by Heather Long
Together.
“You stay at my side, Hellion. We won’t have much time before they get here,” Alfred said. “Maddox, put her in the armor.”
The dragon nodded and held out a hand to Fiona. She clasped it and then glanced at Rogue and Fin before going with him. The armor was something they’d been working on.
“What is the plan?” Fin asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “I’ve sent the servants into the catacombs.” Yes, most of the retainers were not prepared for this battle, and while there were many who had sworn their loyalty, they would be conveniently late if they showed up at all. Alfred had not summoned them.
He did not relish the killing, even if he’d once served as the Deathbringer.
The Angel of Death, who’d refused to wage the war on his own kind and was cast down because of it, would now wage war on those of his kind who’d survived. Not for himself, but in service to those he cared about.
In her name.
A soft huff of laughter escaped him as he tracked the movement of the force coming at them. They wanted to be seen, so they took their time crawling up the mountain like a dark shadow. Proof that their numbers were so much greater than Alfred’s. That was the thing that Cyril and Eamon had never understood. It wasn’t about numbers.
It was about conviction.
They were all devoted to each other and to her—his little sváss, with her cutting tongue and wild temperament.
“Enjoying yourself?” Alfred asked him as he pulled on a shirt. Fin had summoned their own armor to them, allowing them to prepare while keeping an eye on things.
“Actually…” Rogue told him as he buckled on his own armor. It seemed a long time since he’d even bothered to do more than wear a leather coat. So very little could truly hurt them. In some ways, this battle exhilarated because it was not a sure thing, even if they couldn’t allow any other outcome. “Yes, I am.”
Alfred and Fin both glanced at him, and the shock on their faces would have been insulting if it didn’t amuse him so much.
Fin didn’t wear more than some light armor because the chain messed with his magic. The cloth and leather wouldn’t give him much defense. Of course, they’d have to put their hands on him, and he tended to be slippery at the best of times.
Alfred didn’t bother with much, though he had strapped on his sword. His shirt he left open and loose, and the dark fire dancing over his flesh just added to the low level of menace he gave off. Frankly, Rogue didn’t disagree. He was thoroughly tired of their home being attacked. The keep may not be perfect, but they’d maintained his sanctuary for centuries and it had been invaded and disturbed multiple times.
“We’re going to have to replace the books,” Rogue said as he checked his weapons. Two knives. He didn’t need anything else.
His hands would be faster.
“And the art,” Alfred agreed. “I’m sure we have something in the vault or in Maddox’s hoard that would do the trick.”
“We could let her pick out what she likes,” Fin suggested, and Rogue chuckled. “Maybe take her to a few museums if there’s other types of art she’s interested in.”
Alfred eyed him. “Planning a heist?”
“Why not?” Fin shrugged. “We only live once, and when she wants to redecorate, we can take it back. Besides, there’s a good number of artifacts in the British Museum that belong to me. I just let them borrow them because it was cheaper to store them there.”
Rogue laughed for real and shook his head. “Of course you did.”
The approaching army had slowed, but Rogue assumed that was for more affect. Gemma had to be with them. Melodramatic bitch.
The scrape of a boot had him turning, and he grinned at the sight she made.
“Ah, Goddess of Spring and Flame and Blood,” Fin declared, the Gaelic in his voice strong. “Welcome to the battle, my lady.”
Damned if Fiona didn’t look beautiful in the blue-green and golden-scaled armor. It had taken some doing, but they’d worked on it over the years, sometimes more as a lark. They’d harvested the scales from Maddox himself, and it had been imbued with Fin’s magic and the measure of Rogue’s as he worked with it to shape it. He’d only done the final changes in the last couple of weeks fitting it to her.
It was perfect.
She really did look like a goddess.
“She needs a crown,” Alfred said.
“We’ll make her one,” Fin volunteered, and Fiona threw her head back and laughed. But Maddox stared past her to the army beyond, and his expression darkened.
War was never pretty.
MADDOX
Fiona threaded her fingers with his as he hurried her down the steps to her rooms. The armor would be stored there. They’d gathered it piece by piece, refitting it to her shape. They’d had the base ready for a long time, only needing to find her to match it. Fin had been pretty accurate in guessing most of it from his visions.
Or maybe his visions had just been that accurate. It didn’t matter. Maddox wanted her in the full body armor if she insisted on going into battle.
“Hey,” she said as he pulled down the trunk they’d stored it in. Fin had spelled it so only one of the five of them could open it. “I’ve been in fights before, Maddox.”
“I don’t care,” he told her grimly as he unpacked the armor. “This is not just a fight. This is war. There’s a thousand people out there who want your head, and three in particular who won’t stop until they take it or lose theirs.”
He would find them first. Alfred likely had a similar plan. Everything else was cannon fodder.
“I can’t leave you,” she said in an almost too steady voice, and he paused in the unpacking of the armor to find her stripped down and pulling on the cloth jerkin and soft pants that would serve as the lining under the armor. “Please don’t ask me too.”
And in that request, even his dragon settled. “You will stay at Alfred’s side?”
“Like I’ve been super-glued.”
It was enough. It had to be. He buckled her into the armor, and he didn’t miss the way she looked at it or how perfectly it conformed to her body. It wouldn’t in a few short months, but by then, they would not need to wage war.
They would see to that.
He chuckled. “Kitten, do you remember what you said to me in the cell?”
“I said a lot of things.” The spark of humor in her vibrant green eyes filled him with a near indolent pleasure. “Which one?”
He finished tucking the last bit of armor into place, then nuzzled a kiss to her jaw. The armor shielded her throat so he couldn’t touch his mark, but he did place two fingers above it before licking her ear ever so gently.
Laughter swelled out of her. “If you start licking me again, I’m going to tie a knot in your dick so tight, you’ll be screaming when you take a piss.”
“That’s it,” he said with a grin as he leaned back. “That spirit right there. Fight with that, yes?” The glow from her skin had deepened and the hint of those wings was back, but he really only had eyes for her. “You’re a dragon’s mate, never forget that.”
“And you’re my mate,” she told him as she gripped his shirt and tugged him down for a real kiss. “Don’t you forget it.”
He grinned against her lips and then kissed her with every ounce of caring in him. Gentle wasn’t in his nature. Or maybe he’d forgotten over the long centuries, but dragons were ferocious beings. That ferociousness was very much alive in him, but so was the need to protect her. Forehead to hers, he closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the scent of her.
“Some day,” she said, “I want to go to the beach and hold hands and walk in the sun as the water rolls in. Maybe get a tan. Though…I’m a redhead. I usually burn or get freckles.”
Laughter swelled in his chest. None of this was funny, and yet, she made it better. “I will make sure that happens, after I’ve swept the beach and removed all obstacles.”
He wasn’t totally serious, but it was absolutely w
orth her roll of eyes. Still, he had to admit, dragon scale armor looked delicious on her, and the natural sway of her hips had him thinking of anything besides battle.
Maybe he’d just set the whole lot of them on fire and then bring her back and spread her out on one of the beds. Or the floor. Or the wall. Truthfully, he wasn’t picky. No, she was pregnant. Definitely a bed.
“Stop staring at my ass,” she tossed over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs.
“No.”
She grinned back at him, and then they were with the others. Rogue looked somewhat stunned, as did Fin when they saw her in the armor. Alfred gave her an approving look.
“Ah, Goddess of Spring and Flame and Blood,” Fin declared, the Gaelic in his voice strong. “Welcome to the battle, my lady.”
“She needs a crown,” Alfred said, and Fin quickly offered to make her one. But even as his mate threw her head back and laughed, she never lost her focus on the approaching army.
“So I stick with Alfred,” she said slowly as she sobered. “What are you three going to be doing?”
“Killing them all,” Fin said cheerfully enough. “Hopefully before lunch, because I know what I’d like to spend my afternoon doing.”
Maddox snorted.
“You’re assuming my intentions are less than pure.” How the druid managed to sound truly offended and sarcastic at the same time was a gift.
“I’m not assuming anything,” Maddox told him. “Focus now, play later.”
“Pfft.” He blew Fiona a kiss. “Dibs in the bath? I’ll scrub your back?”
She grinned. “And my front?”
“If you insist,” he replied with an almost courtly bow.
But the time for teasing was over.
“Go,” Alfred said. “Get into position.”
It wasn’t the first time they’d fought together, and they really didn’t need words. Fin connected them so they would each only be a thought away, but they all had their parts to play, and Maddox relaxed and let his dragon out.
Thankfully, the roof was already gone.
FIN
Maddox didn’t even wait for them to break off before he shifted. The massive dragon filled the demolished library and earned a wild grin from Fiona before he took to the skies.
“Show off,” he muttered, but Alfred just gave him a look. Yeah, yeah. He was going. Ugh, he’d had plans today. And they just had to go and show up on their doorstep with an army.
Of course, they’d retreated to the keep for a reason. At least here if they leveled anything, they wouldn’t take out a whole city.
Maddox roared.
Maybe?
Not waiting any longer, he slid between the wards and out into the fields beyond the keep. Without the muting effect of the reinforced protections, the sound of so many feet marching echoed toward him. The drama of it all was ridiculous. Was this supposed to inspire fear?
Really?
Kind of reminds me of Helm’s Deep.
Fiona’s voice tickled the back of his mind, and he was hard-pressed not to laugh, because wait for it…
What is Helm’s Deep?
Alfred’s deep baritone echoed through him, and it was Rogue, of all people, who snorted mentally.
It’s a movie.
And a book, Fin tacked on helpfully.
About a group of humans…
And elves! Fiona added, and Fin cast his gaze skyward.
There were no elves there in the book.
Yep, that was Rogue.
Well, I like the movie better anyway. The point is, big battle, ugly orcs, lots of boom boom, orcs die, and humans win.
Fin grinned. Sorry you asked, Alfred?
There was a beat, then a mental shrug. No. If it delights my queen, then we shall have to see this movie.
Movie marathon! Popcorn. Chocolate. Snuggles. We can skip the Gollum parts.
The laughter escaped him, and thankfully, he kept it as silent as possible. Still, they really did have an army of vampires marching on them, and he could see the likeness to the orcs.
Mental fingers crossed, he blew another kiss to Fiona. Stay with Alfred.
I will. You focus on keeping your beautiful ass in one piece.
Ha! Smugness filled him. I knew you liked me best.
He could almost taste her grin, and then Maddox let out a roar.
Playtime was over.
Now the fun began.
CHAPTER 18
“To be truly great, one must stand with people, not above them.” - Baron de Montesquieu
ALFRED
O ne by one, the others left. Maddox took to the sky. There was no mistaking his dragon form. He might be the last of his kind, but Eamon and Cyril would be expecting it. So would Gemma for that matter. Their followers, however, would taste a fear in his roars that could petrify the soul.
Rogue vanished swiftly, moving on fleet feet. He could transform, but he likely wouldn’t. He preferred to fight with his own two hands, and he served destruction with a ruthless kind of efficiency. Fin was the last of the three to depart. His gaze flickered to Fiona once, then back to Alfred.
He inclined his head. Nothing would touch her. Not as long as there was life in his body. She was the target. His brethren would be coming straight for her. It was why he’d taken the position at her side and wanted her next to him at all times.
Even with the banter and Fiona’s playfulness, her tension was palpable.
“How long do we stay up here?”
“They come to us,” he told her, and the corners of her lips quirked.
“You really do mean that literally.”
He inclined his head. “I’ve only gone to you, Hellion. I will only ever come after you.”
“Well,” she said, the pleasure in her voice tickling him, “I went after Maddox and Fin.”
“I know.” Further, he understood better now. In the future, this would not happen again. Fiona craved their nearness. Not their lust or even their touch, though she had no objections. She craved them. Her feelings had deepened, and the transition had shifted something fundamentally within her. “And I came for you.”
“You did,” she said with a pleased note. “Didn’t you?” Light as air, she brushed a kiss to his cheek as she rose up on her tiptoes. “Thank you for coming for us.”
“Always,” he promised. In all the many centuries since he fell, he couldn’t recall feeling like he belonged as much as he did now. He belonged. He had a purpose. A family. A home. The foundations had been there, shakily built through selfish decisions and hasty actions. Though in truth, the real impulse had always been Fin.
The final bit of their puzzle. He’d kept them grounded and tethered to this world long enough for Fiona to be born.
Beyond, Maddox roared. He tired of this waiting game.
Be patient, Fin counseled. Let them do their song and dance for our amusement.
I’m not amused.
No, on that point, Alfred agreed with Rogue. He’d much rather be figuring out the rest of their lives and what it meant that Fiona carried a child. Was it because she was a hybrid? Was it the spark? Was it just her?
The dark fire flickering along his hands intensified. Like Fiona, his own emotions seemed to dictate the return of it. He’d had the ability once, long ago, to rain fire down when the battle required it. When he had to smite a whole city or village. It had been that ability he’d been ordered to use against the angels who’d rebelled.
And he’d declined.
Not only had he fallen with his whole wing, but that very fire had stripped away their wings as it was torn out of him.
Having it back now?
Did it mean he was forgiven? Or that his decision had finally been accepted? Or was it simply Fiona? She changed them. All of them. The presence of his wings was a familiar weight on his back, both tangible and intangible. Somehow, he suspected it was Fiona. She had taken out Keeley…with love. And he had no idea if she understood what she’d done yet. She’d done something to th
e shadow demon who served as warden, something he intended to investigate further later.
Fiona had done that, driven by instinct alone. She bounced from her heels to the balls of her feet and back. Restless energy danced over her. Demons were not all the same. Just like angels weren’t or vampires. Isolating any species and putting them into a box of sameness was a mistake, and he had found himself guilty of it. But Fiona? Primal? A little ruthless? Utterly beguiling and daring him to think and live outside of that narrow box?
There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.
He’d saved the display of his wings for this confrontation. Saved them because they wanted to slay Fiona because they feared what changes she might bring. Fearing change did not prevent it. His world had already irrevocably changed, and their pursuit of her destruction would end theirs. A part of him wanted them to see reason.
It was why he’d sent Wyman. His booming laugh and congenial temperament might do what Alfred could not. He didn’t coax. It just wasn’t in his nature, particularly not when they’d already tried to kill her without remotely attempting to speak to her or even understand first.
“Do you really use swords?”
He glanced to his right where Fiona continued to bounce forward and back. “Once upon a time,” he admitted. Not that he’d needed them in a very long time. The blades themselves were pristine, sharp, and polished. The metal didn’t come from this world, but he’d only picked them up once before since the fall. He had no doubt Eamon would have his. Cyril would, too, most likely. He’d made the mistake of attacking them outside the prison without his blades.
Alfred doubted he would make such a mistake again. If he did? Well, he would die that much quicker.
“I’m sorry you have to fight them for me. They were angels, too, right?”
“Yes, Hellion, they were, but none of us are angels any longer.”
She flashed a grin at him, and the faint glow of her aura began to brighten like a beacon. “Tell that to your wings, my lord.”
