Tropical Dragon's Destiny

by Chant, Zoe

  She put down her clipboard. “Please pack everything you need and do not assume that return to the resort will be possible. This is not a drill. The storm shouldn’t hit for several days yet, so anyone willing to stay through to tomorrow and help buckle down the resort will be very appreciated; the last group will go by boat to the mainland. There are sign up sheets by the kitchen for each of the charters.”

  Whispers of speculation and surprise rose as she paused. Scarlet watched some of them surreptitiously check with their smartphones, muttering about the poor data connection. They swiftly found the confirmation that Mal had promised in dire articles with splashy, threatening headlines.

  She cleared her throat and they all fell silent again. “Jenny, I would like you to cancel the resort sale, return any collected funds, and sever outstanding contracts. You will each be receiving a severance package based on longevity that I hope you will find an ample cushion for this blow. Please double-check the contact address I have on file so that follow-up paperwork can be sent to you in a timely way. I have enjoyed working with every one of you and am grateful for your efforts and work ethic. That is all.”

  She didn’t linger, but she wasn’t surprised when she heard urgent footsteps behind her as she left the hall to start in on the list of guests she wanted to inform personally.

  “What the hell?”

  She turned to find that Graham had beat the others out. She could hear loud conversation in the event hall behind them and kept walking.

  “Between the return of Alice’s money and your severance pay, you should be able to retire to your own private island if you wanted to,” she said conversationally. “Find a place with good soil and plant a new garden. Take some starts, if you want. We have some plants you can’t find elsewhere.”

  Graham took her boldly by the arm. “I don’t give a damn about the money,” he growled, pulling her to a stop. “Or the plants. What the hell is going on with the island? What about you? If the storm is severe enough to evacuate the resort, what happens to your... to you?”

  Sometimes she saw more of his grandfather in him than she should. “I will be fine,” she said, resisting the urge to pat his cheek. “But I can’t protect myself and everyone else who is here at the same time.”

  “This has everything to do with that lawyer,” Graham snarled. “What has he done? What lies is he telling you now?”

  “Mal is not our enemy,” Scarlet said firmly.

  “You’re certainly on a first name basis now.” Graham’s eyes were narrow and accusatory.

  Scarlet wanted to explain, badly. She wanted to tell Graham every part of it, from the heady dawning certainty that Mal really, truly was her mate, to the danger that lurked beneath the island. “You have to trust me,” she said simply. “I will tell you everything when I have a moment to breathe. But we have to get the innocent people off of this island as soon as possible, now. We don’t have much time, and I need your help with that.”

  Graham opened his mouth to continue his protest, then snapped it shut as there was a sudden, rolling rumble and the ground beneath them gave a wild leap. Graham staggered, while Scarlet swayed in place. Someone screamed and there was the sound of shattering glass from the bar. Gravel danced at their feet and finally—after much longer than most of their usual small quakes—the earth stilled again.

  Scarlet stared down, wondering if she should be concerned. Had the wyrm woken? But it was quiet now and the upheaval she was braced for never happened. She raised her gaze to Graham’s concerned blue eyes. “That may make our evacuation job a little easier. Please go help Tex clean up the bar. I’m going to see Conall and work on getting Gizelle to safety.”

  He didn’t follow her again when she resumed her swift travel across the resort.

  Chapter 17

  Mal picked up the masks that had fallen from the walls and straightened the artwork. The wyrm was restless, which wasn’t unexpected, given the storms that were just days away. This was the light sleep before he woke, the slow stirring of a waking beast.

  He had a problem in front of him.

  This wasn’t unusual. His entire life, both his law career and his pursuit of magic, had involved solving one problem after another, in calculated order.

  Distilled to the bones, he had two choices: battle the wyrm beneath the island, or above it.

  He had prepared—for decades—to fight it in his own element, deep in the earth, knowing that the resort, the compound, every living thing on the surface might be a casualty of their fight, but confident in his ability to win easily in this manner.

  That was before he had realized that his mate was an irrevocable part of that island, and that she was, if not a certain, at least a very probable casualty of a pitched underground battle.

  He only had to think of her, the flash of her hair, the silky touch of her skin, the stubborn set of her smile, to know that it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

  He had already all but eliminated the possibility of removing Scarlet’s tree to safe location. It would require a larger portal than he had ever created and he was doubtful of the safety of transplanting a tree of that age and size even if he could manage it. Could she even leave the rest of her forest behind? He made a note to do more research and to consult with Scarlet on the topic, but he didn’t consider it a likely avenue. Not in the few days that they had available.

  Everything pointed to fighting the wyrm above the island.

  Mal was a capable flyer and a more than competent warrior in air, just as he was in earth.

  But with the wyrm in the air, came the wyrm’s powers of air and water. He would be fighting in a powerful storm, at a difficult disadvantage. And he would have to win swiftly, decisively, before the storm damaged the island—and Scarlet’s tree—effectively undermining his attempt to keep her safe in the first place.

  He could construct a magical shield. That would protect her from flying debris and falling trees, but it wouldn’t do anything to stabilize the earth beneath her. And it would be a challenge to maintain a shield larger than any he’d ever made around her while in the midst of a fight.

  We have to protect her, his dragon fretted, like a dog on a bone.

  There is a way, Mal insisted. We are neglecting one thing: Scarlet herself.

  She had a sizzling power of her own. There was a way to use that, there had to be.

  If he could teach her to stabilize her own piece of land, perhaps she would be able to survive the upheaval that his underground battle would cause. She was a creature of earth like he was; perhaps he could show her how to strengthen the stone beneath her.

  Her magic felt raw, elemental. It wasn’t anything like his ordered arsenal of spells. It wasn’t shifter magic, and he didn’t know if his techniques would be the slightest bit effective with her kind of power.

  He rolled his shoulders back and sighed. He could almost hear his father’s voice in his ear. What’s the first thing you do when you have a problem to solve?

  Mal had resented his destiny, as a boy who wanted nothing more than to be a boy. But his life had never had time for games or play.

  From the time he could walk, he was learning how to control magic; his earliest runes were tattooed to his forearm when he was still barely speaking. He clearly remembered his father’s arms around him. It’s good that it hurts, he’d said, while Mal tried desperately not to cry. Magic always has a price. Remember that.

  From the time he could shift, Mal was learning to fight, flung into hopeless battles with older, stronger dragons and shifters. He had lost repeatedly, failing over and over... until suddenly he didn’t.

  You don’t have to be stronger than your enemy if you are smarter and faster, his father pointed out. And there is one edge you should always have.

  Magic? eleven-year-old Mal had guessed.

  Even that can be taken, his father explained patiently. Knowledge, knowledge is your greatest advantage. Know your enemy, know their weaknesses, and better yet, know how to prevent
having to battle them altogether. Not all fights are claws and spells.

  It had taken Mal years to understand that, years alone, spent honing magic, fighting, and later learning law.

  The first step was always research. Know your enemy... and know your allies. Mal looked at his phone and frowned at the weak WiFi signal. He stood, gameplan firmly in mind, and traced a doorway in the air ahead of him. The air sizzled, and his library opened up before him. Two more destinations, and several armfuls of books, and he settled in to learn as much about Scarlet and her curious power as possible.

  A fierce knock at the door startled him. “Come!” he called.

  Graham didn’t look like he’d come for a social call, a scowl across his face as angry as his knock. He opened the door, then paused in the doorway, hands balling into fists at his side.

  Mal was amused. “I assure you, force won’t be necessary. Come in, Grant Lyons, I have questions for you.”

  “I’m not here to answer your questions,” Graham growled as he stepped into the cottage. “I’m here to find out what you’ve done to Scarlet.”

  In a moment of pure mischief, Mal nearly told him exactly what he’d done to Scarlet, laying her back in the moss with her hair loose, kissing her neck, coaxing those noises of pleasure from her parted lips... he managed to keep himself from speaking, but Graham seemed to take the grin he wasn’t able to smother quite personally.

  “You keep your hands off of her and your nose out of her business,” Graham snarled. “I don’t know what you’ve said to her, but you can’t stop the sale of the resort and this evacuation is bullshit.”

  Mal sobered. “I assure you, it isn’t.”

  Graham closed the distance between them. “This is Scarlet’s resort. You can’t take it from her without going through me.”

  We can go through him easily, Mal’s dragon hissed, suggesting that they do exactly that.

  But Mal restrained himself from rising to the gardener’s threat, choosing instead to sit and gesture Graham to a free chair. Graham crossed his arms over his chest and remained standing. “Suit yourself,” Mal said mildly. “Can you tell me what her powers entail? That pressure in the room when she’s angry, do you know how she causes that? I presume it’s an instinctive power; she doesn’t have any of the usual trappings of structured magic.”

  Graham’s expression of confusion and mistrust only deepened. “I’m not telling you anything,” he said shortly.

  Mal sighed. “I understand that you have no reason to believe me, but I am actually pursuing Scarlet’s best interests here.”

  Graham snorted, but his initial bluster had muted as Mal continued to maintain his composure, to his dragon’s disappointment.

  “A terrible battle is coming to this island,” Mal said frankly. “And the more I know about Scarlet, the better I’ll be able to protect her.” He gestured to the books: a selection of mythology and magic.

  “Scarlet doesn’t need protecting,” Graham growled. “What kind of battle?” he added.

  “The kind of battle that isn’t yours to fight,” Mal said cuttingly. “This is my fight, and I’m sorry that it had to happen here of all places, but I don’t have the time or energy to watch over a bunch of misfit shifters who aren’t smart enough to get out of the way. My first goal is making sure that my mate and I get out of this alive and if you aren’t going to be helpful to me, I suggest that you go help Scarlet with the evacuation.”

  Graham’s whole body changed, reflecting his astonishment. “Your mate?”

  “Scarlet is my mate,” Mal said. It was an unexpected new thrill to say it out loud, even if the audience was looking more distrustful than impressed.

  “If you’re pretending... if this is some kind of game...”

  Mal flowed to his feet. “I don’t have time to convince you and I don’t care if you believe me.” He was as tall as Graham and as powerfully built. “All you need to know is that I will do everything I can to save her.”

  Graham looked back at him with challenge and didn’t say anything, clearly not convinced... and not ready to back off. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

  “I don’t trust you,” Graham said frankly. “You act like you’re better than everyone, like you know more, like that gives you the right to make decisions for the rest of us. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but if you hurt Scarlet, you’ll be sorry you ever set foot here.”

  “I have no desire to hurt Scarlet. I want to save her.”

  “Do you love her?”

  The question stole Mal’s breath. “More than I ever thought possible,” he admitted.

  “Then why are you making her give up everything she’s worked so hard for?” Graham demanded.

  “I’m not,” Mal said as calmly as he could manage. “It’s complicated. There’s a fight coming—”

  “We’d fight for Scarlet,” Graham growled, his emphasis implying that he’d rather leave Mal to defend himself.

  “This isn’t a fight for fists,” Mal said impatiently. “This is a fight far beyond anything you could possibly imagine and you’d only be in the way.”

  Graham took that about as well as Mal expected him to, turning red and growling before he turned and stomped away.

  Chapter 18

  Conall’s cottage had been fitted with a visual door alert; when Scarlet pushed the doorbell, the lights inside flashed so that Conall would know someone was there even if he didn’t have the assistance of Gizelle’s touch.

  “Come!” he called gruffly.

  Several items of artwork had fallen off of the wall in the rumbling earthquake, and one of the kitchen table chairs was on its side.

  Gizelle was at one end of the couch, curled into a tight shivering ball and Conall was standing beside her. “She’s doesn’t like the earthquakes,” he said to Scarlet. “And that was one of the worst yet.”

  Scarlet took a gentle seat next to her but didn’t touch her. “Gizelle, I’ve come to talk about going away.” Though her words were pitched for the young woman, she was carefully facing Conall.

  Conall scowled at her, glancing at Gizelle. Her face was still buried in her knees, her hair tangled loose around her, and she was trembling violently. “What’s this about?” he hissed. “Who’s going away?”

  “You two,” Scarlet said serenely. “We’re evacuating the resort...”

  Conall’s face grew alarmed. “You can’t just spring this on us,” he growled angrily. “What’s happening? Is it the earthquakes?”

  For a moment, Scarlet thought she would tell him the same story that she was giving the guests, that there was a terrible storm coming, that it wouldn’t be safe for anyone on the island... it was the truth and she could keep the details vague.

  Instead, she bowed her head and touched Gizelle gently on the shoulder. The young woman startled, but didn’t pull away. Scarlet thought her shivering was a little less.

  “There is a battle coming,” she said carefully, looking up at Conall. “A battle that may not leave the resort in one piece. This earthquake was just a hint of what’s to come.”

  Conall stared at her. “A battle that what? With who?”

  Scarlet chuckled humorlessly. “An ancient two-headed monster who has been asleep beneath the island for hundreds of years.”

  Conall squinted at her mouth dubiously. “A what?”

  “An ancient two-headed wyrm,” Scarlet said, then shook her head. That might be nonsense if Conall didn’t have context. What could she say that be easy to lipread?

  Conall put his hand tentatively on Gizelle and flinched at the contact.

  “A great, feathered, two-headed wyrm that has been imprisoned underneath the island, hellbent on the destruction of the world.”

  “Feathers...” Gizelle moaned. “Rain and wind. I don’t want to, don’t make me...”

  “No one is going to make you do anything,” Conall said fiercely, glaring at Scarlet. “I’m going to need a hell of a lot more information than that.�
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  “We’re evacuating the resort today, but there will be a few days before the danger is imminent,” Scarlet said as calmly as she could. Gizelle leaned into Conall’s hand, and he rubbed her cheek with his thumb. His touch had calmed her, but she was still shivering. “We can arrange private transport for you, of course. I presume you’ll want to take her to Boston, and if you want to talk about sedation...”

  “No, no sedation,” Conall said firmly. “I’ll handle the details.” He seemed inclined to believe her, at least.

  “I’m canceling the lease, of course, and the purchase of the island altogether. I’m having Jenny see what I need to do to return everyone’s payments.”

  “You’re treating this as a pretty final thing,” Conall observed.

  Scarlet met his eyes without flinching. “I don’t want any loose ends in case I’m not around to tie them up later.”

  Conall’s nostrils flared in alarm and his eyebrows knit. “Is that likely?”

  Scarlet didn’t have an answer for him. Mal seemed confident that he could find a way to protect her, but she could feel his underlying thread of doubt and worry.

  “I’m not going,” Gizelle said quietly. “The end was here.” Then she lifted her head. “Is Chef still making cherry chocolate cake tonight?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, yes,” Scarlet said, glad to see Gizelle perk up. It wasn’t often that Conall’s touch couldn’t calm her.

  “I should wear red.” The young woman slipped off the couch and padded across the cottage towards the bedroom. “So that I match the rain.”

  “I’ll let you know what I arrange,” Conall said quietly, watching her go. “I’ll probably have a private jet come tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Conall,” Scarlet said, and she wondered if he would be able to tell that her voice had cracked. “I have a favor to ask.”

  Conall frowned at her. “Anything,” he said, his tone at cautious odds with his statement.