by Livia Quinn
He stopped singing and shouted, "Haud, Montana. She's my sister!"
Mathilda had left Montana's hand but at his command it came to rest, suspended in midair.
"Oh, Conor, did you have to do that?" whined the red dragon. "I could handle a Dinnshencha."
Montana plucked the big sword from the air and marched toward the younger woman. "Your words leave me to believe you are both young and…" Conor narrowed his eyes at her so instead of saying "stupid" she settled for, "inexperienced about species politics."
He smiled warmly at her. Montana continued, "But now that I've seen you up close, I realize you are merely an adolescent."
Conor sighed heavily. Did she have to go and say that? "Drakos, Montana." He put his big hand on his sister's arm before these two women he adored managed to kill each other. "Cinder, Montana is my mate, and she is not only Dinnshencha, but half vampire. And her already exceptional fighting skills were tweaked by yours truly. So, have a care, aye?"
The young woman propped the hand still holding her sword on her hip as if it were weightless. She arched one elegant brow and studied Montana. Then she flipped the blade over her head, exactly like her brother, and strode forward fearlessly. She grabbed Montana firmly with strong, red tipped fingers and kissed her on both cheeks.
Montana let herself be embraced, mostly because she was too surprised to move. This "kid" had tried to kill her. Now she wanted to kiss and make up.
Conor's rueful expression said he was surprised himself and perhaps a little charmed by his sister's effusive personality. She was fearless, passionate, and exuberant. Apparently, she threw herself wholeheartedly into everything.
"Ahem, nice to meet you, too," Montana muttered into Cinder's unruly red hair.
Cinder set her away with a grin. "Oh, Montana. I can't believe it. Conor, mated? Won't the clan be glad to hear this news? Four thousand years of charming females has come to an end," she enthused.
Montana's eyebrow rose as she met her knight's gaze over Cinder's shoulder.
Conor jumped in to distract his sister from further revelations. "Cinder is my youngest sister and a dragon fae. As such, she is one of few in our clan who is equipped to kill dragonhunters.
Montana assessed the young dragon further. Then his words sank in. She grabbed his arm, "Wait, Conor, you mean you can't kill a dragonhunter?" Quite frankly, Montana knew of nothing Conor couldn't do, no problem he couldn't solve, no being he couldn't destroy.
Conor took so long to answer that Montana wondered if he was planning to lie to her. He ran his hand through his shiny black hair. "Oh, aye, I could kill any creature as far as I know. On a good day." The tats on his shoulders fluttered, a mannerism, or tick, Montana recognized as an affectation, like the mating strut of a male. The arrogance of dragons. This was worrisome. "What aren't you saying, Conor?"
He shrugged. "It's the truth, my heart, but the whole truth is that dragonhunters possess evil spells and cunning to aid them which require more than just skill to dispatch them… unless they are verra inept. The fae have resources at their disposal. Cinder can access them which gives her an advantage. We have yet to test your skills as a fighter, but we will." This was directed at his sister who, Montana was surprised to see, did not rise to the bait. For a dragon, dressed in red, with Titian hair, she was surprisingly… imperturbable.
She looked up into her brother's face and Montana watched, noticing for the first time the similarities in their expressions, the shape of their eyebrows and nose, but Cinder's eyes were that wild faerie purple. Montana wondered if they still turned red like her scales when she accessed her power in dragon form.
"Conor, I want to ask you about someone I met this morning," Cinder said, looking up at her brother.
"Who would that be, brat?" He asked, tucking a wayward red curl behind her ear. Montana couldn't help it, his tenderness always got to her. And this added facet of his life, a family she'd known nothing about, and his reaction to his sister, made her love him even more. How many of them were there?
"River Pomeroy," said Cinder.
"River!" Montana's thoughts turned on a dime at the mention of her friend's brother. "Where did you see him?" Everyone was aware of Tempe's concern for River and the distance he'd put between them recently.
Cinder turned toward Montana, frowning. "You know this djinn?"
"Montana is a friend of River's sister," Conor said.
"Her best friend," corrected Montana. "Where did you meet River? I assume it was at that blasted Moat!"
Cinder gave her head a toss and said, derision making her tone sharp, "Aye! So, I was right; he is a sot."
Montana bristled. "River's not a drunk, he's just been through a lot. He and his sister were separated from their parents when River was little. She raised him virtually by herself. He was kidnapped and almost died this year during the Chaos. It was a dangerous—"
"Ach! You missed a good time, Lassie." Conor interrupted, grinning at Cinder. "There were shmoo and fengbos…"
Montana shook her head violently. "Horrible creatures. And don't forget the green dragon, who showed up briefly to save your careless ass."
Cinder's jaw dropped. "I didn't know any of this. A green dragon! Where have they been? Conor, you really must tell me everything I've missed."
Cinder frowned glancing from Montana to Conor. She'd had dreams most of her life. Two in particular had made her follow Conor to Destiny. She shook those thoughts free asking, "What happened to him? He's so…virile to have such a dark personality."
Montana's brow rose and Conor said, "He wasnae always so unhappy. River was poisoned by some variants intent on capturing his father, exactly what his parents were trying to avoid with their subterfuge."
"River was very close to Dutch—his father," said Montana.
Cinder could relate, having been raised by her older brothers after their parents were killed. But she'd had plenty of contact with them in her early childhood. She glanced at her big brother who'd been both compassionate and stern, encouraging his siblings to grieve and accept their loss because, as he said, holding on to the pain and regret would only create a weak link for an enemy during a battle in the future.
Obviously, River was still grieving from his loss. Cinder was glad she'd asked. It would help her understand him better.
"How long ago did all this happen?"
"Dutch disappeared almost twenty years ago," said Montana.
"And River's still—"
"He… came back 'from the dead' this year after River was kidnapped."
Cinder frowned. "Ach. You mentioned 'subterfuge'?"
Conor shrugged. "It's standard Paramortal practice. After the initial bonding and training, Paramortals separate from their children in order to protect them until they go through their quickening."
"Drakos!" Cinder empathized immediately. River had been yanked from a loving environment and told his father was dead. He must have felt abandoned. But something similar had happened to her and Conor. What was different?
"Did they have no other family to care for them or train them?" Cinder asked.
Montana said, "That would have made the whole reason behind their ploy moot. Paramortals leave so their enemies can't track them to relatives before they've quickened. So, they were left in the dark on purpose, which was all the more painful. Their family was very close when they were little." Montana crossed her arms, "Tempe pretty much decided if that was how Paramortals acted, she didn't want to be one and she was almost successful at holding off her Tempestaerie."
Cinder was shocked. "How could she…" She tried to imagine not becoming a dragon just because she didn't want to be one, but that didn't make sense, because as far back as she could remember she'd wanted to spread her wings and soar through the clouds like her brothers and sisters, and especially like her mother and father. After all, she'd watched them do so from the time she'd been a dragonling in her crèche. Her family was big and boisterous, and so interconnected she couldn't imagine being left
out there on her own to fend for herself.
She looked at Conor and found his loving gaze focused on her, allowing her to have the moment of reflection. He was the best man and dragon, brother or friend anyone could have. Her eyes cut to Montana. She'd have to make sure this Dinnshencha was worthy of him.
But for now, she had a dragonhunter to find.
Chapter 11
She'd dreamt of him—again.
Cinder said goodbye to Montana and Conor and then set about finding her target. As she flew toward the Moat, she thought over what Conor and his mate had revealed about River but it didn't quite add up. Why the growly attitude? Her sense of him didn't jive with self-pity.
According to Conor, River had a successful business, so why had he given it up? There had been a fatalistic aura about him, like a man with no future, no way out on the verge of losing everything he held dear and yet all the evidence pointed to the contrary. He'd been rescued from the brink of death, his future returned to him. So why the despair? It made no sense. He was obviously powerful, but something about him belied that impression. He lacked… vitality. Ach, he was a mystery, something Cinder had never been able to resist.
When she'd been younger and just testing her fledgling powers, Conor had rescued her time and again from the consequences of that curiosity. Once she'd followed a gnarly little hunchback up a bare mountainside around winding rocky trails, curious to find out more about him. When the creature popped off the top of the mountain and out of sight, she jumped in, following it, and found herself clinging to the inside of a volcano, an active one.
The creature, a lady troll, perched nearby on a stone, grinning at her, until Conor swooped down into the crater and plucked her up. It wasn't that she couldn't fly, but the intense heat boiling up from the molten core had made her doubt herself. "Fear is healthy," he'd told her later, "especially when one is an idgit."
It had taken her a long time to gain his respect and when she finally earned it, she vowed not to lose it, ever. He was her favorite big brother. Her memories of her father were dim. He'd been long gone, dying in battle ages ago. Frowning she thought she would have to ask Conor about their family history. The elders always changed the subject when she brought it up.
Conor was as much father as brother but even though he could be stodgy and gruff, everyone knew he had a soft heart. If a fierce dragon like Conor could be lighthearted when the occasion called for it then surely River must have another side, a lighter, gentler side, like the images from her dreams. Dreams that had brought her to this place. Perhaps he'd just forgotten. What if all he needed was a little… shove? Cinder had been told by more than one male clansman that she should "shove it".
She grinned, making her decision.
Minutes later, staked out against a tree where she could view those coming and going from the tavern as she stripped the outer sheath from a long stem of sally grass. Then, chewing the tender buds, her thoughts went back to the events of that morning.
It was true she'd decided months ago to find Conor when she became aware of a dragonhunter invading his new home, but honestly, that wasn't the only reason. At the same time she'd gotten wind of the dragonhunter's presence in Destiny, she dreamt of him, the djinn, and not for the first time. When she walked into the Moat she'd recognized him, though not by name. She ran it over her tongue once again. "River." It was a name that elicited strength of character, deeply held secrets, and an easy-flowing, quick-silver temperament. Not the haunted, closed off, brooding man she'd met this morning.
Before she found out he was real, Cinder might have mistaken her dreams for those of a romantic female in her prime, although if anyone had asked if she was looking for a mate, she would've laughed.
The first time she'd seen River's image in a dream he'd been frail and sick. He lay on the bare floor near a fire and was tended by an ancient woman with long silver-gray hair tied at her waist. She sang over him, some kind of strange spell-casting chants, and from the natural clays she mixed at his side, she drew runes, healing runes Cinder realized, over his heart.
Cinder had let that dream go, giving it no significance. But a few months later, it came again a few months back and this time he'd been standing near a large house, looking like a healthy human male, sun streaked hair brushing his shoulders. It was the first time she'd noticed his eyes, a bright teal glinting with coppery lights.
He'd been bronze all over from working outdoors and she assumed, muscled from hard work. Her mouth watered. That didn't happen to dragons very often. He laughed easily at something a woman with color-streaked hair was saying as he draped his arm across her shoulders. It was only a glimpse, but she'd felt a stab of something. It couldn't have been jealousy. It was only a dream.
Then, in her latest dream, the "being" had the same face and hair, yet he'd grown, or mayhap expanded was the right word, because he was taller than Conor, broader, his skin now a deep coppery bronze. Although he exuded power his beautiful eyes were dark and troubled.
This time he was standing in the sun on the sandy shore of a huge lake, gazing at the rippling water. She'd wondered what he was thinking. When he flexed those thick biceps, his bare pecs jumped and something curled up tightly in her belly. Who or what he was, she didn't know, but she'd had to find out. It was as if something age-old in the essence of her dragon commanded her to find him.
He'd turned then and she'd been startled awake as he stared right at her, from out of the dream. She wondered if he was dreaming of her at the same time, but then he shook his head as if to clear it and those powerful legs carried him back toward a mound of rock. That's when she'd seen it for the first time, the cavern's opening marked by seven distinctive symbols which she recognized, the mark of Morpheus' judgment. That's where she decided to begin her search.
Leaning against the tree on the very beach she'd dreamed about, Cinder had watched one creature after another enter through the tunnel. She'd heard about the Moat of Morpheus, how it was a sort of neutral zone set up by the Collecte for the various species. Some of the beings she saw were from the lesser-known realms Cinder had visited with one of her brothers.
One of them slithered out on tentacles followed by one of the males she'd seen earlier. There seemed to be only one way in or out. She'd waited for a few more beings to exit and turn the corner toward the portal that would take them back to their own plane.
What she hadn't expected so soon after her arrival, was the appearance of the dragonhunter. In his full-length cape and dark hood, she couldn't make out his features but it did not matter. There were no dragons, dragonhunters or the ones who hunted them who could escape her notice. It was in her blood. She made out thick scar tissue on his face.
He'd entered through the cave entrance under the symbols and disappeared into the tunnel. Cinder sat back and waited, allowing her prey to become accustomed to his surroundings and let his guard down. She'd experienced a rush of satisfaction knowing soon her mission would be accomplished.
While she'd waited she watched a couple on the beach raking sand along the shore, an older man and woman who seemed more active than their years suggested. Every so often, one chased the other into the water eventually winding up in an embrace. It was sweet. Cinder wondered about them.
Finally, with the sun high above the horizon, she strode down the tunnel. But when the large open room was in front of her, her quarry was nowhere to be found, only a few customers playing games, two passed out on their table, and the big djinn at the bar.
The shock of seeing the man from her dreams could have meant her downfall if her target had been present. The djinn was magnificent, the impact of seeing him, his large muscular body and copper skin—he'd seemed too vibrant and alive to match up with the gaze he'd turned on her. Like his world was about to end. As he leaned against the bar she assessed his height at over six and a half feet. After studying him for several long minutes she'd marched up to him...
The sounds of the waves washing up on shore and the birds diving for
food temporarily receded, but deep voices arguing nearby on the beach in a language she didn't understand brought Cinder back to the present. While she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of the dragonhunter, she wondered what the djinn was hiding? She didn't doubt he'd seen the hooded man inside that morning and yet he'd lied to her. Why? She found herself hoping she didn't have to go through him to get to the dragonhunter. Especially now, after she'd heard about his unfortunate past and accepted her true reasons for coming to Destiny.
She was proud that she'd been able to hide her response to him because…well, business was business, but just thinking about touching him caused her heart to do something peculiar. She must quit thinking about him as anything but a complication.
Besides, who knew if a djinn and a dragon could even consort?
Chapter 12
What kind of fae smelled like ozone?
Clueless to the red dragon's presence outside, River watched the card game that was occupying a large group of variants. Not that he was interested, he just needed focus on something, anything to keep from losing himself.
"Maybe the djinn would like to join us," hissed one of the Tertian shifters near the bar. River shook his head, hoping they'd get the message.
It seemed boredom had set in. The natives were restless and instead of leaving, they wanted to pick a fight. They'd been getting increasingly belligerent, arguing over the results of their games and River suspected their willingness to follow the rules of civility was about to be tested. A chair scraped the floor and fell over. "Hey, you. Djinn. You being rude? We're talking to you."
River's head rolled back as he sighed. Finally, he turned, an inscrutable expression on his face.
There were five of them, two standing, if that's what you'd call their swaying and holding onto each other; the other three, still engaged in their game attempted to ignore their companions.