Plight of the Dragon

by Debra Kristi

  “Showing off again, Bolsvck?” Queen Shui said.

  So this was Kyra’s father in his human form, the man Sebastian had stolen the dagger from to restore Kalrapura. Sebastian moaned internally. On his list of worst days ever, this had to be near the top. He was, without a doubt, not making a good first impression with either of Kyra’s parents. He would end up dragon kibble when this dark fairy tale came to a conclusion.

  Bolsvck scoffed and walked past the queen to Kyra, pulling her into a hug. “It is good to see you well.” When he released her, he turned to Sebastian and pointed. “This one took something from me. I shall have it retuned. Now.”

  2

  CONFRONTATION

  Marcus

  Naked and covered in grime and gore, Marcus sat on the bottom step leading to the once-grand entrance of the Great Hall. Before him, in the formerly opulent and popular space, now neglected by time, lay a ruin of crumbled walls and collapsed ceiling. Nothing but rubble. A few hours before, the dome ceiling of the club stood three stories high, and now the damage was so severe, a hole worthy of his condo’s square footage now exposed the dark, twinkling night.

  Rage and frustration raced the threads of his blood veins, burned like dragon fire through his muscles and across his skin. The deed should be done. Bolsvck should be dead. But he’s not. Marcus ground his teeth and growled, sending the tiny pebbles at his feet into a slow scatter. Fuck Leila for abandoning the fight. Curse the building for collapsing. And damn it all for giving Bolsvck a chance to escape. Marcus would make sure he didn’t get a second chance.

  Blood and sweat trickled from Marcus’s brow, and the taste of copper lingered on his tongue. He wiped the blood from the cut on his lower lip. A glass of whiskey was what he needed right now. He’d even settle for a beer. The long-forgotten Great Hall offered none. Not even a water source. All utilities had been shut down ages ago. It had been decades since the place had seen life—until now. His ritual.

  A wickedly satisfying grin melted into place, his lips curling like a jackal discovering dinner after days of starvation. A sputtering gurgle rumbled in his throat, a sinister laugh even for one such as himself. He didn’t care; he was focused on what had gone right. The night hadn’t been a total disaster. He had success on his side. With the help of the Mara, Leila, he’d triumphantly absorbed four upperclan dragons, making him the most powerful dragon across all the clans. Surely no one could defeat him now. Again he laughed, this time out loud. The sound echoed through the chamber and, in response, bits of plaster fell from the wall.

  He was no longer just a stupendous Fire Dragon of bygone and cast-out royalty. He was a powerful Ice Dragon, a mighty Bronze Dragon, a monstrous Forest Dragon, and an ostentatious Blue Dragon. A combination the supernatural community had yet to behold. When they did, they’d have no choice but to bow to him. Fighting would be in vain.

  With a grunt, Marcus stood. His feet carried him across the debris-covered steps in search of the neatly folded pile of clothing he’d set aside prior to the ceremony. If the fight with Sebastian, and later Bolsvck, hadn’t disrupted the pile, his phone should be sitting on top.

  Red flashed across his vision. The color accompanied a shearing pain at the back of his eyes. “Sebastian.” The name slithered between gritted teeth.

  Damn the carnie kid for ruining everything. If it weren’t for him, Marcus would possess the power of the Moorigad Dragon, as well. I’m going to kill him.

  Marcus found his clothing, rumpled at the far end of the bottom step, covered in a layer of busted cement and stone. The black t-shirt appeared more grey than midnight, and his jeans had a mild tint of beige. The apparel may as well have been pulled from a gravel pit. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a long breath. Then his irritation rose at the realization his phone no longer sat among the unkempt pile. Picking up each piece of clothing in turn, he shook them, removing as much grime as possible. It did little good. He was going to resemble a disaster victim when he left this place. He glanced down at his hands, arms, and feet. Such a mess. He detested messes.

  A shrill pitch rang out, bouncing off the hard walls and echoing against the dome ceiling—what was left of the ceiling, anyway. He turned, his gaze quickly scanning the floor. Another shrill ring, and this time Marcus caught sight of a light amidst the cluttered steps. With his clothing clutched in one hand, he sprinted across the space and snatched up his phone, answering on the third ring.

  “Rick,” he said and paused, listening. “Yes, but there were complications. Gather the crew. I’ll be there shortly to explain everything.” Listening again, Marcus notched the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he slipped into his jeans. “No more games. This time we prepare for the big one. We’re taking the fight directly to Bolsvck.” Marcus laughed at Rick’s reply. “He’s a has-been. Dragon jerky. He won’t even see us coming.” Marcus hung up, slid the phone into his back pocket.

  “I know where you can find Bolsvck.”

  Marcus turned, glared at the top of the stairs, then charged. Taking the steps two at a time, he finished the climb within seconds. His hand wrapped around Leila’s neck and squeezed, his momentum continuing, moving him forward, pushing her backward until he had her slight body pressed into the ungiving wall. Her hand clasped over his, her breath sputtered and choked, but she didn’t fight. She merely held his gaze with her bottomless-pit eyes.

  The muscles in his hand relented. Marcus paused, his course of action momentarily forgotten. The fires of Purgatory burned all around him. Their heat licking at his skin, the vapors filling his nostrils, the sweat drenching his garments. Then he blinked, hard, and shook his head, saw the Great Hall once more. “Get out of my head, Leila,” he said, baring his teeth. “Use your Mara tricks on me again, and I’ll end you.”

  She closed her eyes, and he allowed her a moment of muted misery. A moment to come to terms with her fate. Maybe he’d kill her right here. Did he really need her now that he had the dragons? Probably not. Still, there was Kyra. He didn’t have the Moorigad yet, and he wanted that one so bad it made his tail twitch. He pulled his hand away, and Leila dropped to the ground.

  “You left.” Marcus stared down at her, his muscles tensing into tight knots. There wasn’t much she could have done had she stayed, still, he hadn’t given her permission to leave, and the betrayal was like ice skewers to his spine.

  “I did.” She peered up, her face wrapped in the hood of her cloak. To the Mara-uneducated, she had the appearance of a beautiful woman-child in need of rescuing. Marcus wanted to reach down and swoop her up in his arms. He resisted, knowing the feeling to be false. She was false. Everything about that tiny moment was false.

  A deep grumble bellowed down in his chest. It burst forth in a mixture of roar and words. “What did I tell you?”

  “I’m sorry, my lord. So sorry.” Leila hid her face from view. “It can’t always be helped. It is our nature. To defy our nature would be—”

  “Shut it.” He didn’t have time for her family history. Time was his leverage, and they were wasting it. “You’re either with me or against me. Which is it, Leila?”

  Her hands rose at her side, a sign of submission. “With you, of course, my lord. It is for you that I left. I had to follow the dragon child to protect your interests.” She glanced up, her eyes barely visible beneath the fall of her hood and dark hair.

  A mild hint of deceit wafted around her, and Marcus narrowed his eyes. That was a new sense: truth tracing. No doubt, it would come in handy. He studied every line and hidden quiver along Leila’s body. Savored and deconstructed every distasteful odor rising from her body. She may have followed Kyra, but she probably still had a hidden purpose for that damn carnie boy. The Mara worked a dual agenda. An agenda he’d be wise to never forget. With a clawed hand, he reached down and yanked Leila to her feet. She met his glare, a doubtful smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

  “I didn’t leave before making sure you would be triumphant, sire.” A gleam came to life in
her previously lifeless, black eyes.

  “And how did you do that, exactly? Because from where I’m standing,” Marcus gestured to himself and to the demolished surroundings, “I don’t see glorious success.”

  Leila’s hands twisted together in a tangled, twining agitation, a maddening bubble of laughter leaking between her lips. “Not as planned, my lord. Not as planned. But you’re alive.” Her eyes widened, glistened.

  Is she going mad? Marcus leaned back, straightening his back. He held her shoulders firmly in his grasp. If down the loon well was where she was headed, he had no more use for her except to wreak havoc upon his enemies.

  “Alive you are.” She cocked her head to the side and paused, as if waiting for approval. Marcus had none. Leila continued, her hands flailing at the fallen ceiling. “It was meant to destroy him. It failed.”

  Acid dashed along his tendons, flexing his muscles, jolting Marcus back a step. “You dropped the building on me?” His voice hitched between each word.

  “Not on you.” Her voice rose and body appeared to drop. She was suddenly much smaller, a lost child staring up at him. “It was meant to devastate Bolsvck.”

  “You failed.” Marcus took another step back and crossed his arms.

  “Indeed. Their magic is so unpredictable,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Magic?” He turned and studied the damage yet again. “You did this with magic?” He turned back and narrowed his gaze on her. “Mara magic?”

  Leila chuckled. “Maras don’t possess that kind of ability. This was helped by human mechanical magic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know.” She wiggled her hand in the air between them, as if she could miraculously transport into her palm whatever she had used to manifest the destruction. “Those little mechanical devices with things attached.”

  “Explosives?” Marcus’s brows arched. “You used explosives? Where in all the dominion of Rajũn did you get explosives?” He raked his hand through his hair to the back of his neck and rubbed. Turning away, he began to pace the landing.

  “From Chet,” she said.

  Marcus spun around and studied her. He detected no lie. This new advantage one of the dragons had granted him was unexpected but handy. Which was the sneaky dragon lot that kept their lie-detecting ability a tightly kept secret?

  “You said you trusted Chet,” she said, dropping all defenses.

  He had. And he did. Maybe he shouldn’t, smelling the hint of stagnant water swimming around Leila’s responses. The scent wasn’t strong enough to suggest complete disloyalty, but her personal intentions had never been clearer. Damn carnie boy. What was the fucking allure?

  “I assured him it was to help you. To further our cause.” She was talking faster now, nervous. That was good. He liked to incite fear. She was usually a conceited and arrogant woman. She needed to learn her place in his organization.

  Marcus tilted his head and glanced toward the door. Leila had left it partially open. He grabbed her arm and swung her in the direction of the exit. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  A car horn sounded somewhere above them.

  “But.” She stammered. Marcus smiled. He was delighted to have finally knocked the bitch off balance. “I saw no one when I returned.”

  “Because no one was there.” He wrenched open the door. “Rick dispatched the driver after our conversation, since my Mustang has been temporarily disabled.” Marcus pointed to the hole in the ceiling and the car teetering at the top. Leila said nothing. She ducked through the door and led the way up the narrow and curvy flight of stairs to the surface. Marcus marched behind her.

  A dense carpet of ancient trees hid them from view when they emerged. The door previously hidden from sight now lay flush on the ground, cloaked with the flora. Several yards away, a sleek, black sedan awaited them at the edge of a small paved turnabout. Marcus’s Mustang had been parked at the far end of that same turnabout and now threatened to drop into the Great Hall hidden beneath the lush landscape.

  Marcus jabbed Leila in the back, propelling her forward. She hissed, but moved toward the car at an acceptable speed for her short stature. He held her firmly by the arm, eliminating any possibility of her slipping away.

  “The carnival,” she said without a glimpse at Marcus.

  “What about it?”

  “That’s where you’ll find Bolsvck, my lord.” Marcus’s jaw clenched, and Leila continued. “He arrived moments before I left to come find you.”

  When they reached the car, Marcus opened the door and shoved Leila into the backseat. “To the Den,” he said to the driver and forcefully nudged Leila again, making room for himself.

  “You do not treat me that way.” She raised a finger to his face. He batted it away and elbowed her into the far door. “But I have cooperated, my lord.”

  “You have tried to deceive me, and you have failed.” He pulled the door shut, motioned the driver to go, and turned away from Leila, staring out the window at his side.

  Something moved in the tree line. Several somethings.

  3

  MEMORIES

  Kyra

  “Stop it!” Kyra said and needled her father in the back. “You’re going to stand here, naked, and accuse Sebastian of thievery?” She pushed past him, making sure to slam into his arm. “What kind of man does that?”

  “I have nothing to be ashamed of,” Bolsvck declared, standing tall. “And the item the boy took is of great importance. It shouldn’t be in the hands of one so unworthy and untrained. Especially now.”

  “Now?” Kyra raised a brow. “You mean since Marcus tried to kill me?”

  Bolsvck made a funny sound. It came from deep in his throat and reminded her of a chuff, much like the carnival lions or tigers made. Was that normal for dragons? Did she do that?

  She chanced a glance in Sebastian’s direction. He was feeling the back of his jacket, probably searching for the dagger. He doesn’t know I moved it while he was sleeping. Although he was attempting to be inconspicuous, she’d picked up on his actions quickly. The others might catch on, as well.

  She gawked at her father, raised her hand to shield her eyes, then blindly pointed to his southern region. “Mind covering that, at least?”

  Some of the men accompanying Queen Shui leaked a laugh, but were silenced with one sharp glower from their sovereign. The stoic woman watched Kyra’s every move like a dragon ogling a soon-to-be-procured treasure. That was how she felt, too. Like a prize Queen Shui intended on winning.

  “Honestly, child. Your modesty bewilders me,” Bolsvck said and tore the banner off the front of the Palm Reader’s trailer beside him. It was clear by his lack of inhibition and the way he wrapped the fabric around his middle, tying it with one strong knot, that he was a simple and no-bull kind of man. Task completed, Bolsvck’s grin questioned if there was anything else he needed to do to please her.

  “Er…thanks.” Kyra rocked back on her heels and rested her balled fists on her hips. Trying to figure out what to do next, how to diffuse whatever the situation was between her dad and Sebastian, her mind spun like the carnival rides in the distance. She didn’t really remember her parents that well. Didn’t remember much of them at all. Only enough to know they were her parents, not enough to feel familiar or at ease around them. Then again, maybe she never had felt easy around them; her gut was trying to lead her to that conclusion now. She only had to listen better. But not knowing her parents, not remembering them or herself or her history with them, she hadn’t a clue how to proceed.

  As for Sebastian, she only knew what her gut was telling her. And right now it was telling her to protect him.

  She exhaled, let her gaze wander beyond the small dragon circle. It made her feel trapped, forced to remember things she couldn’t. Around them, the crowd was busy having a splendid time. People wandered past on all sides. Some held hands. Some traveled in large groups, talking or joking amongst themselves. Others snacked on carnival treats—kettle corn, cot
ton candy, enormous hot dogs. She found herself wondering what it would be like to live one of their lives, rather than her own. She didn’t see a sad face among the populace as they decided between visiting the crystal ball reader or rune caster or astrologist or…or…or wow.

  She ogled beyond the crowd, beyond the Mystic’s alley where they now stood, and for the first time since arriving, took in the full view of where she was. There was so much to this supernatural carnival. So much more than just a carnival…or a circus. As far as she could see, there were extraordinary things to behold.

  Impressive purple- and white-striped Big Tops, enchanting red and black show tents. Marvelous games so whimsically bright their lights bled from one to another. And rides…twirling, turning, twisting, whirling. Reaching to the moon and back. Music mixed with screams of horror and screams of glee and screams of devilish ecstasy. Mystic’s was an orgy of color sprinkled with stardust in the most spellbinding way. How could she forget such a place?

  For a moment she was admiring the massive exposition and seeing it as it currently appeared, and then she wasn’t. The carnival was the same, for the most part, only less crowded. Rides appeared to move with more ease and less urgency. Sides of the tents rustled in the evening breeze, and the majority of the screams came for the area of the Ferris wheel, which appeared to be in the center or far back of the carnival compared to where she now stood. Was she somehow remembering a different day at Mystic’s Carnival? Kyra blinked, and the current chaos resumed.