by Meara Platt
Now Brihann and Bloodaxe were soaring above him.
Saron surged between them, landing blows to their jaws with the muscled flap of his wings and to their underbellies with dagger-like flicks of his tail. He turned to attack again. Necros and Python were now recovered and flying to Brihann’s side. He’d set them all on fire. He’d crush them all between his jaws.
Save Bloodaxe for last.
He wanted no interference when he landed that death blow.
Where was Mordain?
The red dragon was missing.
Where was he?
Something prickled his memory. What did he have to remember? A girl. What girl?
Something drew him toward the shore. He scanned the ground beside the copse and the skies above it. Nothing.
Remember Anabelle.
He did remember. She was his dragon mate. She was in his blood. In his heart.
Brihann saw the direction of his gaze. “Kill Draloch! I want the girl.” His menacing roar resounded in the air. “You’ll die and I’ll have her. What you endured is nothing to what I plan for her.”
He veered toward the copse, extending his vast, demonic wings as he made a sudden turn and dove. Saron chased after him, not caring that the other Dragon Lords were on his tail. He twisted and looped so that he easily avoided their fire. Now he was the one flying over Necros and Python. He smashed into their bodies and knocked them senseless. He cracked his tail against their jaws and then flew past them toward the copse. He heard their teeth rattle as he struck them once more for good measure.
Their leviathan bodies fell from the heavens and splashed hard into the water. When they surfaced, their bloated bodies floated motionless amid the angry waves still rising from where they had hit the water.
Weaklings.
They weren’t dead. Too bad. Merely dazed, yet again.
He would kill them afterward, chase them through the demon portal if he had to. He’d crawl down the Razor Cliffs to get at them. Follow them through the muck and ooze, force them to beg for their lives as he’d been forced to beg as a boy.
He’d never begged.
Not once.
Not in all the beatings.
He’d destroy them all.
He returned his attention to Brihann and Bloodaxe, although he’d never truly put them from his mind. Where was the red dragon? It worried him that he couldn’t find Mordain. A ruby red dragon should have been easy to spot against a blue sky, and almost as easy to spot hiding among the gray and white clouds.
Brihann took aim at the copse, releasing a ball of flame that set the copse ablaze. He’d purposely aimed high to force Anabelle out of hiding. He wanted her alive. He wanted to crush her spirit and break her body.
No!
Brihann and Bloodaxe had their eyes fixed on the copse…waiting. Where was she? Perhaps she was no longer there. Perhaps she’d run back to Harleigh. But he knew she’d never endanger her servants.
He saw the glint of her red-gold curls as she darted out from among the burning trees and into the clearing along the lake shore.
Brihann flew straight at her.
Saron dove straight for Brihann.
Anabelle withdrew the dagger he’d given her, her gaze trained on Brihann. The little David against the mighty Goliath.
Saron clamped down with his jaws on Brihann’s tail and flung him backward with a powerful jerk of his head. It wasn’t enough. Bloodaxe swooped down, about to catch Anabelle in his talons. She simply stood there, not raising her dagger. Not running from him.
She trusted Bloodaxe.
Enraged, Saron slammed into him, sending him crashing toward the ground. His body landed in the water, but his tail flailed as it struck land and caught Anabelle on the shoulder. She fell to her knees, clutching her shoulder.
She couldn’t toss a knife now.
She was utterly helpless.
Brihann had made his turn and was coming for her once more. Saron dove for his neck this time, intent on ripping out his throat. But the other dragons had revived and were circling the skies again. Four against one. Terrible odds.
And where was the red dragon?
Anabelle was on her feet again. The fire now had her trapped and her only escape was the water. She had only one good arm. She couldn’t swim. Couldn’t toss the dagger with any precision. She ran toward the water and doused her gown and hair as the flames drew dangerously close.
Bloodaxe reached her first and planted his dragon body between her and the flames that were about to lick her boots. Was it a coincidence?
“Grab her,” Brihann shrieked.
Saron clamped his jaw around Brihann’s neck, but couldn’t get a firm grip before Python and Necros slammed into him and he lost his hold. “Take her through the portal,” Brihann commanded Bloodaxe.
In that moment, with three Dragon Lords chasing him and Anabelle defenseless against Bloodaxe, he knew she’d be taken into their Underworld realm. No! No! He crashed through the wall the three dragons had tried to make of themselves to keep him from rescuing Anabelle, and dove for Bloodaxe.
Mordain, the red dragon, came out of nowhere and slammed into him.
All five Dragon Lords were now here.
Saron felt the burn of fire along his throat, a sign that his strength was waning. He’d fight until his lungs could no longer take in air. He’d fight until his heart burst into a thousand brittle pieces. He dove again for Bloodaxe, but the other dragons were protecting him and he couldn’t get close.
He needed to protect Anabelle.
Brihann landed in the water on the other side of Anabelle. “Take her! Our portal is open! Do you dare disobey me, son of Draloch?”
He was shouting at Bloodaxe.
Bloodaxe was shielding Anabelle with his big, dragon body. Why? Saron couldn’t comprehend the gesture. Was it a trick?
Anabelle raised her good arm. Saron saw the dagger in her hand glint against the firelight, for the fire was still rampaging through the copse and the entire lake front was illuminated by an orange glow.
Bloodaxe roared, a deep and resonant dragon roar. “Keep away from her, Brihann. You gave me your oath.”
Brihann cracked his tail along the water, sending up a great swell. “Give me the girl!”
“You can’t have me,” Anabelle shouted and released the dagger with all her might, aiming for Brihann’s eye.
His unearthly shriek filled the air, shocking all of them. No doubt, Anabelle most.
Saron and the other dragons hovered over Brihann—all save Bloodaxe who was still on the ground, his body poised between Anabelle and the other Dragon Lords. She’d hit her target. It wasn’t possible. What chance? One in a million? Had the Stone of Draloch guided her aim?
Brihann disappeared through the portal. Necros and Python quickly followed.
Only Mordain and Bloodaxe remained.
Mordain flew toward him with head bowed and tail lowered, a sign of his surrender…more of a signal of momentary truce. “Give your brother safe passage, Saron. Spare a life for a life. He protected your dragon mate.”
Saron glanced at Anabelle, who’d fallen back to her knees and was clutching her arm. She was pale and wavering and appeared about to faint. “He killed Gideon. He took my son’s life.”
“It was Brihann. If it is vengeance you seek, then look to him. Do you not know of the pact–”
Bloodaxe left Anabelle’s side to soar upward toward them. “Enough, Mordain.” He turned to Saron, the hollowness in his blue-gray eyes the only difference between them. Two brothers. Two identical dragons. Two who carried the blood of Draloch in their veins. “What is between me and Brihann is no one’s business.”
A pact?
What did it mean?
“Let him go, Saron.” Anabelle’s soft voice carried on the wind. “Please. I need you.”
She was so little, almost lost in the shadows of their dragon bodies, and noticeably shivering. He glanced toward Friar’s Crag. The fires there were no longer blazing.
The Fae had driven the demons back. “Please, Saron,” she repeated. “Let it be over.”
“For now.” He moved aside and allowed Mordain and Bloodaxe to return through the portal. He shifted back to himself the moment the portal was sealed. Up close, he realized how badly Anabelle had been hurt. She’d stood so proud and defiant, showing no fear as she faced Brihann. “I can’t take you through the Fae portal in your condition. You’d never be able to hold on to me. The force of the journey might shatter your arm forever. I’ll carry you back to Harleigh.”
She smiled as he lifted her into his arms. “Harleigh. Yes, take me home.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Mongol hordes thundered across her back and chest. Anabelle tried to move, but couldn’t. This wasn’t a dream. They’d thundered over her several times more and showed no sign of stopping. She still felt an oppressive weight across her upper torso. Perhaps one of those Mongol horses was sitting on her chest.
She tried to moan, but her mouth felt dry and dusty.
“Water,” she finally croaked. Her shoulder was on fire, and she needed something to put it out.
“Here, little one.” She heard Saron’s deep rumbling voice whisper softly against her ear. “Drink this.”
“What is it?” She tried to turn, but was stopped by a searing pain.
“Easy,” he said, and gently settled her back against the pillows. He held up a small vial. “It’s laudanum. Your wound has been cleansed and stitched–”
“Wound?”
“You have several. A dislocated collarbone–”
“That explains the pain. It still hurts like blazes.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What else?”
“You suffered a mild concussion,” he said, letting out an anguished sigh. “You also received a nasty gash across your ribs which required stitches.”
“I remember blood on my gown.”
“From the gash.”
“I remember. Someone’s dragon tail struck me.”
“You were struck several times.” He rubbed his hands wearily across his face and emitted an anguished sigh. “Dragons are beasts, and although I try to keep awareness when I shift into the Draloch dragon, especially of you, we often lose ourselves in our rage and forget even those most dear to us.”
“Am I dear to you?”
“Of course, you are. You are my dragon mate. And yet I almost landed atop you and would have crushed you.” His sigh was even more anguished than the first. “This will numb the pain, but be careful. Laudanum is potent and must be used sparingly. One drop now and another in three hours. You’re a delicate little thing.”
“I’m ten feet tall and strong as an ox.”
He surprised her by dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Drink this.”
He held the vial to her lips while she took a sip, then handed her a glass of water with which to wash it down. “How long have I been asleep?”
“About two weeks.”
She focused her gaze on him and noticed that he looked quite tired. “That long? I don’t remember much after the demon portal closed once again.”
She saw him flinch.
Gingerly, she reached out and took his hand. “I remember you carrying me all the way to Harleigh and putting me into bed. I remember you holding my hand and telling me silly stories to distract me from pain while the doctor tended to me. But you must tell me what’s happened since. I feel as though I’ve been asleep for a hundred years.”
He nodded. “I’ll tell you when you’re feeling better. There’s much I must tell you, but not yet. In truth, I was afraid you’d never wake up again.”
She understood his fear, for she was his dragon mate and he thought he’d lost her. “Will you stay with me?”
“For now. But once I know you’re safely on the mend, I must return to London. For a few days. I must also call upon the Fae king.”
She shook her head slowly to rid herself of the cobwebs that had gathered over the last two weeks. “Will you not take me with you? I cannot bear for us to be apart.”
His expression darkened and she wasn’t certain why. Perhaps because she had almost died. Perhaps because she’d forced him to face Bloodaxe. Perhaps because they were now back at Harleigh where they were meant to be and he didn’t wish to be here. “Rabbit traps and poachers with their heads on spikes at the village gate.”
“Rabbit traps? Spikes at the gate?” He put a hand to her forehead.
She groaned, realizing she was still addled and not quite sure what she had said, but certain it made no sense.
“You kicked over a stone and found the scorpion.”
“What does that mean?”
He was about to explain when interrupted by a knock at the door. Penelope peered in. “How are you feeling, my dear? Well enough for a visitor?”
Saron frowned. “Anabelle needs her rest.”
“Yes, dear. I understand. But you see, they won’t leave until I’ve seen her and reported back to them.”
“Who won’t leave?” Anabelle asked.
“Your brother, Robert. He returned several days ago with Sir John and Mr. Dullingham. The entire Harleigh staff. The Romneys are here, too. They insisted on coming here with me when they heard you were hurt. Lord Asbury and the Prince Regent send their best wishes.” She smiled. “I think Lord Asbury will find a reason to visit soon. He’s most concerned for you, of course. But Olivia is here and it seems he is quite taken with her. So you’ll have to recover in time for their wedding. It won’t be long now until he offers for her.”
Anabelle struggled to sit up, but couldn’t. It hurt too much and Saron wouldn’t allow her to move, muttering something about ripping stitches. She gave in and sank back against the soft pillows. “That’s lovely. I’m so happy for Olivia.”
Penelope chuckled. “Indeed, it’s always a proud victory when an eligible bachelor surrenders to the inevitable.”
Saron muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and then turned to Anabelle with a grin. “I’m sure their ceremony will be a grand affair and take months to organize. Lie still, little one. You were badly hurt…I thought I’d lost you.”
She understood her wounds were still fresh and he was very concerned. “Please, let me see them. Just for a moment.”
“You may as well agree,” Penelope said, staring pointedly at Saron. “She’s a very determined girl.”
His gaze mellowed. “I know.”
“And nothing will get done properly in this house until the servants are assured of her recovery.”
“Please, Saron,” Anabelle said.
He sighed and rose to his feet. “Very well, you obstinate little baggage. But only for a moment.”
He lifted her off the bed and into his arms with great care, then instructed Penelope to carefully tuck the blanket about her. She rested her head against his chest and nestled comfortably in his sturdy embrace. Oh, she liked the feeling immensely. Much better than lying alone in a cold bed.
“Good heavens,” Saron murmured, coming to an abrupt halt upon reaching the landing at the top of the stairs.
Anabelle gazed down at the mass of familiar faces, then broke into a smile. “You’ll have to forgive me if I make even less sense than usual,” she said to the eager crowd. “I’ve been pumped full of drugs and whiskey.”
A few giggles were heard among the younger staff.
Masterson, the Harleigh head butler, stepped forward. “Is there anything we can do for you, m’lady?”
“Not a thing. I’m perfectly content to be exactly where I am.” Which was in Saron’s arms, and by the chuckles spreading through the crowd, everyone knew precisely what she meant. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said it, but she was feeling quite numb and heady at the moment, and delighted she was not going to die yet. “Masterson, have you met His Grace?”
“Indeed, I have. The night he burst into the house with you in his arms.” The long-time household retainer spoke with a catch to his voice and Anab
elle realized he was close to tears. “I should have been out there with my shotgun. I promised your father I’d protect you.”
“I’m my husband’s problem now.” Anabelle smiled at Masterson.
“Thank goodness. His Grace has done a far better job of it than I have ever done.”
“Then he meets with your approval?”
Masterson nodded. “He does.”
“I’m vastly relieved,” Saron intoned wryly, but he did not appear in the least irritated and spoke with obvious good humor. But in the next breath, he sobered. “Let me take you back to bed, little one. You mustn’t overdo it.”
“I won’t.” This was her first time awake in two weeks, dear heaven. She understood the need for her to recover, which was just what Saron proclaimed to their visitors before carrying her back into her quarters.
He set her down between the sheets and tucked the covers about her.
She reached for his hand, needing to hold onto him. “Thank you for letting me see everyone.”
He arched an eyebrow and smiled in an appealingly wicked way, but also a tender way that revealed his affection for her. “I would have had a revolt on my hands if I dared disobey your orders. After all, it is common knowledge that an Anabelle outranks a duke and I would be wise never to forget it.”
She laughed softly. “Is that so?”
He gazed at her a long moment, the blue and gray swirls of his eyes quite turbulent. She recognized that simmer of dragon lust within him, but he wasn’t about to touch her. He was afraid she was as delicate as porcelain. “Without question, little one.”
She shut her eyes and sighed with deep contentment.
*
Saron remained by Anabelle’s side for the next several days and nights, particularly through the difficult nights. She seemed to gain strength from his touch, from his mere presence, and he was reluctant to sever that fragile connection. He didn’t understand how or why his presence should help, but it did and he was loathe to question it.
She clung to him when she should have detested him for dragging her into danger. Instead, she smiled at him and credited him with saving her life when he knew he’d done nothing of the sort. He’d smacked around and bruised a few dragons, but she was the one whose aim had been true and on the mark, striking Brihann in the eye.