Ivy's Dragon: Dragons of Telera (Book 7)

by Lisa Daniels

  His heart exploded with excitement, pulsing the blood fast through his body, making his limbs tremble slightly as he thrusted, groaning into her neck, sometimes kissing her upon the lips, drowning in the taste, sight, sounds and smell of her, losing himself to the sacred contact of their bodies.

  He wanted more. He wanted her, to keep her, to do nothing else but devour her heart, mind and soul until the world ended. Instead, he held onto the impulse, slowing down as he felt his orgasm accumulate, to stroke her on the bundle of nerves that he knew caused all women indescribable pleasure.

  She cried out and shivered under his touch, trying to escape, but he locked her in place, stroking her there, where it was wet and slick and sensitive. His fingers sometimes missed, but he knew he hit the right spot when she twitched, and her thighs tensed on either side of him. He stroked her until he felt the release of her orgasm. She convulsed around his erection, and he gave a few sharp thrusts before he came as well, groaning into her ear. She gasped, face flushed and eyes glazed in ecstasy, and he held onto her tight.

  The moment passed, and their excitement waned, converting instead into a soft afterglow. He stroked her hair, and hoped in his heart that he could get to know her better. That she’d forgive him when the time came.

  Forgive me. I do what I must, but I would never intend to hurt you.

  Neither did he intend to go against everything he believed in. Kell closed her eyes, settling in comfortably beside him, not bothering with small talk. He supposed she sensed somewhere it was not needed.

  She fell asleep faster than him, too. Her body twitched with nightmares, feverish thoughts that did not belong, and he helped soothe her into better dreams, safer pastures, locked in his arms. He stared outside the window, over her head which was tucked under his chin, and he contemplated the blue glow of the woods beyond the streets, and the peculiar blue wisps of wolf spirits, where they said that those not yet blessed might have a chance to become one of his kind.

  The place where all werewolves once came from. Where the First Wolf, husband of the Cursed Queen once lived, in a preserved hut that stood upon a wide slope, with the Queen he once cherished, before the Shadows destroyed everything they’d ever known.

  He fell asleep, a pang of guilt crushing his heart.

  He didn’t think Kell would forgive him.

  Chapter Three

  Kell woke up, and her bed was empty. Foreboding chilled through her. Outside, it was still dark, and the only sound that could be heard was the mournful howl of the spirits.

  Her instincts screamed at her, and she got up, quickly placing on her warmest clothes, tugging on her socks and boots and clasping on her gloves.

  Her magic continued whispering to her, until she followed the call and ventured outside into the moonless night, wondering what could cause her soul to shiver like this, and feel so afraid.

  The thought that something bad could affect the spirits, to cause them to twist in pain and cry made her shiver. Some things were not meant to be touched.

  In the open, it was the dead of night, the hour where almost all Islanders were asleep, safe and warm in their beds, perhaps thinking of the messages in the stars, hoping it would tell them their love lives, or tell them if they would win the war against the Shadows.

  Should she wake the elders, tell them of her suspicions? Would they laugh in her face, if she told them it was “just a feeling”?

  She advanced onward. Past the main town, into the first cemetery, where the graves stood silent, and faint glimmers of spirits undulated through them resplendent in energy. She passed a withered blue tainted tree, and continued her walk through the atmospheric expanse.

  Not here. But where? Kell didn’t believe she was in danger, living on the Island. She believed whatever happened, the spirits protected them, though it did sometimes lead to some very boring days. Her friends mostly kept their entertainment by inventing board games, by placing challenges in mental agility and mock battles with stones as units, or wooden carvings.

  Something certainly removed Loras from his bed. There was guilt in his aura, though at the time, Kell assumed that he felt bad for using her, though she clearly wanted to be used. Sex with a werewolf as well ranked significantly higher for her than the methodical Islanders, who somehow seemed to lack imagination to do anything.

  Why did he leave? What did it mean?

  I need to go to the main resting place. In the center of the Island.

  It took Kell a short while to approach the center, first needing to cut through a narrow woodland path, listening to the way the twigs and moss crunched and squelched under her feet, guided by the glow of the tree bark and the wisps.

  The main cemetery held a mix of bones, dust and preserved dead, still infused by the spirit that bound them with their powers. Some graves were transparent, allowing Kell to look inside and see the stiff, emaciated form of a long dead wolf. The scratching on the grave told her that the wolf was at least nine hundred years dead.

  The cemetery went on for several leagues. Kell hesitated, holding her breath when she saw Echo pass, weaving her way through the gravestones. Kell didn’t want to be seen, so she crept closer, downwind from Loras so he did not catch the scent of her.

  All five of them were gathered at the monolith, designed by an ancient artist that jutted upward, with intricate wolf patterns covering its marble, burnished surface.

  Loras stood in his werewolf form on alert, ready for danger, and Kell ducked behind a large gravestone, resting her hand on the stone as she attempted to eavesdrop, and take swift peeks to observe what happened.

  “I still think we’re inviting unnecessary danger,” Faith said, her voice low and harsh. She paced nervously around, not focusing on anyone. “This Island’s been around for years. What if we ruin that?”

  “We might,” Helena agreed, her tone cool. “But you’ve already seen for yourself what success can do. This is why we needed someone like Erlandur.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to contradict you, Shadow, but why can’t we just stick to guerilla warfare tactics? We might not have their numbers, but we are better fighters.”

  “That’s because you’ve never gone against an army of Supremes before,” Helena replied. “The ones you’ve mainly fought have been mindless. People punished and suffering. Supremes are not suffering. They are content in their bodies, which are those of witches in your past – anyone they’ve been able to get their hands on, since you were all foolish enough to not cremate your dead.”

  Kell shuffled, her leg cramping on the spot, and she peered over once to see Yarrow’s fists clenched, Echo’s arms at her sides, an unfathomable expression upon her face, Faith with her chin tilted upwards, and Loras pacing anxiously around Erlandur, who said nothing. He held something in his hand, and Kell couldn’t make it out from here.

  Helena stood tallest and most confident, her black eyes empty, white hair ruffling in the breeze.

  “They need their bodies whole to reach the afterlife,” Yarrow said. “Or, at least, we believe this.”

  “It’s a mistake,” Echo said then, her voice abrasive, cutting through the rest with a tang of venom. “Because now we have about twenty thousand Supremes to contend with, and their armies of mindless. They don’t even need to fight, they can just set all the mindless on us and we’re finished.”

  “Don’t forget they may not even try to fight us. They may be planning to march everyone down the tunnels soon,” Helena added. She paced closer to Erlandur. “It’s up to you if you think you can.”

  Erlandur stared a while at the object in his hands. “I don’t know. There’s no warning signs. The fear I feel is my own. The magic in this skull is potent. Greater than all of ours.”

  “The Queen was one of the strongest witches who ever lived.” Helena paused a moment. “It’s of no surprise that her bones are saturated in her magic.”

  Kell gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth.

  They have the Cursed Queen’s skull! Oh moon, what ar
e they planning to do?

  With such power, many spells out of someone’s reach could be amplified, empowered beyond imagination.

  The chills continued to ripple through Kell’s soul. Loras, at least, acted just as anxiously, just as unwilling to be there. That made her feel a little glad, that he wasn’t fully in with whatever these people planned. Kell wondered if she should slip away and warn the elders, or maybe attempt to use her magic to levitate the skull away from Erlandur’s hands, except she doubted she’d be able to get far before they all set upon her.

  No. She needed to watch, and to only step in if she believed she had no choice. Her intuition licked at her, warning her to stay still.

  “Can you feel them, Erlandur?” Helena almost whispered the words, as she moved closer, within arm’s reach of him. Blue wisps swirled around him, as he wore the knight armor, their sacred relic. Curses, he had that as well. Landing spells against him would be hard, if not impossible.

  The spirits definitely knew something was up, judging by the way they now jerked in agitation around Erlandur.

  “Think they’ll be as friendly to us once we go through with this?” Echo scowled, examining the wisps with trepidation.

  An inkling of what the five planned to do made Kell shudder inside. They couldn’t… could they?

  “Only one way to find out,” Erlandur said. Faith stepped beside him, drawing out her sword, which glinted in the soft blue light. Echo summoned Monster, who fluctuated by her side, ready for action. Yarrow closed her eyes, clasping hands together, breathing deep.

  Helena nodded to Erlandur, who set his jaw, focused upon the skull in his hand – and began a low, guttural chant. The hairs on the back of Kell’s neck rose, becoming daggers upon her skin. Blue wisps swirled around Erlandur.

  The man who knew how to use magic. Magic given to him by the Shadows. Refused by the wolf spirits to become a werewolf.

  A high, keening wail rippled through the graveyard. Everyone looked around, panicked. A crack reverberated, and the monolith suddenly leaned to the side, a huge tear in the marble, as the ground beneath it began to boil.

  The spirits went haywire, spinning in a vortex around Erlandur, ruffling the cemetery, and more cracking sounds tore through their ears, signalling the worst of the worst.

  Kell shrieked when the ground beneath her gravestone ruptured, and she scrambled backwards, though the people in the clearing paid her no heed, due to the loud tornado of disturbance around Erlandur and the monolith.

  “I don’t know what I expected,” Helena yelled over the noise, “but this wasn’t it! Everyone, protect Erlandur! We need him!”

  The others gathered around him, and Kell suppressed a gasp of horror when something crawled out of the grave she’d been seated on, something made of bones, with eerie blue eyes glowing from the eye sockets. It snapped its jaws – a wolf. A werewolf, perhaps, who had chosen to die in their animal form, except this thing was nothing more than bones and blue light between the joints. It made no sound – how could it, when it had no voice box to speak with? The jaws kept clacking together – and other monstrosities clawed out of their graves, cracking the surfaces. Some made noises, for they still kept their forms, despite the emaciated, ragged appearances of them.

  “Something’s wrong!” Erlandur screeched, grunting, though his face was hard to make out with the blue maelstrom around his body. “I can’t control this many! I can’t handle the Queen’s magic!”

  The undead wolf lunged at Kell, and she flared her magic into life, knocking the creature away before those rusting jaws locked around her throat. Undead humans and werewolves alike now growled and screamed as they turned upon the five now facing them.

  “I can only access a few of their minds,” Yarrow gasped. “I can’t control them all.”

  Helena’s eyes snapped on Kell all of a sudden. “Wait, who are you?” Helena now pointed at Kell, now remembering her name. “Join us, Kell, or you’ll die. Come on!”

  Kell gritted her teeth as the undead increased in number, rising up from every single gravestone in the cemetery. That meant thousands.

  That’s what they wanted to do. They wanted to rise up our ancestors to aid them in battle. Blasphemy!

  Something swiped at her from behind, and she tumbled forward, avoiding the slash of an undead man with a missing jaw, eye sockets burning with that intense blue nimbus.

  Curse this!

  Kell clapped her hands together, even as Loras rushed to her, lunged and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, dragging her into their protective circle. She sensed his intent, ignored the pulling, and instead focused on quite possibly the biggest magic spell she’d ever done. Her head radiated with pain as the magic soared out of her, and she seized all five people, even as Echo’s Monster grew to gargantuan proportions, hissing as it swiped at the approaching undead out of their control, protecting what it could.

  Helena barked in alarm as Kell’s magic wrapped around her, and levitated the six of them up, high above the carnage below. Some of the undead werewolves tried lunging and snapping, but were hopelessly out of reach. Kell focused on the magic, focused on rising them higher, before frantically looking around for somewhere to place them on. Her heart shriveled at the sight of thousands of creatures groping out of their graves.

  “You idiots,” she managed, as Loras swam in the air beside her, yellow eyes flickering back and forth.

  “We’re missing something,” Helena said, now calm since Kell had lifted her out of range.

  “REALLY?” Kell shrieked, livid, almost frothing at the mouth. “YOU’RE MISSING SOMETHING? YOU JUST DESECRATED OUR ANCESTOR’S GRAVES!”

  “Perspective,” Helena said. “Now be quiet so we can figure out what to do. It’s done. I need you to keep us floating, or take us somewhere.”

  “I have half a mind to just drop you all and let them tear you apart,” Kell spat.

  “I wouldn’t,” Echo replied, with a peculiar curl of her lips. “Because we may be the only ones capable of reversing this. Or winning the war.”

  Kell groaned.

  “Useful magic, though. Think I’ve met about fifteen levitation witches in my entire lifetime.” Helena nodded absently, before clicking her fingers. “Erlandur. Update.”

  Erlandur spun around in the air, his face purpling, sweat glistening on his forehead. “I’m… trying to rein them in. The Cursed Queen… that was much more than I expected.”

  “At least we only have the ones here to deal with, right?” Faith eyed the undead. “Maybe we can pick them off, as long as we’re still in the air.”

  “Um…” Erlandur said. “Now might be a bad time to say that I think we’ve pretty much woken every single grave across the Crescent Island. I can see the impact of the magic in my mind. It’s definitely not just this place.”

  Fear sliced Kell. “They’ll kill everyone. People are asleep in their beds, they won’t be prepared!” She stared at Helena, the one who likely masterminded the whole plan, a Supreme, someone they never should have trusted. “This is your fault! How could you do this? Why would you even try?”

  Helena appeared unperturbed by her rage and despair. “We had to try something. Nothing else would work. We needed a location with strong residual energy, like the Island.”

  Kell gave a sound of disgust, before focusing on the hordes of undead below, who stared up at them ominously.

  How on earth were they getting out of this?

  Chapter Four

  Hovering in the air, Kell glared daggers at the five home wreckers, trying to keep a lid on her rising panic, trying not to think about the thousands upon thousands of undead rising out of their graves, stepping into innocent people’s homes, tearing out their soft insides…

  She let out a scream, and Loras awkwardly morphed in mid-air to his human form, trying to placate her with his strong, warm hands. The initial impulse to burst him away dwindled – she needed every ounce of strength to keep them alive.

  “I’m sorry,” he said
, now within range, grabbing her in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Could have mentioned something about this earlier,” she snapped at him.

  “I don’t think telling you would have made a difference. They were all dead set on completing this plan. I suppose… I hoped they knew what they were doing.”

  “Uh huh.” Kell examined the handsome werewolf, observing the yellow eyes crinkled in a mix of fear and concern and guilt. Her heart thudded fast from adrenaline, and she pushed past the mounting headache to continue searching for somewhere to drop them all safely.

  Not a lot of safe spots. She didn’t know if she possessed enough energy to drift them over to the mausoleum at the far end, or even if the building was tall enough to repel the werewolves, but she began anyway, knowing the longer they waited, the faster her magic ran out.

  “Where are you headed? That building?” Echo squinted as she examined the mausoleum, dismissing her Monster. “I hope that’s tall enough…”

  “Do not. Speak. To me.” Murder hissed over Kell’s words. Saving these worthless, miserable husks of living creatures’ lives filled her throat with bile. Ruining everything the Crescent Island stood for. Centuries of history eradicated in an instant, with cracking stone, buildings, and likely the loss of every living person upon the island. They didn’t have enough magic users to counter such ferocity. The few werewolves that did live in their population were laughably small.

  Wisps of blue spirits trailed after her, and she heard the rustle of almost speech, as if they were trying to speak to her, but once again, she never understood the tones that burbled out of them.

  Out of the monolith, grasped the form of a huge wolf, blue eyes spurting their energy.

  Oh, moons.

  The guardian, at least three times as big as the other werewolves, looked up at them with those hollow eyes, and growled. He was still intact as a creature, although shrunken from the years of death, preserved by his blue nimbus.