Unleashed: The Deepest Fears Lie Within (Secrets of the Makai)

by Toni Kerr

  “Humans have no chance against the force of a dragon,” said the dreamy voice. “No chains can bind you...no walls can contain you...revert to your natural form and be free!”

  Anger brought him strength. “I am not a dragon!” He gripped the chains attached to his cuffs and yanked hard, trying to break whatever was holding him up.

  Molajah! The sparks flickered against the inside of his lids and wounds along the band bled freely. “Molajah!”

  He remembered the comment about being recorded. There had to be cameras, maybe speakers.

  “My name is Tristan Warner. I was drugged and kidnapped from my home in New Zealand—” He couldn’t even guess how long ago. “They say they are Dragon Slayers. They think I’m a dragon. I am NOT a dragon. This is murder. I’m being held against my will. By a delusional cult.”

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say and began repeating himself. Until the dreamy voice lulled him into a state of drowsiness. Only the yank on his arms made him aware of it.

  Tristan got to his feet when a possible plan finally came to mind. “I have information. Information you’ll want for your museum.”

  What was the use? He unlocked his knees and fell into the voice.

  “...Claws long enough to pierce three men at once, sharp enough to decapitate with a single swipe. Enough muscular power to destroy anything. Everything. Walls of any substance. Any thickness. No chain can withstand the strength of a dragon. Dragons are invincible. You are a dragon. Free yourself!”

  “You can’t wish me into being a dragon!” Tristan yelled. At least, he thought he did. The recorded voice repeated itself.

  It is unclear whether dragons could shift back and forth at will, Molajah said. But there is evidence of such occurrences.

  Where have you been? Tristan lifted his head long enough to see the dark shadow of the man, then let his chin slump back to his chest.

  It was a matter of pride for some dragons, a challenge perhaps, to come out of hiding and acknowledge the ancestry for all the world to see. We thought we were past being hunted. Some attempted the shift because they preferred the longer lifespan of a dragon, rather than that of a human.

  But after generations of existing in a human form, the mental capacity of those who succeeded had degraded to a more wild, animalistic nature. We believe they weren’t capable of returning to a human form, perhaps due to losing the ability to think like a human.

  It mattered not in the end. With Whiromanie in control of the Slayers, none of the dragons survived a full year and the humans with ancestry were once again hunted. Parents stopped telling their children.

  The world is overpopulated with cruelty—shifting is a death sentence.

  The door groaned open and a dim light lit the stone wall at the back of the room. The line of people filed in, taking their seats. At some point during the procession, the monotonous voice of the recording faded away. “Any information you choose to share may or may not set you free.”

  Tristan lifted his head, already forgetting what his plan had been. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

  Someone triggered a computer screen to life behind the partition to his right.

  “You said you had information regarding the museum. Do you have something to contribute? Or simple information?”

  Ah yes. Tristan licked his lips and couldn’t get a breath. His throat ached worse than his shoulders. “My drawing.”

  “We’ve established that.”

  “Gwenna gave it to me.”

  Do not betray us in this, Molajah hissed. We have a treaty with those races.

  I know what I’m doing. Tristan let his head drop, lacking the strength to ignore Molajah. “Please.”

  “Please?”

  “It’s a map,” Tristan said. Fabric rustled as the crowd stirred in their chairs, confirming if they’d all heard the same thing. He had no idea how they could hear anything from so far away. Not that he wanted them closer.

  “A map of what?”

  “The drawing is terrible compared to the real thing. And it’s not finished.”

  “Where did you see the real thing?”

  “Gwenna gave it to me. It’s in my cabin.”

  “A second map?”

  “The original. But it’ll be dangerous.”

  “How so?”

  “The Makai probably think I went after someone, after they told me not to. They’re probably waiting for me to come back.”

  “Who were you going after?”

  “It doesn’t matter now. You’ll have to sneak into my cabin to get it.”

  “Then what?”

  “A lifetime of questing for dragon treasure.”

  “Tell us where to look.”

  Tristan smiled, his lips cracking with sheer anticipation.

  I should kill you myself! said Molajah.

  You said I deserved a chance. If you can’t get me out of here, at least let me try....

  * * *

  Cold water poured over his head. Tristan stuck his tongue out too late to get more than a few drops into his mouth.

  “Tell us how to operate it.”

  Disappointment drowned his thoughts, sending him into an emotional, downward spiral. He didn’t think the Slayers would make it past the Makai to get Landon’s watch from the cabin.

  But maybe they weren’t waiting for him. Maybe they’d stopped looking. Maybe they hadn’t bothered in the first place.

  “It’s some sort of hologram.”

  Three identical masked shapes stood before him, huddled around Landon’s watch.

  “An image appears above the glass, five feet around.”

  The blow to his side propelled him sideways; he didn’t bother tensing, or straighten himself. He didn’t even consider shielding.

  “I said, tell us how to operate it.”

  “Middle button. Press it for a full minute.”

  “Wait!” said the man at the table with the computer. “Let me check it for explosives.”

  Tristan shut his eyes and waited. He had no doubt they’d beat him to death when it didn’t work, but so long as they pushed the button, it would be worth it.

  “Looks intricate...if I take it apart, the hologram elements might never be realigned properly.”

  “Nicodemus made it,” Tristan said.

  “That’s a lie, the materials are too new.”

  “Then maybe Gwenna. It has to warm up. The button has to be held down for more than a minute.” He couldn’t remember the exact number of seconds, but wanted to be absolutely sure it was held long enough. “And no other buttons. Just the middle one.”

  “I’ll leave it up to you.” The watch was handed back. “But he seems awfully eager if you ask me.”

  “Yes. Why is that?”

  “I’m not a dragon. I have no interest in the things stolen from you over the centuries.”

  “Things that belong to us?”

  “Things they didn’t want you to have. Books, maps, rings....” Tristan shut his mouth, already forgetting the direction he was taking. A hard smack with the board had him seeing spots, then water had him in a fit of painful coughs. “Gwenna told me.”

  “I said...why did she give it to you?”

  “Don’t know.” It’d be his answer from now on. Only then did he realize the signal might not work if the dragon fang in their museum was anything like the one hidden in the cave on Dorian’s island. One of its powers was that it kept the island secluded from the world, hidden to outsiders. “If it doesn’t work in here, try it outside. Away from man-made structures.”

  “I get the feeling you’re hoping it sends a signal.”

  His mouth and throat were too dry to gulp. “You asked how I knew what to draw.”

  “Test it in another country.” The watch disappeared into someone’s sleeve. “Secure all the entrances and kill anyone trying to get in without clearance.”

  “You’re right! Don’t push the button!” Tristan said in a rush. The last thing he wante
d was to lure Landon and Victor into a death trap. “Explosives. We’ll all be incinerated—”

  A cold bar pressed under his chin and pried his head upward. Tristan closed his eyes and didn’t resist.

  “I find it odd that you suddenly want to live.”

  By the ringing sound of it, a metal pipe slammed against him instead of a wooden board.

  32

  - EXODUS -

  SOMETHING CRAWLED up Tristan's cheek, alerting him to the possibility of rats. He jerked his feet off the ground, panicked by the thought of being eaten alive. How long would he live with no flesh?

  A cold grip tightened on his face. “Don’t move,” said a stern voice. Tristan?

  The voice in his head wasn’t Molajah’s. Tristan tried to open his eyes, fearing the worst.

  “Get the water.”

  “No!” Tristan said. They’d come for him—the Makai. It’s a trap! The band on his head spurted a flurry of sparks, sending shockwaves of pain through his spine. He didn’t care. “Trap!”

  “What the hell is this thing. Victor?”

  “Hang on, there’s a computer....”

  That confirmed it, hearing Victor’s name. “It’s a trap. Get away!”

  Something wiped at his forehead, his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he could see shapes.

  “Looks like an early version of the tracker.”

  “Reverb—” Tristan said, unsure how to make them understand. “Get it off!”

  “Landon, secure the hall.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Victor retreated to the computer and began clicking through screens. Donovan examined the band without touching it.

  “Get it off,” Tristan begged. Was it possible? Was he being rescued? “Please!”

  “Holy hell, take a look at this,” called Victor from the light of the computer. “Hours of video...hundreds.”

  “No!” Tristan yelled, pulling against the cuffs, desperate to get to his feet as Donovan walked away. “Don’t leave.”

  “It’s okay,” Landon whispered, taking a step closer. “We won’t leave without you. I promise.”

  Obviously, they’d managed to get through the front door without getting killed. “Are you really—”

  Donovan is a sworn enemy of the council, Molajah said. You are not to trust him.

  Donovan returned from the computer, peering carefully into each eye as he held Tristan’s head steady. “Victor has disabled the band.”

  “He doesn’t believe you,” Landon said, ever the empath.

  Donovan shrugged, circling out of view. Tristan focused on Landon.

  “I’m so sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”

  “Better late than never, right?” Tristan said, trying to smile. Failing.

  Landon nodded, grim. “The band is off. It’s gone.”

  “For real?” He could still feel the steel barbs digging into his skin.

  Landon nodded again, then stepped back for Donovan.

  “How is this possible? Not a single broken bone, yet clearly....”

  Tristan remained silent, unable to think of a good answer. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes. Surely the Slayers would come back any second now. They didn’t have time to waste. He straightened at the thought. “We’re being recorded. They’ll know your here—”

  “Victor has taken care of all cameras. Getting you down and setting your shoulders is going to hurt like hell. Landon, I suggest you go with Victor.”

  “I’m staying.”

  “So be it.”

  Donovan grabbed both chains above Tristan’s wrists in one hand. “Can you stand on your own?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Landon circled behind him, stopping within an inch of supporting him around the waist.

  “You can’t kill me,” Tristan said, collapsing against Landon with a wave of pain as Donovan severed the chain and lowered his arms. The next thing he knew, the cuffs and chains were in a pile beside him and one shoulder was back in place.

  “Look at me,” Landon said, a few inches from Tristan’s face. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “You’re doing great.”

  “The emerald.”

  Donovan froze. “What about it?”

  Waves of nausea made his head spin. It was almost worse to be laying on the ground, in puddles of his own blood. “Set it.”

  Donovan didn’t hesitate. With a jerk, Tristan’s shoulder was back in place. Landon took a sharp breath and Victor cringed. “That had to hurt.”

  “Warfare advantage,” Tristan whispered, the rush of frantic adrenaline melting away. The three of them stared as if he’d sprouted a third eye.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Donovan said. “Right now, we need to get out of here.”

  Tristan barely flinched when Donovan peeled his T-shirt away from his belly. He stuck two fingers through the hole in the fabric, where the knife had stabbed, then looked for a wound that wasn’t there.

  “Being immortal doesn’t mean you don’t feel pain.”

  Tristan nodded, holding his breath as Donovan ripped the shirt up the front, tying the corners into the armholes, securing his arms tight against his chest.

  Molajah stood behind Landon, unseen by anyone. We have to get to the museum.

  “They have a museum,” Tristan said. “We have to go there.”

  “I think not.”

  Tristan clenched his teeth as Donovan lifted him off the floor. Victor stuffed computer parts in his pockets and ran to open the door.

  Tell him it’s on the way.

  Tristan could barely keep his eyes open, but knew it had to be bodies they were stepping over. Landon took the lead, Victor took the back. Molajah stayed ahead of them all and stopped at a closed door with a tinted window.

  “This is it,” Tristan said. “I need to get something.”

  “We don’t have time,” Donovan said, but nodded at Victor to decode the touchpad lock.

  The door swooshed open and they stepped in.

  “Put me down. There’s a remote control for the lights somewhere near the door,” he said, though he already knew what he was after and he wouldn’t need more light.

  “Is that what this is about?”Donovan asked. “The damned poncho?”

  “Scrambling cameras,” said Victor. “I don’t see much else in here for security.”

  Landon increased the lights and examined all the murals while Donovan took a quick inventory of display items.

  “I want it back.” Tristan stared at the poncho, so close, yet so far. His fingers couldn’t grab hold of it, especially with his arms bound to his chest.

  Victor jumped in to help, quickly flinging the poncho over Tristan’s head.

  “Thank you so much.” He took a moment to breathe, then sought out the gems.

  Donovan had already spotted them. “This is what you’re here for.”

  “Yes.” Tristan gulped, eyeing Molajah. He slipped his arms out of the makeshift sling. “I don’t know what will happen, but don’t touch me when I have them.”

  “Why you? You’re not the only one who’s immortal.”

  “I—” Tristan looked to Molajah for an answer, then repeated the words. “Because I have established authority invested by obtaining rightful designation—”

  “Who the hell is telling you what to say? Those aren’t your words.” Donovan scanned the room quickly, seeing no sign of Molajah.

  Tristan leaned his shoulder against the glass and gave it a shove. Nothing happened. He wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer. “Please, Donovan. I could use your help.”

  “You don’t even know what your messing with.” Donovan’s jaw clenched with anger. “So don’t touch them at all if you can help it.” He elbowed the glass and it shattered.

  Some mobility had returned to his fingers, but he couldn’t grip anything. He made a pocket in the poncho and put gold nuggets between his fingers and each gem, pulling them off the display case and letting them fall into the poncho.

  “One more.” Tri
stan eyed the sapphire laying in the palm of the crystal hand.

  “There must have been a silent alarm,” said Victor, with his ear to the door. “They’re coming. Four, maybe five.”

  “Damn it, Tristan.” Donovan backhanded the case with the sapphire and shouted orders for Victor and Landon to take positions on either side of the door.

  They were all sitting ducks in this room.

  Tristan curled his fingers around the sapphire and cradled it to his chest with the others, wavering on his feet with fatigue.

  A door they hadn’t been aware of, camouflaged by the mural, sprang open. Tristan turned in time to see a bright orange blur flying toward him. He almost laughed when the soft thud hit him in the shoulder, just above his heart.

  “Take that, dragon-boy,” said the intruder, just before Donovan tackled him to the ground.

  “A damned Nerf gun? We don’t have time for this.” Donovan glanced up as Landon and Victor were overtaken by people and used the plastic gun as a club to knock out the shooter.

  “Heh—” Tristan whispered, staring at the hole dissolving in his poncho. He dropped to ground, too exhausted to stand.

  A sopping wet dart of foam rolled to a stop by the display case, leaving a trail of glistening, oily liquid.

  “Dragon poison?” Tristan clutched the gems tighter. “Shaely did say the poncho was made of something dragonish....”

  “Then take it off before you lose your skin with it.”

  Get to the cave, Molajah said. You’ll make it in time.

  Tristan watched Donovan take down two of the men fighting with Landon and Victor before he circled back around.

  “Can’t you just transport them out?”

  “Not until we cross the threshold.” Donovan moved to pick Tristan up off the ground.

  “Don’t touch me!” Tristan said in a rush, scooting himself and the gems away from Donovan, who scowled in response. “There’s a fang wrapped in leather, somewhere over there.” Tristan tried to point with his eyes, remembering the general whereabouts when he spotted the item with Shaely. “Take it. It might keep you hidden. Just like Dorian’s island. Take all this stuff if you can.”

  “The only thing we came here for is you. This...stuff isn’t worth the risk.”