Reap Not the Dragon: (An Urban Fantasy Series) (Age of the Hybrid Book 2)

by Debra Kristi

  Sebastian’s glance darted to where Mr. Johnson had been. The Reaper was no longer there. In fact, he was nowhere. He was gone. This probably wasn’t a test. It was too brutal.

  The guy bent down, got right in Sebastian’s face. His eyes were dark pools of ink. They matched the midnight matted hair that lay across his head and hinted to the beast hidden beneath the human mask. His teeth were sharp nails.

  Sebastian studied him, tried to identify his species, but all he really wanted to do was sleep. His eyelids felt heavy. Letting his captors win actually seemed like a plausible choice.

  “So, this boss of yours?” Sebastian prompted.

  The guy poked him hard in the shoulder with his index finger. It knocked Sebastian off balance, toppling him all the way to the ground. All the bodies gathered around him laughed. Sebastian lifted himself partway up.

  “She’s going to take pleasure tearing you apart.” His eyes sparked, and he rubbed his fingers together enthusiastically. “And I will take great pleasure in tenderizing you.” His fist slammed into Sebastian’s face.

  Everything turned the most brilliant color of white. Sebastian imagined this must be what it looked like for his clients moving through the doorway onto the other side. So fantastical.

  Then his head hit the ground.

  He was drained and exhausted. Rest sounded like a good idea. Only for a few minutes. Then he’d have his strength back, and he’d bring down Hell’s fury on these little brimstone shitters.

  Closing his eyes, he forgot his cares and the real, unjust world. He let the Mara within him pick his future. Eyes closed, he drifted off to sleep.

  He was only mildly aware when they shoved him in a trunk with the net still wrapped around him, and hauled him out sometime later.

  The coffee needed to be stronger. Much stronger. What it really needed was a shot of the good stuff. Marcus opened the cabinet above the bar and grabbed a bottle of his private stock. Without a word to his houseguest, he poured a shot in the mug in front of him and took a sip. Better, but he wasn’t there yet. He closed his eyes and rolled his head and shoulders. Way too much tension. His rotator cuff tendons popped.

  “Tell me again,” he said. “Why is he down at the club?”

  Leila stood in the middle of the kitchen, still as a statue, her robes draping onto the floor like an old painter’s cloth. “Because, old friend, I have use for the boy.”

  Marcus huffed. He wasn’t pleased with the way things were going, but he wasn’t ready to sever his relationship with Leila just yet. She was still useful. “Make sure you keep him out of my way. I don’t want him meddling in any more of my plans.”

  Leila had her arms folded across the front of her, and the sleeves of her cloak covered every bit of her form, dripping down the front of her like melted wax. She opened her arms wide, breaking the impression, and feigned a small curtsy. Marcus knew it to be bullshit. Stubborn as she was, she bowed to no one. “Of course, my lord. Your agenda is the priority above all.”

  “If that’s the case, why not simply cut his throat? He’s unnecessary baggage.” Marcus took a slow sip of his coffee and watched Leila over the rim of his mug.

  She lurched forward, slamming her hands on the counter. “He is mine! Understand? You don’t harm him unless I say so.” Her voice seethed with rivaling authority, and yet she spoke so softly Marcus found himself leaning closer.

  There was no sweat or flinch on Marcus’s end. His reaction was to laugh. Except, he knew laughter wouldn’t serve his purpose. It would only upset the wild spirit standing in his kitchen, and he needed all his pawns in line.

  “Very well, Leila. I’ll play it your way—for now.” He set his coffee on the counter. “But consider this a warning. If I find him, at any point, standing between me and what I want, I will not hesitate.”

  Leila’s eyes glowed from beneath her hood. The effect diminished her pretty face. For the briefest of moments, Marcus tried to imagine what it would be like to be one of her conquests. Were the days so unbelievable, the sex so astonishing, that the nightmares were overlooked? The slow drain of life left unnoticed? He found it hard to believe.

  The front door banged shut. Marcus spun around to see Kyra standing there with keys in hand, a stunned look etched on her face. Her burgundy handbag flopped from her shoulder to the crook of her arm. She didn’t move. “I didn’t expect…”

  “Got home early.” Marcus leaned against the counter dividing the small living area from the kitchen. As he did, he casually glanced back into the little room. Leila was gone, the sliding door to the balcony open. “You too, I see.”

  Kyra moved into the room. She set her purse and keys on the coffee table. “I was feeling a bit off. Decided to come home.”

  Marcus raked his eyes over her from head to toe. He could tell she was acting different, even if she tried to hide it. He suspected it had to do with her morning encounter. Even if she wouldn’t readily divulge any information, he knew everything that went on in her life. He left nothing to chance. Negating the space between them, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “You alright? Need to rest?”

  She turned away from him and laid the back of her head on his shoulder. The aversion didn’t go unnoticed—the fact she made no immediate attempt to circle her arms around his waist. More often than not these days, her embrace was far too loose. He was losing her. He wanted to blame that little carnie fuck for showing up this morning, but he knew the truth. He’d been losing her for a while.

  Didn’t matter. Once he got his dragon back, she would fall in love with him. Women loved power. He would be the epitome of power. All beasts within the heavens, on earth, and in the underworld would bow to him. For he was, and would be again, the most feared dragon of them all. Fire raced through his veins, laced with the laughter of his oncoming victory. He would rule once again. Rule it all.

  He looked down at Kyra. “I will take you for my queen.”

  She blinked and the edges of her eyes crinkled as her face torqued. “What?”

  Marcus didn’t answer. Not with words. He turned her to face him and pressed his lips to hers, hard and furious. His hand dragged through the locks at the back of her head while the other pulled her in tighter and lifted her off the ground. She was his and no other’s. He would mark her as so.

  Blood dribbled down Sebastian’s chin, staining the front of his shirt. Liquid copper filled his mouth. He spat the blood clear, but its flavor lingered, seeping around his teeth and gums.

  The Mara Web was gone and he sat chained to a chair in the center of a large cage. The space was the size of a tiny bedroom, barely enough height for him to stand on his toes and stretch his arms above his head. As things stood, he wasn’t moving from the spot. He’d given up struggling against the bonds hours ago.

  The room containing his prison gave little clue to where he was. No sound from the outside world reached its way in. He took that to mean the walls were heavily insulated. The souls in the surrounding area hinted to a commercial setting. As did the memories of his captor. Memories—now they were an interesting reveal. Be it tomorrow or next month, the fact Sebastian could pick the memories from the air meant the monster in front of him had already been scheduled for demise. Sebastian had felt the same mortality in the alleyway, earlier. Although, there were more memories then, from more monsters.

  Whack!

  The hit was hard, solid, and Sebastian’s head swung to the side with the force of the blow. The stocky guard grinned before hitting Sebastian in the jaw again.

  Sebastian spat more blood onto the prison floor. “Is there a point to this? An interrogation, perhaps?”

  The guard rocked back on his heels. “Nah. Just like it.” He stood towering over Sebastian, filling all available space from the floor to the top of his cage.

  “Excellent.” Sebastian’s word dripped with sarcasm.

  The door at the far side of the room opened, the thick metal dragging across the cement ground with a scraauc
h. Light shifted and spilled in from the opening, and three people entered. More toy soldiers, Sebastian thought. Two took a seat at the table in the corner, ignoring Sebastian and his tormentor, but one made eye contact. He leaned against the edge of the bars, scrutinized the beating Sebastian received. Based on the guy’s speckled gray hair, Sebastian guessed he was the oldest in the room. Then again, maybe not. It was only a mask, after all. All his captors had remained camouflaged in human form. For his benefit, he suspected.

  “You’ve done enough, Dover.” Stepping into the cage, the older guy dropped his hand on Dover’s shoulder. “Leave some for me. Others like to have fun, too.”

  Dover’s face morphed into a sure-thing sneer, as much as the monster-man could sneer, and in that moment, Sebastian saw the gray, wrinkled skin and horned nose. He narrowed his stare at his beast of a captor. “Absolutely, Boss,” Dover grumbled, then spit at Sebastian and stepped aside, taking up residence in the far corner of the confined space. Sebastian ignored the gesture. Instead, he focused his attention on the new boss in the room taking point.

  “If the purpose of all this is to annoy me, you’re doing a damn good job,” Sebastian said.

  Boss laughed and dragged a chair into the space. Spinning the back to Sebastian, he sat straddling the seat and set his gaze on his captive. The seconds ticked by without a word. The sound of his steady breath imitated a metronome, not that Sebastian needed any relaxation triggers. He was fine. “You seem to be quite the prize. People want you something awful,” Boss said.

  Sebastian noted Boss was rather stout, most likely an aspect of his true being. Sebastian tilted his head, feigning sincere interest. “By people, you mean…?”

  Boss pointed. “That’s not going to work. You won’t get any information out of me, nightmare creature. So tell me—thing—what does it feel like to be the only boy in an all-girls club?”

  Sebastian raised a brow. He picked up on the subtleties. Boss was talking about his Mara nature. There was no mention of Sebastian’s other ability. He was beginning to think the Mara in him was all they cared about. Maybe it was all they knew about. He wondered how he could use that narrow knowledge to his advantage. He shifted in his tight position, tried to get comfortable and look laid-back, indifferent. He didn’t want these guys to think he was intimidated. “It’s kinda cool, actually. Who wouldn’t want to be the only guy? The ladies adore me.” Sebastian tossed his head back and gave what he thought might be a cocky grin.

  Dover dashed across the cage and slammed him in the face, a head-butt—face to face. It was like getting smashed with a skull of iron.

  Sebastian grimaced. Tried to pinch away the blinding light of fracturing pain. “Hey! Can you keep your dino off me?”

  The room filled with low laughter. Boss looked to the group, then assessed Dover, before returning his attention to Sebastian. “No, I don’t think I will.” He laid his arms across the back of the chair and leaned closer. “You see, that’s not how things are going to work. You might be used to being something special,” he used air quotes for emphasis, “worthy of VIP treatment, but you’re not. On the contrary, you’re a freak. You never should have been. Maras are like banshees, a role meant to be filled by women. So tell me, why you?” He cradled his chin in his hand and waited for Sebastian’s answer.

  Sebastian spat more blood. He wanted to wipe his lip, but knew any effort to do so was a waste of time. A heavy sigh heaved through his chest. “I don’t know. Why is anything the way it is?”

  “You’re an anomaly. A monstrosity. Her reason for wanting you is incomprehensible.” Boss turned to his comrades in the room. “Right, guys?” They roared in concurrence.

  “Who?” Sebastian questioned. “Was it the Mara I felt in the alley?”

  Boss didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, pushed the chair away, and began to pace within the cage’s small confines. The keys clipped to his belt jingled at his hip and his fingers clutched nervously at the side of his gun, never actually touching the metal. His other hand scratched at his hair. “What I don’t get, and maybe you can explain this to me”—the gun came free of its holster and he began to wave it in slow swirls—“is for a monster, Maras are too damn beautiful. I mean, demon-damn-dazzling. It ain’t right. Look at you!”

  Maybe he was about to die at Boss’s pent-up anger and frustration. Didn’t matter. Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Emotion such as Boss’s was always personal. Considering what Boss was doing to him, Sebastian didn’t feel too sorry for any misery some Mara had caused him or his family in the past.

  “You got a name?” Sebastian asked.

  Boss turned the gun on Sebastian and aimed it between his eyes. “What the demon Hell does my name have to do with anything?”

  “Only trying to be civil. Don’t want to share, that’s fine. I’ll call you Boss-boy. How does that sound?”

  Boss-boy growl-grunted at Sebastian’s insult of a name and pushed the gun up through his hair.

  Sebastian remained steady, knowing any wrong move risked setting Boss-boy off in a terrible way. “Let me explain something I’ve come to understand about Maras.” Sebastian watched Boss-boy as he moved across the back of the cage, and then returned to the chair propped in front of him. Boss-boy watched him through squinted eyes and harnessed his gun. Sebastian took his cue. “A Mara’s true face is anything but beautiful. You only see beauty because your brain cannot interpret the truth. It is easily fooled by the harmonics at which she resonates. It causes your brain to perceive her as magnificent. The reality is far different. Kind of like you folks.” Sebastian turned his head and spit blood residue in the direction of their audience. “We all know you don’t look like this in your true form, do you?”

  Dover laughed. Not Boss-boy, though. He snarled and his face shifted to a beast form, flesh pulled tight over his skull in long bands. Finally, a pure view. Sebastian immediately recognized him as a behemoth. The two at the table looked in their direction and for a second Sebastian could see their true faces, as well. Everyone in the room was a behemoth.

  That couldn’t be good. A room full of chaos monsters the size of hippos. Someone had it out for him.

  “What purpose do you guys stand to gain holding me?” Sebastian asked.

  “I don’t like him.” The call came from the table in the corner. Sebastian strained to see which of the two had spoken. It was unclear.

  Dover’s hand twisted on the bars of the cage, his gaze burning into Sebastian. Sebastian was confident that if it were up to that man, he’d already be dead. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it, but pure hatred boiled in Dover’s irises. The guy’s festering emotions ate away at Sebastian’s Reaper intake channels.

  Boss-boy sat sideways on the chair. He rocked back and forth, carving a small hole in the seat with his knife. “Just keeping you out of the way. That’s all we got to do. Keep you out of the way.”

  Things were clicking into place for Sebastian. He suddenly feared for Kyra more than ever. “What are you talking about?”

  The behemoth snapped his head and stared at Sebastian. His eyes were stained with a multitude of blood-colored cracks. “Nothing.”

  Dover stepped forward. “Boss?” His head jerked back around. “His Majesty didn’t say anything about keeping him alive. Only the Mara did. Since when do we take orders from her?”

  “Damn straight!” Boss-boy said. The behemoths shook their heads. “But he is listening to her.” Boss-boy stared into the space of the cell.

  Sebastian glanced between them, soaking in their words and appraising their mental states. There was a Mara in the mix, working with Marcus, and for whatever reason, she wanted Sebastian. How could he use that information to his advantage? “Tell you what. Why don’t you at least loosen these chains, so my limbs don’t fall off? How ’bout we start there?” Sebastian spoke quietly. Every sound bounced off the room’s walls, magnifying tenfold.

  “Why don’t you shut the freak up!” Dover yelled.

 
Sebastian went silent and watched him.

  “What the hell you looking at? You think I’m funny-looking? A little too fat, too big? Can’t hold a candle to a pretty Mara boy?” His hand twisted on the cage. The metal groaned and tore. He now held a long, jagged shaft like a weapon.

  “Hey.” Sebastian stumbled for words. “I think you need to calm down.”

  Boss-boy stood, moved the chair out of the way. “I probably should have told you. His dad was sucked dry by a Mara. He has a bit of a problem with your kind.”

  Sebastian’s eyes grew wide as he watched Dover retreat and join the others at the table. Where was his father when he could actually use the bastard? Damnation. He didn’t want to go out this way. Not before he saved Kyra from her plight.

  Sebastian cleared his throat and addressed Dover. “Sorry about your father. You know I had nothing to do with that, right? I don’t hunt like a Mara. You’ve got me all wrong.” Dover’s hand tightened on the metal rod and beads of sweat ran down the side of his face.

  From the far end of the room, beyond the closed door, pops exploded. Shots were being fired. Confusion flashed across Dover’s face. It turned to resignation and he moved back toward the cell with purpose. Is someone finally coming to help me? Sebastian wondered. Maybe. Or maybe it was something else entirely, and he was going to get caught in the crossfire.

  Everyone in the room was on the move: Boss-boy on Dover’s heels, the others running for the door. “They’re coming. Secure the room,” Boss yelled.

  Sebastian looked around wildly. Looked at their faces, then to the door. “Who’s coming?”

  More shots rang out. Yells and screams echoed through the wall. A banging on the heavy metal of the secured door followed. Something was trying to break into his prison room.

  “I’m here!” Sebastian called out.

  “Shut up, you freak!” Dover shoved the steel rod through Sebastian’s stomach.

  Sebastian’s mouth slumped open and he looked at the metal protruding from his body. Blood spilled out at an alarming rate. Dover stood before him with a wicked grin on his face. Sebastian wanted to knock the irritating look off, but his hands were still tied and his strength was draining fast. He whispered, strained and difficult, blood sputtering from his lips.