’t expect the woman to recover from the betrayal of her daughter. Isobel Haal would forever be the shell of what she had once believed herself to be.

  Men shouted in pain and terror on the other side of the wooden door and Silva took a series of steps backwards, her eyes darting around the room. Then, finally, they settled on Marielle. Hydrad hissed at his mistress’ side, showcasing the Draekon woman’s intent before she could even speak.

  Marielle got to her feet. Her legs shook and her entire body threatened to break down from grief and fear, but she stood anyway. Because she was the last one to do so.

  “I will cleanse this world of you if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Silva moved, her blade held high in front of her. Marielle’s eyes latched onto the shining, sharp metal, and she knew a single nick from it would mean an instantaneous and painful death for her.

  “It’s over,” Marielle said softly. “You have to stop now. Fedryc won’t hurt you, I know he won’t.”

  “Fedryc?” Silva spat out the name, foam at the corners of her mouth, her eyes crazed and glassy. “Fedryc is dead! Don’t you understand that? He’s dead! And soon, you’ll join him. You and your abomination of a family.”

  Anger flared inside Marielle, anger at this girl who was so young, had so much, and had chosen to destroy everything instead.

  “No.” Marielle shook her head, standing strong as she faced Silva’s poisoned blade. She had nothing to fight Silva with but her bare hands, but she wasn’t going to back down. “I won’t let you hurt them. You’ve done enough of that already.”

  “Then you die.” Silva smirked, exposing her teeth like a dog.

  She didn’t wait long to make her move. Silva lunged at her, swinging the poisoned blade in a wide arc. Marielle swerved to the side, barely missing the blade that sliced through the first layer of her gown.

  Silva didn’t stop, and this time, Hydrad closed in in tandem with her. The golden dragon snapped at Marielle’s heels, cutting her retreat to the side further to the back of the room. So Marielle inched closer to the door, toward where the screams of dying men were coming from.

  Another blow, closely missed, and Marielle stepped back, panting despite moving very little. She had nowhere to go. The door and the feral dragon were at her back, and the room was full of Knat-Kanassis guards, who wouldn’t stop Silva from slicing her open with a Venemum Ardere poisoned blade.

  With the next slice of that blade, Silva wouldn’t miss.

  Just then, the heavy wooden door exploded in a cloud of dust and power. Marielle was thrown to the floor like a doll, her face landing on the hard surface as pain registered everywhere in her body. Adrenaline made her head clear fast as she struggled to her knees, looking frantically around for Silva and her poisoned blade. She didn’t have to search long. The girl was lying in a patch of rubble, her golden dragon near her feet.

  Reassured that she wasn’t about to get stabbed, Marielle turned toward the door.

  A glorious, tall figure emerged amidst the screams and the dust. His large shoulders and lean, powerful limbs moved with confidence as hooded figures ran at him, then fell under the might of his blade. Not once did the tall figure look down at the men he struck.

  There was no need. None ever got back up.

  Marielle watched, a primal joy blossoming in her belly as she sat back on her heels. Her head swam and giddy laughter left her mouth. She would recognize that figure in a hundred, in a thousand. In a million.

  Fedryc.

  His name bounced around in her head like a song.

  “Marielle!” Fedryc’s voice like volcanic velvet sliced through the air. “Marielle, where are you?”

  She opened her mouth to call out to him but cold metal came to rest at the base of her throat, silencing her.

  “Stay where you are, cousin, or your Draekarra dies.” Silva’s voice came from behind her. She had moved with the reptilian silence of a Draekon, and now, she held a poisoned blade a hair’s breadth from Marielle’s jugular.

  Marielle breathed lightly, not wanting to move her throat as the air leaked inside bit by bit, Silva at her back. She could feel the Draekon girl close now, dainty fingers grabbing her hair to pull her head back. With her face turned to the ceiling, Marielle strained to see in front of her, and all she could make out of Fedryc was the outline of his silhouette as he moved forward.

  “Let her go, Silva.” Fedryc stopped fifteen feet from where Silva had Marielle, his voice smooth and even, betraying nothing of his feelings. “You have lost your fight.”

  “I might have lost this battle, traitor,” Silva said quietly. “But I haven’t lost my fight.”

  “Lord Anion is dead. The Knat-Kanassis army has been decimated. The guards loyal to you are dead by my hands, or soon to be.” Fedryc turned his head slightly, looking down at Isobel, still crying. “But I will allow you to keep your life if you surrender now.”

  Silva pulled harder on Marielle’s hair, forcing her to arch her spine at a painful angle.

  “If I have lost everything,” Silva whispered the words almost lovingly, “then at least I will have the satisfaction of taking everything from you before I go.”

  Then, Marielle knew she was going to die.

  Fedryc shouted, his sword raised high as Silva moved imperceptibly at her back. Then a tall, shaky figure moved from where she had been standing off to the side. Isobel threw herself between Fedryc and Silva and Marielle.

  “Please.” Isobel faced Fedryc, clearly showing everyone who she thought presented the biggest threat. “Don’t hurt my daughter.”

  “Mother!” Silva moved, inching to one side to get a clear view of Fedryc. “Don’t get involved. I can win this.”

  “No, you can’t.” Isobel turned her head sideways but didn’t take her eyes off Fedryc. “My poor, poor fatherless girl. You have lost this fight and you don’t even know it.”

  “No!” Silva protested, moving even farther to the side. The blade left Marielle’s skin, lowering to her shoulder, then her breast.

  Marielle knew this chance wouldn’t come back. She brought both hands up, grabbing the hand that held the short blade, then she pulled. Marielle pulled down with all her strength, distancing the blade even further from her body. As soon as she had done so, Marielle twisted, bringing herself lower, pushing her back into Silva’s chest, then she turned inward, toward Silva’s body and under her arm.

  She was free of the blade, but not for long. Silva turned away from Fedryc, her mouth open in a wide O, a banshee’s screech coming out of her mouth.

  Silva swung the blade wildly at Marielle, slashing through the air as she advanced, her face a picture of madness and hatred like only monsters in disguise could be.

  Fedryc shouted from somewhere behind Silva but all Marielle could see was the blade and Silva’s terrible face, and she stepped back. Then her feet caught in something soft and heavy.

  Marielle fell, and Silva’s eyes widened in triumph.

  A male roar of a
nger and despair rang from behind Silva, and Marielle’s eyes latched onto a blur of motion as Fedryc lunged, his sword held high for an expert attack. But it wouldn’t matter. Fedryc was too far away.

  Then a slim body threw itself between Fedryc and Silva. Fedryc’s sword pierced Isobel’s chest, protruding out of the middle of her back covered in shocking, bright red blood.

  Silva paused, then turned her head to see Fedryc laying Isobel on the floor, his face full of shock. Isobel gripped Fedryc’s shoulder as her mouth opened and more blood gushed from her open lips.

  “No!” Silva moved away from Marielle, her eyes on Isobel, the blade hanging loose from her hands, then clattering to the floor.

  Fedryc deposited Isobel on the floor, then turned to face Silva.

  A second passed, then the girl took off running.

  Fedryc looked at Silva for a second, doubt on his features, then he looked down at where Marielle lay, holding her stomach as blood poured out between her fingers.

  “Marielle!”

  Then he was at her side, his strong arms around her shoulders. As his warmth entered her body, Marielle’s vision became blurry, blackness encroaching on the edges like an insidious fog.

  Somewhere far above her head, someone yelled for a doctor. Exhaustion washed over Marielle as Fedryc’s scent filled her nostrils. The pain faded to a remote, unimportant place, and Marielle looked up at Fedryc.

  How perfect he was, looking down on her with worry on his face, his silver eyes gleaming like moons in the sky.

  Fedryc spoke to her, but she wasn’t hearing his words. All Marielle cared about was his hand on her face as her eyes closed.

  Then darkness fell, and all she knew was that Fedryc was alive.

  Epilogue

  “I can still walk, you know.” Marielle sighed exaggeratedly, but the smile on her lips betrayed her true feelings. “Pretty soon, you’ll want to carry me around.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  Fedryc’s smile almost split his face in two. His arm around her waist reached all the way to her big belly as he helped her climb down the short flight of steps to the courtyard. A refreshing breeze came off the desert in this, the beginning of winter, and Marielle lifted her head, grateful for the feeling of it in her hair.