Rylin's Fire

by Michelle Howard

  “Easy. I love her.” Mikal couldn’t hide his shock. Ry was about to ask after Ani when the force of the mantle tugged violently at his conscience. “We need to go.”

  Ry was already running as the shift took over and his Dracol pushed to the surface. Mikal didn’t question his sudden urgency and was by his side instantly. Ry flew at maximum speed. Two of his Dracol battled. Typically this wasn’t cause for alarm, but the rage and energy expended between them would have been enough to catch his attention. In addition, Ry identified one of the combatants as Van. He’d charged the diligent youth with watching Dara. Without a mate connection, he prayed to the Goddess of Fate she was safe.

  ***

  By the time Ry reached his home, fear had a chokehold on him. He bypassed the two Dracol going after one another. Ranald and Olivan, he identified easily. A quick scan of the surface and he spotted Dara, her head tipped back as she watched the fight taking place.

  Annoyance and anger replaced his fear. A bellow of rage ripped from Ry’s throat. He spit flame toward the two grappling in the sky. Mikal, at his side, joined in with his own scream of anger. Ranald broke away first, wings flapping to maintain his balance. Scratches marred his muzzle, though they’d heal by nightfall. Ry noted similar marks on Olivan’s hide, but the youth to his surprise had held his own against his larger opponent.

  Ry couldn’t verbalize in this form, but he poured his displeasure through the mantle, then turned away and aimed for the cliff edge to land. His scales and claws gave way to skin and man.

  “Rylin!” Dara slammed into him and he caught her before they staggered backward.

  “Easy.” Ry absently ran his hands up and down her arms as he shot glares at the two men shifting. A flick of his fingers dressed all of them in loincloths. “What were you thinking?”

  Mikal landed and stayed as Dracol while he eyed Olivan and Ranald. Breya rushed over, pale and shaking. Ry expected her to check on her mate first but instead she ran her hands over Olivan, earning a sharp look from Ranald, who maintained his silence. More than likely because Breya treated Olivan like a little brother.

  “The young one needs to learn respect,” Ranald finally answered, his bare chest heaving.

  Van moved gently away from Breya. He glanced around, gaze landing on Dara as he sighed in relief. “I’m sorry, I lost my temper and did not watch your lira.”

  Ry wasn’t in the mood for concessions. Van wasn’t prone to violence. Not like the rest of them. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Van bit his lip, refusing to speak, and turned his attention away. Breya stared hard at Ranald. “Did you provoke him?”

  Ranald came to his lira’s side and nuzzled her neck. “I didn’t think I did. But he mentioned the Purple male and you know how that incites my Dracol.”

  Though she didn’t push him away, for the first time Ry caught the look of revulsion that flickered across her features before she smiled. “Well, then. We can put this behind us.”

  Ry relaxed. Brawls were a natural part of Dracol life. He checked Dara over and aside from worrying her lip with her teeth, she appeared unmarred by the experience. She wore a red shirt with sleeves and blue pants with tears at the knee. Her Earth clothing. He couldn’t wait to dress her in black again. His colors.

  “Any news on the rogue?” Ranald asked, and Ry sensed his honest effort to dispel the remaining strain of the moment.

  Mikal must have picked up on the same and shifted, but Ry didn’t need to clothe him. Sana came rushing over and pushed a pair of pants at her mate which he took his time in accepting. Something definitely going on there.

  “Do we know who he is?” Layne asked.

  “We may have an idea.” Ry wasn’t prepared to announce his recent discovery. Dara stiffened.

  Quinn and Layne closed in, but it was Layne who voiced another question. “Which sect?”

  Ry released Dara with reluctance but wanted his hands free. His gaze went over those around him. Males and females he called family. Dracol. Black. Could one of them really commit such atrocities and hide beneath a veneer of civility?

  “I’m not at liberty to release more details yet.”

  “Why not?” someone yelled. “What if it was your lira being hunted?”

  Ry jolted at the unexpected question. He inhaled slowly and exhaled, pulling the mantle about him. Power flowed through his veins. “Does someone want to question my authority?

  “They believe you to be soft, my king.” Rafin walked toward them. “The Earth woman will make you weaker, and since you couldn’t keep your last lira—”

  Ry’s fist slammed into Rafin’s jaw, sending the male crashing to the ground. Rafin rubbed his face but stayed down, his head lowered. “My apologies if I offended.”

  From the corner of his eye, Sana picked Ani up, her eyes darting about. Guilt briefly stared back at him when she faced Ry. Then the look passed and her mouth pinched tight. Mikal watched it all, and Ry refused to allow this to continue.

  Shoulder back he announced, “No longer will anyone mention my past relationship with Sana. She’s Mikal’s, just as Dara will be mine.”

  Ry let his gaze rove over the forming crowd. “Does anyone else want to discuss the matter?”

  “It’s a reasonable assumption,” Pietre, Rafin’s brother, called out.

  “Reasonable?” Ry snarled in a low voice. “The mantle chose me. Does that sound like I’m weak? I alone had the strength to withstand the power as it merged with my essence.”

  More heads lowered, but it wasn’t enough. Ry had to drive the point home. They couldn’t afford to fight amongst themselves when a killer hunted. He shifted into his partial Dracol form. Claws sprung from his fingers as scales slid over his chest and outer arms. Assuming a fighting stance, legs braced apart Ry asked, “I offer challenge to anyone who wishes for the right to rule.”

  Jaws dropped and the men stiffened their shoulders but none stepped forward. Rafin rose to his feet and backed away. “We don’t wish to fight, King Rylin. You’ve ruled wisely.”

  Nods spread through the crowd. Ry snorted a stream of fire, which landed inches from Pietre’s feet. “This is settled then?”

  Pietre directed his gaze away, the picture of humility in the face of Ry’s dare.

  His scales reversed their path and Ry pulled his essence back. Once his claws retracted, he said, “Dara will be my lira and I will find the one who hunts our females.”

  No one spoke against him.

  Chapter 19

  Days turned into weeks, the silence balancing Ry on the razor edge of focus. He worried if Dara was out of his sight too long. He worried when she was near him. The dichotomy of emotions was new for him and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t used to loving someone with such force he felt as if her every breath kept him tethered.

  There had been no more attacks or killings. Almost as if the rogue knew Ry had been close to identifying him. His fellow Kings insisted it was safe enough to lift the restrictions on their liras, but Ry didn’t swallow the belief the killer had moved on. It left too many questions unanswered. Varyk had protested the loudest, insisting if it was a Black then it was for Ry to handle but in the end Ry had his way.

  The weight of the burden and his inability to track the rogue left Ry with no choice but to wait. Frustration tied him in knots.

  “Do you really believe it’s over?” he asked Mikal, leaning back with his arms braced over the back of his chair as they finished their third bottle of wine.

  His friend rose to his feet on a stretch. “Part of me wants to accept this was an aberration.” Mikal pressed his lips tight then added, “You don’t go from eating the hearts of females to no longer feeling the urge to kill.”

  Exactly. Ry set his glass on the table in front of him and sat up, elbows to his knees. He remained quiet, assessing the situation from all angles. “What should I do?”

  Gold met gold as they stared at one another. “You must find him and send him to the flames.”

  “I
spoke with the other Kings and got them to extend the restrictions for another week at least.”

  Mikal brushed back at his blond hair. “Let’s hope our rogue breaks from his complacency.”

  They finished their talk and Ry escorted him to the door, then headed to savor a few more hours with Dara. She lay curled in the center of his bed, stretched out amongst his black sheets, clad in a pair of panties and what looked to be his shirt. Ry walked to the side of his bed and sat on the edge by her splayed legs. One bare thigh bent forward, the slender limb too hard to resist.

  He stroked a hand down its length, enjoying the silky touch of her skin beneath his palm. Dara’s lashes fluttered and her lids lifted to reveal a drowsy gaze. “Is everything okay, Rylin?”

  “Yes, sleep. It’s still early. I didn’t intend to disturb you.” His hand brushed back the short tumble of curls about her head only to have them spring back and coil about his fingers. His lira. They’d made the commitment just yesterday and he still couldn’t believe she was his.

  “Did the other dragon guys listen to you?”

  Despite his concern and worry, Ry found himself smiling. “The Dracol Kings agreed to listen.”

  “Good. Love you.” She snuggled back into the sheets and drifted off.

  Still amused, Ry removed his clothes, joined her in the bed, and wrapped his arms about her waist.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Do you think he’ll come for me if he attacks again?”

  And this was where Ry lied to the woman he’d met and fallen for in a single day. The worry was for him alone. “No. He wouldn’t dare.”

  “Good.”

  When she didn’t say anything more, Ry settled. In his mind the dead liras’ faces morphed into Dara’s. What would he do if the rogue went after her? His arm tightened. Losing his females devastated him and not just because of his connection to them as King. He’d known those women for years, celebrated their matings.

  Losing Dara was inconceivable.

  ***

  Dara laughed at Olivan’s antics and popped a piece of fruit into her mouth. Rylin had designated the young man as her guard and he took the role seriously. She’d awakened to a kiss from Rylin, then he’d closeted himself away with Mikal. The two spent every free moment tracking the rogue. The wear was starting to show in their frantic lovemaking and Rylin’s insistence that Van accompany her everywhere.

  Much to her surprise, the youth confessed to being in his late twenties. Her shock must have reflected on her face.

  Van, as he asked her to call him, grinned. “Dracols mature at a slower rate. In my fiftieth year, I’ll reach full adulthood.”

  Fifty? “How old is Rylin?”

  They were both stretched out on the grass, the upper peaks of the castle within their sight. Van rolled to his side and rested his chin on his fist. “A little over his seventy-fifth year. He’s the youngest King to wear the mantle.”

  Another thing she’d learned. The mantle stored the power base of the Black sect and determined who would rule them through a process that made her cringe. The line of black scales down Rylin’s back wasn’t just a spot to get him heated during sex. Dara snickered. Anything got him heated. Those scales represented visible evidence of his mantle and status as King.

  “Finally,” a familiar voice snarled. “I didn’t think I’d ever catch you away from him.”

  Van leaped to his feet, but Dara was slower to rise. Her gaze widened at the shirtless man standing in front of them. A shiver of foreboding slid down her spine.

  “Step back, Dara.” Van ordered, his gold eyes flickering.

  Not the least bit foolish, she followed his direction, taking the chance on moving.

  “Oh, no.” Ranald laughed, keeping her in his sights. “She’s the reason I’m here. The heart of King Rylin’s lira will make a tasty treat.”

  He turned his attention on her. Pleasure glittered from the depths of his gaze as Dara looked death in the face.

  Chapter 20

  “Here’s something,” Mikal stated, drawing Ry’s attention.

  He leaned over the table at the papers spread out before them. The ancient text was written in a language the Dracol no longer used, but Ry recognized the sketch of the symbol taking up most of the page. It was the one the rogue left behind as his marking.

  “It says the heckti image will act as a conduit to pull forth a female’s higher energy.”

  Mikal slammed his fist down. “Then we’re right, this person is following ancient rituals.”

  “He started with the other sects, looking to place blame on my shoulders. Then focused on the Black, but the goal has always been power.” And power corrupted. “We’re not dealing with a stable mind.”

  Mikal glanced in his direction. They’d spent the last hours pouring over ancient writings searching for the stories of power attainment and other myths. “If the rogue doing this has gone mad, but believes his actions justified, it could block you from picking up on him from the mantle.”

  Ry started to answer when the scream ripped through his head, down his back, and tore through his gut. Pain, urgency then fear flooded his senses.

  In a split second, Ry went from lax to alert. His Dracol barreled to the forefront with one goal and one goal only. Find Dara. Find his lira.

  “What’s wrong, Ry?” Muscles tense, Mikal stared.

  “Dara. Where’s my lira?”

  Ry held his breath as he waited for his friend’s response even as he strained to find her along the mate connection. To his horror, he reached only empty space where once Dara’s presence had shined like a beacon.

  “She was outside earlier. With Van as you ordered.”

  “The rogue is attacking.” The roar barely cleared Ry’s throat before another scream pierced his heart.

  Dara was dying. Ry could feel it in his soul. When Dara took her last breath, Ry would cease to live, because he’d bonded himself to her, not wanting her to suffer Miram’s fate.

  Rylin burst through the door and tore down the stairs. When he cleared the front, he shifted, wings spread and took to the skies.

  His fellow Dracol trumpeted behind him. Mikal, no doubt. Ry didn’t have to go far. He scanned the grounds and his eyes immediately went to the crumpled form of his lira. Van was inches away, blood soaking the area between them.

  Ry landed in human form, the shift seamless in his effort to get to Dara. Her shirt bore a tear down the back, a long wicked scar carved into her flesh. The stalker had marked her, but unlike the other females he’d attacked, Dara still breathed.

  “Dara,” her name broke from his numb lips. Ry dropped to his knees beside her. He reached for their mating connection, a place he usually accessed with ease. ‘Dara. Answer me, lira.’

  “I believe the end game has finally arrived.”

  The new voice came from behind him. Ry’s head jerked around. “Ranald!”

  A maniacal laugh. “You thought you were so smart because you bear the mantle.”

  “Why would you do this?” Ry pushed to his feet to meet the threat.

  Mikal was around somewhere. They’d been together. He would watch over Dara.

  “Nothing can stop me.” The rogue swung without warning.

  Armored scales plated over Ry’s chest and absorbed the blow. “Are you crazed, Ranald? Cease this madness.”

  Ranald grinned, blood dripping from his elongated teeth. “There is no madness in me, King Rylin, only freedom. Finally my essence is free to be what all Dracol are meant to be.”

  Ry danced back, dodging the swipe of Ranald’s claws. “Frenzied killers? Dracol are protectors. Honorable to the Goddess of Fate.”

  The glow in Ranald’s amber eyes burned brighter. There’d be no reasoning with him. “There is no Goddess, you fool. No Fate. Only the powerful shall rule and I am powerful. I will rule the Black into greatness.”

  “How did you fool everyone? None of the Kings suspected. I gave you my trust.”

  “
More’s the pity.” The smile stretching Ranald’s lips only enhanced the features of the handsome man.

  Evil should appear wicked. Hideous. But no, Ry wouldn’t have guessed this male would turn killer. He growled, the sound rolling from deep in his throat.

  “Give up the mantle and I might let you live,” Ranald ordered.

  Even if such were possible, Ry wouldn’t have agreed. Fire coursed through his veins. “You’re a disgrace to the Black.”

  “I am meant to be a King!” With those words, Ranald shifted into the hulking form of his black Dracol, tail lashing out behind him.

  Fear for Dara drove Rylin’s shift. His essence rose and met the rippling currents of the mantle. The combined energy swept through him and his Dracol landed on clawed feet with a roar, swiping at Ranald’s snarling jaw.

  The lumbering beast fell back.

  More of his people arrived, landing with thunderous footsteps. Roars and snarls burst forth as the identity of the killer stalking them spread.

  Ranald’s long, sinuous neck moved, his amber stare promising death as spurts of fire escaped his parted jaw. Ranald charged and Ry used his own fire to blaze a path. The flames couldn’t harm those of his sect but the delay gave him the needed time to distract.

  ‘Stay back!’ Ry blasted the command through the mantle as he launched into the air and took flight. It was too late. Females, those who were mated, collapsed to the ground like toys with their string cut. Ranald was messing with their minds. Male Dracols roared out a challenge as their liras fell. Bodies littered the grass.

  But life pulsed within. The mantle reassured him the connection still existed. Ranald hadn’t killed them. Probably couldn’t. No, Ranald’s ability lay in his skill to somehow block the mating connection so he could do the terrible deed by hand.

  “It stops now!” Ry shouted.

  “It’s only begun, my king.”

  The connection between them made Ry ill. It shouldn’t have been possible to establish telepathic contact, but Ranald whatever drove him to kill must have developed as a mutation. It was the only explanation for his growing madness.