Stroke of Fire

by Kira Nyte

  The air caught beneath his wings. Stormy blue bolts flew around them. Gabe spiraled, avoiding the hits.

  Syn kept on Gabe’s tail until a bolt cut painfully through his wing. He tilted as the membranes failed to catch air and give him lift. The burn of the hit coasted up through his wing and down his body.

  Another bolt tore through a membrane in his other wing.

  A shocking vision of the last battle with the Baroqueth flashed through his mind. His wings tattered, unable to lift and carry his dragon’s weight. The reality of dying. The explosions and screams and roars that filled the air with battle’s lament.

  Only now, he had Briella to live for. To fight for.

  There was no way he could recover his flight pattern. He pulled in the dragon slowly as he descended in a chaotic spiral. The ground came up fast and he braced for impact. Even with scales, he’d still suffer pain and possibly more damage to his body.

  Searing heat and the force of the universe slammed into his chest. Fire spurted from his mouth as the crush of his chest squeezed the air from his lungs. The hit drove him tumbling backward, off his original course, head over feet.

  A roar erupted somewhere from the night.

  Fire cut through the darkness. Several bursts of flame.

  Syn tried to suck in a breath. He tried to get out of the uncontrolled flip. He tried to see the damage that last bolt caused him, but the pain that ripped and tore and shredded through his body and his bones was too great.

  He slammed into an unyielding object, back and head cracking stone and brick.

  His vision faded until blackness shoved him into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Briella couldn’t shake the fear that plagued her and controlled her nerves. She trembled, a very uncharacteristic response for her, to the point her legs barely held her steady once the dragon lowered her to the ground. His wing flicked out, catching her beneath her arms before she stumbled to her knees. She grappled for strength, for breath, for control over the burn in her eyes and the tightness in her throat as she watched the night sky over the French Quarter light up with streaks of red and blue and purple.

  A strangled sound escaped her lips.

  The dragon nudged her side with his wide muzzle, urging her toward the harness he dropped in front of her.

  “I can’t go. Not without Syn,” she said, shaking her head.

  The dragon snorted, smoke pluming around her. He gave her a firmer nudge, clearly insisting she put the harness on him, and only his wing beneath her arms kept her on her feet.

  She turned to him, lips pressed tight, and stared into the fiery orb that glowed more red than orange. This dragon, Tajan, had ripped her from her feet, from Syn, and dragged her into the sky wrapped in his talons.

  There was no way to communicate with him in this form. She had tried, but the only link she had was with Syn, and he’d shut her out as soon as she was airborne.

  The dragon opened his mouth, then snapped his teeth together. He nudged again, motioned with his head to the sky, and waited with impatience scoring his eye.

  “We need to wait for Syn. For the others. What if something happens? What if—”

  Briella’s body jerked at the waist.

  Her feet left the ground. A scream ripped through her throat as she dangled precariously several feet in the air.

  The dragon thrashed in an orb of smoky purple. Fire reflected off the orb, cresting over his encased form.

  The invisible grip released her and she plummeted to the ground, landing sprawled facedown. She coughed, choked on a breath that stuck in her throat, her lungs refusing to open for air.

  “Your precious dragon will be dead by the end of this battle.”

  Briella managed to lift her head from the patchy grass and dirt.

  The woman from the voodoo shop crouched before her, even more beautiful and ethereal than she remembered. Her eyes seemed to drink in the black of night as she stared at Briella. No smile. No satisfaction. Her expression was impossible to read.

  And in that instant when they regarded each other, a flash of foresight shook through Briella’s mind. A vision so clear yet so impossible it sent her scrambling to her knees as air finally filled her lungs.

  The woman’s eyes widened and her lips parted.

  “You have the Sight,” she whispered.

  Briella stifled a gasp. Slowly, she started to get to her feet. The woman followed her up, like a mirror image of her every move. She cocked her head, dark eyes narrowing and red-painted lips tilted down.

  The dragon imprisoned in the orb roared, the sound reverberating through the ground and shivering through Briella’s soles despite being muffled by magic.

  “What did you see?” the woman asked, her voice soft.

  Cautious.

  Briella remained silent. If by the love of the gods what she saw was true—and never in her life had her visions proven otherwise—there would be no possibility of destroying this woman.

  An eerie chill slithered through her bones.

  The woman shot out one hand. A rope of smoke left her palm and snatched Briella around the chest. It lifted her to her toes and drew her close to the woman. So close, Briella could smell the patchouli and jasmine from her skin and another strange, exotic scent from her hair.

  She didn’t fight the bindings. There was no point. No point in fighting. No point in angering the woman.

  “Tell me, Keeper. What did you see?”

  “How do you know I saw anything? What makes you believe I have visions?” Focusing on the woman helped keep her mind off the deadly fireworks over the Quarter and the thrashing dragon fighting encasement.

  “I felt it. The energy of the vision.”

  Briella shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Nor do you have to. I want to know what it is you saw.”

  “And I want for you and your people to leave the dragons and my people alone.”

  Briella’s defiance intensified with each second that passed.

  Shadows burst from the trees that lined the patch of land, diverting Briella’s attention from the woman to two Baroqueth running toward them.

  “We must go. Now,” one urged.

  “What of the dragons?” the woman asked, her voice musical in a terrifying way. Her eyes never left Briella’s.

  “We’ve lost track of three. One is down, but we can’t locate him. The others have killed many of our own.”

  Briella’s stomach dropped. One dragon was down, and she still couldn’t feel Syn in her mind. Raw fear unlike any she’d known slid down her spine.

  “We can’t risk losing any more.” The Baroqueth looked at Briella, his vague panic slipping behind a cold mask. “Why are you toying with the Keeper? And the dragon?”

  “That is not your concern.”

  “Your father—”

  The woman hissed, her eyes flashing with bolts of ice blue. Her magic dropped Briella to the ground and she spun on the two Baroqueth. Briella watched with a mixture of curiosity, horror, and desperation as the men recoiled and shuffled back a few steps.

  “Gather my men and retreat—”

  Fire lit the grassy field. Briella scrambled back as a thick plume of roaring hot flames swept over the Baroqueth before curling over on itself to threaten the woman.

  Unafraid, the woman shot Briella a dark glance before vaporizing into black mist and disappearing into the swells of smoke rising from the dragonfire.

  Tajan whipped his head toward Briella as the blast of his flaming breath tapered off, growled, and twisted to show the side of his huge form. He lowered to the ground.

  Briella didn’t hesitate this time, but there was no time to secure the harness. She climbed up onto his back, fitted herself between a set of spines that weren’t nearly as long or pointed at Syn’s, and gave his scales a hard pat.

  “Ready,” she called.

  Tajan sat back on his haunches, spread his wings, and launched straight up into the sky. Briella
held on for dear life.

  They climbed above the clouds until she could no longer see the blazing lights of New Orleans. They soared fast, the wind merciless against her poorly clothed body, her skirts plastered against his scales. The air chilled her, but not nearly as much as the thought of Syn in pain.

  What if the Baroqueth had him? What if one of the other dragons was caught and taken by the sorcerers?

  Who was that woman? Why did she have blue sparks in her eyes? Syn told her the Baroqueth had silver flecks, not lightning bolts of blue. She was a leader of some standing if the men cowered in her presence.

  And she got away.

  Briella’s hands were clenched stiffly around Tajan’s spike, her arms frozen and her teeth chattering by the time they broke through the portal to The Hollow. Saturated with worry, her heart sick with fear, she kept her head pressed against the warm, hard scales of the dragon beneath her until he coasted to a smooth landing. She fumbled her grip free with numb fingers. Though Tajan tried to lean to the side to ease her move to the ground, she managed to fall the last few feet to the thick grass.

  If only she had a jacket.

  If only she had Syn’s arms around her.

  She didn’t try to stand. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked in her misery, uninterested in Tajan’s transformation from dragon to man.

  He crouched in front of her, his long black hair cutting over a sharp, rugged face. Eyes so deep a blue they seemed as black as his hair watched her. Everything about him screamed dark, brooding, and dangerous.

  Predator.

  “Here.” His voice was a deep, husky baritone, one that matched his looks. He swung a jacket around her shoulders and drew it closed at her neck. “Next time, don’t fight.”

  The edge of disgruntled frustration in his voice brought her shoulders straight. “Excuse me?”

  Tajan arched an angled brow. “Don’t fight. The last thing you want to do when those slayers come around is play stubborn. The only reason I landed was to get you on my back. Far more comfortable for you than being clutched in my talons.”

  Briella stared, aghast, as Tajan pushed up to his feet. The man was towering and muscled and everything she would hate to meet on a bad day.

  Such as today.

  He held out his hand to help her up.

  She stared at it, wanting to snap at the man for being an ass. “Do you have a lifemate?”

  “Whether I do or I don’t remains to be seen. I’m aware of the pull, but your safety comes before all else. You could’ve well made any sacrifice Syn may have made worthless.”

  Briella snorted, getting to her feet without his help. “What’s your name?”

  “Tajan.”

  “Not a social butterfly, are you?” Briella glanced past the man’s shoulder. They had landed in the field close to her parent’s cottage.

  Tajan dropped his hand. “No. I’m not.”

  “Do you know what’s happened to Syn?”

  “He was hit.”

  Briella snapped her attention back to Tajan. “How can you be sure?”

  “Belle!”

  Her father sprang from the front stoop and sprinted toward her. Tajan separated himself from her, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Thank the gods! You’re safe!” Her father crushed her in his embrace. At last, Briella sank into familiar arms, her muscles and bones practically dissolving with relief and worry. Over her head, her father said, “Taj, thank you. Thank you.”

  “Get inside your home and stay there until we return,” Tajan said. He twisted and leaped toward the sky, his dragon unleashed and pulling him away from the ground between one breath and the next.

  Briella didn’t say a word until the dragon disappeared and her father guided her trembling body toward the house.

  “He’s a jerk,” she muttered.

  Her father closed the door behind them and shook his head. “Taj is far from a jerk, Belle. He’s not very social, so he comes off like one.”

  “Seems very jerky to me.” She shed the jacket Tajan had gently wrapped around her and draped it over the back of a chair. “When did you get here? Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s changing. Not long ago.”

  “Have you received any news on Syn? He cut off our telepathic link. Tajan said he was hit.” Her voice cracked on the last word. A fresh wave of sickening anxiety washed over her. Her father’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “Has he ever done that with you? Cut you off?”

  “Yes. It’s not uncommon for them to separate themselves when there is danger. It’s to preserve our energy and allow them to concentrate on the fight.” Her father kissed the top of her head. “Stay strong, Belle. Syn won’t let them get him easily.”

  As the events of the past hour crashed over her and started to sink in, Briella’s knees buckled. Her father caught her and helped her to the sofa, where she settled limply into the soft cushions.

  The last image of her dragon had been a blur as Tajan ripped her away from him and took to the sky. Syn’s expression had been stone cold.

  “He has to be okay, right?” Briella looked up into her father’s eyes. “I mean, he’s a dragon.”

  “If they don’t return in an hour, I’ll use the stone to try and contact him.”

  An hour.

  Her entire future and the future of her heart rested on an invisible clock that ticked closer and closer to the final minute.

  One hour.

  And she would know if her dreams would evolve or shatter.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Hey, dude. You good?”

  “Back away from him!”

  Syn groaned. Every damn inch of him hurt. Pain such as what he’d last felt when he was nearly killed by Baroqueth over thirty years ago.

  For a long moment, he didn’t move, mentally noting the damage he’d sustained. He was precariously slouched against a solid wall, arm draped over something, head in a plant. Branches prodded at the side of his face, still half-protected by his scales. Both arms burned mercilessly, signaling the residual effects of his wings being torn. Every inhale sent a wave of dull pain through his chest. A few of his ribs ground together.

  Had he retracted his scales that much to open himself to the severe consequences of a Baroqueth hit?

  Foolish. Novice move, Syn.

  Damn. He’d have to deal with this mess until he got back to The Hollow, where his body could heal quickly.

  “Dude, I heard a thud and came outside. I didn’t do that to him,” the unfamiliar voice said defensively.

  A strong hand clamped down on Syn’s shoulder. “Hey, brother. Gotta get you out of here.”

  Taryn.

  “Looks like his face is bleeding. I’ll go call 9-1-1.”

  “No,” Taryn snapped. “He’s fine.”

  “After that light show in the sky? Maybe he was hit with—”

  “I’m fine.”

  Syn retracted his scales and opened his eyes. He pinpointed a young man, beer bottle in hand, cigarette in the other, shifting from foot to foot. The bystander pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose with his shoulder.

  With a deep breath that stung like bullets, Syn climbed to his feet with Taryn’s help. Dear gods, the pain.

  “Come on,” Taryn said quietly. “Cops are prowling the streets. If we want to get out of here, we’ll need to do it soon.”

  Syn nodded once. “Briella?”

  “Taj got her out safely.”

  “Good.” Relief flooded him as he looked toward the sky. “It’s quiet.”

  “Think your eardrums were shot out.” Taryn snickered. “Can you walk?”

  Syn took a step. Yeah, pain from head to toe. Between the magic bolt that shocked through his body and the impact of his fall, he was thankful he could walk so soon.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Um, hey, man. What about my wall?” the stranger asked.

  Syn and Taryn exchanged a confused look. Syn’s eyes cut to the concrete wall. Cr
acks webbed the surface, clearly splaying outward from a point of impact. Chunks off the top were missing or littered the ground as pulverized rubble.

  Taryn snorted, pulled out his wallet, and dug out a bunch of hundreds. He took the man’s hand and slapped the money into his palm. “Here, dude. Should be plenty enough to cover the damages and buy you a year’s worth of beer.”

  Taryn returned to Syn’s side. “Guy sees a near apocalypse over his house and a damn dragon in his backyard and he’s concerned about his wall.”

  “I might actually laugh if it didn’t hurt,” Syn grumbled, pressing his arm to splint his chest.

  “Cade’s at the house. Emery and the others should be heading to The Hollow, now that the Baroqueth have retreated and I’ve found you.” Taryn threw out an arm to stop Syn’s forward march as they came to the sidewalk. Two police cruisers rushed by, lights flashing and sirens blaring. “We’re going to have to blend in.”

  “Been doing that all night.”

  Taryn snorted. “Bro, you’re horrible at making jokes.”

  “Never said I was good at it.” Syn grimaced as he rolled out his shoulders. “Gods.”

  “Wings got clipped, I saw. Cade’ll bring you back to The Hollow.”

  “Gio and Saralyn are there, I presume.”

  “Of course. Zareh decided to join the fun and lend a bit of backspace for the ride home. Gio took your stone, too.”

  Syn shot Taryn a narrow-eyed look. “Zareh? What about Kaylae?”

  There was no way Zareh would leave his lifemate alone. Not with their new baby on the way.

  “I don’t know the details. Haven’t even seen him. Just heard from Cade that Zareh came to take your Keeper. I was lending a hand setting this city on fire.”

  “Well, it’s good to know you failed in your mission to burn the city down. I actually like this place.”

  Taryn punched him playfully in the shoulder. Syn snarled.

  “Ha! I knew you’d come around.”

  By the time they reached Taryn’s house—avoiding the chaos of first responders, large groups of people huddled together on the sidewalks and in the streets, and the very pronounced inclusion of dragons in all conversations—Syn was in agony. Aside from reaching Briella and reassuring himself she was safe with her parents, he wanted nothing more than for his body to heal the way it was supposed to: over the course of a few hours versus a few weeks.