Plight of the Dragon

by Debra Kristi

  “If you can, yes.” Sebastian stood and took a step in Talia’s direction.

  “It’s okay. Stay with her,” Talia said, and Sebastian returned to the bed. “I think I can whip something up for you.” Between pouring ingredients in a beaker and snagging boxes and bottles from her assortment, Talia glanced back at them. “Do you know how you’re going to return her dragon?”

  Sebastian gazed off to the side. “I think so. Zeke helped me in that area.”

  Talia nodded and turned back to her work. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions buried Kyra. Her insides burned from the cold, and her heart dropped into her gut. Was it her imagination or were both Sebastian and Talia avoiding eye contact with her?

  She clutched at Sebastian’s arm. “How will it be done?”

  He leaned in close and spoke softly. “Right now, you just focus on finding your heat and let the rest of us worry about dragon details.”

  Kyra’s brow wrinkled. “Kalrapura is part of me. I need to be involved in those details.” She chanced a glance at Talia, saw her quickly look away.

  Sebastian frowned and regarded Kyra. “If you don’t take care of you first, there might not be anything for Kalrapura to return to.”

  Kyra wrinkled her nose then sneezed. Across the room, pops and fizzes hissed at Talia’s fingertips, her work moving swiftly and reminding Kyra of a mad scientist. From what Kyra could tell, Sebastian was avoiding her, and in so doing, directing all his attention on the magic being created on the other side of the room. “How long will this take?” he asked Talia.

  “Not long.” She turned to face them, beaker held firmly in her hands. “To create heat, I’ll need to include an element of fire. I’m stepping out back for a few minutes to properly encompass the needed flame.”

  “Should we come with?” Sebastian shifted, as if preparing to get up and go.

  She waved him to wait. “You two stay here. I won’t be long.” Her gaze shifted to Sebastian. “Keep her warm by any means necessary.” She glanced back at Kyra. “She’s starting to turn a little blue.” With that, Talia left, disappearing out the back door.

  In an instant, Sebastian was off the bed and kneeling in front of Kyra. He held her shoulders and studied her. She tried her damnedest not to appear or act as if she were freezing, but her teeth chattered rebelliously. “How bad is it?” he asked.

  “Na-na-not ba-ba-bad.” Kyra clutched the blanket around her with a white-knuckled grip.

  Deep shadows filled Sebastian’s eyes. An intense worry line creased his forehead. “You really are one of the worst liars I’ve ever come across.”

  Every time he’d called her a horrible liar, the delivery was accompanied with a snarky smile. Not this time. This time, he appeared particularly dismal. Kyra bit her lip to hide the chatter, biting too hard into the skin with the shaking. The bitter taste of copper filled her mouth.

  “Kyra,” he whispered, wiping the blood from her lower lip with a gentle brush of his thumb. He didn’t take his gaze off her, but continued to stare profoundly into her eyes. She saw war and conflict, sorrow and regret, and she would bet her life she also saw love. She wanted to kiss him. Her teeth chattered.

  His dark pits of conflict and contemplation seemed to turn into resolve, and Sebastian pulled off his shirt and slipped under the blanket with Kyra, pressing his warm body to her skin. Together, they lay against the mattress, Kyra nestling against him, her back to his chest, her body perfectly complementing his curve. His fire melted her ice, the thawing sending her heart to accelerate, blood to race, and a kindling to take hold within her core. She couldn’t recall anything ever feeling so right. So meant-to-be. She flipped around to face him, her hands held to her chest as a barrier, and caught him off guard. For a nanosecond, his gaze had been dreamy, wistful. Now there was surprise clouding out everything else.

  “You saved me, once again,” Kyra said.

  A humored smile almost lit up his face. “Not me. Kalrapura. Her fire is incinerating my organs.”

  Kyra laughed in spite of the implication. Something whispered in her ear that Sebastian could handle the heat. His office was in Hell, after all. “Regardless, she couldn’t have done it without you.” A silence fell between them, and it wasn’t the comfortable silence they’d so often had in the past. This time was different. It was awkward and strange. Kyra wanted to burn it away, but she couldn’t. She would need Sebastian’s help to make that happen. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Sebastian. I need you by my side.” Her hands slid up and caressed the side of his face.

  “I. Kyra…”

  “Shhh.” She softly placed her finger over his lips. “I love you. Understand?” Almost absentmindedly, she traced his lips with her finger and felt his body respond. Her thoughts toiled between the bravery of pushing Sebastian into seeing what they could be together, and fear of pushing him deeper into whatever hole he was digging to escape her. The most consuming thought—simply him. Wanting and needing and touching Sebastian. His strong body against hers, his breath on her face. Clarity of thought was impossible. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop.” Her mouth found the small space below his ear, his cheek, his jawline. His skin tasted salty-sweet, grit and greed, everything she desired. His eyes closed, and he made a sound she’d not heard before. A shiver ran through her, like a diving dragon, down below her belly. Her lips craved the taste of him, her body, the touch of him.

  “I think this should do the job,” Talia said, coming in through the back door.

  Sebastian was up and out of the bed, slipping on his tattered shirt, before Kyra could blink. She turned around and pulled the blanket tight around her again. It was a shoddy substitute for Sebastian. She stared at him, and her teeth began to chatter. In those moments since Talia had stepped out back to create magic, Kyra had believed she was making a little magic of her own. And it might have succeeded, with a little more time. It seemed like he’d been responding. Now he was putting distance and barriers between them like a damn impossible carnival game.

  “Did I interrupt something?” Talia asked, glancing between Sebastian and Kyra.

  “No,” Sebastian said at the same time Kyra said yes.

  Talia’s eyes widened before fixing her gaze on Sebastian. Kyra bit her lip and sighed, sinking deeper into the blanket and bed. Talia had definitely interrupted, but Kyra wasn’t going to be the one to say so.

  “No,” Sebastian reaffirmed.

  “Alrighty then,” Talia said, obvious disbelief on her face, then walked over and handed Kyra a small vial. “Drink this and give it a couple minutes. You should feel your body temperature even out.”

  Kyra took the tiny bottle of glass and studied the liquid sloshing around inside. Orange with a swirl of red and murky clouds of blue—it didn’t sing drink me, more like toss me out. Nor did it appear particularly significant. Burning one last gaze at Sebastian, Kyra downed the liquid, then gagged. It tasted like shit. “Gross.”

  “Sorry.” Talia took the vial from Kyra’s hand. “Not a lot I can do about the taste.”

  “Next time try adding vanilla,” Kyra said, her lips curled into a snarl.

  Sebastian plunged his hands into his pockets, his posture reeking of discomfort and need. Awkwardly, he leaned toward Talia. “Got anything for me?”

  “As in what, exactly?” She regarded him with a shift in her eye that could only be disapproval.

  “You know, the stuff that helps with the…” He pointed to his head.

  Talia’s chest rose and fell. “I think it’s time you learned to deal with your talents, rather than stifle them. Don’t you agree?”

  His face hardened like that of an overworked and underpaid ride operator, yet he didn’t argue. He merely looked away.

  “Can you give us a few minutes?” Sebastian’s tone was grimly grave. Kyra’s heart, which had been hanging on to tether lines, plummeted to the safety netting in her gut.

  “Sure,” Talia said, with a hunch of her shoulders. Kyra couldn’t blame her for
how fast she disappeared. No one likes to witness uncomfortable situations, and Kyra sensed a big one coming on now.

  “Before you say something you’ll regret later—” Kyra started and was interrupted.

  “Is it working?” Sebastian gazed over her from head to toe. Kyra stared back at him with a blank expression. “The potion, is it working?”

  She jerked. “Oh. Not yet.”

  Silent fell over the room, Kyra’s lecturing roll having lost its steam. There was nothing she wanted to ogle more than Sebastian, yet right now, she couldn’t bring herself to, so fearful of what she’d see in his eyes. Instead, she stared at his feet, memorizing the scuff across his left boot and the wear on the side buckles.

  It began with a tiny pinprick of a spark in her chest. The smallest of heat sources. Then spread along her veins to her entire system, like a blossoming flower. Kyra wasn’t on fire, but she wasn’t cold anymore. She was simply comfortable.

  “Listen.” Sebastian began to pace the room.

  Okay, maybe she was cold, after all. Kyra hugged herself and pulled her knees into her chest.

  “I will admit, you are a beautiful distraction, and we did well at the friend thing.”

  Friend thing? Kyra shifted on the bed and narrowed her gaze.

  He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m becoming a full Grim now. I’ll be busy, too busy, really. And I don’t have time for any of this.” He waved his hand around to imply, not just Kyra, but the entire carnival. “We’ll just hold each other back. And you don’t want that, do you?” He stopped pacing and locked stares with her. “You don’t want to hold me back, do you?”

  “We wouldn’t be holding each other back if we’re in love.” Kyra dropped the blanket and stood up.

  His lip pulled into a straight line. “I don’t love you.” He turned and disappeared the way they had entered. He’d turned so fast, as if he were running away, and she’d almost missed it, but it had been there, an impossibly small sign of hope. And cling to that tiny hope, she would. His eye had twitched, and he had bolted before she could call his bluff.

  She wanted to scream after him. Yell that she didn’t believe him. But she was too stunned to squeak out a single sound. She simply stood there and watched him walk away.

  11

  DISTRACTION

  Marcus

  Weaving through traffic on highways and streets had taken longer than Marcus had hoped. It had been over an hour since they’d encountered those men on the road, since Marcus had destroyed them. And it had been over an hour since he’d talked to Rick. Not a single update had been received since. All he could do now was hope Rick had followed orders without a hitch and all the men would be waiting for him by the Market Street Bridge, because somewhere near that bridge was exactly what he needed right now.

  Thankfully, the sedan was now close to the portal under the bridge, the portal that would take him to Mystic’s Carnival and Bolsvck. The sedan glided down Market Street, cutting off before the bridge and dropping down to a smaller trail below. With a quick left turn, they were passing beneath the bridge and headed for the small parking lot ahead. This was where he remembered emerging from the carnival portal with Kyra. It had been a while since that day, but he was confident he could find the spot. The doorway that would return him was down here somewhere.

  Hopefully, his men had ditched the attack at the Den and were already here, awaiting his arrival. Marcus glanced over Darren’s shoulder out the front window. He could see the chaos and destruction that welcomed them. He exhaled a heavy breath. Somehow Davies’s little band of crusaders had managed to follow them here. A battle was consuming everything. The parking lot, the park, even the little road his sedan now traveled.

  “Stop here,” he said to Darren. The car came to an abrupt stop.

  Darren didn’t need to ask why, nor would he. Marcus’s men never questioned his commands. To do so would be considered subversive. Ahead, the parking lot was filled to capacity and beyond. Vehicles of all manners spilled over the paved space into the surrounding dead grass and dirt. And among the grass and metal, men warred. Beside cars, on top of cars, even using cars as weapons. And it was a damn bloody mess of a war, too.

  Marcus took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. Stepping from the car, he glanced at the traffic on the bridge, then back to the pandemonium. Inside, his gut boiled with acid. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Not the time or the place, he thought. He wanted to shift, destroy all of Davies’s men, but no one needed the human news reports full of dragon sightings in Nesbitt Park.

  His searching stare probed the mob of men, seeking his target, the man in charge of the attack. What Davies had done, teaching his screwball collection of humans and lower-caste shifters effective ways to kill or maim dragons, was reprehensible. Comparable to telling a known serial killer where he could find your family members. Marcus ground his teeth and hissed.

  With the measured composure of a man preparing for a notable meeting, he methodically removed his jacket, folded it, and set it on the seat of the car. After closing the door, he knocked on the front window using the side of his fist. The window rolled down.

  “Park it here and stay in the car,” he said to Darren. “I don’t want anything getting on my jacket.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Using the tip of his finger, Marcus brushed his hair into place and walked into the battle. Invisibility could have been added to his recently obtained abilities, since so many ignored him when he walked by. And even though he strode with his chest held high, there was no burden there. It bothered him not, walking within inches of men trying to kill each other, by hand or other means.

  “Finally,” he said between gritted teeth, and grabbed the man rushing at him by the throat. The cool brush of steel slid across Marcus’s side. Ice and blood and bite to the skin. Marcus grunted, squeezed, crushed the man’s larynx, then tossed him aside. The blade fell to the ground.

  He glanced down at his torn dress shirt. Damn. I wanted to be more presentable when I see Kyra, but this will have to do. Flashes of colors and clouds of dust moved all around him, a new aggressor on the attack. In a breath, Marcus threw up his arm, splintering the skin and raising thick, dark dragon scales to cover. The clash was firm, hard, and set the man’s Scottish dirk to vibrate. Astonishment registered on the handler’s face, and he had little time to react. Marcus’s other hand was already slicing through the man’s flesh with razor-sharp claws. He fell away.

  “Where is Davies?” Marcus yelled, and pushed on through the throng. To his right, fighting a behemoth, of all things, was Chet. Fucking behemoths, they should know where their loyalties lay, and that should not be with Davies. Marcus roared and reached for two men fighting on either side of him. Hands firmly over their heads, he dragged them across the space, smashing their skulls together. It didn’t make him feel any better. Irritation ratcheted up his spine like out-of-sync scales attempting to slip into place.

  Covering the distance between in no time worthy of noting, Marcus seized the behemoth wrestling Chet and tossed him across the parking lot. Chet wheezed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then stood. “Thanks, boss.”

  “Yeah,” Marcus said and tried to straighten his destroyed sleeve. “Did Davies’s men follow you here?” The light of confusion and uncertainty flickered in Chet’s eyes. “How did they know to find you here?”

  Chet shook his head and gazed out at all the fighting. “I don’t know, boss. Alls I can figure is they have a spy in our camp.”

  Marcus’s soul felt dark, and his body burned with angry need to crush any traitor. Then he shifted his gaze to the space beneath the bridge and remembered. “Have you seen Davies in this mess?’

  “He was here when it all began. Killed a few of our guys, then left orders with his men and disappeared under the bridge,” Chet said.

  Davies hadn’t stayed to fight with his men. Now that, Marcus found more than just a little interesting. His eye twitched, brow arched, and he stu
died the space in which Davies was reported to have disappeared. Not the bridge, really. That wasn’t what drew his gaze. It was the space beneath the bridge that interested him. The place where he would find the hidden doorway to Mystic’s Carnival. And the same space, he was betting his dragon fire, that Davies had disappeared into.

  From his pocket, Marcus produced a handkerchief and erased from his hands any signs of destruction. “I’m going to the door.”

  “Sir?” Chet tilted his head.

  “Gather Rick and the men, grab my jacket from the car, and follow me through the door beneath the bridge.” He neatly folded the handkerchief and slid it back into his pocket.

  Chet jerked back, ever so slightly. “But the fighting, sir. How are we to—”

  “This has gone on long enough. This,” Marcus waved his hand, emphasizing the fighting going on around them, “is nothing more than a distraction. Either push back these morons, or destroy them by all means other than complete transformation. Understand?”

  “Yes, boss.” Chet started to bow, and then stopped, as if he’d thought better of the action.

  Marcus turned and walked in the direction of the invisible door. “And Chet,” he called over his shoulder. Chet promptly acknowledged him. “Make it quick, will you?”

  “Consider it done, sir. On it, boss.”

  Marcus detected a mild hint of nerves, fear, anger, and resentment rolling off the man. It was a delicious combination. One he hoped Chet would keep in check. Along his stride across the open park land, Marcus counted the dead. Not all the dead. He could care less about Davies’s men. The humans and traitor shifters should have known they were signing up for their own deaths when they agreed to follow that man.

  But his men, that was a different story. He counted them, quick and precise. His men had fallen, were still falling, and yet he needed them. His army to destroy Bolsvck was shrinking, and he had Davies to blame.