Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2)

by Ripley Harper

  For a few endless seconds we stand like that, his body rigid as a board and his mind closed off from me, locked away behind high walls built a long time ago. But then I soften my lips, open my mouth slightly, lean in to let him feel every curve of my flesh, and for a moment I sense a loosening in him, a hunger, a loneliness so terrible that my heart contracts with pity for this man.

  It only lasts a second.

  Then he pushes me away, shuddering. “Stay away from me!” His voice is as harsh as ever, but there is real confusion in his silver eyes, and for the first time I see something on his face I’ve never glimpsed before: naked fear. “I mean it! Don’t come closer!” His words remain defiant, but his voice betrays his terror.

  I nod. Step further away. I wanted to unsettle his certainty, not break him.

  He will be of no use to me if he fears me so much that he has to flee my presence.

  I turn around to face my other enemies.

  Pendragon is sitting back in his deep leather armchair, watching me with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Oh, bravo!” He starts a slow clap.

  “You should not have hurt my keeper,” I tell him.

  “But look at the effect it had! If I’d known this was the way to spark your magic, I’d have pushed her into the fire months ago.”

  “You will need to be punished for what you did.”

  “It was done for your own good.”

  “I’m not talking about the fire.”

  He narrows his eyes as understanding dawns. “She was injured after all, wasn’t she? You felt it, earlier when you healed her.”

  “You tried to kill her.”

  “So what?” he shrugs. “I would never hurt you. And it was all done for your sake, don’t you see? My family can protect you far better than she can. You will be safe here, with us. Safer than anywhere else in the world.”

  “Yes. Indeed. I will need your family’s help in the times to come. But if I cannot trust you not to hurt my people, you are of no use to me.”

  “You don’t even know who your people are!”

  “I know my life better than you do.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  I sigh. “You are stubborn and arrogant, and you do not fear me. But you will. This night will hold a lesson for you too.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Who is talking to me right now? Is that you, kitten? Because you sure as hell don’t sound like the silly little girl who burst into tears earlier today. Are you listening to yourself? Do you realize how you sound?”

  His words make me deeply uncomfortable.

  A difficult truth lies hidden there, one that I do not want to dwell upon right now.

  “You cannot hurt any of my people again. I need your word.”

  A mocking smile. “You have faith in my word?”

  “Your word will be bound by fire.”

  His smile fades. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Tonight, my keeper’s burnt flesh will be avenged.”

  “Oh, come on. Surely you don’t think you can push me into the fire?”

  “Of course not.”

  He leans back in his chair.

  “You will walk into the fire yourself.”

  There’s a flash of fear in his eyes, but then he straightens his spine. I can see him gathering his power to him, cloaking himself in it until thick, throbbing waves of bloodmagic pulse out all around him. “You surprised me last time,” he says calmly. “Then, I had no idea how strong you were. But I think you’ll find it’s not quite as easy to bind me to your will here, in my own home.” With his words he sends a wave of pure Enthrallment my way, the magic so strong I can taste it in the air. “You don’t want to fight me. Not now.”

  His words make it true.

  I realize that he’s right: I don’t want to fight him. I feel myself relaxing, my resolve draining from me.

  “We are on the same side. Now that I know your power is undamaged, I promise not to mate you against your will. You can trust me.”

  Of course I can trust him. Why wouldn’t I? He has been nothing but—

  I stop myself, try to fight against the thoughts he’s putting in my head.

  It’s astonishingly difficult.

  I feel my mind dulling, my will bending under the sheer force of his magic.

  “The Pendragons have always been loyal to your family. We stood by your grandmother when everyone else turned away. We protected your mother. And now we will protect you.”

  I know he is Enthralling me; I can feel the magic vibrating through my body. And yet it’s impossible not to be swayed by the truth of his words.

  “We are on the same side, you and I. My only wish, ever, has been to keep you safe. Everything I do, everything I have done, I did for that reason.”

  I want to believe him. I do believe him. He is absolutely right.

  I nod my head, relieved, when I sense a darkening.

  Something is wrong.

  Now that his power twists and curls inside me, coaxing me, seducing me to his will, I am slowly becoming aware that the magic is tainted. The sense of wrongness is subtle at first, but as the power builds, it gradually becomes stronger, until I cannot deny it anymore.

  Like all kinds of lifemagic, bloodmagic has a dark side: it can be illusionary and treacherous, a murky knot of jealousy and seduction and violence and betrayal. But its darkness is balanced by the unquenchable glow of love and passion that lies right at the fleshy, beating heart of blood—the excitement and life-giving bliss that is the true core of bloodmagic’s power.

  Pendragon’s power lacks this balance.

  His magic is lush and seductive and unbelievably strong, but it lacks the warm and loving core of pure bloodmagic. The magic curling around me now is cold and dark and twisted. Unstable. Too strong and too simple: deeply concentrated and yet, somehow, warped and polluted.

  “Your magic is perverted,” I tell him.

  “You shouldn’t believe the lies you hear.”

  “It’s not what I heard. It’s what I smell. Your magic is wrong. It’s been spoilt; it’s reeking, ruined –”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You did something terrible.” I realize the truth of my words as soon as they’re spoken. “You corrupted the magic, and now there’s no going back.”

  “We did what we had to do.”

  I look straight into his glittering green eyes, and for the first time I do not believe what he’s telling me. I do not even think he believes it anymore.

  “It ends tonight,” I say. “You will be cleansed of this sickness, for once and for all.”

  “You will not dare.”

  I look at the young man sitting next to him. “Your son has not been fully tainted yet. He can carry the burden. Your line will not be wiped out entirely.”

  “Jess. Please.” My keeper’s voice is very calm. Soothing. “I don’t think this is the right time.”

  I glance at her, pleased to see her looking healthy and well. Then I turn back to the twisted one.

  “Fire and flame will purify what has been perverted here.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” he says, “you can’t seriously –”

  “QUIET.”

  He opens his mouth only to find that no sound will come out.

  I point my arm at the enormous fireplace. “GO!”

  His face pales as he touches his throat, clearly astonished. Then he stands up and walks towards the flames.

  “Jess, no!”

  “Please, little one. Don’t do this.”

  “Monster!”

  The room breaks out in a chorus of threats and pleas as the people around me try to stop me from doing what I must. But there is no stopping me now. The Pendragons have warped and tainted my magic, and I will not allow the sickness to spread any further.

  “Your corruption will be cleansed tonight.”

  My keeper is standing next to me now, touching my shoulder, quietly talking. The boy is begging,
and the slayer is running towards me, still convinced that he can stop me.

  He can’t, of course. I brush him off like a fly.

  Pendragon’s body is shaking as he nears the flames. His face is a greenish-white and his eyes are round with fear.

  I feel no pity for him. I do not head the desperate pleas of his son; I ignore my keeper’s begging and the slayer’s rage.

  Someone must pay for what has happened here.

  I watch dispassionately as the slayer throws himself bodily between Pendragon and the fire, but even his tricks are useless now. Nothing can stop what will happen.

  I am doing what is right. What should have been done a long time ago.

  I coldly watch as he stumbles towards the flames.

  But then.

  A voice.

  Calling to me like nothing in this world ever did before.

  “Sweetheart.”

  I spin around.

  A beautiful man is standing in the doorway. “Don’t do this, please,” he says. “This isn’t you, and you know it.”

  His outstretched arm looks like a lifeline.

  And a trap.

  I look at his arm. His hand. His eyes.

  I look at his face.

  It is a face I loved once, not so long ago.

  “Please, Jess. I know you’re still in there somewhere. Come back to me, sweetheart.”

  His words do not make sense to me.

  And then they do.

  The moment my mind clears, I realize I’m about to kill a man, and I’m struck by such horror and such shame I can barely whisper “STOP!” before the world becomes a swirling black vortex pulling me into the darkness.

  Chapter 6

  She left me at the… [illegible].

  The abyss of her loss

  gapes open before me.

  But her holy shine

  the sweet and bitter pain of her

  prevent the dark plunge.

  My days pass slowly.

  I do not eat.

  I do not sleep.

  Extract from the poem To my Queen, harsh and beautiful (circa 400 BCE);

  translated from the ancient Greek by Sofia Rodriguez, (2001)

  When I wake up, I’m in my own bed. I stare at the patterned ceiling, where a row of snakes is forever eating their tails.

  Gunn is back.

  The impossible thought brings such a rush of joy, I groan out loud.

  Only to want to kick myself immediately. I mean, seriously. What’s wrong with me?

  Hmm. Nothing physical, that’s for sure.

  I stretch my limbs, test my strength, run my fingers along my skin.

  Amazing.

  The injuries I’ve been living with since I started the drills have healed completely.

  I get up, walk to the bathroom. In the mirror I see I’m looking better than I ever have in my life. My hair is a glossy green, my scars have disappeared, my skin is glowing, my eyes are shining, my body is strong and muscled and healthy. All traces of the starving, crippled, scarred and sickly girl I’d been are gone.

  It’s almost as if I’m a totally different person.

  Gunn is back.

  I push down the joy I feel, wipe that stupid smile off my face. Honestly. What kind of loser feels so thrilled at the return of the man who abandoned her in her darkest hour of need?

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask my reflection in the mirror.

  The moment I hear the words spoken out loud, I remember the rest of what happened last night and I feel my knees buckling under me.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Who was that person who brought Ingrid back from the brink of death, and kissed Zig, and ordered Jack Pendragon to walk into the flames?

  What was she?

  I think of how the blood left Jack Pendragon’s face as he walked toward the fire. I remember Jonathan’s desperate pleas, and Ingrid’s quiet warnings, and Zig’s angry cries. But most of all I remember my own calm, unruffled sense of certainty.

  I would’ve let Jack Pendragon burn to death on that fire.

  I have no doubt about it. I was so convinced of my own righteousness, so sure of my unquestionable right to judge and condemn. I wouldn’t even have blinked while he burned.

  I lie down on the cold bathroom tiles and close my eyes.

  I wish this wasn’t my life.

  When I open my bedroom door, Zig is leaning against the opposite wall, watching me. I catch his eyes for a second, just long enough to glimpse that familiar silver flash of hatred, before I look down.

  I just can’t do this now.

  I turn away from him, start walking towards the kitchen.

  He blocks my way immediately. “Get back into the room.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll tell Waymond you’re awake.”

  We stand inches from each other. I can’t bring myself to look at his face, but the sense of menace thrumming from his body makes it clear to me that he’s not going to let me take another step.

  “Into the room. Now.”

  I know I shouldn’t let him push me around; giving in now will only create more problems later on. But I step back into my room. Sit on my bed and wait.

  Sometimes you need to pick your battles.

  A minute later there’s a soft knock on my door. “Jess?”

  At the sound of his voice, my heart contracts with a mixture of feelings so intense it literally takes my breath away. I put my arms around my knees, hugging myself tight.

  “Can I come in?”

  When I don’t say anything, he gives a louder knock, then pops his head around the door. “Hi, you.” Then he walks into my room, closes the door behind him, leans against it.

  I study him in silence.

  Gunn’s blond hair has grown slightly longer, so that he now looks even more like a Viking god. He’s more tanned too, his skin now a dark golden color, and he seems different and strange and far too perfect to be real: an unusually tall, smoking hot, broad-shouldered giant of a man.

  “Aren’t you even going to say hallo?”

  His uncertain smile finally breaks the spell.

  Holy crap.

  It’s him. Here.

  In my room.

  It’s Gunn.

  As the dam of pent-up emotion inside me bursts open, I run to him, throw my arms around his neck and cling on for dear life. “Why did you leave me?” I cry, sobbing like a child. “Where have you been?”

  It’s about half an hour later. I’ve finally stopped crying.

  I’m sitting at the kitchen table, and Gunn is fixing me a cup of coffee. Earlier, while I was trying to get my tears under control, he made me some food (a toasted sandwich, some scrambled eggs), which I’ve eaten. It was good, but I’m still a bit hungry.

  We haven’t really spoken about anything yet. I wish I could say the atmosphere is tense, but the truth is that it all feels easy and comfortable and safe. Right now I’m watching the way his forearms twitch when he pours the coffee, the unconsciously graceful way he moves, and it’s so damn familiar that I can’t help smiling.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  Those same glorious dark blue eyes, that same gorgeous white smile.

  “Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

  A slight raising of his eyebrows. “You never used to swear.”

  “You never used to disappear from my life when I needed you the most.”

  He puts the coffee down in front of me and takes a seat.

  “Oh, Jess. I’m so sorry. I never meant to leave you. It was the last thing I wanted, believe me.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yeah. I did.” He runs a hand through his hair, front to back, the way he always does when he’s stressed. “There’s something you need to know. Something I should’ve told you long ago.”

  “Seriously?” I round my eyes, putting a hand to my cheek in mock surprise. “Oh, gee. Could it be? Have you really kept an all-important, life-altering secret from me?”

  One side
of his mouth kicks up in a sad half-smile. “You never used to be sarcastic either.”

  “Being abandoned must not bring out the best in me.”

  “Just listen, okay?”

  I roll my eyes, drink my coffee.

  “Right. So, there’s a rare but well-known side-effect to using magic I never got the chance to tell you about. It’s commonly referred to as “the shine,” and it happens very seldom. Personally, I lived twenty-four years before witnessing it for the first time.”

  I frown, trying to think where I’ve heard that word before. “I think Zig said something about it last night.”

  Gunn nods. “Famously, his family is completely immune to the shine. That’s why they can work for the Pendragons.”

  I give a quick glance behind me, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that my horrible bodyguard is standing just outside the door and probably listening to every word we’re saying.

  “What’s the Pendragons got to do with this?”

  “I’ll get to that in a second. Let me tell you about the shine first.”

  I roll my eyes again, take another sip of coffee.

  “As I said, the shine is a kind of ‘side-effect’: when someone uses massive amounts of magic, either because they’re reckless or because they’re simply too powerful, it’s as if the magic bleeds into their physical bodies for a while.”

  “Bleeds into their bodies,” I repeat, my voice flat.

  He ignores my sarcasm. “When I studied this academically, I was told the shine is nothing more than magic made visible. The more powerful someone is, the more difficult it becomes to separate the person practicing magic from the magic being practiced. My teacher always used to quote an old poem to illustrate the idea: Oh, bodies swayed to music, oh brightening glance/ How can we tell the dancer from the dance?”

  I snort. “Of course you can tell a dancer from a dance.”

  “In retrospect it might not have been the best analogy. Especially since that’s not what the shine is really like at all.”

  “So?” I make an impatient little motion. “What is it like?”

  “It’s like seeing the sunrise for the first time after being locked in a dark room your whole life.”