by Alisa Woods
The fae hesitated, but with a glance to his queen, he handed it over.
Its power surged in her hand, and a burst of hope entered her heart. She turned back to the queen. “Thank you.” Then she wasted no time, turning and twisting away from the queen and her bedchamber and back to the roof of the House of Smoke.
The battle before her made her heart seize.
And even at this distance, she could taste the demon on Leksander.
Her beloved, in his wretched silver wyvern form, was surrounded by a host of dragons, including Leonidas’s elegant bronze form. They were all hovering in the air, diving and sniping and blasting him with dragonfire, all to keep him contained. She could tell they were slowly shepherding him away from the keep… but to where? She knew the fate they expected for him—a death where he was torn apart by a hundred dragon talons rather than be allowed loose on the earth to rape and ravage.
None had yet seen her.
Gripping her blade and holding it aloft, she lifted into the air, wings free to unfurl with her backless dress—her mating gown—and she let loose a warrior cry that shook the roof below her.
All fighting ceased as they turned to her.
Leksander moved first, bellowing dragonfire and charging through the blockade toward her. His beastly wings pumped the air, but the magic boost he was powering with put him quickly ahead of any other dragon, although Leonidas’s bronze dragon was in close pursuit. Erelah flew straight up, gaining height above the keep and a strategic distance from Leksander, forcing his wyvern to pull up to follow… then she winged away from the keep itself, out above the nearby ravines, giving them room to battle without damage to the keep or the occupants inside. The keep was their home now—and home to the baby princes of the House of Smoke. Their battle, however it may end, must be drawn away from there.
Leksander’s wyvern scream sounded behind her, closing fast.
She could outrun him.
She had no intention of doing so.
She swooped up, pivoted, then dove back down, straight toward his on-rushing, silver-glinted form. His scream dropped to a guttural growl, one laced with sexual intent. Leonidas was still trailing behind, towing a legion of dragons in his wake, but none of that mattered—she would reach Leksander first. She barreled forth, and he didn’t slow, but at the last second, they both pulled up, killing speed and meeting with a crashing force just short of knocking them from the air. Erelah’s warrior cry loosed from her lips without her bidding as she grappled onto Leksander’s rugged, knobbed wing and sunk her blade in deep. Just a slashing wound, meant to distract while she climbed his back and figured what magic she could work with her blade, but instead, the wound slowed him not at all. In fact, he tucked his wing in, drawing her to the front where his talons grabbed hold of her legs and pinned her wings painfully to her body.
He held her tight to his chest, attempting to fly off with his treasure, but they simply tumbled through the air, spiraling madly as his wyvern thrashed to compensate for the torn wing. His talons bit her flesh, but he clearly meant not to hurt her, only carry her off. With her body tucked up against his belly, her legs brushed something dripping wet at his underside… his engorged penis flopped there, and she nearly heaved out her disgust over his silver scales. Even as they thrashed the air, he seemed to attempt to move her toward it, as if he could couple with her mid-air.
A blast of dragonfire blanketed them from above, and Leksander’s wyvern scream split her ears. He banked left and then dove. Through it all, she still had her blade, and while she could feel the pounding of his heart within the scaly chest he had tucked her against, she feared to plunge her blade there for risk of killing him outright. What she needed was to get loose again and climb up on his back—her original plan was sound, but she needed access to his mind, where the demon had infected him.
Only now they were plummeting to the ground.
Leonidas was hot on Leksander’s tail, and Erelah feared they both might simply crash into the rocky ravine below, but Leksander pulled up at the last moment, gliding just above the treetops, attempting to flee with her in his talons. If only Leonidas would let him. Once they were free of the fighting and fleeing—once Leksander released her, even if he attempted to ravage her as his wyvern was driven to do—then she could make quick work with her blade. Even as they dipped and soared along the tree line, she splayed her hand across his chest and attempted to perceive the demon within him. As she had done with baby Thorn while he was still in his mother’s womb, she sensed the outlines of the presence of the demon. Like Thorn, the demon was deeply entwined with Leksander’s dragon essence. It was hardly possible to parse between them, especially with the bump and jostle of the flight, but she knew they were distinct. The trick would be vanquishing the demon without destroying the dragon. With baby Thorn, the dragonling was tiny and helpless—in other words, well within her control. With Leksander—and with her trapped in his talons—she wasn’t exactly able to hold him still.
Another blast of dragonfire from behind caused Leksander’s wyvern to twist and turn to face his foe. But in turning, that cut in speed allowed Leonidas to catch the still-bleeding wing fluttering tattered in the wind. Leksander howled in pain and dropped like a stone through the trees. He tucked her up tight against him and rolled, protecting her from the trees as they fell. Still, when they met the ground, it was with such force she was knocked free of his hold, tumbling through the leafy fern underbrush as Leksander bounced and crashed into a nearby fallen tree trunk.
She scrambled to her feet and turned to face him, blade still in hand.
He recovered almost as quick, underbrush scattering under the desperate drag of his talons as he righted himself and rushed at her. She had more warning this time, but he was still too quick for her, knocking her on her back into the ferns then pressing her down with the weight of his body. One claw had wound around the fabric of her long skirt, and he was hoisting it above her head. As he gazed down at her, snorting hot dragon breath in her face, she realized what he was attempting—the slow slide of his dragon-scaled belly up her body, the pulsing hardness of his penis inching up her leg. Then he shook his head, once, twice, and then bellowed dragonfire into the forest.
His large, scraggly dragon head swiveled back to peer down at her.
His eyes… the torment there nearly broke her.
She reached a hand to his scaly face. “My beloved—” A crash sounded from above, and a split second later, Leksander was knocked from on top of her. Talons slashed and dragonfire raged as Leonidas and Leksander mowed down the forest around them.
She hastened to her feet and dashed after them. “Leonidas, no! Do not hurt him!”
They didn’t cease, so she took a running start, leaped into the air, and sent a blast of angel energy at the swirling, tumbling mass of dragon talons, tails, and teeth. The two were knocked apart and momentarily stunned. Before Erelah could dive to reach him, Leksander heaved himself up in the air, limping higher with his injured wing. But he wasn’t coming for her… he was flying away.
Leonidas scrambled to his feet.
“Wait!” Erelah cried. “Leonidas!”
He aborted his take-off, shifted hastily back to human, and stumbled through the underbrush. “Erelah! Are you okay?” He scanned her torn and disheveled dress as if that were of any importance.
“He did not hurt me, Leonidas.”
“He would have. I stopped him—”
“No.” She grabbed hold of his shoulder. He winced, and her hand came away bloody, so she released him. “I saw it in his eyes. He stopped the wyvern. He turned away.”
Leonidas grimaced and looked after the path through the canopy Leksander had cut during his flight from the forest. But if anyone should understand that a man could remain a man while appearing to be a beast… it was this particular dragon prince of the House of Smoke.
He turned back to her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” And she was. Her beloved was held hostage by a malevo
lent demon force, and there was nothing in heaven nor earth that would stop her from reclaiming him. “Let me go after him.”
“What? No—”
“I can save him, Leonidas.” She held up the blade, still stained with Leksander’s blood from when she sliced his wing. “I’m the only one who can. But I cannot do it while flying through the forest or being pursued by a legion of dragons.” Those very dragons—the loyal warriors of the House of Smoke—were circling overhead and drifting down to alight on the forest floor around them.
Leonidas let out a deep breath. “If he tries to hurt you—”
“I can defend myself.” She switched the grip on her blade and held it tight. “I will wait until he’s calm. In control. Then I’ll approach. You need not worry about me, dragon prince of the House of Smoke. You need worry that we will stand here talking while my chance to save your brother is escaping away from us.”
He grimaced, curled up a fist, and then blew out a frustrated breath. But she was not asking permission. She was only asking that he refrain from attack. If not, she would outrace them all and reach Leksander before they did.
“All right.” He growled and kicked at a rock on the forest floor. “But I’m only giving you a head start, Erelah. If you fail or, sweet magic, if he hurts you…” Leonidas looked like emotion was choking the words right out of him. “I’ll have to hunt him down and destroy him. It has to be done. You understand that, right?”
“I will not fail.” Then she lifted into the air, not waiting to hear any more from him.
Leksander was slipping away, and the only way she might truly fail would be if she couldn’t find him.
Pain. The pain helps. Focus on the pain.
Leksander pumped his wings harder, sending fresh jolts through the tattered hole in his wing. The wind whipped the blood from the deep slashes in his back where his brother’s talons had sunk. The pain from those was nothing like the angel blade wound in his wing. It sliced something from him, a piece of him. His dragon nature. The demon entwined with it. The fury of both had been knocked down a notch when Erelah’s blade had pierced him.
Good. She should fight him.
Her fight, her touch, her blade… all of it welled up something deep inside him. Something human. It was enough to force his body to turn tail and run. Get away. It was all he could do, all he could focus on.
Pain. The pain helps.
He tucked his wings tight and dipped down into the long, winding canyon then pulled up sharp, causing enough strain in his wing to make him cry out. The screech of his wyvern echoed off the tall rock walls. He was flying blindly away away away from his beloved. His burning need to have her, to ravish her, to spill his seed inside her… no! He swerved into the rock wall, bashing his injured wing there. He screamed out again, lost altitude and tumbled, barely recovering before he splashed into the creek below.
Pain helps. Pain is good.
It distracted his wild wyvern mind. Kept its thoughts from… her. Turned his beast primal and afraid, willing to run away. Away. Away to where? Anywhere. But as he flew, he saw the outcroppings, the turns in the canyon, the singular bulbous rock that overhung the canyon just so…
His tomb.
He was heading to the rocky cave that every responsible dragon nearing the end of his life prepared just so he wouldn’t become a danger to others. After seeing his brother Lucian lock himself inside, waiting to die… after Leonidas retreated much the same… now, it was finally his turn. Somehow, miraculously, he was instinctively going there. And if the fates were truly with him, maybe he could lock himself inside before he lost this slim tether of control.
He limped faster through the air, using magic to boost his speed.
Up ahead. He could see it. A dark hole in the gathering shadows of the mountain as the sun sank. He pumped his wings harder, striving for more speed, driving straight toward it. If only he could bash himself senseless… or at least break a wing… maybe the pain would be enough to make his wyvern curl up and whimper and retreat.
Just long enough to lock himself inside.
He boosted more speed, then swerved at the last second, driving straight into the mouth of the cave, through the cool shadows and bashing into the wall in back.
He felt the impact. Something cracked.
Then everything went hazy.
Pain throbbed dully somewhere.
Slowly, his eyes registered light and dark again. He was slumped at the back of the cave, his wing tucked underneath his body, trapped and awkward. He rolled over it, and fresh jolts of pain stabbed him. He rolled again until he was on his belly, scrabbling with his talons along the dirt floor. He just needed to reach the mouth of the cave, to lay down the essential runes, the ones his wyvern wouldn’t be able to break, then he could conjure the rest of the wards from anywhere. Even if the pain had rendered him immobile on the floor of the cave.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of his labored breathing. The scritch-scratch of his talons as he got his feet under him. The low-keening groan as he hauled his wing, now dragging on the rocky floor behind him. Definitely broken. Right where the slash of Erelah’s blade had made his dragon nature weak.
He reached the front, but as he lifted his talon to start signing the runes on the rocky wall, he froze.
Erelah.
He gazed stupidly at her. His head must have gotten knocked harder than he thought. But as he stared and blinked, the vision of her remained. Floating on magic in the air just outside the cave, her blade held at her side, her pristine white clothes torn and dirtied.
He felt the rumblings of his wyvern. Aroused. Lust. Need. His cock swelled. His wyvern was awakening again, drawn away from nursing the pain of his wing to this insane vision of her.
No. He turned away, focusing on the rocky mouth of the cave. He had to work fast, paint the runes, raise the wards, get them complete… before his wyvern could gain control again of his mind and force him out of the tomb with a raging need to go after the vision, notwithstanding the broken wing. He might not get far… but he couldn’t take that chance.
His breathing became even more labored as he worked his way around the cave entrance. He focused on the rock in front of him, but halfway through, he couldn’t help glancing outside the cave...
She was still there.
Groaning as he dragged his wing and signed along the wall, painting it with magic runes, he forced himself on. As he traced the last three, down the wall, his vision began to blur. His reason was fading. Lust. Rut. Spill the seed. He staggered back from the mouth of the cave. He just needed to raise the final wards…
She was still there.
A vision in white. A beauty that called to his soul. Her blade hummed the air.
He could even smell her… that delicate angeling scent that was equal parts sunshine and musky earth. He roared, raising his hand to make the final signage—
She moved.
Like lightning, she was inside the cave with him, screaming angelsong and raising her blade. He tried to stagger away, but she was too fast, winging around, pushing off the cavern roof and walls and landing on his back.
The icy slip of her blade in the back of his neck was a relief.
He crumpled to the floor, splayed flat with her knees digging into his back, her hand grabbing the bony ridges of his head, and her blade searing his mind. He lost all sense of the world. There was no cave, no rocky floor underneath him. There was only the pain blasting through his soul, tearing him in two. His wyvern screamed and screamed, drowning him in sound. He had no idea if he was actually screaming or if it was trapped in his mind, but a bright light was cleaving him, shattering him, tearing into his being and carving it into chunks.
She was killing him.
The jolt of that rose above the agony. The surprise was subsumed immediately by the struggle. Light against dark. Wildness against sanity. The inky blackness that had stolen over his mind before and surged up his wyvern in defense was wrapping itself around spear
s of light in his mind. Not one but a multitude. The angel energy he’d carried since absorbing Markos’s blessing hummed and vibrated the spears, slashing back against the darkness. His wyvern howled and surged. Retreated then returned. It was a battle that felt like no side could win… that it would simple shatter and destroy everything he was. Then another howling started up in his mind, but it wasn’t him—not his dragon, not even its wild cousin, the wyvern—this was the dark and unholy howl of something dying. It rose and rose and then… quenched.
His sense of the world came flooding back.
He was face-down on the rough dirt floor of his tomb. The chill air swept over him from the mouth of the cave. But as he opened his eyes, he realized… not only was he alive, but he had also shifted human.
One dirtied hand on the ground in front of his face told him that. But as he attempted to move—to drag his face out of the dirt—the pain of his broken arm shot through him and made him gasp. Something clattered to the rocky floor next to him, and he had to blink twice to get his eyes to focus well enough to see it. Erelah’s blade. Only it was soiled with something that looked like tar. What?
He strained to twist to see her. She was standing next to him, wings extended, but a battle raged on them, light against dark. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped up, and a look of pain was twisting her face.
No! What had she done? He struggled to reach her, but all he could manage was turning on his side to face her, his broken arm hanging limp and useless across his chest. “Erelah,” he gasped.
Her eyes popped open. The inky darkness swam around in the whites of them as she gazed down at him.
“Holy magic, Erelah,” he sobbed. What had she done to save him? “My love…” He struggled again to reach for her, finally rolling on his back so he could free his good arm to cross the short distance between them… and just touch her bare foot.