Eternal Embers
Page 8
The closer he got to the small city that was the heart of the Dragonstars’ home, the more voices and thoughts crowded in on him. They pressed down from every side, nearly blinding him. Almost making him insane with the fear and worry and pain that threaded through so many of his fellow dragons.
He could feel the walls closing in even though he was outside. Could feel time ticking away from him like the sand of his beloved desert through an hourglass.
It was exactly what he needed to cement his resolve. Usually his psychic abilities drove him nuts. Though they made things easier in battle, the rest of the time they were nothing but a pain in the ass.
An ability to eavesdrop on thoughts and conversations that were never meant to be public.
An invasion of privacy that, even after close to four centuries, he sometimes couldn’t block.
A knowledge of people’s most embarrassing moments, and deepest, darkest secrets.
It sucked, big time.
His psychic ability was one of the reasons he spent so much of his free time deep in the desert, away from the other dragon shifters. It was often the only way he could give the civilian dragons of the clan any privacy. The only way he could quiet the nonstop chatter in his head. It was also the reason it had taken him nearly three centuries to find a home.
He shied away from the thought and the emotions that were still too raw even after all this time. Then he slipped silently into town, nodding to his friend and fellow sentry, Ty, as they crossed on the street. It was Ty’s turn to patrol the town boundaries, and though he looked like he wanted to talk, Logan didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to, not now when his plan was only half-formed. It would still be too easy to talk him out of it.
No, there was a Council meeting in a few days, a gathering of the other sentries like himself, and that was where he would reveal his plan. It wasn’t much time, but he was determined to be prepared.
To be resolute.
To be unshakable—otherwise his peers would never go along with what he wanted to do.
They still might not—that fact was what had driven him toward town before he even knew where he was heading. He needed to talk to Dylan before the meeting, needed to talk him into the idea that was still not fully formed in his own head.
It shouldn’t be that hard to convince the Dragonstar king, a little voice inside Logan’s head whispered. Dylan had to go along with it. They were running out of time. Even with the new advances that the clan’s healers—Quinn, Jasmine, and Phoebe—had made against the virus, it was only a matter of time before the Wyvernmoons trotted out some new version of the disease that was killing his people.
Even with their last attack party decimated, it wouldn’t take long for them to regroup and head back to New Mexico, looking to wipe out the Dragonstars once and for all. And while they couldn’t beat the Dragonstars in a fair fight, the Wyvernmoons had much greater numbers, and an amorality that gave them a firm advantage. After all, they were responsible for the disease that had ravaged his clan for more than a decade.
He wouldn’t let them destroy the Dragonstars. He couldn’t. Not when this clan, his clan, was the only one who had taken him in after long centuries of searching. Not when these people, his people, had given him the only home he’d ever known.
That generosity was one of the many reasons it was so difficult to contemplate leaving. And one of the many reasons he had to.
After checking around his house for signs of disturbances, he opened the door and let his senses flood the place—searching for the thoughts, the presence, of any intruders. He found none, but that didn’t stop him from making the rounds, checking every room to make sure no enemies lay in wait. As he did, he cursed the Wyvernmoons and the fact that such hyper-vigilance was even necessary when he and his clan mates wanted nothing more than to live in peace.
It wouldn’t be for long, not if he had anything to say about it.
When he was convinced his house was clear, Logan strode into the kitchen and yanked a pair of scissors out of one of the drawers. Then went into the bathroom and, without thought or remorse, cut off the long, flowing hair that had all but been his trademark for centuries. Amidst the Dragonstars, almost all of whom were dark, his too-long blond hair and amber eyes were legendary.
After the hair was gone—and he was barely recognizable even to himself—Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out the stalagmite he’d shoved in there earlier. He studied it for a moment, made sure it was strong enough and sharp enough to do what had to be done.
Then, without pause, he reached up and raked the hard, sharp tip of it down the right side of his face, from his eye to the corner of his mouth.
They had reached the point of no return. As he watched blood flow freely down his face and neck, he knew that nothing else mattered.
His clan would be safe. He would make sure of it.
He woke up a few minutes later, shivering and huddled up on the couch in his living room in town though he had fallen asleep in his cave. He blinked a few times, brought the world around him into focus.
And realized that the pillow he’d been sleeping on was coated in his blood.
His fight had already begun.