Dragon's Honor (The Dragon Corps Series Book 1)

by Michaela Kendrick

  These were not good odds, and he could not think about it.

  A gunshot echoed in the hallway and a figure to one side of him was blown backward with the force of the round. A second shot elicited a scream, and Cade’s quick glance caught sight of Aryn with the gun out, her face screwed up with determination, tears in her eyes.

  “Aryn! Run!” Don’t fight. Oh, God, she couldn’t win this.

  You don’t choose your side based on who you think will win. He heard the words echo in his head as he slammed his knee into one of the attackers, and a second glance caught Aryn’s lips moving, repeating something to herself.

  Keep moving. Keep moving.

  She would make a terrible soldier, but the woman was brave as hell.

  He was dumping the fourth body unceremoniously on the ground when he heard the attack coming. His focus shifted, a woman’s hand driving into his sternum and a fist across his face as he turned. Another section of the wall was opening behind Aryn as she stumbled backward, eyes still focused on one of the original attackers.

  “Aryn!”

  But it was too late. She wasn’t even turning her head by the time they reached her. An electrical buzz sounded as a tool connected with her body and she slumped.

  There was no hope, none at all, but Cade found that he did not care in the slightest. A primal roar burst out of his chest as he leaped for her, hands curling into fists. He would kill them if they hurt her. He would kill them all, and damn the consequences. He could not feel his body any longer—he was instinct and fury. He caught the man who was reaching down for her, Cade’s momentum carrying them back and over onto the ground.

  Hands were on him, these new guards better trained than the first set. They were not ready to be picked off one by one. They were going to work together, hold him down for a killing blow. A fair fight with a Dragon was a good way to die. Even as a knife pierced his side and he heard his own yell of pain, Cade felt a certain professional appreciation that the Warlord’s soldiers knew better than to let pride get in their way.

  He needed to move fast now. He was bleeding, and he didn’t have much time before that slowed his reflexes. His training was carrying him now, the absolute logic that guided a Dragon into battle. Defeat was not an option. There was only the best move, and the best move after that, and the best move after that…

  He reached for Aryn’s unconscious form, to pick her up off the ground and drive his way through the ranks of soldiers. If he could just withstand the blows, signal for Ellian—

  Chapter 28

  She came to in a blur of black and shadows that didn’t quite seem to make sense, shouts and the sickening thud of bone and flesh. Hands were at her arms, her head lolling on her chest as someone pulled her up, and her stomach heaved. When someone pulled her head up by her hair, she gave a cry of pain.

  “Shut up,” a voice hissed in her ear.

  “What’s—where’s—” She broke off as she saw what was happening before her.

  She would not have recognized Cade if she hadn’t seen the distinctive pattern of his cuffs, the Pallas crest embroidered in grey thread. The seal was half-covered in blood now, the white of his shirt soaked, red at once dark and too bright on the marble floor. His face was covered in bruises. As she watched, another of the soldiers directed a kick at his ribs and he flinched in pain. They’d bound his wrists to keep his hands away from them and there was no way for him to protect himself now.

  Her eyes filling with tears, Aryn looked around at the prone shapes on the floor. This was revenge, payback for the men and women they’d taken out, and they were hurt Ellian for what she’d done, too.

  “It was me,” she whispered. She shook her head against their hands. “It was me. I shot them.”

  “We’ll make sure to tell the Warlord that,” a woman’s voice said cruelly. “And we’ll just see what he thinks of it.”

  “Please.” Aryn was sobbing now. She heard a bone crack and Cade gave a cry of pain. His eyes were half-closed, blood seeping from a split lip. “Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him anymore. He was only trying to protect me.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t kill him.” One last, vicious kick to his side. “After all, someone has to tell that husband of yours where you’ve gone.”

  She had to act fast. Before they could stop her, Aryn drew in as much breath as she could and screamed at the top of her lungs. A kick caught one of them as they tried to get a hand over her mouth and she ducked her head away from their blows, her voice at the highest pitch she could manage, screaming Ellian’s name over and over. James was dead, but there was still Colin, and Ellian was a fair shot—

  There were too many of them. They picked her up, still screaming, and she was dragged into the passageway, screams echoing wildly in the tiny space, her hand reaching out for Cade where he still lay on the floor, bleeding out.

  “Cade! Ellian!”

  “Someone shut her up,” one of the soldiers said, annoyed, and a fist drove into Aryn’s stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs. She struggled to draw breath as they hauled her along, feet scrabbling on the floor. She would not let them use her as a hostage. She had to get away, get away and get help for Cade. She would not go with them. She planted her feet and pulled, but it was useless. They hauled her along like a sack of potatoes, swearing each time she managed to hit one of them.

  They emerged into soft golden light, and she was half-thrown onto a carpeted floor, getting an impression of dark bookshelves and a glass ceiling on her way down. When she looked up, the breath went out of her in a half-sob as the Warlord’s mask peered down. He examined her for a moment before looking up.

  “There was no need to hit her,” he said, in that falsely mild tone that made Aryn’s teeth ache. “I specifically said she was not to be damaged.”

  “She shot Evans and Ling,” one of them muttered.

  “I don’t care about that.” The Warlord’s voice was a snarl. “I said she was not to be damaged.”

  “She—”

  A bullet took the man in the head, and he went down as Aryn screamed, scrabbling backward. She looked up into the Warlord’s mask and had the eerie feeling that he was smiling at her. He waited a moment, and then, apparently satisfied that she was not going to try to run, looked over the assembled soldiers.

  ”And where is the bodyguard who was to bring her?”

  “Dead.” The woman who spoke was clearly trying not to look at the body on the carpet. “The other one caught them in the hallway.”

  “I see.” The Warlord’s tone indicated that he was not overly concerned to lose a man who could not win a one-on-one fight. “And that one?”

  “We left him for Pallas.”

  “Reasonable.” The Warlord swept his gaze around the group. “You may go.”

  “We shouldn’t leave you alone with her, sir,” one of them protested. “She might be armed.”

  “A good point, Pike. Are you armed, Ms. Beranek?”

  The question was so sharp and so sudden that Aryn felt her head shake before she had a chance to consider her answer.

  “There. You see, Pike? She’s not armed. You may go.”

  This time, no one protested, though a few of them threw glances over their shoulder at Aryn as they went. She shivered. She would have to be very careful not to run into any of them in a dark hallway; she could see revenge in their eyes.

  There was a long silence while the Warlord went to one side of the room and Aryn looked around herself warily. Everything about this room spoke of luxury. The carpet under her hands was softer than anything she had touched before, the golden light came from within hollowed-out crystals carved into the shapes of flowers and birds, and the books on the shelves were old, very old. A painting on the wall had captured the Warlord’s palace as it was when Aryn was very small, an airy confection of spires and glass. She felt her eyes fix on it, swallowing. On clear days, they could see it from Io District.

  “Beautiful, wasn’t it?” The Warlord spoke from
close behind her.

  Aryn jumped, looking up at him.

  “Please, my dear, there’s no reason for you to have to sit on the floor.” He watched her for a moment, then looked back to the painting. “It was the loveliest castle. Until my own soldiers turned on me.”

  “In the—” Aryn closed her mouth, biting her tongue sharply to remind herself. She should not say that she knew who he was. That, she sensed, was a good way to get herself killed.

  “Do go on.” The mask stared at her, pitiless.

  “In the…past,” Aryn finished lamely. “It must have been a long time ago. I remember the castle.”

  “Ah, yes. You would, wouldn’t you? You’re…what, twenty-four? Don’t look so surprised. I know everything about you, Ms. Beranek. Your family, your marriage, your unfortunate infatuation with that bodyguard...”

  Aryn looked away, crossing her arms. Sitting on the floor seemed to be the biggest defiance she could summon at this juncture.

  “What, are you upset that he was injured?” The Warlord seemed amused. “He very likely won’t die, you know. But you could never have had him. Ellian wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  Revulsion came up so quickly that Aryn could almost taste it.

  “Had him?” she repeated softly.

  “Oh, he’s yours, I’ll grant you that. Besotted. Quite impressive, really. But what use could he be to you?”

  “Use?” Aryn turned to look at him now, spitting the words back. “Did you think I wanted him to be a toy?” Before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out. “I’m not like you.”

  “Ah. Careful, Ms. Beranek. Up until now, I’ve been a very kind host, but I do not take insults lightly.” The mask watched her. “That will be your only warning.”

  “If you were being kind, I wouldn’t be here.” Aryn pushed herself up at last.

  “My dear, you do look a mess. Let me send for someone to redo your hair. We can’t have you at dinner looking like that.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Spoken like an angry child. I don’t particularly care if you’re hungry, my dear. You will be accompanying me to dinner to show your husband the cost of his actions.”

  Aryn paused, her eyes narrowing.

  “Did you not realize what this was? Oh, dear.” The Warlord waved negligently at a couch. “Please. Sit.”

  Aryn considered it for a moment, decided it was likely not booby-trapped, and sat gingerly.

  “Now.” The Warlord sat across from her. “Where were we? Ah, yes.”

  “You know, I don’t mean to interrupt, but…there’s still a body on your floor.” Aryn felt the hysterical urge to laugh rising in her throat. This was too ridiculous. It could not be real. “Your rug is going to be ruined.”

  “Don’t speak.” The Warlord’s voice was cold. “I will tell you when to speak.”

  “Do you think I’m going to beg Ellian to get me back?” Aryn asked acidly.

  “Whether you do or not is quite irrelevant, my dear. It’s what our dear Mr. Pallas wants that is important now. And I am quite sure that he will do whatever it takes to have his lovely wife returned to him.”

  Aryn looked away, and the Warlord laughed.

  “Did you really think your little defiance would hold? Persuading him to stop dealing with me was a masterstroke, I admit that. Who would think the little rebel girl would amount to so much? Oh, yes,” he added, when she looked back at him sharply, “I knew all about your past. Ms. Beranek. As does Mr. Pallas, of course.”

  “He doesn’t know,” Aryn said, her lips numb. She shook her head. “He doesn’t.”

  “He and I spoke about it when he first asked me for you. We agreed it was a wonderful irony. Such fire! If all rebels were as charming as you, my dear, I should have a great deal more trouble with my commanders—and I should have anticipated, I see now, that you would work your magic on Mr. Pallas if I gave you over to him. But, you see, the hold you have on him…the irrationality that drives him to defy me…” The Warlord leaned forward, his voice a hiss. “That is my weapon as much as it is yours, Ms. Beranek. For I would bet a great deal that Mr. Pallas will agree to any terms I choose, to get you back. And it would be an especially sweet irony, would it not, if that was how your little rebellion was destroyed?”

  Chapter 29

  Everything hurt. Cade tried to open his eyes and gave a hiss of pain. Either one of his eyes was covered with a bandage, or it was swollen shut—and from how much light hurt in the other eye, it seemed almost a mercy. He couldn’t seem to move his arms, but he did as much of a check as he could. A faint distortion of his torso to either side revealed the half-itch of healing skin as well as a stab of pain, and twisting one shoulder up and then the other revealed bruises, but not the particular, needle-like hurt of broken ribs. He’d been patched up by someone.

  Cracked lips opened and he tried to croak out Talon’s name.

  “Hello, Mr. Williams.”

  Cade froze.

  “I wouldn’t try to move if I were you.” Ellian’s voice was almost amused. “Your side doesn’t seem to be quite healed yet, although Colin tells me that the ribs healed well. Your liver will take a few days to get back to normal, as I understand it. It’s truly marvelous what modern medicine can do, is it not? You had about five minutes left when we found you.”

  So the knife had gotten his liver. Well, that explained why he felt like death warmed over. There were ways to get the toxins out of your system. Very effective, he recalled with a certain humor. Very high survival rate. It only occurred to him now how big a gap there was between survival and actual wellness. He pulled at his hands and felt his arms jerk tight.

  “I just said not to try to move,” Ellian said. “Was that somehow difficult for you to follow?”

  Cade craned his head slightly, opening his one good eye to see the ropes securing his hands to the top of the bed. So that was why they wouldn’t move. Lifting his head, he saw that someone had paid the same attention to his feet. This was not, he felt, a good sign.

  “Why—”

  “We’ll get to that presently. You know where Aryn is, I expect.”

  “She’s not here?” Cade’s blood ran cold. He jerked up, the bedframe rocking as he strained at the ropes. They did not shift, and there was no help forthcoming from Ellian’s disembodied voice. “Goddammit, if she’s still with the Warlord, we need to get there now. Get me up. I need adrenaline.”

  “No.” Ellian sounded bored. He sighed. “Are you quite done, Mr. Williams?”

  “We need to get to her,” Cade said, through gritted teeth. “If he has her—”

  “Mr. Williams, all in good time. You and I have matters to discuss.”

  “What matters?” Cade demanded. “There’s nothing—”

  Something heavy and blunt slammed into his side, and he heard a scream burst from his throat. Stars clouded his vision, and when they cleared, he looked up into Colin’s eyes.

  “Matters,” Ellian said coldly, “such as your plan to run away with my wife.”

  The nightstick came down again and Cade’s breath was driven from his lungs. He gasped for air.

  “What—” he managed. “What are you—”

  “I’m not particularly interested in your denials.” Ellian paused, and Cade saw Colin nod in response to an unspoken command. He flinched, but there was no getting away from the blow.

  He was going to die here. The thought came to him in a flash and he wrenched at his hands, pulling one free with a scrape of raw skin and the violent blows of the nightstick raining down on his torso and his head until the world went black.

  When he came to, his hands were tied once more and there was the feel of cold metal pressed against the side of his head.

  “Shall we begin again?” Ellian asked, his voice deathly soft.

  Cade said nothing. He could taste blood in his mouth and new bruises aching on his body.

  “Very well. Would you be surprised, Mr. Williams, to hear me say that I knew all about yo
ur little flirtation from the start?”

  A pause. At last, Cade shook his head slowly.

  “Ah, at last we’re getting somewhere. Thank you for admitting it.”

  “We didn’t—”

  “You will speak when I ask a question.” A burst of pain exploded across Cade’s side. “Now. You must have known that I am aware of everything that goes on in my house. I am not a fool.”

  Cade shook his head.

  “What are you shaking your head to, Mr. Williams? Do you think I am, in fact, a fool?”

  Cade shook his head.

  “Then do not interrupt. What fascinates me is…well, I confess there are two things. First, that it took so long. It took a great deal of prodding. You didn’t break when I had you in her rooms. That was impressive. Not even when I sent assassins to the airport, either.”

  “That was you?”

  “I believe I said not to interrupt.” At least there was no blow this time, for which Cade was eminently grateful. “I would even be willing to bet that you didn’t have her on the ship, did you?”

  “No.”

  “So there it is. The famed self-control of the Dragons. But you let it go, didn’t you? Much farther than you should.” When Cade said nothing, Ellian’s tone sharpened, “Answer me.”

  “I—”

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “I loved her.” The words burst out of him.

  “And you think this makes you special somehow? James loved her, too.”

  “James…” Was it blood or anger he could taste? “Sold her to the Warlord.”

  There was a pause, and Cade imagined Ellian’s eyebrows up in surprise.

  “Is that so? Yes, I can see it is, no need to answer. Very interesting. I wondered where the attack would come from.”

  “You’re not…” Cade winced. “Angry?”

  “Surely one merchant can appreciate the work of another in this world. I should have seen it coming. And at any rate, Mr. Williams, you should consider that James made a far better bargain than you. I’ve no doubt that Aryn herself was part of his price.”

  It was a great pity that James was already dead, because Cade felt the urge to kill him again. He tried to calm himself.