Renegade (Shadow Realms): An Urban Fantasy Dragon Shifter Romance

by Amber Ella Monroe

  The sound of the water flowing through the rocks in the stream calmed me. A cooler breeze passed across my face, and I enjoyed the moment of peace while I could. I didn't know when I would get another moment like this. I was used to feeling the ground rattle and shake beneath me as volcanos erupted, emanating a cloud of thick smoke and spewing hellfire that killed anything in its path. Anything—life form, vegetation, food…

  I shifted my weight from a kneeling position until I was seated on the ground. The heavy iron bracket around my right ankle had been forged with a spell that prevented me from escaping the Bursgate realm. But the bracket didn't prevent a shift into my dragon form. Living in Bursgate as a dragon would seem like a no-brainer to most, but in dragon form, I expelled the most energy. There wasn't enough food around for that. The last dragon who'd opted to live here in his natural form went on murdering sprees to sate his never-ending appetite for meat. He used to sleep during the day and kill at night. His life was cut short one morning when a horde of gargoyles allied together to rip him to pieces. No one was safe here. Not even myself—a natural born warrior trained to kill.

  I caught the scent of blood, and then looked up swiftly to spot a warm-bodied creature in my peripheral view. I extracted a dagger from my boot and rose to my feet, ready to defend my right to clean water.

  When a straggly looking creature came out into the open, my fingers loosened on the leather handle. Whatever it was—some half-breed wolf shifter or vampire—the thing looked as if it was sixty seconds away from its last breath. Its skin was pale and shrunken. It was hunched over, huffing and puffing, and clutching a bloody injury on its side. Its legs were like gangly sticks holding its body off the ground.

  The creature spotted me, turned, and made a dash for the adjacent forest. Even with it out of sight, I smelled the metallic tang of fresh blood that it left behind. The odor was more shifter than vampire. I could've tracked down the creature if I wanted to, but nothing about its skin and bones condition labeled it a threat. The creature was a grim reminder of what happened to the many Bursgate prisoners when resources such as food, water, and hunting grounds, were insufficient.

  I was going to kneel back down at the water's edge when I heard a chorus of squeals in the distance and the sound of dragon wings flapping viciously against the breeze. When I looked up at the dull gray sky, I counted four sets of wings. I used my heightened vision to view them, shielding my eyes against the dirt spraying up in my face. Each dragon wore the mark of Kastanbul, realm of the fire-breathing dragons. The realm where I was born. I discerned another mark on the dragons that identified them as soldiers of the King. Like magic, the symbols turned fire-engine red on their chests as they circled the area right above me.

  At that moment, I knew I was their target. Why else would they be homing in on me? Soldiers never visited Bursgate unless they had orders to kill. But why wait this long to end my life?

  I reached over my shoulder and gripped the handle of my favored weapon—a machete. As if to send me a warning, one dragon opened its mouth and the straggly creature I'd last seen tiptoeing around landed like dead weight at my feet. The poor creature was now dead.

  Four dragon soldiers had me cornered. There was no easy escape from that. I had to fight. I took a warrior's stance near the edge of the bank. One by one the soldiers descended, landing with a thud that shook the ground. My dragon willed me to shift, but just as my scales rose across my chest, the soldiers changed until they took their human forms—which was their most vulnerable form. From that, I could presume that these soldiers weren't sent to slay me.

  The soldier with a chain around his neck, wrists, and ankles stepped forward. He even had a fair amount of chain draped from his arm with some of it grasped in his fist like he'd come to catch a wild animal or something—a rather large animal.

  "Carrick Ryvolus Dragoe."

  He spoke my name like some big-shot announcer at a fighting tournament.

  "I am he," I stated.

  The soldier swung the chain around, letting it loop in the air like a lasso. I jumped backward and struck the chain with my machete. He struck again, caught the hilt of my machete, and tugged it from my grip. It slammed to the ground. A second soldier charged me, but before he could make contact, I produced another blade and pointed it at his throat.

  "Stop right there, or I'll have your head," I told him.

  "Theos, stand back!" the lead soldier ordered the aggressor. The leader then returned his full attention on me. "They said you'd resist capture. You can comply willingly, or we'll have to drag you out in chains."

  "What do you want?" I asked.

  "You've been summoned."

  I coughed up a laugh. My commander was dead. I wasn't aware that I was still obligated to serve any man—mortal or immortal.

  "By whom have I been summoned?"

  "King Zaros of Kastanbul."

  I scowled. What did my father want from me?

  The last time I'd seen him, he was among the few who had decided my fate.

  "What does he want?"

  "You'll see for yourself. I'm just the messenger. You have orders to appear."

  "Let's get this straight. I no longer follow any orders. I don't care what King Zaros wants, and if you strike me again with that rusty chain of yours, I'll show you why he put me here in the first place."

  "It's your choice, traitor. You either come with us willingly, or we'll consider other drastic measures," the messenger said, throwing his thumb in the direction of a third soldier holding a crossbow. He also had a sack of arrows strapped to his back.

  I'd never been one to back down from a fight. I collected my machete from the ground. "I choose the latter."

  "Then so be it," my messenger sneered. He dropped the bundle of chains at his feet and traded them for a pair of iron nunchaku.

  I took a fighter's stance, holding my machete slanted at my side. The glint from the blade gleamed in the waning sunlight as I turned it outward, welcoming my opponent to take the first swing. The soldiers took turns fighting me. I hadn't battled with trained warriors in years. These four wouldn't stop until they were all dead or their mission was completed. They were doing what they were sent to do. Weaken and then capture. I wasn't going to make it easy for them to drag me back to my father—the King of Kastanbul.

  All but one of the soldiers changed into dragon form. They breathed fire on me, torching skin that hadn't been burned in years. My ability to heal quickly didn't take away the excruciating pain. I was left with no choice but to unleash my dragon in a fit of agonizing rage. I hadn't let loose in months, and once my dragon was free, I felt alive. Furious and agitated, but alive.

  It didn't take me long to realize that luring me to shift into my natural form had been part of their master plan. They knew most of my energy would be depleted once I transformed. Heavy chains descended upon me like a fisherman's net and then tightened around my limbs.

  I struggled against the chains, but they were too tight. With my arms and legs shackled, I could only do so much. I roared, directing a stream of fire at the soldiers. They fell back until the blaze diminished, but held onto the chains.

  When I rose again, one of them shot me with a poison-dipped arrow. I stumbled backward from the force of the blow. The poison forced me back into human form, and my legs gave out. Paralysis took place in a matter of seconds. One of the soldiers produced a key and removed the iron bracket from my ankle. Then they chained me to the back of a dragon. It took flight, taking me out of the prison realm—a realm I was already planning my escape from, but only on my terms. I never expected the man who sealed me inside Bursgate to summon me out of it. What did my father want with me now?

  Chapter 3

  Leona

  "Wouldn’t you like to rethink this decision?" Uncle Franc asked me.

  He stood at the foot of my bed, watching me stuff a backpack with a couple of days change of clothes and some other trinkets. I picked up my bus ticket and tucked it securely between a writing
journal.

  "No, I wouldn't," I said. "We had a deal. I thought I told you time was running out. Our grimoire could be lost forever if I don't do something now."

  I was determined to find what belonged to me no matter how long it took me, especially if finding it meant saving hundreds…thousands…maybe even millions of people. The supernatural apocalypse had claimed many lives. Hundreds of thousands of lives. Even to this day, the number of humans remaining on the Earth realm had yet to be determined. And the same could be said about the supernatural population.

  Before the disaster, supernaturals lived mostly in secret. Not anymore. The entire world knew about us now. It wasn't always that way. Guardians of the Earth realm always ensured measures were in place to prevent overpopulation and to keep the balance in favor of the humans. Before the apocalypse, the portals that allowed anyone to travel from realm to realm were heavily monitored— guarded by some of the most devoted beings alive. In fact, their very existence used to be contingent on them keeping all the United Realms free of the very demons that eventually destroyed it. Demon infiltration nearly spurred the end of the world eight months ago. Now those who remained on Earth lived in fear while the power balance changed each day, favoring the demons and their treacherous king. Until the portals of Blackwald could be sealed, the only way to keep the demons at bay was to steer clear of them, hide from them, or fight them off by force or with magic.

  "You know I don't want you going out on your own. It's a dangerous risk," Uncle Franc said.

  "Others are taking the same chance and doing what they can to make this a safer world for all of us. Warriors have been out on the streets day and night sending those demons straight back to Hell where they belong. Everyone plays their part. I'm no different. I may not be skilled with a blade, but there's a reason I was blessed with this magic," I reminded him.

  Uncle Franc sighed. "Well, you've already made up your mind, so I arranged for some bodyguards to go with you on your trip."

  "You did what?"

  "I have some Crows going out with you."

  "The vampires? Uncle…?"

  "Yes, they want to see the demons gone from this realm more badly than any other supernatural."

  "Of course they do. We're their food source," I said, shaking my head.

  "In either case, they'll ensure that you're untouched."

  "No, not happening. I won't have a couple of vampires following me around. They attract the worst kind of danger. That's just asking for trouble."

  Uncle Franc crossed his arms over his chest. "And what kind of unwanted attention would you say a full-blood witch on the cusp of her maturity would attract?"

  "I know how to cloak myself," I said.

  "Do you? Because I seem to recall the dozens of times you've lost your temper and couldn't control your magic."

  "I control it just fine, thank you."

  "I'm only taking precautions. It's who I am, and it's what I do. Here's the thing about the Crows…they can see what's coming from a mile away, on the ground or from the sky. They're hard to kill. They're immortal. You're not."

  "Yet," I added. "As the other elders have confirmed, my time is running out."

  Uncle Franc rolled his eyes. "There you go with your visions and this prophecy that your mother used to pump your brain with before she turned on us. You going out alone is out of the question. I mean what I say…once you walk outside our borders, the Crow vampires will follow. The deal has been made."

  I gnawed on my bottom lip. I knew my uncle was right. I had my magic, but there were creatures out there with strengths far more powerful than any spell I could cast.

  "Fine," I grumbled. "And for the one-hundredth time, my mother didn't turn on us. I'll prove that too, and when I do, you'll be sorry you ever painted her in such a negative light to our people."

  "I hope you do, Leona. I really hope you do."

  Chapter 4

  Carrick

  The dragon soldiers hauled me clear across Bursgate and into the realm of Kastanbul. I woke up in a dungeon that smelled of piss, acid, and charred flesh. The small cell was no bigger than a bathroom stall. I hated closed-in spaces. Something else was different about my surroundings. I felt the change in the atmosphere deep in my bones as the colder winds brushed against my skin.

  My wrists were bound together by chains. Both of my machetes and other possessions were nowhere to be found. I wasn't the only one in the dungeon. I couldn't see my cell mates, but I could hear their hearts beating. Their feet shuffling around in the cell. Their bellies groaning with hunger.

  My head spun from the poison lingering in my blood stream, but I stood up anyway and paced back and forth in the putrid smelling cell. The fastest way to work off the poison was to sweat it out. I didn't know what was in store for me, but if I expected to stand up to King Zaros and his soldiers, I needed all of my energy.

  I silently contemplated on the many reasons for why my estranged father would summon me. Maybe he wanted me killed after all. Maybe he was ready to strike me dead himself.

  After becoming bored staring at the same drab walls and the empty cell in front of me, I stumbled over to a tiny window and peered through the bars. About half a dozen gargoyle shifters guarded the perimeter of the dungeon. I should've known that my father still used every security measure at his disposal. He'd always been a very suspicious king, untrusting of almost everyone—even those who served him.

  King Zaros wasn't the most likable king around. He had a reputation for changing his mind at the drop of a dime. Still, there were Shadow Council members who commended him for his tactics. One of those admirers being the gargoyle leader, King Mercud of Ucrath. My father and King Mercud united armies when the demons from Blackwald began to breach the portals. After the chaos, the realms of Kastanbul and Ucrath were the firsts to rid their territories of purebred demons successfully. From the looks of things, the alliance still existed. But after being locked away for so long and relieved of my duties, I couldn't be certain about the state of any one realm.

  My last day on Earth was spent slaying purebred demons and chasing them back into Blackwald. If it weren't for my fate, I'd still be slaying demons to this day. For all I knew, inhabitants of Earth were still under attack by those soul-eating creatures.

  Before the chaos, I was one of nearly three dozen realm guardians tasked with the job of securing and monitoring the portals. Some would compare a realm guardian to a border patrol agent, except we weren't humans and we guarded portals, not borders. The realm guardians were immortals chosen by the Shadow Council to eliminate and keep out any threats, mostly purebred demons. We were a mix of dragons, gargoyles, lycans, and fae. But we all had something in common. We were cross breeds—supernaturals with demon blood. Not enough to be purely demon, but enough to matter. We kept the balance in the realms and were the only ones who could fight off a demon without the threat of having our souls compromised in the process.

  Consequently, our demon blood damned us all when the Shadow Council passed the decree that anyone with as little as an ounce of demon blood would be hunted and killed. Assassins and bounty hunters were sent by the dozens to search all corners of the United Realms. Word traveled fast throughout the realms, and we knew we were being hunted. Those guardians that chose not to abandon their posts were eventually captured. Those who fled their posts went into hiding. I refused to abandon my responsibilities and paid for it.

  How many of the realm guardians still lived today? I asked myself this question many nights. My commander and several other guardians died while fighting off the demon armies. The Shadow Council had many others executed alongside those of demon blood. Like me, some were held prisoner. Those that escaped capture were still being hunted. I feared that my worst nightmare was a reality and that less than half of the realm guardians still lived. Rumors traveled fast whenever a new prisoner was thrown inside Bursgate, and I had been told terrible things. Unspeakable things about my comrades.

  One of the gargoyle guard
s caught sight of me peering out through the bars. He walked right below the tiny window and chuckled.

  "Hello Prince. Or should I call you traitor? Most sons obey their fathers, but some fruits do fall far from the tree, especially of the demon sort…yes?"

  "Where are the rest of the realm guardians?" I asked him.

  "Dead, I presume," he sneered.

  That wasn't the verbal assumption I wanted to hear.

  Yet I knew somehow that there was no way they were all dead. I still felt a connection to some of them. We were bonded by something other than an alliance written on paper five hundred years ago. A warrior's bond with his comrades could never be broken. At least that's what I believed.

  "Actually, we only thought you were all dead," the gargoyle continued. "But when they dragged you back here, we knew the rumors weren't true. If they kept one alive, there's still hope for others…yes?"

  "Am I the only realm guardian you've seen since the apocalypse? Are there any out there still guarding the portals against mass demon infiltration?" I asked.

  "You're the only one I've seen, but that's because traitors aren't allowed on this realm. We have orders to execute anyone with demon blood on sight," the gargoyle confirmed.

  "I'm not a traitor," I told him. "I'd still be at my post if it weren't for this hearsay.

  "That's what they all say. Besides, the Earth realm has nearly been destroyed. The human forces have been weakened. Protecting that realm is a lost cause now. It's time to protect our own kind now."

  I glanced down at the sphere forged in black ink on the inside of my wrist. The gargoyle was wrong. I was anything but a traitor. And protecting Earth had never been a lost cause for me. Not even when my father marked me—his own son—a traitor. Instead of taking my head, he banished me to live the rest of my days on that wasteland known as Bursgate. Even as I thought about it now, I was relieved to be gone from the prison realm, but I still wasn't a free man.