Merlin led the way, staying low and a few paces ahead. Thankful for good balance and the peculiar spikes in his metabolism that seemed to be urging him faster, Lucan ran at full speed, appreciating the raw energy pouring into his body.
Cael screamed once more. Pain hit Lucan, but he braced, building a mental shield to protect him from the worst of her raw agony. Despite his newfound pain filter, despite his extra strength and power, he wasn’t moving fast enough. He tried to force his legs into a quicker run, but oddly, his pace was laborious. He looked down and the sidewalk was too far away, as if he’d tripled in height. But his eyesight was much sharper than ever before. Tattered clothing and a torn shoe, his spaceship-supplied multi-tool and laser poking through the sole, littered the ground.
What the hell?
His mind was slow to process. His human legs had turned into mountain-sized limbs. He was tall, heavy. Huge.
A dragon.
And his mate was crying out in agony, calling for him on the mental plane. Pure instinct, rage, and dragon power took over. Lucan flapped arms that had grown into wings and flew, soaring into the air without effort, without thought.
He had only one goal.
Protect Cael.
Guard his mate.
Save her.
Lucan banked right. He spied men. Flying machines that spat fire. And they turned those weapons on him.
Without hesitation, without a plan, he flew in fast and hard, curving, diving, and swatting. With a whack from his powerful wing, he knocked one machine into another. The crash and flying debris on the front lawn of the house made the other machines swarm like flies.
The scent of gunpowder singed his nostrils. Blasters stung his flesh and incited his fury. These men were keeping Cael from him.
Hurting Cael.
She screamed again, and her distress set off his primal rage.
He roared his fury and breathed fire, catching two men in the flames. The next time he roared, he’d aim better. Kill more. Flames took precious energy, energy he couldn’t waste.
A machine flew in close to his wing, and he batted it down near the front porch. Metal fragments flew, exploding in every direction. Men guarding the door dropped to the ground, injured or dead.
Lucan landed by the porch and his legs buckled. He rolled and managed to shove back to his feet. He was weak. So weak. But Cael was inside this building. He could smell her blood. Her pain.
She needed him, and he had to go to her. But his wings had grown so heavy he could barely lift them. In frustration, he rammed against the portal.
And then once again he was human. Naked and human.
Move. His human brain kicked in. He took in the battlefield, the downed skimmers, the dead bodies and realized that he had caused this devastation. Killing by instinct with fire and mighty wings, he’d fought with a primal and alien savagery he hadn’t known he’d possessed.
These men wore the uniform of the Division of Lost Artifacts, but since they were all masked he suspected they weren’t here on official business.
He peered inside the building, and his gaze slammed to… Oh, God. Cael.
She hung by her neck from a chain, so bloody she must be dead. His knees buckled and he staggered forward. “Cael.”
He should never have left her.
“Cael,” he whispered.
Shocked, horrified, he shook with nausea as the heavy weight of loss assailed him. She had to be dead. Not even Cael could survive so many wounds. Blood trickled down her scalp, matting her beautiful hair and flowing onto the chain that had prevented her from dragonshaping.
“Cael?” Perhaps, just perhaps, she still breathed.
She raised her head. “Run,” she whispered, her eyes hopeless with misery. “Save yourself.”
After all she’d suffered, she was worried about him? A roar of fury surged up his throat, but for her, he kept his tone gentle. “Who did this to you?”
A masked swordsman, thickly built and in his prime, stepped from behind Cael. To get to her, Lucan would have to go through him. He hoped the bastard was ready to die.
“Hold on, Cael. Just hold on,” he said softly, sick in his soul at what she’d suffered. “Soon, I’ll have you free.”
Lucan breathed hard, preparing for battle. With a war cry of fierce fury, he advanced, his hands itching to choke the life from the swordsman who’d dared to hurt Cael. So what if he had no weapon save his wits?
Scooping up a broken pot, Lucan tossed it at the man’s head. The man ducked, and Lucan picked up a broken chair.
His opponent lifted his sword, no doubt expecting Lucan to raise the chair to protect himself. Instead, Lucan hurled the chair at the man’s feet. But weak from dragonshaping, he couldn’t toss hard enough. The man didn’t go down, just lost his balance.
Lucan staggered forward a half step, but the man cut his advance short with a swing of his sword. Lucan leaped back, but not in time to avoid a slice across his middle. A mere flesh wound was a small price to pay to learn the man was skilled. An amateur stabbed, a master sliced and diced.
And Lucan was about to be shredded to pieces if he didn’t find a weapon long and strong enough to block that lethal blade. Dodging the swordsman’s advance, Lucan retreated and kicked a broken shelf right into the guy’s knees. The man grunted in pain, lost his balance, and retreated a step.
But Lucan was running out of room. His back was almost against the wall.
As if reading his mind, Cael spoke, her voice raw, “Pipe.”
He followed her frantic gaze to a wall heater and the pipe beneath it, almost hidden by decorative molding.
The swordsman swung, and Lucan ducked and lunged, skidding over the side of a toppled couch. He landed by the wall, yanked the pipe from the heater.
The swordsman picked that moment to attack. The sword sliced toward his neck. Lucan raised the pipe to block a glancing blow and scrambled sideways, stumbling to his feet.
The pipe was lightweight. Some kind of aluminum alloy. Nowhere near hard enough to stand up to a direct sword blow. He’d have to make do.
Eyes gleaming, his opponent advanced. He slashed, once. Lucan shifted right. He slashed again. Lucan spun left.
Lucan had to wait for the right moment. His opponent had the better weapon. The advantage.
Wait.
He might get only one shot.
Wait.
Sweat rolled into his eyes.
Wait.
When his opponent tripped over a lamp, Lucan attacked, lunging with the pipe. The man recovered his balance and sliced the pipe in two.
Moving lightly from foot to foot, half a length of pipe in each hand, he balanced on the balls of his feet.
Watch the eyes.
He expected the man to feint, then attack. But the swordsman retreated, pivoted, and swung his sword tip.
At Cael’s throat.
Eyes wide with terror, she tried to pull back. But the chains held her fast. She couldn’t do more than flinch. One thrust and she’d be dead.
Rage poured adrenaline into his system. He’d been too slow. He’d waited too long. Now Lucan had only an instant. And even if his muscles weren’t trembling with fatigue, no way could he cover that much distance in time to save her.
From out of nowhere, Merlin flew at the swordsman, his talons raking the man’s face. With a howl of pain, the man stepped back from Cael to protect his eyes.
Hefting the pipe like a spear, Lucan heaved it at the swordsman. The rod sailed through the air, aimed straight for the man’s chest and vital organs.
At the last instant, the attacker spied the oncoming danger and shifted. Instead of striking his chest, the rod struck a hard blow to his sword shoulder. With a yowl of pain, he dropped his weapon, and it skidded out of reach.
Lucan closed in on his opponent, and Merlin flew to a high windowsill.
The man swung a wild punch and Lucan took a hard fist to the jaw. Shaking off the blow, Lucan lunged for the guy’s knees and tackled him to the flo
or. Lucan crawled on top, hammering the guy’s face with his fists.
His opponent twisted and turned away from the facial blows, giving Lucan his back. A fatal error. Lucan snapped the man’s neck, and the clasp of Cael’s necklace loosened. The heirloom fell into his hands.
With a final heave, Lucan tossed aside the body. Fearing the worst, shoving to his feet, he stumbled to Cael’s limp body.
Oh… God. She didn’t appear to be breathing.
Sick with dread and terrified the noose had cut off her air supply for too long, he fought to free her. Her blood drenched the chains and made the task a slippery nightmare. His hands shaking with the fear he’d injure her further, he finally released Cael from the noose. As she toppled to the floor, he broke her fall and carried her to the overturned couch. Stomach churning, sickened by how much she’d suffered, he tried to be gentle. Kicking the couch upright, he placed her on the cushions. Her chest rose and fell.
She was breathing, and a measure of relief filled him. But when she whimpered, rage sliced through him. He wanted to kill the son of a bitch all over again.
Carefully, he liberated Cael’s wrists and ankles from the chains. As he tended the nasty cuts, she didn’t open her eyes. Amazingly, thanks to her dragon constitution, her bleeding stopped and within just a few minutes her wounds began to close. Gently he replaced the necklace around her neck.
She opened eyes still clouded with pain. “Lucan? Why are you naked?” She frowned in confusion. “Are you really here?” Lifting her hand to him, she stroked his cheek.
“I’m really here.” He placed his hand over hers and held it against his face. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” Her eyes softened. “Why aren’t you in Avalon?”
“I felt your pain.”
She caressed his cheek. He abruptly stood. “Let’s see to your wounds. Where’s your pack?”
She sagged back onto the sofa. “I’m not sure.”
“I’ll find it.” Every step was a huge effort. He had to force his legs to move with willpower alone. When he searched the living area, he saw a body he hadn’t noticed before. This man was injured but alive. On his feet, he would have been a tall man, well built. His current complexion was pale, his breathing ragged. Blood seeped from a bandage on his brow and matted his dark hair. From the looks of him, someone had patched him up. Since he wasn’t dressed in a military uniform or masked, Lucan left him alone. But if the injured man tried to hurt Cael, he wouldn’t live to take another breath.
Lucan found her pack by the window and glanced outside. Smoke from the downed skimmers curled into the blue sky. The dead lay scattered across the lawn like broken toys. Reinforcements might already be on the way, but Cael was in no condition to flee.
Neither was he. He could barely walk. Forget running.
Returning with the pack, he kneeled beside her and opened it. “What do you need?”
“Green tube.”
He found three and held them out to her, but when she tried to take them, her fingers trembled. She was playing tough. Brushing aside her hand, he sat beside her, scooted over until her head rested on his lap. “Still hurting?”
“I’m better.” She watched him, her eyes glazed with residual pain.
“What can I do for you? Smooth this over your wounds?” he asked.
She groaned. “It’s not medicine, it’s food. Platinum.”
He smiled. “Then open up.”
He squeezed out a line of green paste onto his finger, and she parted her lips, then slowly and delicately licked the paste from his finger. She sighed, and the sound whispered between them, a warm pulse against his fingertip.
He squeezed out more food, and this time her lips closed around his finger, sucking him in, drawing the nutrients in eagerly. She was clearly gaining strength.
Then suddenly she was taking the tube from him and pushing his hands away. “You need to eat, too. Platinum helps the healing process.”
Her voice was a throaty whisper. As she grew stronger titanic relief filled him.
After squeezing a line of platinum from the tube, she pressed her fingertips to his mouth. He could taste the tang of the platinum combined with the salt of her skin, a tantalizing combination.
“See.” Through half-shuttered eyes, she gazed down at his stomach, where he was surprised to find his wound already healing.
“Your turn.” He fed her more platinum, enjoying the moment.
He peered out the window, then back at her. “How long until someone arrives to investigate?”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“There are five crashed skimmers on the front lawn, as well as about thirty charred bodies. I dragonshaped. I killed them all.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You dragonshaped. Here?”
He nodded, liking the fact that he’d surprised her. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Cael, but I need to keep you safe. Are more of those military guys going to show up?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and winced as a wound opened, then slowly rehealed. “The guy was following Brennon’s orders and was in league with Elder Selick.” She raised her hand to stroke her necklace.
At the thought of how close he’d come to losing her, his throat tightened and he had to clear a lump before he could speak. “You should replace that flimsy clasp.”
“Thanks.”
He forced himself to look anyplace but into her eyes. “We can’t trust anyone. As soon as you’re fit to travel, we should leave.” Somehow he’d summon the energy, but from where, he didn’t know.
She motioned to the other tubes. “You need to eat more.”
Before he had a chance to protest, she pressed more platinum to his lips. “You’ve dragonshaped. Used platinum, too. I need your strength. Please. Eat.”
He did as she directed, because she was right. He needed to keep up his strength to protect her. But he couldn’t deny that he liked how much she was worried about him. “Did you find your sister?”
“I haven’t seen her. Her husband, Depuck, told me a man grabbed her during the attack. She fought and got loose. Then the man chased after her. We don’t know if she escaped… or if he caught her again.” She held up her hand to forestall him. “That’s all Depuck knew.”
Lucan swallowed the food, and energy surged through him. This was a new kind of hunger—for platinum—that he would have to feed to keep up his strength. The platinum tasted delicious, but despite his craving, he ate only one tube.
“Don’t conserve. Your body just dragonshaped for the first time, right?” she asked, her gaze full of wonder.
“Yes.”
“You had an initial supply of platinum and hydrogen—”
“From where?”
She cocked her head and smiled. “Your skin probably absorbed it when we swam in the pool.”
In the pool? Had swimming there started his physical changes? He recalled them playing in the water, making love.
“But you can’t get enough nutrients through skin absorption. You’re weak.”
As much as he yearned for the energy, he shook his head. “You need food more than I do.”
“My wounds are surface cuts. My organs are whole and fully formed. Yours are still developing. Trust me. You need to eat.” She dropped another tube into his lap.
He ate the second tube and could have downed a dozen more. He made a mental note: don’t run out of platinum. “How long before you’ll be well enough to leave?”
“I can’t abandon Depuck.” She swung into a sitting position and moved toward the wounded man lying on the floor. “I must see that he’s safe.”
Lucan held her gaze. “What do you want to do?”
As if their voices had awakened Depuck, he groaned, sat up, and stumbled to his feet. Although she’d barely recovered from her own wounds, Cael hurried to him, wedged a shoulder beneath his arm to support him, and staggered under his weight.
“Here. Let me help.” Lucan supported the man’s other side, and t
ogether he and Cael helped him to the couch.
The man spoke in a croak. “I’ll recover. You must find Nisco.”
“Depuck. You need more rest.” Cael placed two fingers on his neck, but he pulled back before she could take a reading.
“When you have Nisco back safe, I’ll rest. Please. Go after her.”
Cael shook her head. “We won’t leave you—”
“You must.” Depuck removed a communicator from a broken drawer. “I’ll hide and call for help if I need it.”
“He’ll be all right.” Lucan placed an arm over Cael’s shoulder. “Let’s find your sister.”
Depuck looked at Lucan as if noticing his nudity for the first time. “You need clothes. Mine are in the master closet. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” Perhaps once he dressed he would feel more like himself. Because the emotions roaring to life inside him were… alien.
Cael led him through a maze of hallways, through a triple-door entrance, and into a master suite. Inside was a private apartment with music and meditation rooms, a media area filled with monitors and windows, an exercise zone that included a swirling lap pool, and finally a closet, brimming with clothing.
If Nisco lived like a queen, then what did Cael’s residence, the home of the High Priestess of Avalon, look like?
Only one thing was missing in this luxurious residence—servants. People who lived this well didn’t clean and cook and garden, they employed others to do the menial chores.
Perhaps the workers had run away at the time of the attack. Or maybe they’d deliberately stayed away, allowing the atrocity to occur.
Lucan grabbed a tunic and pants from the master closet and dressed, grateful the clothes fit, covering the scales on his arms and legs. “Where are the caretakers?”
“Caretakers?”
“Cooks, maids, butlers?” he asked.
“Nanobots clean. Nisco likes to do the cooking herself. The gardeners come in at night.” Cael helped herself to her sister’s clothes from another part of the closet and removed her own bloody garments.
Cael’s wounds had already closed. At the sight of her flawless skin, he sucked in a deep, steadying breath. And forced himself to look away.
“What about alarm systems?” He found boots and shoved his feet into them. Too small. He strapped on a pair of rugged open-toed sandals that worked just fine.
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