Dragon's Rebel (Wild Dragons Book 2)

by Anastasia Wilde

  “They kill them, too,” Thorne said.

  “They die naturally,” Rebel said with a wave of her hand. “And then she marched me through the tunnel to the house, gave me another lecture, and put me back in my room. And she told me I was too curious for my own good.”

  “She’s not wrong,” Thorne murmured. “Where did the passage lead to, exactly?”

  “To her private rooms,” Rebel said. “I think this was her personal garden, and she liked having it to herself. But after she caught me, I was scared to come back. I was afraid she’d turn me into a toad.”

  “She’s probably the one and only thing in your life that’s ever scared you.”

  Rebel knelt down by the side of the fish pond, parting the weeds and feeling for the catch. “I think it was… right… about…”

  There was a grating sound, and a hole opened at the base of the fish pond, revealing a set of stone steps leading down.

  “What do you think?” Rebel said. “Should we follow it?”

  They decided to scan the garden first, Thorne looking for any magical emanations from the Seal, and Rebel walking around feeling like an idiot, using the spell Blaze had taught her but not knowing what it would feel like when she found something.

  She had the feeling that if she were going to find the Seal, it would have to speak to her from under the flagstone walkways, or jump at her out of the bushes.

  And she might not find it at all. She and Thorne weren’t really mates, although they were edging closer. She just hoped they didn’t run out of time before they figured out what was going to happen between them.

  Oddly, there were no dolphin symbols in the garden, except for a rendition of the coven symbol and dolphin in mosaic, on the bottom of the fish pond. Rebel put her hand in and felt around, but it didn’t feel like anything special. Nothing spoke or jumped out at her.

  The silver fish—or more likely, son of a son of a silver fish—darted behind the plants at her disturbance of his home.

  Rebel got up again. She felt strange, and sense of time running out came back to her even more strongly.

  “Let’s go,” she said uneasily. “I don’t think we have much more time.”

  They followed the tunnel underneath the gardens, stepping in puddles and brushing aside cobwebs, taking turns scanning in between brushing scuttling insects off their clothes.

  Thorne was muttering under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Rebel asked.

  “I hate fucking spiders.”

  “A big-ass dragon shifter is scared of spiders? They won’t hurt you.”

  “You don’t know that. What if they crawled into my ear while I was sleeping laid eggs in there? And ate my brains?”

  “Seriously? These are the things you worry about?”

  Thorne just kept muttering.

  They passed through the foundation of the house and up a narrow wooden staircase that doubled back on itself. Finally they came to a paneled wall, with yet another carving of the dolphin and wave circle.

  It took Thorne a minute to find the catch on this side. Then a section of the wall moved, and they stepped through into a large room on one of the upper floors of the house.

  Thorne held the door open for Rebel, and then he let it shut again. Before it closed completely, Rebel found the latch on this side and made sure it would open again.

  “You really think Corwyn’s on his way?”

  Rebel gave him a look. “Yes. And for the record, you would make a sucky thief, my friend. Always have an exit strategy. Preferably more than one.”

  “Mine was always my wings,” he said.

  “Well, until you have them back, you need to have other ways to escape. Stick with me. I’ll keep you out of trouble.”

  “I so doubt that,” Thorne murmured.

  They looked around the room. It had obviously once been beautiful, with a plaster medallion on the ceiling, and mouse-eaten remains of an oriental rug on the floor. The walls on both sides of the fireplace were lined with bookshelves, now empty except for a couple of tattered volumes lying on their sides.

  The boards had fallen off one of the windows, and there was a litter of leaves and debris on the floor.

  Rebel remembered it clearly the way it had been. The most beautiful room she’d ever been in—at least, until she moved into the dragons’ mansion. Even though she hadn’t liked the Lady—and the Lady hadn’t liked her—she’d always wanted a room like this.

  They followed the same procedure, scanning the room. No sense of the Seal anywhere.

  “Dammit,” Rebel said. “I was so sure it was here on the estate.” She felt close to tears. “Thorne, what if we don’t find it? What if they’re already being attacked at the lair?”

  “They’d let us know,” Thorne said. “Tyr said everything was quiet the last time we talked to him. That was less than two hours ago.”

  She shook herself. “A lot can happen in two hours.”

  He put his hand on her arm. “Hey,” he said. “Focus on the job. You’re the best thief anywhere ever, and if the Seal can be found, you’ll find it.”

  “I’m the best thief when I have the right intel,” she said. “Right now, I’ve got nothing.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand. “Don’t forget, the Seal wants you to find it. You’re the Keeper.”

  Yeah. The Keeper who refused to mate with her Destined Dragon. What did that say about her?

  “Come on. We’ll start from the beginning. Scan this whole place.”

  They didn’t have time for that. She knew in her gut they didn’t. And what if there was something else they had to do to find the Seal? Do the horizontal mambo? Say their vows? Perform some kind of sacrifice? Blaze’s Seal had been on her body, and no one knew about it until the influence of Corwyn and the idol had made it start flashing like a neon sign.

  What if Corwyn was the secret ingredient? What if she needed him in order to find it?

  The room they were in turned out to be the central room of a suite, each room connecting to the next. They followed them to the end, and Rebel looked out the window.

  Outside on the terrace was a portal, with hellhounds and men in leather pouring through it.

  “Thorne!” Rebel called sharply. “Look at this!”

  He took one look and swore. “Back to the passage,” she said. “It’s the only way out they won’t know about.”

  They ran for the connecting door, Thorne in the lead. He slammed through to the next room and slid to a stop.

  Rebel barely missed running into him. Inside the room she heard a low, threatening growl. Then another one sounded behind her.

  Slowly, Thorne turned.

  There were hellhounds in both directions. They were trapped.

  Chapter 42

  They both drew their weapons, waiting, moving slowly into the connecting room. Thorne was trying to get Rebel enough clearance to slam the door in her hellhound’s face. Then they’d only have one to deal with.

  Or not. More came in from the hallway. Growls and glowing eyes filled the room.

  “Why aren’t they attacking?” Rebel murmured.

  “Because they’re waiting for my command.”

  Thorne gritted his teeth, hearing the familiar and annoying voice of Jean-Claude D’Amboise. The man himself stepped into the room, the hellhounds parting to let him through without taking their eyes off Thorne and Rebel.

  D’Amboise turned to Rebel like they were at a cocktail party.

  “Miss Smith. How nice to meet you at last. I’m sure you’re going to have many very interesting things to tell me.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m pretty boring, really. Not much conversation.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “We’ll see about that.”

  Thorne was gauging the distance to the next door. Two more rooms, and they’d be at their emergency exit.

  Not that it would do them much good, with the hellhounds and D’Amboise right on their heels. They might just as well try
going out the front door. Either way, they’d get torn to shreds.

  But he had to try.

  Thorne shot a spell at the sorcerer that should have thrown him backwards into the wall, but he brushed it away with a wave of his hand.

  “Really, Dragon,” he said. “Is that the best you can do? And all these years you had me convinced you could squash me without even trying. I should have insisted that you come to my parties after all.”

  Thorne felt cold fear creeping up inside him. He shouldn’t have been able to counter Thorne’s spell so easily; even with Thorne’s reduced power, Thorne’s magic should have been much stronger than his.

  D’Amboise should have been scared, or at least wary. But the fucker just stood there looking down at Thorne, wearing an Armani suit, for fuck’s sake. Thorne guessed that’s what all the supervillains were wearing this season.

  Thorne tried another spell, and another. Missiles, lightning, fire. Each one brushed aside like it was nothing. The only thing he gained was moving them further into the room. Closer to an escape D’Amboise didn’t know about. Rebel stuck close to his back, Colt at the ready.

  Finally he said, “Now!” They both started shooting, making for the far door. Hellhounds scattered, and for a moment he thought they were going to make it.

  Then he heard a whip crack, and a black cord like a tentacle snapped around his waist, burning through his shirt and into his flesh. He could see the smoke rising from his skin, and let out a roar of rage and pain. The cord started pulling him backwards.

  Another one wrapped around Rebel. She struggled but didn’t scream, and he didn’t see burning, but she couldn’t get free.

  D’Amboise yanked on the cords, and they both landed on their knees. Thorne was fighting the cord, fighting the pain.

  Rebel sounded like she was struggling to breathe. “Dammit, D’Amboise, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Why, I’m capturing a dragon,” he said. “And his little thief, too. Do you know how valuable a dragon’s blood is?”

  He gave Rebel’s cord another jerk, making her gasp. “And as for you, my little witch, I’ve been looking for you a long time. And I’ve brought someone who wants to meet you.”

  He yanked on the cords again. “On your feet.”

  He seemed to enjoy yanking them around like marionettes. Thorne tried to resist, but the cord jerked him upward this time, forcing his feet under him. He and Rebel both had to stand, or crushed by the force of the tentacle.

  He struggled, using his powers and his brute strength to fight, but it was no use. The more he struggled, the more the cord burned his skin.

  This magic was keyed to dragons. And he knew who D’Amboise wanted them to meet.

  He dragged them through the connecting door to what once had been a bedroom, with the wreck of a large four-poster bedframe shoved in a corner.

  One room closer to their escape. That was good.

  But there was a black-robed, evil-smelling man standing in the room, his eyes glowing red in his ravaged face, flanked by a couple of leather-clad minions with their hellhounds. And since Thorne and Rebel had passed through just a short time earlier, two sets of shackles had been fastened to the wall, glowing with magic.

  That was not good.

  D’Amboise yanked them to their knees.

  “Corwyn,” Thorne said, when he got his breath back. “Lookin’ good. You might want to try a tad more sunscreen, though. For that skin problem.”

  The red eyes narrowed. “Speak to me with respect, Draken,” he said.

  Did Corwyn still not realize Thorne was a Wild Dragon? Or did he not see the distinction?

  And did he know Thorne’s dragon was gone?

  “Why should I?” he said. “Last I heard, you served us. Not the other way around.”

  “I serve no one!” Corwyn thundered.

  That was interesting. “Not even Vyrkos?” he said. “How’s that going to play out when he busts out of his tomb and you aren’t friends anymore?”

  “When I have the Seals, Vyrkos will serve me,” Corwyn said. “And all the world shall be mine.”

  Thorne saw Rebel’s eyes go wide. So that’s why he wanted the Seals before the Keepers activated them. He thought he could use them to control Vyrkos himself.

  Rebel laughed. “Good luck with that,” she said. Corwyn twitched his finger, and an invisible slap hit Rebel in the face, snapping her head to the side.

  Thorne growled.

  “Respect,” Corwyn said softly. He turned to D’Amboise. “Shackle them.”

  D’Amboise used his spell to drag the two of them over to the wall. At a gesture from him, one of the hellhound wranglers came over and searched Thorne roughly, taking his gun, his phone, and his concealed knives. He tried to take off his dragon-scale bracelet, but it clung to his wrist like it was superglued to his body.

  Corwyn said impatiently, “Leave it on. The restraints form a magical shield that will nullify any Draken magic. It won’t help him.”

  The hellhound forced the shackle over the bracelet. Thorne expected it to be painful, but the bracelet seemed to melt into his skin with no discomfort. As soon as it closed, a shimmering spell bubble sprang up around him.

  An extra shield against any magic he might try. Or any escape.

  Rebel got the same treatment. They took her Colt, her spare piece, her knives and her phone. The minion also managed to grope her, the bastard, before fastening on her shackles.

  Thorne growled again. When he got free—and he would get free—he would kill them all for harming his mate.

  D’Amboise smiled thinly, as if he could read Thorne’s mind.

  The shackles were three-inch wrist cuffs inscribed with magical runes, attached to the wall with chains just long enough to allow Thorne to eat or drink—assuming they gave him food. The wall plates appeared to be attached to the plaster with more magic.

  And then their were the shields.

  “Now then,” Corwyn said, folding his arms over his chest. “We will begin.”

  He turned to Rebel, looking her up and down. “So this is what Maia’s legacy has come down to.” He shook his head. “I supposed I shouldn’t be shocked—humans always were a puling, pitiful race.”

  “What does that say about you?” Rebel asked.

  Corwyn shook his head. “I am not of this world,” he said. “I always told the Draken they should be ruling it, not protecting it.”

  He turned to Thorne. “And now the last of the Draken Guardians are mating with them. What your once-proud race has come to.”

  “Blah blah blah, supervillain blah blah,” Thorne said, rolling his eyes. “Get to the point, Corwyn, before I fall asleep.”

  Corwyn gazed at him with those burning eyes until the hair on the back of Thorne’s neck started to stand up.

  Finally, he said, “Very well.” He turned to Rebel. “Tell me, human. Where is the Dolphin Seal?”

  Rebel smirked. “No clue, Sorcerer. Why do you think I’m here? I’m looking for it, same as you.”

  “Lies.”

  Corwyn made a gesture with his fingers, and Rebel’s shackles began to glow. She stiffened, biting back a scream.

  “Leave her alone,” Thorne shouted, yanking at his shackles. They didn’t move. “If you hurt her, I’ll—”

  Corwyn turned to him. “You’ll do what, Draken? You are helpless. I can do anything I want to your mate.” The shackles glowed again, and Rebel bit back another scream.

  He let her loose, and she sagged, her face contorted in pain.

  Thorne could hardly stand it. Seeing his mate in pain was worse than experiencing it himself.

  And then she started laughing. “You can’t fool me, Sorcerer,” she said. “You can’t kill me. You can’t even hurt me badly. The only way you’re going to get the Seal is if I find it for you. And then I have to give it to you freely.”

  She spat at his feet. “And to have any hope of that happening, you have to be a hell of a lot nicer to me than you’ve been
so far.”

  D’Amboise hissed through his teeth, but Corwyn simply folded his arms, tapped the skeletal fingers of one hand on the bicep of the other.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps I simply need to be less nice… to your mate.”

  He snapped his fingers. “D’Amboise. Bring the potion.”

  Jean-Claude pulled metal box out of his inside jacket pocket, very much like the one Rebel had used to carry the serum out of BioGen.

  And the Draken toxin.

  D’Amboise snapped the catches open on the box and opened it, taking out a vial of blood-red liquid. “This,” he said, “is a poison specially formulated for Draken physiology. It’s quite potent, and is fatal if ingested.”

  “No shit,” he said. “Corwyn already tried to put it in our water.” He raised his gaze to Corwyn’s. “I believe one of our ‘puling humans’ thwarted that plan with…what was it? An exploding gargoyle?”

  Corwyn’s eyes narrowed. “Jean-Claude,” he said softly.

  “Ah, yes.” D’Amboise pulled a thin metal rod out of the side of the case, no wider than a toothpick. “However,” he went on, “when dispensed on the skin, it causes slow-burning wounds. If it’s used long enough, and the wound not cleaned, some of them never heal.”

  Corwyn turned to Rebel. “So, here is your choice. You can tell me where the Seal is, and we’ll go get it together. Or, Jean-Claude will drip poison on your Draken until he’s writhing in agony, and his dragon comes out and goes insane.”

  So they didn’t know his dragon was gone. Could he use that somehow to his advantage? Would it make the poison less potent?

  “Don’t tell them anything,” Thorne said to Rebel. “I’ll be okay.”

  Corwyn stared at him. “So brave,” he said softly. “Or is it bravery? The Draken Guardians were so fond of their duty. It was their duty to die bravely, and they all did. I refused to follow their rules, and here I am, still alive.”

  “If you can call it that,” Thorne said. “That body is getting a little ripe.”