Dragonfire--A Dark Kings Novel

by Donna Grant

  The control Con kept at all times slipped as rage and fear erupted within him like a volcano. He spun and threw his glass against the wall.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ulrik said softly. “The weapon.”

  “It’s gone!” Con bellowed, still unable to believe that the one item he was to keep protected had managed to be stolen.

  The weapon could kill the Dragon Kings. And if it fell into the hands of any of their enemies, then the Kings were doomed. It didn’t matter how much magic they had, it would be over for them.

  Con walked to the window and looked out at the mountains of Dreagan, searching for the peace that he usually found staring at the peaks.

  “We will find it.”

  Con’s lips twisted as he shook his head. “Nothing could move through my magic without me feeling it, and yet, something did. And they took the weapon that can kill us.”

  “You think it can kill us. We’re no’ sure.”

  Con raked a hand down his face, weary to his very soul. “When I defeated Tarel to become King of Dragon Kings, all of the information he had was passed on to me. That’s how I first learned of the weapon. As soon as I realized what it could do, I understood why it had been kept from everyone, and why Tarel went to such lengths to have it safeguarded.”

  “I know the weapon is powerful, but why would we keep something that could kill us in the first place?” Ulrik asked.

  Con let his shoulders slump as he braced one hand on the side of the window and looked at Ulrik. “It wasna my decision to keep the weapon, but it became my burden to bear.”

  “You could’ve destroyed it.”

  “There wasna a need.”

  “There certainly is now.”

  Now that it was too late. Con felt as if everything that he had worked tirelessly to build for his brethren was unraveling at a rate that he couldn’t keep up with or even think of rectifying.

  “We’ll find the weapon,” Ulrik declared.

  Con sure hoped his friend was correct. Otherwise, it might very well be the end of the Dragon Kings.

  “Have you heard from V?”

  Con huffed and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, thankful to have another direction to turn his thoughts. Maybe now he could get a handle on his emotions. “I’d forgotten that he and Roman left.”

  What kind of ruler was he that he could forget when his men departed Dreagan for an important mission? He really needed to get his head right and regain the composure that had gotten him through so much.

  “Sending Roman with V was brilliant,” Ulrik said.

  Con pushed away from the window and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Was it? I no longer know. Perhaps you should’ve challenged me. I’m no’ sure I’m the one who should be in this position.”

  “You’re the only one who can do it.”

  His head snapped to Ulrik. His friend’s gold eyes were locked on his face.

  “You know I’m right,” Ulrik continued. “You were born to be King of Dragon Kings, Con. Every leader stumbles now and again. You do it so rarely that, when it happens, you doona know what to do. That’s why I’m here. To keep you on your feet and remind you who you are.”

  Emotion choked Con. He looked away, unable to hold Ulrik’s gaze. It was usually Con who bolstered others, not the other way around.

  Ulrik put his hand on Con’s shoulder. “What is it you tell us? We’re no’ alone. Well, old friend, now I’m the one telling you. All those years I was banished, did you no’ talk with any of the others?”

  Con lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “They look to me to have the answers and make decisions.”

  “And you always do. It doesna make you weak to need someone every now and again. Though, I know it isna really me you need.”

  Con pulled away from him to walk off the irritation and … other emotions he refused to name. “Doona go there, Ulrik. I’m no’ in the mood.”

  “You gave me relationship advice recently. I told you I’d return the favor eventually.”

  He halted and pointed a finger at Ulrik, anger rising to dangerous levels. “It isna now.”

  Ulrik paused as he stared at him. “You’re right. Now isna the time.”

  Relief surged through Con as his arm dropped to his side because he knew he couldn’t handle that conversation. It would break him as nothing else could.

  If he were honest, it was nice to be able to share things with Ulrik again. He’d missed his friend, who was more of a brother than anything. Before the betrayal perpetrated against Ulrik—instigated by his uncle Mikkel, which led to the war with the humans and then Ulrik’s banishment—Con and Ulrik had no secrets between them.

  If there were ever something on Con’s mind, he’d gone to Ulrik. For the last several millennia, Con had gotten used to keeping his own counsel.

  Ulrik released a loud sigh. “We’re going to have to tell the others about the weapon being stolen.”

  “I’m going to have to tell them the rest.”

  A deep frown creased Ulrik’s brow. “Is that wise? You said yourself that the other King of Kings kept the weapon secret for a reason.”

  “If I ever knew that reason, I’ve long forgotten it. Besides, I’m tired of secrets.”

  “All of them?”

  Con swallowed and looked away. “Aye.”

  “They’re your secrets. You get to decide when they’re revealed.”

  His secrets. What a load of shite. Con’s gaze caught on the shards of glass from the tumbler he’d thrown. It had felt good to show that little burst of anger. It was dangerous, though. So very, very dangerous.

  If he let more out, he might not stop. That’s exactly where Rhi would want him when they faced Usaeil, but Con knew if there was a chance for the Queen of the Light to come out of the confrontation alive and be the Fae she’d once been, he needed to get his emotions back under control.

  “Bend a little, old friend,” Ulrik cautioned. “Lest you break. Frankly, we’re going to need you after the Dark, Usaeil, and the weapon issues are cleared up. No’ to mention that Death and the Reapers may call on us.”

  Con snorted. Ulrik spoke as if those problems would be fixed in a matter of days. Never mind that V hadn’t found his sword yet, and that they still knew next to nothing about the Druids and Fae who combined their magic to not only kill, but hide one of Dmitri’s Whites along with a magical wooden dragon that was an exact replica of Con.

  Bend.

  Ulrik was right. He had to be flexible, or he would crack under the weight of everything. That wasn’t acceptable. He’d promised to guide the Kings. Not that they needed it. Each was incredibly strong individually—or they wouldn’t be Dragon Kings.

  But as King of Kings, Con was the strongest, the most powerful of all the Dragon Kings. He’d fought to the death for that right. He wasn’t about to let his brethren down now.

  He met Ulrik’s gaze.

  After a moment, his friend smiled. “That’s the Con we need.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Talented. That’s the first thought that went through Roman’s mind about Sabina when he laid V down on the sofa. That’s when he saw the half-finished piece of jewelry. He couldn’t quite determine what it was, but the craftsmanship was obvious to even his untrained eye.

  There were dozens of colored drawings of various examples scattered about. The skill that went into the sketches and coloring of each piece only paled in comparison to the photos of the actual jewelry that were attached to the pages.

  “It’s a mess,” Sabina said and tucked a curl of hair behind her ear.

  It wasn’t hard to imagine that she had gypsy blood somewhere in her past with her rich olive skin, fathomless deep brown eyes tilted up slightly at the corners giving her an exotic look, and brown locks so dark they were nearly black that just reached her shoulders.

  He wanted to wind one of her large ringlets around his finger and give it a soft tug. But he couldn’t look away from her eyes. With one sweep, she seemed to take in eve
rything and digest it quickly, each emotion showing on her oval face.

  Her dark pink lips were full and utterly sexy. Her face was unblemished except for a small scar that bisected her left eyebrow and left the spot exposed.

  In an age where women went to extremes with their makeup, especially their eyebrows, he liked that she left what some might call a flaw—but something that made her unique—natural.

  Her dark red shirt hung loosely over her body, showing him nothing of her curves. The only glimpse he got was from the jeans that clung to her shapely hips and legs.

  “Doona clean up on my account,” he told her. “This is your workspace, I take it?”

  She gave a single nod, watching him.

  He leaned closer to look at the piece in progress. “You draw and then make these?”

  “I sell them online. It’s how I earn a living.”

  “I take it you’re good?” he asked with a grin.

  She smiled as she shrugged, modesty making her gaze lower briefly to the ground. “Well, the orders keep coming in, and the reviews are good, so I suppose so.” She shuffled some of the papers. “Each piece is unique.”

  “You keep record of them, I see,” he said, pointing to the pictures.

  “That’s because I had people requesting that I make something their friend bought from me. It was difficult to keep track, so I began taking pictures and keeping it with my drawing as a way to have a record. I need to file these.”

  “Or put them in a portfolio of sorts so you can easily find what you need.”

  She raised a brow, surprise in her eyes. “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “I have them every now and again.”

  She laughed, which made her eyes crinkle. She fairly glowed from within, and he wanted to make her laugh again to see more of it.

  “We need to stay here for a wee bit,” V suddenly said in his mind.

  “Why?” Roman asked.

  “I felt something … peculiar … when I touched Camlo. I caught a brief memory of my cave before my sword was taken.”

  The news shocked Roman. “Then we stay as long as you need. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Keep her talking,” V urged.

  That would be no great hardship. Roman liked talking to Sabina and watching the expressions cross her beautiful face.

  Roman stepped away from the table while she fussed over a few things. He moved to the wall where there were drawings of Camlo through the years. In each one, he was with a different animal, proving just how much he loved creatures.

  “You drew all of these?” Roman asked.

  Sabina came up beside him and nodded. “And Camlo made the frames.”

  Roman touched the scalloped edge of one casing. The edges were so precise that he could barely see the seam. “Amazing.”

  “In many ways, my brother is like a child, but when it comes to animals and working with wood, he’s an entirely different person. He replaced the door and added the shutters to the windows. Everything you see out back, he made. My stepfather began the barn before his accident, but as soon as he was able, Camlo finished it.”

  In just a few sentences, Sabina had given Roman a lot of information. “What kind of accident?”

  “It was during a fierce snowstorm. Petre drove into town, and on the way back, he hit a patch of ice. His car went off the mountain.”

  “I’m verra sorry.”

  Sabina shrugged, her gaze going to a picture sitting atop an accent table near the sofa. It was of a couple—a girl of about ten, and a young boy. “My stepfather was a good man. We all felt Petre’s loss.”

  “And your mother?”

  Sabina’s smile was sad as she looked at him. “She had been sick for a while. She’d have good days and bad days, but for the most part, she put on a brave face. I knew it was serious. I could hear her and Petre talking late at night when they thought I was asleep. After he died, I confronted her about it. She refused to go to the doctor, believing that her herbs could cure anything. The last year of her life was one filled with tremendous pain.”

  “You took care of her,” he guessed.

  Sabina nodded slowly. “Mom wouldn’t let me take her to a hospital. When she got so bad that I didn’t give her a choice, I had Camlo carry her to the car. The doctors could do nothing for her by that time, she was too far gone. They made her comfortable, at least.”

  “Did she have a fear of doctors?”

  “Just a stubbornness that the old ways were better.” Sabina smiled sadly.

  Roman wanted to push for more, but he held back for the moment. Instead, he let his gaze move around the house. It was small but efficient. Everything had a place, and there was no unnecessary clutter.

  “Coffee or tea?” Sabina asked.

  He gave a nod. “Either.”

  Roman followed her into the kitchen. The table was old, the dings and nicks giving it character as if every person who sat at it had left their mark in some way. There were four mismatched chairs, one stained dark while the other three were painted blue, white, and yellow.

  It shouldn’t work, but it did. Perhaps because of the dried herbs hanging on the ceiling and the many plants along the windowsill near the sink.

  Sabina saw him looking at the herbs and shrugged. “Habit. Mom wasn’t wrong in using them. I just think there are times when they won’t work. When no medicine will.”

  Roman pulled out a chair and sat as she fixed two cups of tea and set them on the table with milk and sugar. “Have you thought about selling Camlo’s work?” he asked.

  “I probably should. There are about thirty frames of various sizes in the barn. You’ve taken a lot of interest in us, but you’ve not told me anything about yourself.”

  “You’ve no’ asked,” he said with a grin over his mug.

  She held his gaze, silently waiting.

  Roman sat back after taking a drink. “Fair enough. I’m from Scotland.”

  “I couldn’t place your accent. Now it makes sense,” she said with a nod. “You’re a long way from home. What brings you to Romania?”

  He turned his head to V, who continued to pretend that he was asleep. “We’re doing a bit of traveling.”

  “Now why don’t I believe that?” she asked skeptically.

  Roman slid his gaze back to Sabina to find her elbows propped on the table as she held her mug between her hands and watched him with her large eyes. “Why would you no’?”

  “You mean you want me to believe that, just like you wanted me to believe you two are hikers? Even the most inexperienced hikers have gear,” she stated.

  He drew in a deep breath and looked into her dark eyes. “Would you believe anything I said?”

  “If I saw the truth in your eyes, yes.”

  That made him smile. “All right. We’re looking for something.”

  “That I believe,” Sabina stated and took a drink of her tea. “What do you look for?”

  Before he could answer, V shouted No! in his mind. Roman didn’t want to lie to her, but he also understood why V didn’t wish her to know more. “We’re no’ sure yet.”

  Sabina studied him a long moment. “That’s not the whole truth, but I accept it.”

  “You speak as if you’re reading me.”

  She glanced at the table and set her mug down.

  “Another family habit?” he pressed.

  There was a pause before she said, “Yes.”

  “A natural gift, or one learned?”

  It was her turn to sit back. Her dark eyes shrewd as she studied him. “A little of both.”

  “Which is how you know English so well.”

  “There are a great many tourists who come through the area. They believe anyone living here is Romani. My mother took advantage of that.”

  “It helped that she was Romani, aye?” It was a guess, but Roman had a hunch he was right.

  Sabina brought her cup to her lips and drank before lowering it back to the table. Only then did she say, “Yes.�
�

  “You doona like anyone knowing your heritage?”

  “You obviously know little of life here. Romani are looked down upon. We’re the lowest of the low. Even though probably half the population or more has Romani blood flowing through them.”

  He regarded her. “I doona think your heritage is anything to be ashamed of. Who cares what others think?”

  “Why give anyone more reasons to fear Camlo? It’s better that no one knows.”

  “Where is your father?”

  Her gaze lowered to her cup. “He died when I was little.”

  Roman’s attention turned to the door as it opened and Camlo looked inside. He spotted V on the couch before he found Roman and Sabina in the kitchen.

  “V will be fine,” Roman assured Camlo. “He’s resting.”

  “I brought something to help,” Camlo said and lifted his hands to show the rabbit.

  “What does he have?” V asked.

  Roman smiled at Camlo while ignoring V. “He’ll love it.”

  “Roman,” V growled.

  But V didn’t move when Camlo neared or when he placed the rabbit on his chest.

  “I better no’ be shite on,” V grumbled.

  Roman covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He licked his lips and met Camlo’s gaze after he got ahold of himself. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Camlo said dejectedly.

  Sabina pushed back her chair and went to her brother. “You didn’t.”

  Camlo’s eyes moved to him. Roman nodded then. “Your sister’s right. You did nothing.”

  “Then why won’t V wake?” Camlo asked.

  “He will,” Roman assured him.

  Camlo bent and gave Sabina a quick peck on her cheek before he left. She softly closed the door behind him before returning to the table.

  “I can remove the rabbit,” she offered.

  “Aye!” V yelled telepathically. “The damn animal willna stop sniffing my face. The whiskers are tickling me.”

  Roman shook his head. “I think it’s just the thing to wake V up.”

  “Payback is hell, Roman.”

  “Tell me something else about yourself,” Sabina urged.

  Roman scratched his jaw. “I’m an artist, of sorts.”