Fasolt huffed. “You are not stronger.” The rustle of his clothes and the crunch of pebbles indicated he stood to his feet.
“We know what titanium does to a Draconi. Renders you powerless. Don’t tell me you think you’re stronger. You are nothing.”
Flesh met flesh with a sickening thud. Ari risked a glance, peeking under a half-raised lid. Fasolt stood facing his opponent, a tall, older Watcher with short gray hair. Their sides were to her. Eyes narrowed, the Watcher rubbed his jaw. Neither male paid her any attention, too focused on the other to notice her open gaze.
Aryana shut her eyes. Who was he? An older Watcher, one who did not serve on the Council or she would have recognized him. Council Watchers and Enar were the only ones she knew by name. Many others she had seen, following their assigned Draconi, but as appropriate, she never met them. Who was this one?
“Proving you know how to hit does not make you stronger,” the Watcher said.
“Maybe this will.”
A quick intake of air greeted his words. Ari risked another peek. An energy ball sat in Fasolt’s palm, weak and small. Sweat glistened on his forehead. From the strain of working magic or from tussling?
“Do not,” Fasolt punctuated each word, “underestimate the Draconi.”
Spoken true. Especially when applied to the Draconi High Priestess.
A brief, silent spell cut through the ropes binding her wrists together, a first step toward freedom. Remaining on her side, Aryana flexed her almost numb fingers. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Nerves tingled as blood rushed into her hands.
So much for moving fast. Dead hands apparently made for dead wits and slow speed.
“And you think that scares me?” the Watcher hissed. “I’ve seen hatchlings make larger energy balls.”
Fasolt screamed and Aryana’s lids popped wide as he threw his energy ball at the Watcher. Who jumped to the side with an agility surprising for his age. The ball slammed into the stone wall of the cave, exploding pieces of rock loose.
Aryana cast a quick spell of protection, a shield surrounding her prone body. Stones and pebbles pelted the shield and she heard the Watcher scream as the flying rock struck his body. Fasolt managed to cast a shield spell, but not a strong one. He dropped to the ground as rocks punched through his shield, striking him in the chest and face.
The ground shook, the earth’s complaint against the energy ball. Maybe instead of draining Fasolt of magic, she had drained him of intelligence. Even a hatchling knew better than to pitch a ball of energy at a cave wall.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But it made her escape easier.
Ignoring her still tingling fingers, Aryana rose to her feet, keeping her shield in place. The ground no longer shook, no stones fell from the ceiling and she was definitely in a cave. Glow-lights dotted the perimeter of the large room, still shining despite the energy blast. Dust hung in the air like fog and she waved a hand in front of her face.
Apparently her shield spell needed tweaking to keep out dust.
The Watcher lay prone where the blast threw him, blood streaking his arms. Fasolt lay on his back a few feet in front of her. With a grunt, he began to shake the dust off his arms and legs. Luckily he hadn’t noticed her standing.
Thank goodness for little things like exploding walls.
All she had to do was call the Council and they would come take Fasolt and his friend for questioning.
Thoren!
Silence greeted her mental cry.
She tried again. And one more time for good measure. Fasolt sat, his back to her, as he brushed dirt from his arms.
How could her nephew not hear her? Thoren!
What’s wrong Aunt Ari? Ari breathed a sigh of relief at Thoren’s voice in her head.
I have Fasolt.
What? Why didn’t you wait for us?
Steam boiled in her throat, circled her face. He kidnapped me.
He what? Never mind. Where are you?
Good question. Unfortunately she had no idea. I don’t know. Can you transport here?
Not without knowing where you are. I can only do that with Keara.
I thought a mate only transported if the other was in danger. While annoyed, as long as Fasolt forgot about energy balls, she was far from danger.
A mate can always find the other. If they want. But that doesn’t help us with you.
Actually, it did. Not that she wanted to admit it. Or use that path. But what other choice did she have? She needed…Ragnor. Aryana swallowed a lump of steam.
By all that’s holy, can this day get any worse? She needed to beg her deceitful mate for rescue.
How grand.
Aunt Ari?
I’m all right. For now. Go to the Temple. I’ll try to send a message to Annaliese. She severed contact with Thoren before she lost the nerve to beg Ragnor for help.
What a mess.
And it got worse when Fasolt went to check on the fallen Watcher, whose arms and legs moved like he tested them for functionality.
Aryana closed her eyes. Drew in a deep breath. Swallowed her pride and her anger.
“Your prize,” the Watcher wheezed, pausing to cough. “Your prize is awake.”
Aryana’s lids flew open at his words, just in time to see Fasolt turn to face her. His eyes narrowed as his lip pulled into a snarl.
Her breath caught. Her hands shook. She was not scared of Fasolt. No, she was not. She was the High Priestess. She had more magical power than what he could dream. She. Was. Not. Scared.
She possessed the ability to cast a shield spell to protect her from any magic Fasolt might try to throw her way and a short-acting spell to hold both males in place. Unfortunately, the holding spell didn’t work for long, which meant she needed to cast it several times before the Council came.
Provided they came at all.
It all hinged on Ragnor. If he would come. If he would help her. He had to come help her. Right? Right. And, according to Thoren, as her mate, he could find her no matter where she was. Including in a cave.
But after the way she shunned him, would he even bother?
Chapter Thirteen
Fafnir pulled up his trousers. Tied the laces. Stared at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall of Annaliese’s room. He looked the same as he did the day he’d Changed in the titanium cell, long, curly hair to his shoulders and a beard to his chest. Not a look he wanted.
Although he had to admit, the hairstyle looked good. What were the odds Aryana would agree?
Picking up a pair of scissors Annaliese thoughtfully left sitting next to a razor, he cut the beard as close to his skin as possible. Then he used the razor to finish the job. His face looked different, older, years of captivity showing in the lines around his eyes.
Since when did Draconi his age have lines?
More importantly, would Ari find them attractive?
Fafnir ran a hand down the smooth skin of his cheeks. Her anger toward him did nothing to diminish his feelings toward her. How could he live without her? How could he even think on that possibility? A male was nothing without his mate.
And he would do everything in his power to convince her she belonged to him.
Right after he dressed. Thank the Goddess Keara thought to bring trousers and a shirt for after his change.
He grabbed the shirt, linen cool against the pads of his fingers, and slipped it over his head. His shirt. His trousers. Clothes. Not scales. Clothes.
They had never felt so good against his skin.
He walked to the door, his clothing moving against his flesh, a soft tug and release he never realized he missed. Annaliese waited for him on the other side of the door. Waited in the hall for him to shave and dress. He appreciated her consideration of allowing him some adjustment time. Just as he appreciated her sending a protesting Keara to the healing room after the ritual.
His daughter needed to rest.
At least the day was not a complete failure. After all, he was in human form again. Even
if it meant his mate disappearing in a snit of anger.
Not that he blamed her for the anger. Getting his head in the right place meant paying the price for his hide-and-lie strategy over the last month.
A twist of the dragon-shaped doorknob followed by a pull on the door and Annaliese stood before him, hands clasped in front of her waist. Her eyes widened as her gaze traveled across his face.
“You cleaned up well.”
“Thank you for letting me dress in your room.”
“It’s the least I could do.” She hugged him, her arms tight around his waist, his tight around hers, both using the hug to telegraph relief and joy. When she released him, one hand patted his cheek, her eyes shimmering as she blinked a rapid rhythm. Sniffing, she walked toward the soapy bowl of shaving water. “When do you plan on telling Father?”
Right after he passed his hand through dragon’s fire.
No, no, no. He needed to tell his father he lived. No more hiding his identity.
Even if thinking of the reveal brought a head-to-toe shiver.
He shut the door. Crossed his arms and leaned against it.
“Once I win Aryana.” No other choice remained. He needed his mate. She needed him.
He hoped.
“She’ll come around. But it might help if she knew why you kept your true self hidden.”
Oh, yes. Just the thing he wanted to explain to his mate.
Fafnir made a noncommittal noise. “Do you know where she went?”
Annaliese turned to face him, one brow raised. “Perhaps she needs some time to think.”
“I need to explain.” And the sooner the better. He already made a muddle of things once.
A strange look passed over Annaliese’s face, as if she heard a voice that surprised her. Her eyes widened right as a voice slammed into his mind.
Ragnor! I need your help.
Aryana. And she sounded panicked. Pain shot through his chest, his heart tapped an unsteady rhythm as he focused on her voice.
What’s wrong?
Fasolt kidnapped me
He swore his heart skipped a beat. What?
He took me to a cave and I have no idea where I am. I can’t transport out and I need your help.
Fafnir clenched his fists. When he said he wanted her to need him, this was not the situation he had in mind.
I’ll be right there.
He stared into the wide-eyed gaze of his sister. “Aryana—”
“Is in trouble.” Annaliese swallowed.
“How…”
“I saw her.”
“So you know where she is?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then I’ll transport to her and let you know where we are so you can tell the Council.”
She took a step toward him, placing a hand on his arm. “You might not have your powers. Outside of the obvious, we don’t know the side effects of the spell.”
“I don’t care. She’s my mate.” And he was going to rescue her or die trying.
“You need to care. How can you rescue her with no magic? Don’t be a dolt.”
“What part of ‘she’s my mate’ do you not understand?”
“The part where you put yourself in danger. At least be sensible. Try using your magic before you run off defenseless.”
Fafnir took a breath and swallowed a lump of steam threatening an appearance. His sister feared losing him again. Of course she didn’t want him running off without the ability to use his magic. But she seemed unable to understand he needed to go. He needed to prove to himself and Aryana his worthiness as a mate. And his lack of cowardice. Something he’d failed at this last month of hiding.
Taking a step away from his sister, he stared at the lines creasing his palm. A hand. A human hand. An appendage he never gave a thought to until stuck in dragon form. He ran a finger over his palm. Flesh. Not hard scales.
Get on with it, Fafnir. You can stare at your human body later. He closed his eyes. Thought of an energy ball floating in his palm. Opened his eyes. Pushed a little magic into his hand.
The energy ball popped into his palm, a swirling mass of magical fire burning brighter than he remembered. Nice to know he still possessed some magic.
“Good, good. Now transport from here to there.” Annaliese pointed at the bed.
Curling his fingers, he extinguished the energy ball. A thought later and he stood by the bed. It appeared some of his magic remained.
But how much?
Enough to save his mate. “My magic is intact. I’m going.”
“Thank you for humoring me.” She walked toward him, stopping a few feet away. “Don’t forget your boots.”
Fafnir looked at his bare feet. Boots. How could he have forgotten about those? Easy. Dragons didn’t wear boots. Going for expediency, he pictured the boots sitting by the bed on his feet and snapped his fingers. Warm leather encased his bare feet as he shifted from one foot to the other.
“Thanks.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I will contact the Council once I hear where you are. Be careful.”
He returned her hug. “You too.”
Fafnir took a step back from Annaliese. Closing his eyes, he drew a mental picture of Aryana, her green eyes snapping ire instead of love.
What a sap.
He’d work on the shining love picture later. After he saved her.
Aryana’s face firmly planted in his mind, Fafnir focused on her signal, that spark of light unique to her. There. A ways away. How did she get in a cave halfway to the Watcher village?
With a thought, he threw himself into a transport, his body breaking into pieces before hurtling across the ground toward his mate.
Fafnir reformed outside the entrance to the cave. Appearing inside of caves proved tricky. And dangerous. Unless he knew the depth between the ground and the cave chambers he could end up stuck in the dirt. Not an adventure he cared to experience.
Annaliese, I’m here.
Where’s here?
He told her where the cave was located.
Be careful. I’ll bring the Council to you.
How long would that take? Probably longer than he cared to wait. His mate needed saving. Now. Waiting around for the Council to make a grand entrance was not an option.
Light shone several feet into the cave, beyond that darkness snaked inky fingers into the inner depths. Fafnir strode into the cave, pebbles crunching under his boots. Forming a small light in his palm took no effort at all and cast a flickering blue glow across the stone walls.
Shadows swallowed him as he walked deeper into the cave, the only light coming from the small blue flame in his palm. He sensed Aryana to his left, behind a stone wall of indeterminate thickness. He cursed. How was he supposed get to her when he didn’t know the wall’s thickness?
Follow the path and hope it led to where she was?
What other choice did he have?
He shivered.
Her signal fell behind as he moved forward. The path split and he veered to the left, hoping to find a way to enter the chamber that held Aryana. His heart beat an erratic rhythm. What if she was hurt?
If only he’d killed Fasolt before that bloody dragon transported out of the fight. And he thought he acted cowardly? What kind of male transports away from a fight?
The dumb dragon should have escaped Draconia instead of returning to kidnap Aryana. All knew harming the High Priestess meant a death sentence. Not that Fasolt hadn’t already renounced his life. Drugging Keara in Cautasia along with kidnapping and drugging Jaythena ensured a fast ride to the afterlife. Perhaps he knew death awaited him and he might as well continue his vengeance.
Or he was too dumb to realize he lay at the top of the Council’s termination list.
And Fafnir was more than happy to help the Council dish out that punishment.
Light from the blue flame flickered shadows on the stone walls as he strode deeper into the damp depths of the cave. With each step he imagined his fist
pummeling Fasolt’s face. Bloody, slimy dragon. How dare he capture Aryana. His mate.
Would he ever find her? How long was this path? Longer than a pebble’s throw and his mate lay behind that massive wall of stone. He swore he’d been walking forever. Should he turn around and try another way?
The wall veered sharply to the left. All right, he’d look around the corner and if no entrance existed he’d turn around and try another direction. Please Goddess, let there be some sign. He took a deep breath and stepped around the corner.
Light poured into the path, cutting through the inky darkness, a beacon of relief. The energy pattern unique to Aryana spilled from a giant slash in the stone like a captive freed from bondage. Fafnir released his held breath.
Thank you, Goddess.
He extinguished the flame in his palm and pressed himself against the stone wall, peering around the corner. Glow-lights shone from regular intervals, bathing the cave in a soft glow. Dust floated in the air, originating from what looked like a recently disturbed pile of rocks. Some idiot had blasted a hole in the cave wall.
Judging from the scene before him, he had a good idea of the idiot’s identity.
Aryana stood opposite the pile of rocks, facing who he assumed was an unmoving Fasolt. Scars lined the male’s face as if raked by dragon claws. Black stubble and streaks of dried blood peppered his shaved baldhead, his cloak and clothing hung spattered with blood and tiny cuts. Anger radiated from the male like a fast moving mountain stream, dangerous and chill-inducing. Fasolt’s fingers twitched a second before he stopped imitating a statue and began moving his arms.
“Stop freezing me, you stupid bitch, and start fighting.” His arms rose as if to throw an energy ball, but Aryana waved her hand and he froze, one arm drawn back for a pitch.
Fafnir snarled as he stepped into the room. “Aryana.”
She turned, relief dancing across her face. “You came.”
“Are you all right?” She looked unharmed, rumpled and dust-covered, but no blood. Thank Goddess. Fasolt still deserved to die. What kind of a Draconi harms females?
Dragon Lover Page 14