Hoarding Secrets (A Dragon Spirit Novel Book 3)

by C. I. Black

  One minute she stood framed with the light behind her. The next she was at his side as if she’d rapid free gated the few feet, even though he hadn’t felt a whoosh of wind.

  His brain stuttered and when he could focus again, bright blue eyes wavered into sight. Sharp cheeks, delicate chin, and a short pixie haircut. Anaea.

  Not Ivy.

  His throat tightened, sending more agony racing through his head. Ivy wasn’t safe. Bolo and Jet were still—

  Except he couldn’t figure out how to finish the thought. They were still something. A danger? Out there? But if they were out somewhere, where was he? He had to be somewhere, too, but he had no idea how he’d gotten where he was or what was happening.

  God, it was so hard to think. The pain kept making his thoughts jump, little jerks that shot white lightning through his skull and threatened to steal his consciousness.

  Anaea leaned closer, her cheeks wet with tears, her white aura so bright it hurt his eyes.

  He said her name. Anaea’s name? No. Ivy’s? He was sure he’d said something but, Mother, he didn’t know any more.

  Anaea frowned, her expression confused as if she knew he was trying to say something but hadn’t understood what. More tears trickled down her cheeks and her aura faded for a heartbeat, revealing a pale complexion — paler than the first time he’d seen her, and she’d been dying from cancer back then.

  Another figure rushed into the room. Bigger, darker, and radiating danger.

  Grey tensed and more pain screamed through him. The room blackened, his consciousness teetering on the edge. He dug mental claws into his awareness and wrenched himself back to consciousness. He couldn’t pass out again. He needed to find Ivy. The only thing that mattered was Ivy.

  Anaea moaned and grabbed her head. She turned to the figure, her body shaking, her breaths desperate gasps.

  “I got this,” a raspy tenor growled. The figure nudged Anaea out of the way and Diablo’s face jumped into focus. “Drink this. It’ll make you stronger.”

  Diablo slid a hand under Grey’s head and pressed a glass to his lips. Cool liquid slid over his tongue. He swallowed and Diablo eased his head back.

  “What did you give him?” Anaea asked.

  “Carfentanyl.”

  The weight around his chest increased, but not painfully, softly. It enveloped him, like a heavy cocoon, and the jagged edges of agony dulled, just a fraction, just enough that he could almost concentrate on Anaea’s expression.

  “What the heck is that?” Her voice had grown soft, suddenly far away.

  “Elephant tranquilizer.”

  She gasped and grabbed Diablo’s arm. “That’ll kill him.”

  Diablo’s face blurred and darkness swelled around the edges of Grey’s vision.

  “How is it that you keep forgetting we’re not human?” Diablo snorted, the sound slicing through the darkness. “I’m just hoping with his slow healing, it’ll knock him out long enough for his soul magic to do its thing. I’m not sure with your newly developed empathy you can handle him being awake right now.”

  Something soft brushed his cheek and a tingle of an aura slid against his. Ivy. Warmth flooded his chest and he fought to open his eyes and look at her. But he couldn’t make his lids open, couldn’t concentrate past the pain and the darkness and—

  * * *

  Ivy sat at the back of the nook, her knees hugged tight to her chest and her chin on her knees. Servius had shoved her there after Jet had left, and while she had no way of telling time, she was pretty sure not much had passed. An hour at most. Certainly not the six hours needed to complete the spell to join the coins. And while he hadn’t used his magic to imprison her, he still stood between her and escape — and with his ability to control wind and stone, running wasn’t an option.

  Sure, he might appear to be mesmerized by the magic in the podium knitting the coin back together, but she didn’t doubt his magic would capture her before she made it out of the nook. It was the only explanation as to why he hadn’t bound her with stone or rope. If she was going to be of any use to Nero and his coterie — even if they just wanted to hide from Servius — she needed as much information as possible.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but her words caught in the knot in her throat, and the ice in her gut churned to arctic proportions.

  Servius glanced at her and cocked his eyebrow. Blue memory fire danced near his neck over a heavy silver amulet on a silver chain and along his arms over his shirt, where his tattoos were. She could only imagine the emotion imprinted in the tattoos’ ink. They had to have been drawn there by magic, since his soul healing would have dissolved them — unless, of course, the human he’d taken the body from had already had the tattoos. It was surprising with an aura as powerful as his, clearly indicating he was an ancient drake, that he’d have so few things on him alight with memory fire. This was not a sentimental man—

  Or he knew about her powers.

  The urge to say her power word tickled the back of her throat, but not because of the overwhelming ache in her soul. That had disappeared the moment Grey had shared his memories with her and it was still gone. No, it was the need to learn something, anything, that might help Nero defend himself against Servius that compelled her. Knowing he was a sorcerer was good information, but if she could learn something more, it could be the difference between life and death — and having your soul reborn counted as death, since it stripped everything away from a dragon that made them who they were.

  “What?” Servius barked, his voice low and filled with danger.

  “I, ah— I’ve never met a sorcerer before.” It was a lie, she’d met Anaea, who both Grey and Diablo claimed was a sorcerer and who terrified Ivy, but it was the first thing she could think of.

  “Don’t be an idiot. Of course you’ve met a sorcerer before.”

  Ivy’s pulse stuttered. “I have?” Did he know about Anaea? If he did, then did he know about Grey’s association with Nero?

  “The Handmaiden. When she rebirthed you, I’d say—” His eyes narrowed. “I’d say less than fifty years ago.” He cocked his head to the side. “Certainly less than a hundred.”

  “Right. Of course. The Handmaiden.” Except she couldn’t remember the Handmaiden, only that she’d been told things about her. “I only met her the once and so briefly.”

  “And let me guess, you think she’s wonderful.” Servius rolled his eyes at her.

  “I—” This felt like a trap. If she agreed with Servius that she thought the Handmaiden wasn’t so great, would he turn on her for denouncing the dragons’ only sorcerer? Except she wasn’t the only sorcerer. There was Anaea and now Servius, who had more than enough magic to be dangerous. “I don’t really know her. I don’t—”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know anything.” Servius’s gaze slid back to the coin as if he couldn’t bring himself to look away from all that power for too long. “Even a hatchling with only a year in this so-called existence knows something.”

  “Tobias doesn’t let me out much.” Her power word flooded her thoughts. Just say it. Find out what the most recent memory on his clothes was. But he knew about her magic and would know what she was doing. She couldn’t just take a peek without risking everything. He might value her magic, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t outright kill her if she endangered his plans.

  “Because the chamberlain has no magic. Power over you is his power.” The muscles in Servius’s jaw clenched. “The only real power Tobias holds is what Regis gives him. Do the prince’s bidding and you can have anything you want.”

  “And when you’re king?” Her pulse pounded. She didn’t expect him to tell her his plans, but maybe he’d let something slip, a little detail that could give Nero the upper hand and meant she wouldn’t have to risk using her magic.

  “Drakes would no longer need to live in fear. I’ll protect all drakes alike.”

  Except her and those he suspected of betraying him. He’d keep her to root out traitors, and if s
he didn’t, he’d rip her soul out and give her body to someone else.

  Her pulse roared. She didn’t know what to do or how to learn anything about him. Worst of all, she had no idea how to escape when or if she learned anything.

  “The reign of the Sumerian dragon king is over. This is the birth of a new age of the Zhongguo dragon emperor.” Servius bared his teeth at her and his aura flared. His forearms bumped together and a gust of wind swept through the room, shaking the books in the shelves. “Obey me, and you have nothing to worry about.”

  That sounded an awful lot like Regis, but she was smart enough not to ask how Servius would be different.

  “I’ll bring dragonkind together, join the coteries like Constantine did before the Great Scourge.” He glared at her as if he expected a response.

  But she didn’t know what to say to that. “I know all the doyens will follow you.”

  “There will be a few who won’t, but I have a fix for that.” His gaze leapt back to the coin. “The trick, little hatchling, is to strike before anyone knows you’re attacking.”

  A hint of memory flickered through her. Just a flash. The ground hurtling toward her, and a sense that his body was too small and too crowded.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t even said her power word and she was seeing things. He was going to realize what she was doing and kill her.

  “Human sorcerers taught me that.” His gaze drew inward.

  Her pulse jumped into a wild tattoo. He wasn’t acting as if he’d noticed. Maybe she could use her magic.

  She whispered her power word and the earth snapped back into focus, rushing toward her as she dropped to her knees, while someone else screamed inside her head.

  No. Not her head. Servius’s. It felt like a memory of his first body. The fall had just happened, and his soul had been forced into a living human vessel already containing a human soul. The human soul howled, captured in a mental box created by Servius’s soul magic, while Servius pressed his hands to his chest, trying to regain his mental balance. His fingers touched something heavy around his neck. The medallion he was currently wearing. That was where she was getting the memory.

  But this wasn’t a memory she wanted. She needed to see his plans or something about him. Anything other than his first moments as a human.

  The image jumped to Servius in his current human body, his aura small and weak, indicating he was still young. He grabbed the medallion from a tabletop, but hints of magic crackled over his fingers, heating the silver and burning his hand. With a yelp, he dropped it onto the floor and stared at his hands. Magical energy crackled over his skin, but somehow she knew it wasn’t lightning or fire, but raw sorcerer’s power. Power he feared and couldn’t control. Yet.

  Which wasn’t useful information, either. She already knew he had the sorcerer’s ability, the power to draw on the primal energy of the universe and bend it to his will with concentration, chants, and glyphs.

  Except that, the thing about chanting and glyphs, she hadn’t known. She must have learned what the sorcerer’s ability was from the memory in Servius’s amulet. But that still didn’t help.

  Her magic jumped to Servius trying to weave a spell. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen, but light exploded around him and drew a scream.

  Darkness enveloped her. Servius growled and his face — his present-time face — appeared out of the darkness. Behind him, magic radiated from the podium, growing stronger as if it was still building in power.

  The ice within swept into her chest. He’d discovered her using her magic and she hadn’t learned anything. Her throat tightened. Why couldn’t she have just learned something useful? But that wasn’t who she was. She was a hatchling and broken. Even if she could learn anything new, she had no way of telling anyone. Not even to avenge Grey or protect his friends.

  A hint of fire curled tight around her heart. Grey hadn’t thought she was helpless. She might be young, but she’d still protected him by killing Bolo. She was a dragon, with magic, and if Servius knew she was using her magic on him, she was damned well going to get something useful.

  She concentrated on her power word, filling her mind with it and focusing on how her magic felt swelling into the recesses of her soul. Darkness swept around her again, a breath of wind hissed past her, and her vision jumped back into a memory.

  The medallion sat on a table again while Servius sliced a small thin line into his forearm, connecting it with another blackened line, then trickled ink into the wound. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his expression was tight. His aura flared and crackling white magic danced over his skin as he prevented his soul magic from fully healing the wound and expelling the ink.

  The memory flickered but stayed with Servius, his attention focused on the minuscule piece of tattoo he’d created… except Ivy was sure time had passed. At least a few days where he’d spent the entire time pouring his sorcerer’s magic into the wound, preventing his soul magic from properly healing it and adding strength to the spell he was building.

  With a sneer, he sat back. It was finally done. He pressed his forearms together, but nothing happened. Emotions from the medallion indicated this was supposed to work. He’d spent years drawing the glyphs into his arms and imbuing them with the magical power to summon wind.

  He flipped open a book and stared at the page. All the glyphs were correct. He hadn’t made a mistake. Each line had been drawn with agonizing concentration. So much time had been wasted on a theory that etching the glyphs with blood and ink into his human vessel would give him earth magic.

  With a huff, he sagged onto a hard wooden chair and stared at the mark on his arm, his fingers absently tracing the whorls in the medallion.

  This had to work. He couldn’t have been wrong. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward.

  The image wavered and a second ghostly image overlaid the first as if she was seeing his arm from two different memories at the same time.

  He frowned and his gaze locked on a small sliver of clean skin, shimmering with soul magic in the middle of the line he’d just carved. The glyph wasn’t complete. Just that small break, no wider than a thread severing one line, and the whole spell wouldn’t work.

  Ivy gasped. That was it. Damage the glyphs on his arms and he’d lose control of the earth magics they mimicked.

  Pain sliced through her chest, wrenching her hold on her magic.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Servius growled.

  She jerked forward, snapping free of the vision but driving Servius’s sword deeper into her before she realized he’d impaled her again.

  He bared his teeth and hissed, looking feral, more dragon than human. “Using your magic on me won’t help you.”

  “I—” Blood bubbled into her mouth.

  His sneer deepened. “Learn anything useful?”

  “No, I—” She fought to breathe past the agony. She couldn’t let him know that she knew how to stop his earth magic. “My magic is sometimes hard to control.”

  His eyes narrowed, but she knew from his memories that newly awakened magic was sometimes difficult to restrain — at least it had been for him — and he thought she was a hatchling. Meaning her powers could still be very new, too.

  “This place. It has so much memory attached to it.” Please let him believe that.

  “And what did the Handmaiden’s residence tell you?”

  “That it—” Mother, she hadn’t seen anything about the residence, but she had to tell him something. “That she—” The magical light around the coin flared. “That it took her a long time to make that pedestal.”

  Servius huffed. “Doesn’t surprise me.” He yanked his sword from her chest. Blood gushed from the wound, and her head spun at the pain and growing weakness from blood loss. Instinct pressed her hands to the injury, even though in a few minutes it would be sealed shut and her soul magic would be working to fix any damage done to her organs.

  The soft thud of footsteps sounded, and Jet strode
into the nook’s entranceway. Her gaze slid from Servius and his bloody sword to Ivy.

  “What?” Servius barked.

  “Seems Grey is more resilient than first expected.”

  Servius turned to face Jet, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening. “He’s still alive?”

  “I don’t know.” Jet squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “But someone called for help.”

  Servius glanced back at Ivy. “Who did you call?”

  “Whoever was the first number on Grey’s speed dial.” Ivy forced herself to shrug, lancing pain through her chest, and praying Servius wouldn’t see past the lie. “I don’t know who that was. You knocked the phone out of my hand before I could talk.”

  “Probably the blue drake leading the North American Clean Team,” Jet said. “I’d heard they were friends, and the location was spotless. No Grey, no Bolo, and no blood.”

  Servius swore. “Spotless location does suggest the Clean Team, but how close of friends are they?”

  “You mean did Capri take Grey back to Court to face Regis’s justice?” Jet crossed her arms, appearing more relaxed, but a tense wariness never left her eyes. “I can go to Court and find out.”

  “No. If Grey is imprisoned in Court, good, but we can’t risk her protecting him.” Servius’s gaze leapt back to the pedestal and the coin pieces. “We also can’t risk him having told her where we are. Even if a bullet to the head did stop him, we have to anticipate an attack. Any drake who learns about the rebirth coin will want it.”

  “Yeah.” Jet’s gaze followed Servius’s to the coin. “But you’re a sorcerer.”

  Servius flashed his teeth at her. “And a descendant of the Zhongguo dragon empress.”

  “The throne rightfully belongs to you,” Jet said.

  “Guard the entrance, and kill anyone who approaches.”

  Jet raised an eyebrow. “Kill?”

  “The situation has changed.” The light from the pedestal flickered, casting trembling illumination across Servius’s face, making him appear wild and dangerous. “Some souls will have to be lost to the universal ether before this is done.”