by C. I. Black
Which only gave him more questions. Was it him? Or was the Handmaiden’s magic failing? And if the Handmaiden’s magic was failing, what did that mean?
More light seared pain through his skull, and his every muscle tensed. He fought to breathe and keep his consciousness within his body.
Not yet. Just. Not. Yet.
He needed to figure out what he was going to do. And no, it had nothing to do with the fear that once he released his magic and it connected to the woman, he’d be caught in her nightmare again.
Mother, he’d never feared that before. But then, his magic had never trapped him inside a mage’s consciousness, either. Usually he was a disembodied essence seeing the mage from afar, but last night—
Last night had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. Somehow he’d managed to keep himself mostly together in front of Raven and during the mental connection with Diablo, but he had no idea if he’d be able to do it again.
His pulse throbbed, radiating agony through his head and slicing flecks of white lightning across his sight.
Something beeped and someone moaned. His office flashed into a sterile hospital room and the beeping grew faster.
No. He wrenched the image of his office into his mind’s eye.
Someone said something, the voice muffled and tinny, as if coming from a speaker.
Not. Yet. He concentrated on his bottle of scotch, sitting on the edge of his desk. Half empty — and most of that consumption had happened last night.
Another voice. Then laughter.
The bottle snapped into focus.
“Get a room, you two,” a feminine voice said.
The hospital room vanished, and he sat gripping the arms of the chair so tight his knuckles had turned white and the muscles in his forearms cramped.
Another woman laughed. They had to be in the hall. From their footsteps, it sounded as if they were drawing closer to his study.
“We have a room, Capri,” Grey said. “And so do you. You know you’re going to get caught by one of the kids if you keep making out in the solarium.”
“They already have,” Tyler said, his reedy tenor thick with disgust. “It’s like catching your parents doing it.”
“What’s that like?” Ivy asked as the group strode past Nero’s partially opened office door.
“They say you can’t remember things,” Tyler said.
“Who says that?” Grey asked, a growl in his voice, his inamorated bond to Ivy making him overprotective.
Tyler snorted, unaware of the potential danger — still too new to the puzur to fully understand dragon behavior. “Be glad you can’t. I need to wash out my eyeballs after what I saw those two doing.”
Their voices carried down the hall toward the back of the house and the enormous kitchen. It seemed like at least one of his kids had accepted Ivy into the family. She hadn’t even been there a full day, and the puzur’s newest human member, Tyler, didn’t seem worried about the newest dragon member. Of course, that might be because Tyler still knew next to nothing about how dangerous the world actually was. Nero might have trusted Raven’s decision to tell Tyler the truth about how his father had gone crazy and killed people, but, knowing Raven, that information would have been crafted into the gentlest of blows.
Laughter burst from down the hall — the opposite direction from where the others had gone — and three of his youngest kids raced past his office. It had to be mealtime.
His gaze slid to the window and the night sky beyond.
Dinnertime?
He’d been sitting in his office all day?
He rubbed his aching temples, but the movement did nothing to ease the pain.
Mother of All, he’d been sitting there since the early morning — since the latter half of last night, really — and then the entire day. He hadn’t checked up on Raven and their new intake — a human whose pain and blazing aura promised a dangerous and powerful earth magic — and he hadn’t checked to see if Grey and Ivy had been assigned a suite and duties and been properly included in the puzur.
At the very least, he should join everyone for dinner. Even when things had been difficult, he’d always tried to participate in the evening meal. It might have been a weird human custom when he’d first tried it with the human members of his puzur, but now it was the part of the day he looked forward to.
He sat forward to rise out of the tub chair and his cell phone rang.
For a moment, he contemplated not answering, but too much was happening in the Dragon Court with Regis for him to be out of touch, and he didn’t doubt there’d be fallout from the latest mess. Hell, there was still fallout from the messes made by Zenobia and Katar over the last four weeks.
Besides, he’d never been the kind of drake to hide from his problems, and he wasn’t going to start now.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the call display. Not a number he recognized. Which meant it could be anyone. “What?”
“Permission to enter your house?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
White light sliced across his sight and through his head.
No… wait. Nero did recognize that voice. “Hunter?”
“Yes. I’d like permission—”
“Your inamorata is here. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t stop you from entering my house if I wanted to.” In fact, Nero was surprised Hunter hadn’t been by already. The initial bond between inamorated souls was often overwhelming. It explained why Capri and Ryan spent every night in the solarium and why, if Raven were smart — which she was — Grey and Ivy would have been given a suite in the wing opposite the kids’ wing. The need to be with your inamorata or inamorato consumed a dragon’s thoughts, made them irrational, and made them dangerous to themselves and everyone around them. Nero knew first-hand. He’d found his soul mate before the Great Scourge and had been overwhelmed with rage and grief when she hadn’t survived.
Another slice of light.
“Is that a yes?” Hunter asked.
Even with Hunter in a new body and without the agony screaming through Nero’s head, he wouldn’t have tried to stop Hunter. One, a dragon would fight to the death to protect his inamorata, and two, Hunter was and had always been a more powerful drake. Face to face, Nero’s chances were slim.
“Nero?” Hunter growled.
Shit. Right. This was bad. He was losing his concentration just trying to function past the pain. “It’s a yes.”
The black vortex of a gate formed in front of the office window, and with a whoosh of air, Hunter emerged. The red drake, in his new lean-muscled body with dark eyes and a dark buzz-cut, had an all-too-familiar aura that radiated more strength and power than it had the last time Nero had seen him — which had been when he’d quit his position as the prince’s assassin after Zenobia’s failed coup. It shocked Nero how fast Hunter’s earth magic had developed, and how it had grown stronger in only a few weeks. It was terrifying to think how powerful the red drake would be in a few years, let alone a few hundred.
Another snap of light.
Hunter’s eyes narrowed, his expression worried. “You all right?”
“Grey made it a very long day.”
“Not Grey’s fault.” Hunter’s tone darkened.
“Didn’t say it was.” Best to change the subject. Grey might have become an unofficial member of Nero’s puzur, but he was without a doubt a member of Hunter’s, and — if Hunter was even a fraction like Nero — the red drake would protect his unofficial coterie almost as aggressively as he’d protect his inamorata.
Nero jerked his chin to the open bottle of scotch on his desk. “Drink?”
Hunter’s gaze slid to the bottle and the single glass beside it, amber residue dried at the bottom.
“There’s a clean glass in the middle drawer.” Nero shifted, about to stand and get the glass, but more lightning blazed through him and he collapsed back, struggling to not look like he was in agony. “I’m surprised you’re being so formal,” he forced out. Maybe if he addressed th
e obvious, Hunter would go find Anaea, and Nero could get back to figuring out what the hell he was going to do.
“Grey said for a Traditionalist you were surprisingly loose on tradition, but…” Hunter gave a half-shrug that exposed his tension.
“But there are drakes calling for you to revive the Red Coterie and be doyen.”
“And a doyen doesn’t enter another doyen’s house without an invitation,” Hunter said. “Not that I’m a doyen.”
Nero snorted. “You might not have a choice in that.”
“I really hope you’re wrong.”
“And for the sake of everyone, I hope your return means you’ve found the Handmaiden.” But Nero could tell from Hunter’s grim expression he hadn’t. Which only made the situation worse, since she was the only one who could fix whatever was wrong with his dugga’s magic. It was her God damned spell in the first place, not an earth magic ability. His human body could free gate and control wind. That was it.
Hunter crossed his arms and the muscles in his jaw tensed. “I thought if I stayed away, I could focus on finding the Handmaiden.”
“But you can’t ignore the bond.” Nero hadn’t been able to either when he’d been first inamorated. “I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”
Hunter snorted. “Two weeks. I lasted fourteen whole days.”
“Without any contact with her. Trust me, that’s hard.”
“Trust you?”
“And trust me when I say spend all the time you can with her.” They might be spirits now, trapped for eternity in human bodies, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be killed. And with the Handmaiden missing, if anything happened to Anaea — the only full sorcerer currently around — dragonkind was at greater risk of becoming extinct, since they needed a sorcerer to cast the rebirth spell—
Except that wasn’t true anymore. Grey had the rebirth coin. When joined with the medallion, which was enspelled to temporarily absorb and protect a dragon’s spirit, the coin helped place that spirit in a new vessel. But if the wrong dragon got his hands on the coin, he could force any drake to be reborn — a process that stripped a dragon of everything but his core essence, essentially killing him.
Jeez, he’d thought things were complicated before.
“That’s the other reason I couldn’t hold out,” Hunter said. “Grey says things at Court are a mess. If I can’t find the Handmaiden, I need to have a plan to protect Anaea and Grey and—”
“Careful, you’re sounding like a doyen.” Nero tried to smile, but the best he could manage felt more like a grimace.
“Yeah, well, I’d swear my allegiance to you if that didn’t mess you up.”
“Please don’t. I’m not sure I can handle another ancient drake in my coterie. Grey is more than enough.”
“Ha. And here I thought you were worried I’d jeopardize your position with Regis.”
“I think me just existing jeopardizes my position with Regis.” Pain sliced through his skull and for a heartbeat, the office turned into the hospital room.
“You think he suspects you’re not a Traditionalist?”
“I think he’s on the verge of going insane, like his father.” A heart monitor beeped and someone moaned.
“That’s blunt.”
Nero yanked his attention back to Hunter, but the red drake now stood with a semi-transparent hospital wall in front of him. “And dangerous, I know.”
“Any move against Regis without the Handmaiden’s backing will destabilize Court.”
The white wall turned opaque, obscuring Hunter.
Son of a—
“Court is already destabilized,” Nero said, fighting to keep his consciousness in his office.
The beeping picked up.
Not. Real, the woman’s raspy, broken alto said. I’m Becca Scott. Captain Rebecca Ann Scott. Not Lash. Not Styx. Not Kopis. I’m Becca.
Nero clenched his jaw. He had to get back to his office — although if he’d wanted proof whether this woman was a natural mage or a byproduct of Zenobia’s coup, he now had it. Those were dragon names. Which meant she’d been unnaturally created and was clinging to herself, fighting the soul sickness that threatened all mages created by unnatural means, holding on by her mental fingernails.
Becca. Scott, she growled.
“Nero?” a masculine voice asked. Hunter. In his office. Where Nero sat. Where he had to yank his consciousness back to.
I am Becca.
God, he couldn’t help her. Not right now. No matter how much he wanted to. He needed more information. He needed a plan.
Well, I didn’t ask for your help, and I don’t need it. Fear, determination, and pain roared through Nero. All hint of his office vanished, and he was wrenched into her body. Her pulse raced. The heart monitor’s beep turned wild. Her gaze slid down her arm to a wrist captured in a leather cuff, securing her to the bed. I don’t need your help. I’m not anyone else. I’m me. God, please. I’m me, and this is a nightmare. It isn’t real.
Footsteps clattered toward her, and Becca’s gaze jumped to the door. The woman in the doctor’s coat and the dark-rimmed glasses rushed to her side.
“What do you hear? What’s he saying?”
“He’s not saying anything,” Becca said.
More lightning, more blinding pain.
Where are you?
“He’s not saying anything,” she gasped.
I can’t help you if—
“You’re not real. You can’t help me.”
Pain exploded through him, and she screamed. The hospital room shattered in shards of crystalline light that sliced into his soul. He couldn’t catch his breath—
She couldn’t catch her breath?
He had no idea where he ended and she began.
Becca Scott. Becca Scott. Becca Scott.
She fought a sob—
He fought a sob?
Light and darkness battered him. He had no idea where he was or who he was.
Crack.
His head jerked back, pain bit his cheek, and the office crashed back into existence.
Anaea, her bright blue eyes wide with concern, stood in front of him, her hand raised to strike him again. Close behind her was Hunter, his expression hard.
“I’m fine,” Nero growled.
“You don’t look fine.” But Anaea dropped her hand and stepped back into Hunter’s embrace without looking for him, the action instinctual, as if they hadn’t just spent two weeks apart and were still fully connected to each other. “Raven said—”
“Raven and I are going to have a conversation about sharing personal information.”
Anaea cocked an eyebrow and glared at him. “She’s worried, and she’s busy with the new mage. I said I’d help.”
“What the hell was that?” Hunter asked. “You were convulsing.”
“Another good reason to find the Handmaiden.” Nero rubbed his cheek. He needed to do something about that woman — Becca Scott — soon. As much as he was pissed that Raven had told Anaea about his problem, he was grateful she’d been around to snap him out of it. Next time, he could be on his own, and there was no telling if he’d be able to break free or not.
“Raven says it’s getting worse.”
“What exactly is getting worse?” Hunter asked.
“The problem with my magic that makes me dugga. It connects with human mages and lets me communicate with my team to deal with them. And it’s currently on the fritz.”
“Wonderful,” Hunter said, his voice dark. “We can’t afford to have you incapacitated like that. Not with everything going on at Court.”
“Well, I’ve looked, but there isn’t anything in the Handmaiden’s grimoire about it,” Anaea said. “I think we have to go to the Handmaiden’s secret residence and see what we can find.”
“You’ve looked for answers in the grimoire?” Which meant Raven had told Anaea everything. He really was going to have to have a talk with his third-in-command.
“The Handmaiden’s residence
is huge,” Hunter said. “Unless you know what you’re looking for, you’re never going to find it.” His grip around Anaea’s waist tightened.
“I’ll take Ivy. Maybe her magic will help narrow down the search.” Anaea ran her hands over Hunter’s forearms and tilted her head back against his chest, her pixie cut brushing his jaw. Her words said she was leaving, but her body clearly wanted to stay. Nero remembered those early days. It was as if his body and soul had had a mind of their own and it hadn’t mattered what was logical or smart.
“With Ivy goes Grey,” Hunter said. “It’ll be a four-man team, then.” His embrace around Anaea tightened. “I’ll tell Grey, and we’ll head out in the morning.”
This was getting out of hand. He hadn’t asked for help, and he damned well didn’t want anyone to risk themselves for him. No way would he allow himself to become a liability.
Except he already was.
His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. Tobias.
Wonderful. The last time Tobias had called had been to tell Nero his cousin was a traitor, had destabilized Court even more than it already was, and Grey had killed him.
“Yes?”
“Regis has called the Council for a meeting,” Tobias said. He sounded angry and exhausted. It couldn’t be easy right now, being the Court chamberlain.
“When?”
“Now.”
Swell. Nero hung up and stood, the ever-present pain in his head throbbing.
“The prince calls.” And if he wanted to maintain his position in Court as prince’s favorite, he had to keep himself together. If Regis suspected Nero was weakened or disloyal, he was dead. And so was everyone he cared about.
2
Becca Scott. Becca Scott. She was real. She was the right soul in the right body, and this was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.
But the pain in her cheek and the agony in her head made it feel all too real. Her whole body still trembled, convulsions snapped through her muscles, and she fought to catch her breath and steady her pulse. Yet even with all that, and with the connection severed between her and the devil’s master, she felt like her tenuous hold of herself was slipping through her fingers.