by Lila Jean
“And what’s the plan here?” She gestured around the room. “You think I’m just going to let you use Damara like that?”
“You will, thanks to that necklace.” He sneered, the first show of emotion other than anger. “That’s old magic, girl, from before the gods left Earth. You’re cut off from your goddess, which means you’re slowly dying.”
Tina furrowed her brows, disturbed by this new tidbit. “Bullshit.”
“Hardly.” He chuckled this time, throwing gasoline on the growing fire of her anger as he gloated. “A host is irrevocably tied to her goddess, and if you two can’t connect, you will slowly fade away to nothing.” He leaned toward the camera, glaring at her. “I will let you waste away until you can no longer fight me, Tina, and then I will do whatever I please with you and her.”
“You’re disgusting,” she spat, “and a coward! You won’t even face me when I have a soul-sucking amulet on.”
“I’m smart, not a coward.” He sat back in his chair, chin lifted in defiance as he tapped his finger on a surface just out of sight. “I know you’ve been training with the boys, and I could have shackled you to the bed. Consider it a kindness that I let you walk as freely as I do.”
“I will destroy you,” she seethed, and with that rush of anger, with that rush of adrenaline and hatred, a single spark danced along the necklace. Tina did her best to hide her surprise, but King William did not. His eyebrows shot into his hairline, and for the briefest moment, his mouth dropped in awe.
Yes, she thought. I will break this thing, and when I get out of here, I will break you, too.
“You don’t have long, Tina,” he said, regaining his composure. “You’ll die in a matter of days, so start thinking about how compliant you want to be.” He tilted his head, looking down at her. “However, if I decide you’re incapable of compliance, I’ll just kill you and summon Damara into another, shall we say, more cooperative body.”
Tina gasped instinctively and set a possessive hand on her abdomen, hating herself a little for not having a better poker face, but the idea of losing Damara, especially to a man like this, broke her heart. Damara was a part of her, a part of Tina’s identity now, and she refused to let anyone take the beautiful goddess from her.
Especially not him.
“And one more thing,” he added. “This is a fortress. If your men come for you, I will kill them all.”
The television went dead, and Tina bristled with rage. If William so much as laid a finger on her men, she would rip the asshole to pieces. She lifted the disgusting necklace in her hands and looked down at it, wondering if it was perhaps a little too old, a little too much of a relic from the past to withstand Damara’s unbridled magic. Tina was determined to shatter it, to destroy this horrible thing and watch it shatter to pieces on the floor, and when she succeeded, she would make King William pay for this bondage with his blood.
“Let’s do this, Damara,” she said quietly. “Together.”
33
Draven
Draven was on the warpath.
Holding onto a handle on the helicopter as they tore through the Australian desert, Draven glared at the horizon, waiting for the inevitable shadows of dozens of dragons launching from Mersarth to meet them. Helicopters stretched across the desert in a thin line as far as he could see on both sides of him, the full force of three armies converging on a single target: his father.
Killian stood at the other open door, while Flynn, Zane, and Anthony sat on the edge of their seats farther back in the chopper. It reminded Draven of their trip to Aurous, and yet somehow this was even more tense, more dangerous. He and his brotherhood all wore headsets to command the armies, and though Zane had suggested they all be in different helicopters as a matter of security, Draven had wanted to keep his brothers close. They were an inseparable team, and even though he hated to admit it, he needed their support for what he was about to do.
“King Killian, sir,” one of the eagle commanders said over the comm, and Draven turned toward Killian as the eagle shifter perked up to listen. “The fleet of eagle shifters are just offshore and waiting to drop on your command.”
“Hold,” Killian commanded. “Ensure everyone is loaded and ready.”
That was the plan, anyway, to have sixteen planes worth of eagle shifters fly over Mersarth and overwhelm the dragons from above. Though eagles didn’t have the dragon’s strength or firepower, their lightning speed and razor-sharp beaks and claws could cause serious damage, especially to an overwhelmed dragon force that was being attacked on all sides.
“Give me an update,” Zane ordered into his headset. “General Smith, what’s our status?”
“Ready to launch on your orders.” The gruff voice through the headset sounded gravelly and experienced, and Draven briefly imagined the old cat shifter to be without one eye. Based on the weathered tone in his voice, it would be fitting.
“Good.” Zane nodded to Draven, who tensely returned the gesture. Good, the two armies were set and ready to airdrop should the need be. Cat shifters were adept paratroopers, able to soar fearlessly toward the ground at a faster speed than anyone without wings. Draven was sure there was a joke about them always landing on their feet somewhere, but considering he was about to declare war on his own father and kingdom, he was too on edge to reach for it.
“What about your team, Flynn?” Draven asked, switching to the secure channel only the five of them shared.
“Final tally was that half the force loaded into these helicopters.” Flynn gestured out the open door. “The other half are timed to arrive via planes a half hour after the assault begins, as a second wave.
“Good.” Draven let out a long, slow breath as he stared back out at the horizon. Throat dry, his inner fire raged, his dragon pacing within him as they both itched for a fight.
“I hope it doesn’t come to an all-out battle, Draven,” Flynn said tensely. “That’s not the plan.”
“I know,” Draven said, body aching he was so tense. “It won’t come to that. This is between my father and me.”
“Try not to die, Draven,” Anthony said over the headset, and Draven looked over his shoulder to see a wry smile on the wolf shifter’s lips. “I’ve grown annoyingly fond of you.”
“Back at you, wolfie,” Draven said with a light chuckle, relaxing ever so slightly and grateful he had his brothers in arms with him at this life-changing moment.
Fighting my father for the crown, Draven thought, jaw tensing as the surreal reality of this battle crashed fully onto him. I never thought I would see the day.
But for Tina, for his beloved mate, Draven would do truly anything.
“There, on the horizon,” Killian said through the headset. “Mersarth.”
Draven leaned slightly out of the helicopter, the wind whipping at his shirt and hair as he squinted, watching the horizon as his kingdom appeared in the distance. As expected, dark shadows took to the sky as they neared, their massive wings beating the air as they raced toward him.
“This is it, gentlemen,” Draven said with a nod toward them all. “For Tina.”
“For Tina,” they said in unison, standing, preparing for war.
Draven jumped from the chopper without a parachute, free falling toward the desert sand as the wind cut across his face, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the heart-pounding adrenaline of a freefall. After all, he could afford himself a little joy before facing the most powerful dragon known in the last few centuries.
As he fell, he shifted, his massive wings catching him just before he hit the ground, and he raced forward, quickly leaving the choppers in the dust as he flew to meet the upcoming army.
On the edge of the Mersarth border, perhaps one hundred feet from the great wall that separated the dragonlands from the rest of Australia, Draven landed hard in the desert sand, kicking up a plume of red dust as he roared into the sky in challenge.
This was it, the dilemma he had been forced to face. In dragon law, none could c
hallenge the king without an army of his own to show his might and prove his worth as a replacement, and if all went well, the army behind him would never even have to shift. The cats and eagles waiting on the water not far from here would never have to deploy, and only one life would be lost today, either his or his father’s.
I hate that it’s come to this, he thought. I hate that you forced me to choose between you and my mate, Father.
For Draven, it was no contest, but that didn’t make the reality of his situation sting any less. Today, he would have to kill his father.
In answer to his roar, the dragons high above him swooped to the ground, landing hard on the dusty earth and kicking up plumes of dust as their tails slapped against the dry sand. They glared at him, smoke billowing from their noses and mouths, eyes narrowing as red fire built menacingly in the back of their throats, but he didn’t blame them. Today, he was the invader of their homeland, and he would have done the same if he were in their shoes.
The last to land was his father’s massive black dragon, and when he landed, the ground shook beneath him. He towered a few feet over Draven, and golden fire burned in the back of the immense dragon’s throat, majestic and powerful. The king, one that none dared challenge in the dragonlands.
No one fought the king and lived, except for Draven. He and his father had faced off before, and Draven intended to finish what they had started back in Epara. Draven’s father was one of the most ferocious and most feared dragons that had ever existed. Yet here Draven was, poking the beast, all for Tina.
Totally worth it.
As he and his father faced off, the helicopters arrived behind him, his own armada prepared to face off with the dragons behind his father, should the need arise. His father glanced toward the choppers, looking altogether unsurprised, and returned his attention to Draven as the helicopters hovered at a safe distance away.
This, however, was a matter for the dragons. In their dragon forms, they couldn’t speak, so body language replaced conversation, and Draven’ snapped his jaw at his father challengingly to ensure he had the man’s attention.
Listen to me, the motion said.
It would have been custom for him to bow his head in deference to his father, to surrender to his king, and refusing to bow was a clear indication of war.
What Draven wanted was a one-on-one fight, just him and his father, to decide the crown. These were fights to the death, with the victor driving his claws into the loser’s heart to declare dominance. The battle wasn’t over until someone died or showed their belly in surrender, and no king had ever surrendered.
This would be the most difficult fight Draven had ever been in.
To declare his challenge, he lowered his head only slightly without breaking eye contact and spread his wings out, as was custom. His father snorted in surprise as if he couldn’t believe what Draven was doing, as if it insulted him just to consider fighting his own son.
You said this would end in our blood, Father, Draven thought, his inner fires stirring with rage. How right you were.
His father roared, the shrill sound ripping through Draven, even kicking up the dust at their feet as he accepted the brutal challenge. In the blink of an eye, his father charged, and Draven bolted into the sky, his leathery wings cutting through the air as he took the fight into the clouds, where he would have the advantage of speed over his father’s massive form.
Fire ripped from his father’s throat, aimed at him. Draven spun, tucking in his wings for better balance as he rolled out of the way. The fireball sailed past, scorching the air, the heat like the blurred edges of a mirage.
Their battle to the death had begun.
Draven didn’t have long, not when every second that passed put Tina in greater danger. He had to pin his father on his back, and he had to do it quickly. However, pinning a dragon on his back, especially one as large as the king, was far easier said than done.
Determined to end this once and for all, Draven summoned the mystical fire from within that Tina had given him. His magical flames engulfed him painlessly, covering every scale until it seemed as if he was in the center of a blazing bonfire. He roared, cutting through the air like thunder, and even his mighty father hesitated.
Draven hated to fight his family, but the old man had harmed Draven’s mate, nearly killing her, and it seemed as though the two of them had finally realized they couldn’t see eye to eye. No, neither of them would be holding back punches today like they had in Epara.
Draven drew first blood. He dove toward his father and dug his sharp claws into his father’s thick hide, drawing ribbons of red that fell around them as they spun. His father bit into Draven’s neck, and the searing pain of the massive dragon’s dagger-like teeth in his skin made Draven roar with pain. He slashed his father’s face, freeing himself, but his father’s tail rammed hard against him barely a second later. The wind knocked out of him, Draven fell several dozen feet before he caught himself and rolled out of the way of yet another strike.
Back and forth, the two of them slashed and bit at each other, using their dragons’ every weapon as they waged their bloody war in the sky. Draven’s father was merciless, often referred to as one of the best fighters in the world, but Draven had youth, speed, and the enhanced magic his beautiful mate had given him. That, coupled with his raw determination and sheer force of will, drove him through every ounce of pain, every claw across the chest, every bite to the neck.
I. Will. Not. Fail. That was Draven’s mantra, the only thing he could think through the depths of the painful battle. Failure simply wasn’t an option, even if success meant killing his own father.
As the minutes dragged on, Draven lost track of how long they had spent in the sky. His body was covered with wounds and blood, the gouges in his back and belly deep enough that they wouldn’t heal immediately as he had hoped they would. For what it was worth, his father was a little worse for wear than him, and each of them began to move a little slower and with a little less precision as their injuries got worse.
The spun through the sky, circling each other, and Draven finally saw a moment to go for the kill. He dove toward his father’s neck, chomping hard on the base of his throat, and they plummeted to the ground as the king of the dragons dug his razor-sharp claws into Draven’s already battered hide. They fell in tandem, twirling around each other as each refused to let go, and his father hit the earth with a resounding thud that echoed through the desert.
With Draven on top and his father pinned to the earth, they wrestled in the crater that had formed in the sand beneath them from the impact of their fall. In a whirlwind of gnashing teeth and swishing wings, Draven managed to slice his father’s underbelly, the long gouge drawing bubbling dark red blood as the old dragon screamed into the sky. He slashed at Draven’s face, finally righting himself onto his feet, but as exhausted as they both were, neither took to the sky again. They dove and attacked, smacking each other with their tails, their wings, their claws, their teeth, everything and anything they could.
With a final and desperate push, Draven charged his father with everything he had and drove the man onto his side. Fast as lightning, Draven dug his claws deep into his father’s underbelly and pinned him to the earth.
With his father finally on his back, Draven heaved and roared into the old man’s face, baring his teeth, summoning his incredible fire enhanced with Damara’s magic into the back of his throat, and aimed for his father’s head. The old dragon heaved, his front leg broken, his wing sliced, blood trailing from his neck, face, and belly. He narrowed his eyes defiantly, head raised, teeth bared, ready to die like a king.
As the fire built in Draven’s throat, he spread his wings, blocking the other dragons’ view of their king as a last show of respect for his father. The king’s eyes widened in surprise that Draven would show him that kind of mercy, to make his death private, in some sense, and with that simple gesture, the king seemed to soften. With Draven’s claws embedded deep in his torso, the king st
illed and closed his eyes, chin raised pridefully even as he finally accepted his defeat.
Draven stilled, caught off guard by his father’s surrender. Though his fire still rumbled in his chest, a distant part of him a little wary that this was merely a trick, he hesitated at the act of submission.
Maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to kill my father after all.
Gently, cautiously and with a bit of mistrust, he released his deep hold on his father’s belly, standing beside him with his wings still stretched and neck craned in a show of dominance. His father’s eyes snapped open, and the expression on his face was a blurry blend of confusion and gratitude. He remained on his back even as Draven inched away, and when it was clear Draven had spared him, the old king sighed deeply, though Draven couldn’t quite tell if it was relief or disappointment.
Tenderly, slowly, the king rolled back onto his feet. He faced away from Draven, growling with pain as he tried to stand. He flapped his wings hard, pulling himself up with sheer force of will, and finally righted himself on his three good legs. He lifted the broken one, unwilling to put weight on it, and spun toward Draven with a ferocity in his expression that Draven hadn’t expected.
No, Father, Draven thought with a thudding surge of adrenaline. Don’t attack again. Don’t use my mercy against me, please.
Fire built in his father’s throat again, and Draven tensed, ready to deliver his own surge of fire should the need arise, but he was determined to make his father act first, to show his people that he had abused the mercy he had been shown.
Instead, his father shook his head, and the fire abated. Tenderly, slowly, he bowed until his nose hit the dirt, and he looked toward the ground in deference to Draven, the clear victor of their duel.
Draven nearly crashed to the ground in exhaustion and relief. He sighed happily, a thick plume of black smoke rushing from his mouth and nose, and roared into the sky, the sound as powerful and shrill as his father’s had been. The dragons lining the wall did the same, roaring in welcome to the victor and their new king.