Feel the Burn (Dragonkin #8)

by G. A. Aiken

  “Nine,” Talan corrected.

  “We’ve had their souls here ever since. When I need a little extra oomph, I feed off them. Which Rhi hates.”

  “It’s one thing to keep them here, because what they did was wrong. But to feed off them is tacky.” Abruptly those silver eyes locked on Brigida. “But with you, Auntie, we’ll do it.”

  “You see,” Talan explained, “our mother gave up her life for us. And now she risks her life, every day, not just for us, but for her entire queendom. The least we can do is help her succeed. Not only to keep her reign, but to keep her people safe.”

  “And if that means,” Talwyn went on, “that we need to drink from you like a piglet draining its mum’s teat, we will. Leaving nothing but your fucked-up eye and your tail. So whatever you know, bitch—”

  “—you better fucking tell us!” Rhianwen finished on a bellow.

  Brigida studied the three of them and realized that she’d underestimated the little shit stains.

  “Yeah,” Brigida finally admitted, “I know what they’re looking for.”

  “Tell us and we’ll go get it first.”

  “Do you think if it was that easy, I wouldn’t have done it by now? Even just to have that power in me claws. But we can’t. No witch or shaman or priest can. It would just absorb our magick, trap us. Kind of like you’ve done to them over there.” She pointed at the shamans, who were reaching out to Brigida, begging for help. Any other time, she’d drain the bastards dry. But this place, with all its beautiful greenery, wasn’t a safe place for her. It was a safe place for these three. Created by these three.

  They were Abominations, all right. Brigida had her own safe place, just as she knew Rhiannon, powerful white Dragonwitch that she was, had as well. But it had taken them centuries to create a sacred space of their own.

  But to hold one, to keep it at the ready for any time they had need of it, like a bloody vacation home? To keep souls trapped in it for their own use? Brigida knew that Rhiannon had nothing like that. And it had taken Brigida more than centuries to build that kind of power. It had taken her eons.

  Yet these . . . offspring . . . the youngest was not even thirty winters yet.

  For the first time. For the first time ever, Brigida felt . . . defeated.

  “We’ll need someone else to track it down. Someone with no magicks at all, who can track it down and destroy it.”

  “My mother—”

  “No. Gods swirl around her. And your father’s bloodline is filled with magick, even for them that don’t use it much.” She let out a breath. “We need a warrior. Because this won’t be an easy get. A warrior with no magicks in her blood.”

  “Her?” Talan asked, understanding immediately whom Brigida had in mind. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Her. Because I only know of one that has all them requirements.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  It had become a ritual for them. Cooking a meal, eating heartily, then using the ash from the cooking fire to cover their faces, hands, behind their ears, and their necks so that they blended into the darkness when the suns went down. They even covered the steel of their weapons so that their blades and arrow tips didn’t flash in the night.

  Then, before they moved, they waited. With no light, they waited for about thirty minutes, until their eyes could see in the darkness. Until they became one with the night.

  Once they were ready, they moved with stealth—yes, even Zoya—easing through the trees and brush. Bows strapped to their backs, swords and daggers at their waists, spears in their hands. The Khoruzhaya siblings split off and circled around the temple. Each of the siblings always seemed to know where the other was, so Kachka worried less they’d accidentally kill each other.

  Tatyana still remained a safe distance away with her bow nocked and ready while Nina Chechneva lurked in the trees, keeping lookout and using magicks if necessary. When the heat of the battle was over, she would come in and take the souls she deemed worthy. Over the months, she’d become quite . . . choosey.

  Zoya came in from the rear while Marina and Kachka went in head-on.

  Once they were all in place, Kachka watched and waited.

  They hadn’t had the chance to warn the temple priests as she often liked to do. But, to be honest, Kachka worried less about what she’d find when walking in on an attack on an all-male religious sect. True, she often walked in on torture and abuse, but with the women . . . there was worse waiting for them and Kachka refused to allow that. She refused. So, when she could, she always warned the all-female sects. She had to.

  She watched as these priests were dragged from their religious home and tossed to the ground.

  “Tear the place apart,” the gang leader ordered. That’s how Kachka thought of them now. Not as soldiers, but as gangs of crazed cult members, running around, destroying everything, sometimes searching the temples. Kachka often kept one alive to find out what they were looking for. And every time she got no answer. Some killed themselves. Others allowed Zoya to twist them like bread dough until they died from the agony. But none of them ever talked.

  Kachka would be impressed if they weren’t such self-righteous bastards who believed their way was the only way. Their god, the only god.

  And, again, tonight, she would try to find out what these men could be looking for. And, again, tonight, she’d probably fail.

  Glancing at Marina, Kachka nodded, and Marina let out what sounded like a crow caw. As soon as she did, the first javelin shot out from the darkness and slammed into one of the cult members’ chest. Then another. And another. The Khoruzhaya siblings had become unbelievably skilled in the javelin and spear. They practiced every day, for hours. And, in battle, all that work paid off.

  After the first javelin attack, Kachka, Marina, and Zoya moved, charging into the midst of the confused men, using their spears to quickly kill them. There was no time for torture or fancy moves. They were almost always outnumbered. So they had to move with speed and efficiency.

  With their spears, they attacked one of five spots on the body: through the chest to the heart; through the neck to the main artery; through the inner thigh to the main artery; through the back to sever the spine; or under the arm to another main artery.

  Whichever was available, they hit it and they hit quick. They didn’t bother with disembowelings—as many Riders liked to do during big battles when they had unlimited backup—since it took too long for the victim to die and they were often still able to fight for quite a bit.

  The priests, who had been waiting for death, backed up, clinging to each other and praying to their gods, most likely. Kachka was always fascinated how these sects were quick to thank their gods when it had been she and her team who’d saved them. And, last she looked, there were no gods helping. Even the horse gods didn’t leave the Outerplains for all this human drama, so she never bothered to call on them for assistance.

  A flash of steel came at Kachka and she spun to the left, rammed her spear into the armpit of one man, tore it out, and rammed it into the chest of another.

  She’d just turned to go after a different man when Tatyana sent out a call.

  Kachka knew that meant more men were coming. It was a trap. She wasn’t surprised, and it wasn’t the first she’d encountered. The better they got at this, the more pissed off Duke Salebiri became.

  However . . . she’d expected a few extra men. A squad. Maybe two. Even a platoon. The six of them could easily handle fifty fanatics.

  But the Duke hadn’t sent a platoon of mad fanatics.

  He’d sent a battalion of his troops. At least three hundred well-trained, well-armed men. And all of them running right toward Kachka and her team.

  Gaius stood on a hill and stared down at the men charging toward the temple and the Riders standing between them and the defenseless priests.

  “What do you want us to do?” Brannie asked.

  The old rage, the one that had gotten him his reputation during those dark years, roared thr
ough his blood. Like Annwyl’s insanity, his rage never went away, it just lay dormant, waiting to be roused from its slumber.

  Well, it was wide awake now.

  Gaius looked at Brannie and growled out, “They’re on my territory. Uninvited. Kill them all. Leave nothing for even the crows to dine upon.”

  Brannie’s slow grin showed how much of a Cadwaladr she truly was.

  Shifting to her true form, her weapons and armor growing with her, she turned to the dragons with her and screamed, “With me, Mì-runach! With me!”

  The siblings ran out of javelins and turned to their bows. Each arrow hit its mark, taking down their victims instantly. But they would run out of arrows soon, too.

  The soldiers climbed the trees to get to Tatyana and Nina, forcing both women into the battle.

  They’d all been helping to train Tatyana, making her a stronger fighter. But this was not only too much for her—it was too much for all of them.

  They had to pull back. Kachka took a moment to look around, trying to find an exit. A way out of this.

  “Kachka!” Marina bellowed. “To your left!”

  Kachka turned, her sword raised to block the oncoming blow, her spear low to strike and kill. The soldiers charged toward her and she readied herself for the onslaught. But as the men came near, the wind around them whipped up and a black dragon in dark steel armor dropped all its weight on the men, stomping them into the ground.

  “Down, Kachka!” a female voice ordered.

  “Down!” Kachka yelled at her comrades and they all dropped as flame shot out, covering the soldiers near them.

  Screams and battle cries rang out, but there were more dragons, their flame tearing across the troops.

  Human bodies covered in fire, the men screaming for death, fell around Kachka, but ignoring them, Kachka scrambled to her feet and ordered, “Strike!”

  Her team moved quickly, ignoring the ones trying to put out the flames on their flesh and focusing on the ones wily enough to avoid the blasts.

  Kachka speared the first soldier who ran toward her, but she sensed someone moving up from behind. She yanked out her spear and prepared to turn and use her sword to slash the one behind. But before she could turn, a body slammed into her back, pushing her forward as the edge of a giant blade cut deep across her cheek.

  The soldier who’d been impaled rested against Kachka’s back, eyes wide in death, mouth forced open by the tip of the blade that had been shoved through it.

  Snarling, Kachka jerked her body to the left, avoiding the body hanging from that ridiculous weapon.

  “Gods! Kachka! Are you all right?”

  Recognizing that voice, Kachka slowly turned and faced the steel-colored dragon behind her. She had to raise her gaze to look him in the eyes, blood from her wounded cheek dripping onto her shoulder and down her chest.

  “It’s not my fault,” he said, yanking the weapon from his victim. “It’s the fault of this ridiculous blade I had to borrow from Brannie.”

  “Me?” Brannie barked, using her tail to pound soldiers into the ground. “You’re blaming me because you can’t handle a bloody long sword?”

  “This is a ridiculous weapon!”

  Shaking her head, disgusted, Kachka refocused on the battle. Her team doing what it did best.

  Those who’d come with the Rebel King, Brannie and her team, used their weapons, their flames, their tails, and one was just stomping on the enemy, the ground beneath Kachka shaking with each pound of its big feet.

  A cloth was pressed against her wounded face.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gaius said softly. He was in his human form now, his armor and weapons having shrunk down with him, so that he appeared to be any other soldier for hire, traveling the roads.

  Fingers slid under her chin, turning her face toward him. He lifted the cloth and winced a bit. “You’ll have to get that sewn up, I’m afraid.”

  Kachka continued to look over the continuing battle.

  “You won’t look at me?” Gaius asked, humor in his voice.

  “You are king and used to many protecting your back.” She glanced at him. “I am not king.”

  “I see.”

  Marina came over. There was much blood on her and some of the fur on her vest was singed from flame. She grabbed Kachka’s face, pulling it away from Gaius’s grasp. She yanked off the now blood-soaked cloth and studied the wound.

  “You will live,” she said. Marina then studied Gaius. “Why are you here, Rebel King?”

  “Heard there were enemies on my territory.”

  “And you do not send troops? Legions you have, and you come yourself?” Marina laughed. “I will never understand you dragons.”

  “Yes, well . . . since I was nearby . . . why waste the resources?” Gaius pulled another cloth from his belt. Gently gripping Kachka’s cheek, he carefully placed the soft material against her face and held it there.

  Marina, smirking, quickly turned and walked back in to finish off the rest of the soldiers.

  Kachka knew what her comrade was laughing at and she wanted to slap that smirk off her face, but Gaius was so close and she couldn’t do it without pulling herself away from him.

  For some unknown reason, she didn’t want to pull away. At least not at the moment.

  “I hope you didn’t mind us . . . helping out.”

  “It was trap set for us. I expected extra troops of more crazed god lovers. Not three hundred trained soldiers.”

  “More like two hundred soldiers.”

  “First you cut my face, then you question my counting. You irritate me.”

  “Yeah, Kachka. I missed you, too.”

  That’s when Kachka jerked away from him, reaching back to snatch the cloth from his hand so she could press it against her face. She walked away, not even bothering to look back at him.

  “If you laugh,” Aidan warned from behind him, “she will cut your throat.”

  “I’m well aware. And I’m trying.” And Gaius was trying. He didn’t want to laugh at her. Well . . . actually, he did, but he knew that would be tacky at best. He had nearly sheared her head off while trying to protect her. Damn Southland swords!

  Brannie continued slamming her tail down until the crying of the men stopped. “That was fun!” she said with a grin. For the last eight months she’d been forced to do stealthier work, sneaking up on the Rebel King’s kin and taking them down quickly and efficiently. Plus, there were often more than one or two dragons in the mix. And while that was a true challenge, sometimes a Dragonwarrior just wanted to kill. Human men were the best for that. So aggressive and sure they were strong enough to take down dragons, it made proving them wrong quite enjoyable.

  Brannie lifted her tail, realized there was a human torso attached to it, which led to her flinging her tail around trying to get it off. She did, and it flew away, slamming into Caswyn’s face.

  “Oy!” the dragon barked. “Watch it!”

  “Oh, stop whining, you with bits of leg hanging out from between your fangs.”

  “I was hungry!”

  “Gaius Lucius Domitus!”

  “Oh. Hello, Zoy—” Gaius froze, realizing that not only was Zoya hugging him, she was lifting him off his feet.

  Even more annoying was that Kachka and Marina were standing behind her . . . not helping.

  Zoya dropped Gaius back to the ground. “It is so good to see you again, my friend!”

  “You, too, Zoya.” Gaius quickly stepped back in hopes of stopping her from hugging him again.

  “You look so much better than first time I saw you. Nearly dead. Nothing but a walking corpse I thought I would be forced to bury.”

  Marina laughed out loud and walked away, but Kachka merely shook her head, the cloth on her face soaked through.

  Worried about that wound, Gaius moved around the Rider and over to Kachka. He motioned to Aidan and the dragon pulled a cloth from his travel pack. Gaius peeled the saturated one off Kachka’s face—noting that she didn’t even wince,
although he was sure it must hurt—and placing the new one on.

  “We need to get this tended.”

  “It will not kill me.”

  “I’m sure it won’t, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore a wound like this.” Gaius glanced around. “Uther,” he called out when he spotted the brown dragon.

  Uther shifted back to human and came to Gaius’s side.

  “Her cheek.”

  Uther pulled the cloth back and studied the wound. “Yeah. I can sew that up in no time. Let me get me bag.”

  After he walked away, Kachka muttered, “Uther Giant Head? He will sew me up with those large, orc-like hands? Sew me up like stuffed doll?”

  “First, don’t mock the dragon’s head. He can’t help that it’s so big. From what I heard from Brannie, he’s been cursed with that giant head since hatching. And second, he’s sewn up many of our wounds over the last few months, and he’s done a fine job.”

  “Did you give them wounds yourself? With your ridiculous sword?”

  “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

  Kachka didn’t answer, simply walked around him and followed after Uther.

  “Do not feel bad, Rebel King,” Zoya said, patting Gaius on the back—which actually felt like the time his Uncle Thracius ripped a one-hundred-year-old tree from the ground and slammed it against his spine. “Kachka has no interest in men once she fucks them.”

  Gaius turned and faced Zoya. “You forget, Zoya Kolesova. I am not a man.”

  “Oh. You are king! You think that makes you better?”

  “No, my friend. I’m better because I’m dragon.” He winked at her and walked away as Zoya’s loud laugh rang out over the valley.

  Chapter Twenty

  Uther leaned back and smiled. “There you go! Should heal up real nice. Leave little scarring.”

  Kachka stared at the dragon. “Why do I care about scars?”

  “Well . . . pretty girl like you. Figured you’d want to keep your looks as long as you can. You know, until you can trap a man.”