Flight of Dragons

by Elianne Adams, Sadie Haller, Zoe York, Shelley Munro, Zara Keane, LC Alleyne, Skye Jones, Evanne Lorraine, Ann Gimpel

  I regard the men sitting around the table. In theory, the top tier of the Fianna is a triumvirate consisting of my uncles, Tor and Boru, and their cousin, Shane. In practice, Tor is in charge, even though he is the youngest of the three.

  In addition to the triumvirate, six other high-ranking men bring the number of council members up to nine. Courtesy of Langley’s bombs, we’re one short tonight. My gaze lingers on my cousin Eoin’s empty chair, and a sick feeling twists my stomach. Family means a lot to me, even when they drive me nuts, and Eoin and I have been best friends since we could walk. The idea of losing him cuts me to the core.

  My focus is drawn back to the meeting by the entrance of Seamus Tandy, the last council member. Tandy is a dour little man with silver-gray hair and an arrogant air. What he lacks in physical strength, he makes up for in intellect. He’s skilled in the healing arts and is rumored to toy with black magic. After Tor, he is the most dangerous member of the Fianna.

  “Do you have a status update on the bombing victims?” Tor demands.

  Tandy shakes his silver curls. “None that is good. Eoin is alive, but barely.”

  “What about the others?” I ask.

  “Rooney will make it. The healers say he’s already out of danger. Richards and Byrne are still in intensive care.”

  “Curse the false gods!” Flecks of fire burn in Tor’s dark eyes. “Four men dead and four out of action, not to mention all the civilian casualties. I say we send the Grogan woman’s head to Langley. She’s a liar and a traitor and is almost certainly in league with the bastard.”

  “We don’t know that,” I say, and look at each council member in turn. “We can’t sentence a woman to death without hard evidence. And until I know whether or not Ashling is my daughter, I have no intention of killing her mother.”

  Tor’s fists come down on the stone table and the force makes the wine goblets shake. If the impact of flesh and bone on stone hurts, my uncle doesn’t so much as flinch. “We know enough,” he snarls. “The bombs were Langley’s doing. Not content with killing our men, he sends his whore with a cock-and-bull story to lure you to his lair. We can’t afford to lose a second heir.”

  “Eoin is not dead.” Not dead yet. The words remained unspoken, but they hang in the air, pervasive as the scent of decay.

  Tor leans forward, fists clenched. “If Eoin dies, we need you alive, Seth.”

  No false affection for his nephews here. My uncle holds me in no more regard than he does my cousin. He’s always been hard on Eoin, constantly reminding him of the behavior befitting the primary heir to Clan MacNeil. If he dies, that dubious distinction will fall to me.

  “I fully intend to stay alive. And if the healers do their job, so will Eoin.”

  “So you understand why we’re reluctant to let you tear off to what’s probably a trap.”

  “Can you think of a better way for us to track Langley down? Even if Lia is leading me into a trap, you’re assuming I can’t fight my way out of it.” I lean forward and spread my palms over the cool stone table. “Think about it. We’re assuming Langley is responsible for the bombings because he’s the only person who’s dared to speak out against the Fianna in the past couple of years. Until tonight, we dismissed him as a loudmouth and a nuisance but didn’t think he could do us serious harm. If Lia leads me to him, I can find out how many warriors he really has as opposed to making wild guesses, and what weapons they possess. Such information would make planning our retaliation much more effective. And Langley used to be my best friend. I know his weaknesses and I can use them to my advantage.”

  My uncle Boru frowns over the rim of his wine goblet. He’s a plump man on the wrong side of fifty with a penchant for redheads and red wine. Despite his lack of prowess on the battlefield, I’m fond of Boru. He is one of the few people who can make Tor stop and think before he acts. “Run this text message business by me again,” Boru says. “The last dragon was slain by the Druids over a century ago. How can one be stirring now?”

  I exchange a long look with Tor. Eventually, he nods. “Seth can explain the significance of the message.”

  I clear my throat. “About three years ago, one of my informants told me a tale about Adrian Langley buying dragons’ eggs on the Persian black market and hiding them in a cave in the Mourne Mountains. I passed the information on to Tor, but neither of us took it seriously. Assuming such eggs exist, they’d cost a king’s ransom to purchase. Langley can barely afford weapons.”

  Boru’s bushy gray eyebrows form a V. “Or so he’s led us to believe. He found the money to buy the bombs used in this evening’s atrocities. Maybe Langley has more financial support than we’ve thought possible. How certain are you that he’s to be found in the Mournes? It’s a long way to travel on a hunch.”

  “There have been reports of slight earth tremors in the region of the Mourne Mountains,” Tor says. “Our seismologists are baffled as to the cause. If Langley has managed to hatch a dragon, as the message implies, then it would provide a logical explanation for the tremors. According to primary sources from the Third Dark Age, dragon magic can cause earthquakes. If this is true, presumably a baby dragon could cause minor tremors.”

  “The problem,” I add, “will be getting through Pylia and locating the dragon. The Mourne mountain range is vast. It has twelve major peaks in addition to all the minor ones. Slieve Donnard is the highest, followed by Slieve Commedagh and Slieve Binnian. If I’m to scale a mountain in the company of an amateur, we’ll need good equipment.”

  Murtagh Nolan, the councilor in charge of military provisions, stirs out of his half-sleep. He blinks owl-like in the dim light of the Round Room. “I can provide you with most of what you’ll need. You’ll need to collect climbing gear from Smyde once you reach Pylia.” He steals a glance across the table at Tor. “It is unfortunate that relations with the Langleys have been allowed to deteriorate to this extent, is it not?”

  Tor shoots out of his seat. “Are you blaming me for the bombings?”

  Nolan shrugs. “Colin Langley was one of my personal warriors before you muscled the family out of the Fianna.”

  “The man was a rebel and a traitor,” my uncle growls. “If his old-fashioned notions had caught on, the Provinces would have reverted to the state of chaos they were in the time of the Druids. Plus he had Seth thrown in a rebel prison. We wasted six months trying to get him out.”

  “Gentlemen please,” Boru says with quiet determination. “Can we please focus on the matter at hand?”

  Tor’s face goes rigid and it takes a moment for him to reign in his emotions. Finally, he sits and spears me with his glare. “How likely is the girl to be your child?”

  This is the question that has plagued me since Lia’s revelation earlier this evening. I force back the raw rage that surges through my veins at the thought of all the years I could have spent with my child. I want to throttle her for the deception.

  “Lia was my girlfriend for around six months, just before the last war broke out. If the date on Ashling’s birth registration is accurate, it’s possible that she’s mine. And if she is, I’m not leaving her in Langley’s clutches.”

  Tor lets out a string of curse words. “If I—” he pauses and casts a grudging glance around the table at the other council members, “—if we agree to release Lia Grogan, there is no fucking way you two are heading north unaccompanied. We’ll send a unit of men to shadow you.”

  “Fair enough,” I say, careful to keep my voice neutral, “but if you do, send Bran’s unit. They’re the best at stealth missions.” And the best at not jumping to conclusions and going off half-cocked like some of Tor’s favorite warriors.

  Tor leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest. “All right, I’ll send Bran and his men. But know this: your priority is capturing Langley, dead or alive. You do not prioritize the Grogan women’s safety over that objective. Understood?”

  I bite back an angry retort. I didn’t expect Tor to agree to the mission so ea
sily. Arguing with him over Lia and Ashling’s safety will waste more time. “Understood.”

  Boru’s broad forehead creases in concern. “On the off chance Langley is harboring dragons’ eggs, make sure you destroy them. The Fianna promised the people we’d use the bare minimum of magic and we need to uphold that promise. Dragon magic is of the blackest kind. No one should have access to that sort of power.”

  The various members of the council murmur their agreement.

  Tor’s handsome face stretches into a grin. “Of course. If Seth finds dragons eggs, he knows what to do.” He turns his dark orbs in my direction and lowers his voice a notch. “Don’t you, Seth?”

  “I know my duty,” I say carefully, “as you know yours.”

  My forehead burns from the intensity of Tor’s stare. I hear his voice in my head, uttering words only the two of us can hear.

  “The weak need to be governed by the strong, my boy. It’s our duty to keep them safe. That is what the Fianna promised the people when we took power. If it takes a little magic to fulfill that promise, so be it.”

  I school my features into a neutral expression and focus on the gold lettering on my goblet.

  “I won’t fail you, my lords.” I add deliberate emphasis to the plural of the word. “I’ll bring Langley back, dead or alive.”

  Tor’s smooth smile is back in place. “See that you do.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LIA

  By the time Seth returns to my cell, I’m ready to claw my way through the walls. He’s been gone an hour, max, but every minute feels like an eternity. And every second of that time brings me closer to Adrian’s deadline.

  His expression is impossible to decipher. He’s back to hiding his emotions. It doesn’t suit him. His is a fiery temperament. Back when we were dating, I could read every micro expression on his face, and interpret his mood just by looking into his eyes. At some point over the last fifteen years, he learned to control his emotions—and to conceal them.

  “Well?” I struggle to my feet—no easy task with my hands bound behind my back. “If you’re not going to help me look for Ash, you can at least let me go look for her myself.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  My ears prick up. “You will?”

  “Yes.”

  My danger radar is on red alert. “What’s the catch?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  “What makes you think there’s a catch?” he replies with an arched eyebrow.

  “Cut the crap, Seth. You think I’m a spy from Adrian’s camp. If you’re agreeing to help rescue Ash, it’s only because you want to turn the tables on Adrian.”

  He chuckles and takes a step toward me. I want to run but there’s nowhere to go in this tiny cell. He extends a finger and strokes it across my cheekbone. My skin tingles under his touch and my heart rate kicks up a notch. He’s using his power on me in a shameless fashion, forcing my body to react to his erotic touch in a circumstance where I’d normally be unable to feel anything except fear. I swallow hard and force myself to maintain eye contact.

  “Everything comes with a price,” he whispers against my ear in a low, sexy growl.

  “What’s the price of your help?” I already know the answer but I refuse to let him fuck with me.

  “Whatever I decide it will be.” His eyes glitter dangerously.

  A jolt of sexual awareness shoots through me. Damn the man. How dare he force arousal on me at a time like this? Seth always had a knack for turning me on, even when he didn’t use his magic powers. It seems fifteen years and a ton of bad feeling has done nothing to diminish his effect on me. Damn the man. “Can you be a little more specific?”

  Seth’s low rumble reverberates against my ear. “If I help you to find Ash, you’ll owe me a favor.”

  My heart knocks against my sore ribs. “That sounds ominous.”

  “A favor I can call in at any time.” He toys with a strand of my hair.

  “Apart from the obvious—” our gazes lock once more, “—what can I possibly do for you?”

  “Your contacts might prove useful to me.”

  “My contacts?” I ask in confusion. Then understanding dawns. “Oh, hell no. I’m done with that lifestyle.”

  “But is it done with you?” His smile is cruel as a lash.

  “Yes,” I hiss, crushing a treacherous niggle of doubt. Pulling myself from his grasp, I look pointedly at my watch. “I haven’t the first clue where to find Adrian and Ash. I can only hope the text message enlightened you more than it did me.”

  “Unless you agree to my stipulation, we don’t have a deal.”

  I hate him. Even more so because he’s making me ache in all the right places. “Fine,” I mutter. “Now can we finally get going?”

  The look of smug satisfaction on his face begs a slap. I stifle the urge.

  “Hadn’t I better uncuff you first?” He reaches behind my back and releases my wrists from their iron restraints.

  He removes a gun from the inside of his jacket and tosses it to me.

  I catch it on instinct, only registering the pain in my wrists afterward. “I don’t want any violence on this trip.”

  He merely raises an eyebrow. “Where we’re going, violence is inevitable. And that gun is a fuckload more effective than the crappy little knife in your left boot.”

  “How did you—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a laugh.

  “Surveillance cameras with super-ray vision. How do you think I knew you were in the lane outside my club?”

  “I hate guns.” The words sound lame even to my ears.

  “If you thought the Shadow Warriors were scary, you’ll have to toughen up. We think Langley is somewhere in the vicinity of the Mourne Mountains.”

  “Ash is in the Mournes? Tell me you’re joking.” The name alone induces the first stirrings of a panic attack. Before the time of the Druids, there was nothing sinister about the mountain range located in the northern province. Then an evil spell altered the atmosphere of the area and wrought great changes on the environment. The Mournes are now considered uninhabitable. A permanent icy winter prevails, and strange beasts roam. Vines spring from the rocks at the base of the mountain range and are used to produce a potent hallucinogenic wine—one with which I am all too familiar.

  Seth extends a hand. “Ready to go?”

  A sliver of fear snakes down my spine but I flex my shoulders and take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  SETH

  My all-terrain vehicle bumps over the uneven surface of the flatlands. We’ve been on the road all day and I’m bone tired. I slide a look at Lia. She’s sitting in the passenger seat, coiled as tightly as a spring. We’ve barely spoken a word since we left Leinster House early this morning.

  “We’d have been quicker walking,” she grumbles and checks her watch for the millionth time.

  “Looking at your watch every second won’t make this truck move any faster. I’m covering as much ground as I can. In case you haven’t noticed, driving conditions are shit.”

  This is an understatement. While progress leaving the Fifty was slow due to heightened security at the border, the real fun started once we reached the outskirts of Pylia. What started as a snowstorm is fast turning into a blizzard.

  “Fuck!” I hit the brakes and ease us to a shuddering halt. “Looks like we’ve reached a wooded area. With visibility this poor, I’m having trouble seeing the trees.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to have ‘heightened senses’?” She forms air quotes with her fingers.

  I poke my cheek with my tongue and choke on a laugh. I’m still pissed as hell with her but she amuses me…and attracts me.

  “I’ve had training in minor magic and learned how to channel energy,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on the road. “I can use this to hear or see more clearly than is usually possible for a human, but it takes intense concentration. No way can I keep it up for hours. More like a minute or two.”

  “So you weren�
�t just born with the power?”

  I shake my head. “My uncles trained me as a child.” This isn’t strictly accurate but I’m not supposed to discuss the secrets of the Fianna with outsiders. In truth, I was baptized into the powers by my uncle. Generations of MacNeils have practiced minor magic to enhance their battle skills, influence the weather, and heal the sick. A few are supposed to have dabbled in the darker arts, but that tidbit didn’t make it into the official family chronicle.

  Lia squints and points through the windshield. “Is that a building up ahead?”

  “If I haven’t driven us totally off course, there should be a guest lodge nearby. I’m hoping that’s it.” I ease the truck to a halt in front of the large wooden building and kill the engine.

  A frown creases Lia’s pale forehead. “Why are we stopping? Storm or not, we have to keep going or we’ll never make it to the Mournes on time.”

  “It’s too dangerous to keep driving. The storm is due to break tomorrow morning. Let’s find a bed for the night and finish our journey after a few hours of sleep.”

  “Then let me drive the rest of the way. I don’t mind battling the blizzard.”

  “Are you insane?” I jerk my thumb at the scene through the window where snowflakes bigger than my fist are coating the windshield faster than the wipers can swish them away. “In this weather, we won’t make it further than a kilometer. If we get stuck, we’ll run down the battery trying to keep the truck heated. And that’s not counting the time we’ll waste digging ourselves out tomorrow morning.”

  Her eyes flash in the dim light. “You have a cheek talking about wasting time. If you hadn’t spent so long at your damn meeting, we’d be at the Mournes by now.”

  “My damn meeting was a crisis sit-down about the bombs your boyfriend detonated.”

  Lia curls her lip in disgust. “Adrian is not my boyfriend. When I get hold of that bastard, I’ll ram his balls down his throat for kidnapping my daughter.”