by Gena D. Lutz
As Sonnet scooted down the hill, she heard Brecon’s sharp exhale. “Scratch that. They’re coming now.”
Sonnet stood, eyes focusing on the open space between them and the Conclave.
Sure enough, a pack of about two dozen werewolves were now charging in their directions.
Like a well-oiled machine, she went to work arming herself. She reached into her jacket, her hand sliding over the grip of her gun, and she pulled it free. She did a quick mental checklist of the remaining weapons on her person: Ruby was tucked in her jacket, and the royal dagger was strapped around her waist, left to hang down her left hip.
And in the midst of all that, she tried to ignore the fact that battling an entire pack of werewolves made her jumpy as hell, because she knew that under the circumstances, she would more than likely die within the wildlands of demon-hell.
As she moved backward, she couldn’t ignore Brecon, who was…
Smiling?
Sonnet’s brows fell in confusion. “Mind telling me what’s so damn funny?” she hissed.
His mirth-filled gaze skipped from the charging pack of wolves to her. “My power is fully restored.”
Her eyes went wide. “You can shift?”
His smile grew broader. “I can.”
“Well, that changes everything.”
He nodded once. “Yes, Princess, it does.”
Brecon didn’t hesitate, just jumped into the air and shifted into dragon form faster that you could say, barbequed wolf.
Sonnet tamped down the nerves that threatened to impede her defenses and shifted into a better fighting position. She waited, but not for long. The fastest of the pack reached her within record time. And she could tell by the ferocious growls and narrowed eyes throwing daggers her way, he meant to rip her apart.
Her arm flew up and she took aim.
Pop!
A bullet smashed through the first wolf’s skull as he flew at her in midair. Without so much as a yelp, he dropped hard to the ground, the silver bullet killing him instantly.
The next wave consisted of three more beasts. She moved the gun, aiming it at the leader, whose stride faltered as he witnessed the brutal slaying of his pack member, and then with a guttural howl, he picked up his pace—golden eyes filled with hatred narrowed in on her.
Pop, pop—she let fly two more shots. And both missed their target as the lead wolf leapt upward, twisted his lean body into an aerial side flip, and then flawlessly landed back on all fours with a ferocious growl.
Sonnet scowled. She could have sworn the wolf was smiling as his teeth gnashed and his violent stare remained firm.
“Shit.” It was time to switch tactics.
She didn’t give the wolf a chance to reach her; instead, she turned and bolted in the direction of Brecon. He’d landed on a gigantic boulder, busy shooting streams of flames at a group of wolves charging him from the front.
The dragon looked savage, a dangerous predator down to his very core. The smell of burnt flesh and charred fur carried over the wind, and she couldn’t help but think about how screwed those wolves really were. She even kind of felt a pang of pity for them deep in her gut—but it didn’t last long.
The wolves she had been running from took little time to catch up.
Her eyes widened in fear as she squared off with the trio of fangs, and pounding paws, chewing up the sparse distance left between them. But before she could be turned into chewy strips of meat stuck between eager fangs, a vibration buzzed the side of her body, grabbing her focus entirely.
She tried to ignore it, but found her free hand drawn to the source. Her brows scrunched in confusion as she fisted Ruby.
To her surprise, the stake was lit up like a Roman candle at its tip, the wooden shaft all but trying to jump from her grip.
The wolves skidded to a stop and stared at the weapon with uncertainty, as if they were trying to figure out if they should get any closer to it. Sonnet didn’t fault them for their caution; she felt like dropping the thing and running from it too. But something deep inside her gut assured the stake had no ill will towards her. On the contrary, it was amped up to protect her.
That fact reminded her of what Bane had told her about the weapon when he’d given it to her: The stake is rumored to protect its wielder from harm. She gave a mental shrug…or something along those lines.
Before she could finish her thought, the wolves before her began to change into human form. Other than the sound of Brecon’s fire and the wind rustling through the trees, all noise suddenly stopped. And then Brecon, too, went quiet.
Sonnet turned to face him—and to her surprise, the fire-spewing dragon was no longer beast, but instead a very naked, massively built man standing tall in human form, watching the carnage he’d wrought. She immediately tore her gaze away from the dragon’s dangly bits.
“What is this madness?” he asked, looking over himself with confusion.
Sonnet scanned the land and saw that all the shifters, the ones she’d been fighting and also the ones attacking Brecon, had reverted back to their human forms.
And the stake in her hand continued to buzz.
She watched it, wondering if it were truly protecting her in some way. The tight fear churning in her gut lessened, because yes…it was.
She shook her head and then answered Brecon, “I don’t know what’s going on. But I think the stake has something to do with it.”
She held Ruby out so he could witness it shake and glow.
Three naked men moved over the grass as they slowly stalked forward. Two of them stopped cold after only a few feet of progression, chests heaving with exertion, their eyes narrowed and focused on her. The third man didn’t stop walking until he was a mere five feet in front of her.
Why she didn’t back up in the face of his hatred and anger, she didn’t know. Her feet remained planted, the stake buzzing wildly in her grip.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” the man spat. “Are you a mage of some sort?” He didn’t even try to keep the revulsion out of his voice.
She didn’t answer him right away, so he continued.
“Why have you ventured into Shadow Claw territory?”
It was Brecon who finally answered. “I have come to take back what is mine.”
With cautious glances at Sonnet and then Brecon, who was now standing beside her, the other wolves from the field joined the group, all of them now lagging behind their spokesperson.
With a swift motion, she pulled out her 9 and aimed it at the newcomers. Now with both hands full, she stood confident. Her hair tie had fallen out a long time ago, so her dark hair flapped in the cool winds as she waited for whatever came next.
The wolf’s posture was ridged, muscles flexing, as if he were ready to pounce at any moment. “My pack has nothing belonging to a dragon.”
The dragon’s growl was razor sharp. “Your Alpha has stolen my clan’s dragonlings, and I am prepared to ash everyone or anything that dares stand in my way of retrieving them.”
The shock that reverberated through the wolf at Brecon’s accusation was almost visible. “That’s impossible!”
Sonnet finally spoke. “It’s true. My hunt has led us here, to your lands.” She pointed her stake in the direction of the conclave. “The trail I’ve been following leads that way, and it’s strong.”
The wolf’s eyes followed her movement. “What trail?”
“She is a hunter,” Brecon explained, as if that fact was the only explanation needed for the reason Sonnet was dead-on in her search for the dragons.
He gave her a disbelieving look. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Sonnet shook her head at him. “Very, if you think we’re leaving here without the babies.”
“Is your hunter a mage as well?” the wolf asked, eyeing the glowing stake in her hand.
“No,” Brecon smiled, “but she is the demon princess of hell.”
Whispers fluttered over the air from the group of wolves previously standing quiet bu
t deadly in the background.
The man before Sonnet went wide-eyed with fear. He immediately turned on his pack mates with a furious growl and gestured for them to remain quiet. He shoved the closest one to the ground and then, in the next second, the entire pack fell to one knee, heads bowed, with their foreheads resting on their right arms.
“Forgive us, your majesty. We didn’t know,” the leader said.
She cocked her head and frowned. For a few moments, she actually felt like the princess everyone kept calling her. The fear in the wolf’s eyes reminded her that she did hold power, unlike any other outside of the royal line, here in demon-hell. All levels of this realm were subject to her family’s reign.
Sonnet cleared her throat. “Why did you attack us without provocation?”
The wolf kneeling just behind the leader stood, his face screwed up in distaste. “You are a trespasser on wolven lands, you deserved it!”
The leader turned on the wolf and snapped, “Hold your tongue, Lucios! The royal family roams demon-hell as they please!”
Lucios scowled but then dropped his gaze to the ground. “Forgive me, Cade, but the king never enters our borders without giving us warning. He understands a wolf’s nature.”
Cade shook his head. “Be that as it may, he could come unannounced if he wanted to—he just has better manners than his offspring.”
It didn’t take a mitt for Sonnet to catch that line drive barreling straight at her.
Just as she began to relax from battle, she heard a bitter laugh from another wolf. He was crouched a few feet away, eyes scanning the distance.
She wished she hadn’t followed his gaze, because what she saw would stick with her for the rest of her life.
“We need to collect our fallen,” Lucios whispered reverently to Cade, making all other banter trivial.
Cade nodded. “Do what you came here to do, Princess. My pack and I have our dead to attend.”
Brecon frowned. “Mark my words. We intend to.”
With a nod, Sonnet left the pack of wolves without another word.
Unfortunately, the quickest path to the conclave brought her right through the dragon’s killing ground. She fought against full-body recoil, and instead, stopped to witness the aftermath of the brutal slaying.
She shook her head at what she saw.
No one deserved to have their body treated in such a manner—burned beyond recognition, like a sausage left too long on the grill, charred black and shrunken in. It was such a horrendous way to die. And the perfect example of why no one should ever go up against a fire-breathing dragon in combat.
Sonnet stared at the charred remains of the werewolves who’d been foolish enough to do just that.
“This was not how I wanted this to go down,” she said, backing away from the destruction, the smell of burnt flesh too much to stomach.
Even the grass underneath and surrounding the felled bodies was scorched black, left as a reminder of the blazing inferno that had swept across its once lush and thriving surface. To witness the aftermath of a dragon’s fury was a reality truly terrifying. No wonder all the supernaturals she’d come across cringed at the mere mention of a dragon.
Chapter Ten
Gripping her stake, Sonnet entered the wolf den. She noticed the deeper she traveled, the more her body became attuned to the space. She could feel a mystical essence reaching out to her from the walls as she crept by them, could sense the species that had wielded the magic that forged the walls, floors, and the like, some thousand years past. Purity kept the lines between the species and Sonnet connected, even throughout the span of centuries.
“Holy Mother of Creation, this place is old,” she said, eyes wide with wonder. “I can still feel the ancient wolves that used to reside here.”
She could smell water-kissed stone from a distant underground mineral bath. And she heard the howls from the Shadow Claw wolves as they mourned the deaths of their brethren outside the Conclave walls.
Brecon paced the wide cavern, his body coiled, on high alert. He watched Sonnet through expectant eyes, knowing she would lead him straight to his blood kin.
“They are close. I can feel them.” Sonnet nodded and pointed down the dark stone hall. “The trail ends a little ways down there.”
He gave her a slight bow of his head and gesture her forward. “I will follow your lead.”
She stalked the hall and then slunk around a corner at its end with her gun positioned in front of her. Her body tingled, a clear sign that her instincts were pulling her in the right direction. The magic she was attached to was a force unlike any other—raw and strong, fierce. The missing eggs where hidden somewhere in this part of the conclave. She knew it as fact.
“The time nears.”
Sonnet stopped moving.
The voice she’d heard was male, deep, and laced with anxiety.
“It’s pointless, Dorian. I know you can hear them, too. The pack calls out in mourning. The dragon has found us.” That time it was a female voice that she heard. And it was a familiar one.
“I will shred his limbs from his body if he comes!” Dorian roared.
“He’s already here, my darling. We both know that if you fight him, it will only end badly.” The woman’s voice trembled, a slow wheeze that hinted at illness. “Let me die, my love. I’m ready.”
“I won’t let you…not ever!” Dorian’s mournful roar sounded the same as his pack’s did, as they howled over their fallen.
Sonnet stretched around the doorframe and took a quick peek inside of the room on the other side.
The room was plain but spacious. Dozens of candles sat on rock ledges, filling the space with dim light. Long, multihued animal pelts draped down the limestone walls. She could only make out half the room. A view of shimmering furs covering someone’s legs, the other half of the body lost behind the curve of the rock wall that separated them.
Sonnet pulled back and let out a deep, fortifying breath—it was now or never. She signaled Brecon with a jerk of her chin to go ahead of her into the room.
Once they were over the threshold, Brecon frantically scanned the chamber, his eyes ablaze with power, his dragon clawing far too close to the surface. “Where are they?”
There was a scream, a roar, and then all hell broke loose…
The werewolf attacked so fast, Sonnet only saw it in a streak of movement.
Brecon flew forward, and the two beasts collided.
With a blurring pattern of kicks and punches, Brecon moved the fight toward the far end of the room. Fire jumped from his fists, burning clothing, flesh, anything he touched on contact.
The sick woman sprang into a seated position on the bed. With wild eyes, she pointed toward the fight and cried out, “Stop them! Please, the dragon will kill him!”
Sonnet turned to her, the color of the she-wolf’s skin several shades paler than when she’d first met her at the demon king’s table. “Whatever happens next is out of my hands.” She shook her head. “What were you even thinking letting him steal the eggs? You must be out of you mind. He kidnapped baby dragons, for Christ’s sake!”
Her eyes went even wilder. “I’m very sick and it’s destroying him! Dorian wasn’t in his right mind when he stole those eggs! Please, you have to help us! He was only trying to save me from…from a—” Her voice trailed off before she rasped, “Death sentence.”
Sonnet shook her head. “I don’t understand. You looked just fine at the castle.”
Letha gave her a weak smile. “Magic can cover up lots of things, Princess.”
The sickness and fear in her watery eyes went a long way toward plucking at Sonnet’s heartstrings. But even if she could quell the dragon’s vengeance—which she stood no chance in hell of doing—she wouldn’t. There were few things in the world that warranted severe punishment; kidnapping and using children for one’s own gain was high up on that list.
The she-wolf shot her a look of despair. She knew that her pleas for leniency fell on deaf ears;
her mate’s fate lay at the mercy of a frenzied dragon. And as either a curse or a blessing, the she-wolf passed out before she had to witness it.
A loud crash pulled Sonnet’s attention away from the woman, and over to the warring monsters.
Somehow during the small span of time she’d been preoccupied, Dorian had shifted into wolf, which left Brecon at a severe disadvantage, considering the room was too small to accommodate his dragon form, and just large enough for them to fight on the far side of it without putting the slumbering she-wolf in danger—which was more than likely a deliberate move on Dorian’s part.
Fortunately for Brecon, he still had fire magic at his command, which he immediately made use of by roaring a stream of it at the werewolf barreling through the air at him.
The wolf dodged the blast, veering left just in time for the fire to whoosh past, while Sonnet’s focus swung right as the metaphysical string tethering her to the eggs began to glow brighter.
She was close—almost right on top of the dragonlings.
Ignoring the battle, she moved forward to follow the mystical trace, and then, after skirting around the bed, she caught site of three jewel-coated eggs hidden within a deep closet. Each one was a different size and color, all of them large enough to fit inside of a beverage cooler with barely any room to spare.
As if drawn by an unseen power, Sonnet stripped off her jacket, and knelt down next to the eggs. She reached out to place a gentle hand on the closest one, its ruby-colored surface warm to the touch, glossy and smooth. She could feel an immense power residing underneath the jeweled shell, resonating with urgency—this dragon was ready to hatch.
All of a sudden, the thick shell popped beneath her palm, and a spider web of cracks spread out, fracturing the egg.
Unable to pull back, she felt a faint brush of heat against her skin, a gentle nudge against the shell, and then a thick bit of forked flesh slithered out and wrapped itself around her thumb.
“Um, Brecon…” she breathed as the dragonling’s fire-coated tongue traveled downward to lick flesh and flame across her wrist. She tugged her hand toward her body, gently trying to pull it free from the dragon’s hold, but instead of the freedom she sought, she ended up coaxing the creature out of its shell even farther. Sonnet’s gaze swung down, and she stared into the roundest violet eyes she’d ever seen.