by Donna Grant
CONSTANTINE A HISTORY PART 2
THE DARK KINGS
DONNA GRANT
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Constantine: A History Part 2
© 2018 by DL Grant, LLC
Excerpt from Dark Alpha’s Embrace copyright © 2015 by Donna Grant
Cover design © 2018 by
www.CharityHendry.com
ISBN 13: 978-1942017356
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
www.DonnaGrant.com
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Available in ebook and print editions
Dear Reader,
Constantine.
Anytime I write the King of Dragon King’s name or even mention him, I’m flooded with messages and emails. It truly warms my heart how much everyone is enamored with him.
Whether you’re in the I love Con camp, or the I hate Con camp, the simple fact is, everyone wants to know more about this enigmatic leader—myself included.
Since I don’t plot my books, I’m forever shocked, excited, overwhelmed, and worried about my characters. Some more than others. And Con has definitely been in that “I’m really troubled about him” category.
There are some books that, when I finish, I sit back and smile at the things the King of Kings has done, happy with his decisions. Other times, by the time I write The End, I’m anxious to return to the next book to figure out what the hell Con was thinking.
I know I’m not alone in this because of the emails and messages you send. Trust me, I get exactly where you’re coming from. The thing is, I’m writing so far ahead of all of you that, sometimes, I forget what has happened. Worse is when I know there’s something really big coming and I can’t tell you because it’ll spoil things.
That’s when I tell my kids, who could honestly care less. And even my animals. Though, I do have to say, I truly believe Sisko, my dog, is quite intrigued about everything. ;)
I was asked some time ago if Con would get his own book, which, of course he will. The next question was when? For those who missed that live video, his book will be last. And I even have the date—October 2020.
Now, before you ask if this is the end of the Dragon Kings, I can tell you it’ll be the end of this storyline. I have plans for another spinoff. ::evil grin::
But that information is for much later. Now, we’re talking about Con. Since you know he’s getting a book, I know you all want to know who his heroine is. I will admit for many, many, many books, I didn’t know who that might be. I do now. I see the scene in my head.
Just as I see the scene that replays about once a day of when we get to find out who Rhi’s Dragon King is. I have no idea when that’ll happen, but I’m guessing it’ll be sometime in books 15 – 18. I know it’s not book 14 because I just wrote and turned that story in.
And how can I talk about Con without Death aka Erith aka Blossom Engel aka Heather aka…well, you’ll find out in the story. ;) Death is one of those characters who grabs you from the moment she steps onto the page. She’s powerful without being showy, strong without throwing it in your face. And she’s got a past that is one humdinger (more on that in the Reaper books. And trust me, you won’t want to miss out on it!).
For all of that, she’s taken an interest in Con because she knows what he’s going through—and what is to come for him. She understands and wants to tell him that without giving away who she is.
Her first visit was what changed Con without him even knowing it. From the moment she gave him the dragon head cufflinks, he hasn’t been without them. Those weren’t the only gift she gave him, however. In this story, you’ll discover what she leaves behind on this visit.
So, once more, let us delve into another behind-the-scenes moment with our favorite King of Golds to find out what makes Con tick. It’s time, my dedicated dragon lovers, to see yet another side of him.
And maybe, just maybe, by peeling away the armor he’s so carefully constructed, we might discover some secrets.
With much love,
DG
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CONSTANTINE: A HISTORY PART 2
THANK YOU
DARK ALPHA’S EMBRACE
THE DARK WORLD
STAY UP-TO-DATE
ABOUT DONNA GRANT
CONNECT WITH DONNA GRANT
PRAISE FOR DONNA GRANT
The 20th of April,
human year 1746
Dreagan
I have tried. I truly have. Some might look back and say that I didn’t give it enough, but I will know the truth.
The simple fact is, the mortals have lost their bloody minds.
I knew it was a good idea to have a spy in the English parliament long before Culloden, and Keltan has done a fine job relaying information while keeping his true identity a secret. But learning that the English plan to pass The Dress Act in the next few months that would make wearing a tartan or kilt illegal leaves me flummoxed. And fuming.
Some of the Kings wish to use our magic to stop such idiocy, but we won’t. Just as we didn’t intervene or participate in Culloden or the many other battles before that—or the ones yet to come. We have chosen to live among—but apart from—the humans.
And for very good reason.
It is impossible to look at the mortals without disdain for their stupidity or respect for their accomplishments. Thankfully, the spell I cast prevents such deep emotions within the Kings in regards to the humans. Otherwise, I’m not sure even I could keep from eradicating them.
The years are a blur. They pass as quickly as sand through my fingers.
Worse yet, is that my brethren are terribly, enormously lonely. It’s an ache experienced by all. Each attempts to hide it, but it’s there in their gaze, in their words, and in the very things they do not say.
And, if I’m being honest, I’m lonely, too.
I will never admit it to anyone. It’s difficult enough to divulge it in this journal. It’s a secret I keep concealed, because if I let it show, if I concede that I feel such emotions, then it’s a weakness that can—and will—be used against me by our enemies.
The Fae Wars might be over, and we may be on friendly terms with the Light, but I know the Dark Fae will never give up in their quest to take over this realm. It’s a prime hunting ground for them. They will always be adversaries. And they’re patient enough to wait to strike at the best moment.
Then there’s Ulrik.
He wants to challenge me. Perhaps, he’ll win. Perhaps he won’t.
I try to prepare for all these things. I know they’re coming. It’s a feeling deep within me, like a warning bell. Just as I know that our power, our magic, will draw other enemies to us. Will we be ready?
We have to be. We’ve lost too much already. I will not allow anyone to take what we’ve fought so hard to maintain after everything we’ve given up.
I owe it to the other Kings to ensure that. And I will. Even if it means I forfeit my life. Because, in the end, I am merely one dragon. Any of the other Kings could take my place—even Ulrik. But they are the ones who are important. The dragons are gone from this realm, but the Dragon Kings must remain at all costs.
Constantine, the King of Golds
King of Dragon King
Con stared at the words in his journal for a long moment before he slowly closed th
e book and tied the strip of leather that held it closed. He then placed his hand over the smooth cover and sat back in the chair before his desk.
In his chamber were shelves of other journals—and one hidden. He didn’t remember when he began penning his thoughts. It wasn’t necessary, but doing it allowed him to write down his troubles to better get a handle on things.
He also found that by detailing his struggles or worries, he sometimes found answers he hadn’t thought about before. The real benefit of putting his thoughts on paper was that it permitted him to clear his mind—even if only for a moment or two.
The uncertainties…the doubt was always there. Like shadows that grew each day. How long before they overwhelmed him? Before they consumed him?
Shakespeare had it right when he said that “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”
Con missed his chats with William. The playwright had a wicked sense of humor and an easy nature. He’d never pried into Con’s life. Perhaps that’s why Con had enjoyed talking to Shakespeare.
With a sigh, Con rubbed his forehead. He could sit there all night thinking of the few mortals that he’d met and liked, even admired. But they were all gone now. In a blink, a human was born and then died. Some did great things with the little time they had, but most threw their opportunities away. Or squandered them.
Con looked down at the dragon head cufflinks at his wrists. Heather. He’d never forget her name. Yet, he couldn’t pull her image from memory. It was one of the reasons he’d drawn her right after she’d drifted through Dreagan like a summer breeze only to disappear.
He’d looked for her for decades, without any luck. Each time he ventured from Dreagan, he found himself searching for her. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think of her whenever he put on the cufflinks.
Heather had understood him as only one other ever had. If only he knew where she was. Or what she was. Because he was convinced that she wasn’t mortal. Nor was she Fae. The cufflinks had no magic within them.
Yet there was something about the lovely, amiable Heather that intrigued him. He wanted to find her and thank her for her present.
He turned his wrist and looked at the gold dragon head. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been given a gift. Which was one reason she stood out in his mind.
Her disappearance was another.
Con glanced at his journal. He should go to his chamber and find the one that held his sketch of her to help him remember. Not that he ever expected to find her. He leaned his head back and smiled. He didn’t need to recall her face to remember the kindness she’d shown him.
He sat there for another half hour before he extinguished the candle and rose from the desk. It was another few hours before it was his turn to patrol. He walked from his office and along the corridor to the stairs.
The manor was quiet. Too quiet for a home of so many Dragon Kings. Only a handful was awake at the moment. The others were in their mountains, sleeping. He wondered if there would ever be a time when the manor overflowed with noise and Kings again.
In fact, he hoped it didn’t. He’d much rather leave it all behind to be a dragon, never shifting into human form again. It was a dream he held onto as tightly as the other one.
The dream he didn’t speak of, the one he hid beneath layers of stone walls, it was one he physically ached to have come true. He tried not to think about it. Because that dream broke his heart all over again.
With his mood now melancholy, he made his way out of the manor and headed toward the Dragonwood. There wasn’t a part of Dreagan that he didn’t love. Every inch of it was special to him. From the moment he hatched, he’d felt the pull of it because the magic was so dazzling, so strong.
So luminous.
Once in the trees, Con drew in a deep breath and released it. The Dragonwood was unique. For within the trees beat the heart of magic. While he felt the power all over Dreagan, even in the mountain connected to the manor, it was distinctive within the forest.
Each night before he patrolled, he walked the woods. There was no particular direction he took. He let his feet lead him. Con had only been in the Dragonwood for a few minutes when he felt someone break the barrier of magic that surrounded Dreagan.
And it was close to him.
“I’m checking it,” he told the other Kings through their mental link.
Con shifted directions and headed to the point where their barrier had been breached. He looked through the thick foliage as he reached the stream. Movement ahead slowed his steps. So many animals crossed the invisible wall that they’d made adjustments to the magic so only people or objects would alert them to an intruder.
He came to a halt when he saw the woman standing at the edge of the water, watching the stream. Con took in the red, black, and yellow tartan arisaid, or cloak that extended from her shoulders to her heels. A metal brooch fastened the arisaid above her breasts, and a leather belt cinched it at her waist. She, like many Scottish women, used the arisaid as a head covering, as well, making it impossible for him to see the color of her hair.
Suddenly, her head swung to him. Mortals couldn’t see as well as dragons in the dark, but he could’ve sworn her gaze met his. He blinked, stunned by the direct eye contact and the unusual, lavender eyes.
He frowned, wondering if he had seen eyes that color before. Something told him he had, but he didn’t have time to search his memories when there was a trespasser to take care of.
Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she lowered her head covering to reveal long, thick tresses as black as the night sky.
Erith hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. After her first encounter with Constantine, she had thought her curiosity over the immortal would be satisfied. But it wasn’t. In fact, the longer she watched the King of Dragon Kings and his brethren, the more they fascinated her.
The Dragon Kings were honorable, noble, and principled. They didn’t allow their significant and vast magical power to influence them as it did the Fae more times than not.
What made the Kings different? Why were they able to remain so…decent?
She met Con’s gaze. It was no accident that she was here at this time. She’d watched his routine for the past few weeks and knew he took a nightly walk before he shifted and took to the skies.
Would he remember her? There was a chance. It had only been a hundred and forty-five years since she’d last spoken with him. Immortals might recall things like that, or forget them easily. She wasn’t ready for him to put the pieces of her identity together. And she might never be.
There was a part of her that knew she should use glamour to alter her appearance just to be safe. But she didn’t. It was a huge chance. But one she had to take. If he recognized her, then she would tell him who she was.
If.
Did she want him to recognize her? Did she want to tell him who she was?
Con walked to the edge of the stream, his boots coming within inches of the water. She lifted her chin and met his eyes. His face was in shadows, hidden by the sliver of moon and the clouds that drifted swiftly across the sky.
She liked that he was in a kilt. The plaid wasn’t one seen anywhere else in Scotland. Actually, it wasn’t seen outside of Dreagan. The tartan was one designed and crafted by the Dragon Kings specifically for them.
It was a bold mix of various colors on a black base. Yet it worked beautifully. Every Dragon King was represented in the tartan. The plaid was as wild as the Highlands and as fierce as the Kings themselves.
“Who are you?”
“Iris,” she told him, using one of the many flower names that she so loved. Erith held her breath as Con’s stare became intense.
He walked into the stream, uncaring that the water came nearly to his knees, soaking his boots. Con didn’t stop until he reached the opposite bank to stand before her. “You’re on private land.”
“The woods called to me.” That wasn’t a lie. Every magical being on the realm felt the pulse of magic o
n Dreagan.
“You can no’ be here.”
This Con was much changed from than the one she’d spoken with before. This Con was colder, more aloof. More...isolated. She’d seen it in him the last time, but once they spoke, he had lowered his walls a little.
Not this time, however. The walls were reinforced several times over.
That made her sad. She wanted to warn him, to caution him on keeping hope alive. It was that optimism which would sustain the Kings for millennia to come. But she couldn’t blame him for how he felt.
He’d been born to the skies. Now, he and the others were reduced to hiding not just themselves but also their magic. A hundred years of that was enough to make anyone go mad. And the Dragon Kings had endured for countless eons.
No, they had suffered.
Such majestic, commanding creatures shouldn’t be subjected to such atrocities. It broke her heart. She longed to reach out to Con and tell him…what? What would she tell him?
That she understood because she was also immortal? Or should she tell him that everything would work out in the end? She couldn’t see the future. She had no idea what would happen. She only knew that the Dragon Kings needed to survive no matter what.
Obviously, she’d made a mistake thinking she could come to Con again. Perhaps if she had said her name was Heather, but no. That wouldn’t work either. He would demand to know why he hadn’t been able to find her. And she’d have to tell him.
Death bowed her head, defeated and sad. “Then I shall go.”
She turned and took two steps when Con said, “Stop,”
Erith stilled, the soft crunch of his boots on the graveled dirt growing louder as he walked closer. She felt movement to her left, her eyes darting in that direction as Constantine came to stand before her once more.
“Who are you?” he demanded again.