Fasolt ran toward her, anger morphing his scarred features into a vision of avenging evil.
Aryana fired an energy ball at him, watching as it threw him into the rough stone wall, his breath released in a hiss of steam. Dropping the cloaking spell, she readied another energy blast.
“You shouldn’t have returned.”
His eyes widened then narrowed as his lip curved in a snarl. “Bloody bitch. You shouldn’t have banished me.” He turned his hands palms up, his eyes narrowing as he formed two small, flickering energy balls.
How could a male stripped of his magic form energy balls?
Before he threw his weak excuses for energy balls, she lobbed hers at him, but he ducked to the side, missing the blast, which struck the cave wall. Rumbling shook the stone beneath her feet, jarring loose more stones. Aryana took a step back as several pebbles rained upon her head.
Ouch.
She shook off the pain, focusing on the only thing that mattered. Fasolt.
He crouched beside a stalagmite, eyes glittering with anger or terror. Probably anger, judging by the way steam circled his scarred face.
“Look at me!” His voice struck her like a blow, snapping her gaze to his. “Look at what you did to me!”
“I should have killed you. Scarring your face was a kindness.”
“A kindness? All I did was express my disappointment in not seeing the Goddess.”
“By beating my priestess.”
“It was an accident!”
“What? Your fists accidentally slipped into her face?”
“The bitch smarted off to me! What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Restraint. A conversation. Asking for return of your offering.”
“I needed to talk to the Goddess! And all I got was silence!”
“She doesn’t always appear.”
He jumped to his feet. “I needed Her!”
“Why?”
“To tell me why my mate had to die!” Fists balled at his sides, he stepped forward.
Aryana sucked in a breath as she stared into eyes crazed with trembling rage. The loss of a mate wrecked havoc on the surviving Draconi, even more so if they had bonded their life-forces. But she had never heard of a surviving male turning to abuse of females.
“I’m sorry for your loss, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior. Or kidnapping my niece.” She readied another ball of energy, balancing it on her palm. “You know death is the penalty.”
“Of course. The precious Draconi female. You know what?” He took another step forward. “You females aren’t any better than us males, you just think you are. And you get by with all sorts of evil behavior because no one bothers to stop you. You should all die. And you will. Even if you kill me, I’ve planned your extinction. And you can’t stop it.” His laugh shot shivers across her skin, raising chill-bumps across her flesh.
Drawing her arm back, she took aim at his chest, wondering as he mirrored her movements empty handed. Aryana lobed her energy ball, only to feel something heavy strike her shoulder, spinning her sideways. Her blast of energy went wide, slamming into the cave’s wall as her back hit stone. Numbness encased her arm, while her lungs struggled to suck in air.
Breathe, Aryana, breathe!
With a gasp, her lungs remembered their expansion duty and drew in air like a dragon about to expel a fireball. Good thing too as Fasolt leapt in front of her, hands reaching for her throat.
She ducked, trying to dart to the side. Pain shot through her injured shoulder, the throb radiating outward. Hands grabbed her arms, twisting her around, throwing her backward. Her head struck the ground, sending black dots dancing around the periphery of her vision.
An energy ball flew her way, the air sizzling in its wake. Without thinking, she batted it to the side. She needed to do...something. Needed to defend herself...somehow.
Why couldn’t she think straight?
How hard had she hit her head?
Another energy ball flew, slamming into the stone wall as she countered it. The ground pitched and she tried to sit up. Or maybe the ground pitched because she tried to sit up. Nausea roiled in her gut as she slapped at another energy ball.
“Not so hot now, are you?” Fasolt stood over her, the white scars streaking his face shining in the dim light coming through the cave’s opening.
She needed to protect herself. Needed to form...a spell.
“Die, bitch!” Magic poured out of his hands, slamming into the shield she managed to throw over her prone body.
A shield spell hastily thrown together.
A shield not made to withstand the amount of magic thrown against it.
An ache settled in her chest, a tremor running through her limbs as she fought to hold the shield, fought to save her life. Why couldn’t she remember a stronger shield spell? Didn’t she know a spell that could repel Fasolt’s magic? She was the High Priestess, the reservoir of power, a conduit for the Goddess.
And she couldn’t think of a stronger spell?
How hard had she hit her head?
A roar shattered the air, dropping rocks from the ceiling as it reverberated in waves against the stone. Good thing she had her shield, feeble though it was. As stones dropped onto his scalp and shoulders, Fasolt stopped throwing magic and covered his head with both arms. Aryana kept her shield in place and breathed a sigh of relief.
Fafnir.
His appearance ignited a burst of warmth that penetrated the thought-stopping fog smothering her mind. He cared enough to come to her rescue. And didn’t that knowledge give her a warm, floating feeling.
Or maybe that feeling had to do with the hit-the-head-on-a-rock routine she just experienced.
Air dragged through the cave, speeding toward the opening as if sucked out by a wind funnel. Or an enraged dragon.
A plume of fire shot over her head, blistering the air into crackles of sound as it sped toward Fasolt. In the time it took her to blink, the bastard disappeared and the fireball sank into the stone with a blast that shattered shards across the chamber.
The ground shook, continuing to rumble long after the stone shards dropped to the ground. She might have been knocked hard enough on the head to forget spells, but she knew enough to get out of the cave before falling rocks obliterated its existence. Taking a breath, Aryana dropped her shield and transported out of the cave, landing flat on her back in the same place she had sent Jaythena.
Wind battered her body and she turned her head to stare at the spectacle in the sky. Two dragons screamed their rage, wings batting air as teeth and talons scraped and clawed against scales, the sound sending shivers spiraling through her veins. Sunlight glittered against their scales like red rubies on fire, little bursts of light blinding to behold.
A wave of nausea swept over her and she rolled onto her side, trying not to gag. Spiked daggers of pain shot across nerve endings as she tried to use her injured arm. Small prisms of light danced across the ground, and she closed her eyes to avoid the whirl of color fighting in the sky.
Why did a concussion pick now to hold her in its clutches? Laying around nauseous and half-witted when Fafnir fought for his life was not in her plans. What if Fasolt hurt him while she lay curled on the ground?
She hadn’t known Fafnir for long, but it didn’t take long to realize how much he meant to her. Or to know she needed him with her. What would she do if he died?
Aunt Ari, move! Jaythena’s voice slammed into her mind, jarring her from her thoughts, her lids flying open at its strength.
Jaythena stood over her, arms upraised, a large rock balanced in her palms. The lack of expression on her niece’s face, coupled with the screams of fighting dragons, sent chills racing through Aryana’s limbs.
And then Jaythena dropped the rock.
So this is what was meant by an unmitigated disaster.
Aryana muttered a curse as she waved her hand, the spell tossing the rock aside. See, she did know a spell. They didn’t call her the High Priestess for noth
ing.
Aunt Ari, I’m so sorry, I can’t help it. Jaythena took a step toward the fallen rock. He told me to kill you. I can’t stop!
A slug moves faster than I can think. Aryana bit her lip, trying to come up with a spell to stop Jaythena’s drug-induced murderous tendencies. Batting aside rocks until the drug wore off was unacceptable.
Aunt Ari! Help me!
Jaythena held the rock again, her frantic mental voice a contrast to her expressionless face.
Without thinking, Aryana whispered a sleep spell, the magic reaching deep into Jaythena’s mind, turning off her higher functions. Jaythena crumpled to the ground, the rock falling from her fingers.
Sleep sounded like a good idea. The pull of unconsciousness beckoned, the cool touch of a calming friend, filled with peacefulness. Glancing one last time at the sky, Aryana watched Fafnir battle Fasolt.
Splashes of red, mixed with the whoosh of wings, caused another bout of nausea, and she closed her eyes against the myriad of colors.
Sounds drifted away as unconsciousness pulled her into the comfort of oblivion.
Chapter Eight
Fafnir roared in pain as Jaythena’s kidnapper bit into his wing, damaging the tender membrane. In retaliation, he clawed a gash down the other dragon’s neck, blood dripping off scales to fall to the ground. Pain shot into his shoulder, each flap of his wings sending explosions of white agony across the limb.
He risked a glimpse at Aryana huddled upon the ground like a broken toy as the other dragon circled around for another pass. He needed to pay attention to the fight. Watching her collapse led to the bite on his wing. A distraction when he needed to remain focused.
But seeing his mate lying still as a corpse sent a stab of pain twisting through his chest, a sharp panic spreading outward. Nothing eliminated the knowledge she received her injuries from the dragon flapping around in front of him.
Flapping a little bit lopsided due to a torn wing membrane.
Breath sawing in and out of his lungs, Fafnir countered an attack of talons and leapt onto the other dragon’s back, teeth aiming for the thick muscles of the neck. Rage clouded his vision. This male hurt his mate. This male must die.
One shake of his head was all he needed to kill the bastard, to avenge his mate.
His mouth opened, jaws snapping closed...on empty air. What just happened? Fafnir stared at the space of air that used to contain the male’s body. A quick scan of the area proved he flapped alone in the sky.
How did Jaythena’s kidnapper disappear? And where for that matter?
Right as he started to fly toward Aryana, the air thundered with dragon wings, an explosion of sound as a dozen dragons appeared in the sky. Council warriors. He hated to tell them they arrived too late.
One minute he hovered in the air and the next, his body flew backward, hurtling toward the ground. Fafnir shot his wings out, trying to break his fall, screaming as the wind caught his injured wing. He felt a spell wrap around him, cushioning his body as it lowered him to the ground.
No! You targeted the wrong dragon. That’s Fafnir, not Fasolt. Thoren’s words slammed into his mind, followed by a rush of apologies from another voice.
Mistaken identity. What irony.
A downburst of air rushed past him as the dragon warriors hovered above the ground. One landed, shifting into Thoren. Fafnir’s lip twisted and he swallowed the snarl. No reason to snarl at the one who freed him from his titanium prison and stopped him from landing like a fallen boulder upon the ground. Really. No reason at all.
“Where’s Fasolt?”
He disappeared. He hurt Ar—the High Priestess so I attacked him.
“And my sister?”
She lives. They are up there. He gestured with his snout toward the cliff. When would Thoren leave so he could check on his mate?
Thoren’s jaw tensed, eyes closing as he drew in a deep breath. As he released it, he opened his eyes and locked gazes with Fafnir. “Thank you. We’ll take care of things.”
With a brief glance at one of the dragons, Thoren disappeared, the flock of warriors vanishing with him. Fafnir took a deep breath, preparing to transport to Aryana, when he saw the warriors appear on top of the cliff.
No! Bloody Council and their sense of propriety. He deserved to take Aryana to the Temple. Aryana was not their mate. She was his. His.
But a glance to the currently empty cliff told him he wouldn’t get the chance to comfort Aryana. The Council warriors transported themselves, Jaythena and the High Priestess away, presumably to the Temple.
He roared.
“It’s not your place to take them for healing.”
Fafnir started, the rest of his roar dying in his throat as he turned in the direction of the voice. A voice he’d recognize anywhere. His breath froze in his lungs as the inside of his mouth turned into what felt like a desert, dry and sandy. Good thing he didn’t need his mouth to talk. He doubted his lips could form words.
The moment he’d anticipated and longed for during his years of captivity and yet avoided once free, blindsided him. What should he do? Admit who he was? Run?
After fighting the battle to avenge his mate, he no longer felt like a coward. At least not a complete coward.
But faced with his father he stood like a fool on the battlefield, eyes wide and limbs shaking.
Of course he could always write off the shaking limbs as a result of the fight. Whatever made him feel better.
Alviss shuffled over to Fafnir, his cane thumping in the grass with each step.
“We would have caught him if you hadn’t engaged him in a fight.” Alviss rolled right over Fafnir’s beginnings of a snarl. “And yet I appreciate your defense of the females.”
What did he say to that? Apparently nothing, his head bob taking care of words.
He really needed to speak up. This hiding-his-identity game had continued for too long.
“Go find the healing priestesses in the Temple. They’ll fix you right up.”
And the High Priestess?
Alviss’s bushy brows slammed down, carving a vee between the white hairs. “She is safe. As is Jaythena. They are being cared for by the Temple Healer. Get along with you.”
Fafnir took a breath. He could do this. He could tell his father who he was. Right? But before he formed the words, Alviss waved his hand and Fafnir felt his body disintegrate, only to reappear in the dragon healing room of the Temple.
His breath released in a rush of air. Was it relief or regret flowing through him? Or maybe that lightheaded feeling had to do with his wing shooting bright-white agony into his shoulder.
At any other time, avoiding his reveal to Alviss would be relief. But he wanted it over with. Wanted to admit his true identity to his father, even if Alviss shunned him. Once he admitted it to Alviss, then he could admit it to Aryana.
Maybe she would claim him as mate.
Maybe the earth would open up and swallow him.
“Are you injured?”
Fafnir turned to the voice, only to suck in a breath of air. Keara, his Halfling daughter, stood in the doorway, dressed in a white gown, her long red hair pulled back into a braid.
She looked like a cross between her mother and Annaliese.
Yet another person to whom he needed to admit his true identity.
Greetings, Keara.
“Fafnir!” Her face broke into a smile. “I didn’t recognize you.”
I’m sure recognition is a little hard when you are covered in blood as I am.
She walked inside the room, closing the door behind her. “Let me get a look at your injuries.” A gentle touch against his wing, a probing touch against a gash across his scales. He flinched.
How is Aryana?
Keara raised an eyebrow. A pause and then she answered. “She hit her head pretty hard, but don’t worry, Annaliese is tending to her. They sent me to care for you.”
Fafnir let loose a sigh of relief. Praise the Goddess Aryana would be all right. I’m happy you came.
Thank you for letting me know. When may I see her?
“I will have to check with Annaliese since the High Priestess is her patient.”
And Jaythena?
Steam snaked out of Keara’s ears as she snarled. “That bastard gave her the same drug he did me. But she’ll be all right once it wears off. Physically anyway.”
At least she was alive. When Aryana sent her to me, I could not get her to speak. She just stared into space. He knew the stare as the drug’s effect, but still, Jaythena’s whole affect gave him chills to see.
“That’s the effect of the drug. That herb should be banned!” Her fists clenched, and she sucked in a few breaths until the steam stopped its circling dance around her head. “Changing the topic. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. Where have you been hiding?” After clenching and releasing her fists and another deep inhale, she walked to a wall shelf containing bottles and jars of herbs. Running her finger along the label, she selected a half-full jar and put it on a long wooden table set against one wall of the room.
Here and there. How do you like working in the Temple?
“I hate these white gowns. They get dirty all the time, and the laundress is forever having to use spells to get them clean. Other than that I enjoy it.”
Is Thoren treating you well? Because if not, he’d be glad to char his hide off.
“Oh yes! I love being his mate. He’s a lot of fun. Except when he belches. Do you know he set the curtains on fire the other day? What’s wrong with him? Is that common male behavior?”
Fafnir choked. Maybe you shouldn’t feed him spicy food?
“Maybe he should learn not to belch fire. Now, let’s start with the tear in your wing. That looks like it hurts the worst.”
Her hand rested against the slash, and he couldn’t help the indrawn breath. Healing magic poured from her hand, cascading over the torn wing, suffusing him with warmth. It reminded him of his mother’s magic, of the way the older Draconi healed, the feel of her touch. A magic not experienced since before his capture, since his mother died.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the yellow and blue ball of healing magic surrounding his wing, knitting together the torn membrane. The white-hot agony ceased its relentless crawl, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Dragon Lover Page 8