And the blue dragon—it was still too weird to think of that as her mother—had left her here all alone. Fear gripped her. Alec kept saying he was sorry, and telling her not to die. Was she dying? Would she even know it if she did, or would she just go to sleep without waking?
Allana leaned against the car, sinking to the hard, sun-warmed ground. Her head felt too heavy to support, so she rested it against the sun-warmed metal. Time stretched out. It could have been a minute or an hour since Mama had left her. She heard roaring, then a long stretch of quiet. What would she do if Mama didn’t come out alive?
But a few minutes later, she heard a scuffling sound. Then a familiar male voice called out, “Allana?”
She managed to pry her eyelids open. “Dad?”
He gasped in surprise and hurried toward her. Mama was just behind him, huddled in the blood-stained remains of his shirt. Her lean legs were bare, skimmed by the tattered shirt tails of the oversized garment. She seemed sluggish and tired, but she was unmarked.
His hand was blazing hot against her cheek. “Dee, have you seen this?”
Mama hurried forward, drawing a long breath. “Allana, what did they do?”
“He injected me with something,” she said. Her lips felt thick, almost numb.
“Who did?”
“Alec. The one in the room with me.”
“Did they hurt you?” Will said. He threw a murderous glance over his shoulder.
She shook her head. “He was trying to be nice, I think.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on. Help is coming.”
Allana wanted her to work the magic that only her mother seemed to have, and to make all of this go away. Mama knelt at her side and embraced her, tucking her head against her shoulder. Her small hand stroked Allana’s hair. “Whatever it is, you’ll be fine,” she murmured.
The pain didn’t subside, but there was a unique magic in her mother’s touch. Allana relaxed, closing her eyes and leaning into the comfort. She had come. She kept her promise after all. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“I told you I would always protect you,” her mother whispered. “No matter what.”
Allana shook awake to a strange room. She stared up at a high, white ceiling draped with gauzy blue silks. The smells of flowers and herbs were nearly overpowering. Warm white linens tangled around her legs. She sat up and swayed as dizziness set in.
“Just a minute,” a male voice said. She looked over to see a silver-haired man sitting in a chair across the room. Intricate black tattoos covered his wiry arms to the wrists, and peeked from the collar of his black shirt and brushed the line of his jaw. He put his phone on a small table and leaned forward, smiling at her.
Fear snaked through her. Strangers weren’t her favorite thing right now. “Who are you?”
“I’m an old friend of your mother’s,” he said in a gruff voice. “I told her I would keep watch while she got some rest. I’ll call for her.” He grasped for a cane leaning against the chair, then winced as he stood. There was a resounding pop as a joint settled back into place.
“How old?”
He flashed her a grin. “Very old.” He rested one hand on the cane and leaned closer, extending his other to her. “Sohan.”
“Allana,” she replied, taking it hesitantly. His grip was strong, and to her surprise, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. He smelled nice, like wood smoke and a hint of expensive cologne.
“You don’t remember, but I held you when you were just a tiny thing,” he said. “You probably don’t know just how much that woman loves you.”
Well, this was awkward. She pasted on a smile and nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He smiled. “I’ll send her in.”
A few minutes later, her mother shuffled in, wearing loose black pants and a black top that revealed the intricate tattoos on her arms. Now that she’d met Sohan, she realized their ink was similar. Mama’s long, dark hair hung in loose waves down her back. Her eyes opened wide as she took in Allana. “An’kadi,” she murmured. “You’re all right.”
“What happened? And where’s Dad?”
“He’s sleeping. He’s fine,” she said. “There’s a lot to tell you. For now…” Her mother sighed. “The people who took you and you father are part of the Raspolin. Do you remember the stories I told you about the Great War?”
Allana nodded. “Vaguely.”
“They hate our kind. We thought they were gone, but it seems they’ve returned. They’ve been quietly attacking our people, and this was the latest. They thought your father had information they wanted. But when they realized you were a hybrid, they decided you were more valuable. The Raspolin specialize in a corrupt, abominable magic they call the Crimson Path. It’s based on the use of blood, which is forbidden by our kind. Based on what we found, that man injected you with elixir, a substance used as a catalyst in many of their spells and rituals.”
“Why?”
“We’re not sure,” Mama said. “It could be to prime you for something. It’s nothing we’ve seen before.”
“Maybe you could ask him,” Allana said.
Her mother bit her lip and looked down. “He didn’t survive. I struck him harder than I had intended.”
A chill washed through her. “Oh.” Maybe Alec deserved to die for what he’d done, but it was frightening to realize her mother had made sure of it.
“One of the Marashti healers has been watching you carefully since yesterday,” Mama continued. “She says you are recovering, but we will watch for any lasting effect. Are you feeling better?”
Allana considered it. Her vision was normal again. She still felt a bit woozy, but that could have just been from waking up suddenly. “I think so.”
Her mother nodded. “Tell me if it changes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Tell you what?”
“That you were the Tempest. They said you murdered a bunch of people,” Allana said. She picked at the soft white sheet, watching her fingers instead of looking up to see her mother’s eyes.
There was a subtle shift as her mother perched on the end of the bed. “I told very few people,” she said. “Once the war was finally over, my brothers and sisters, the Arik’tazhan, went our own ways. Some of us chose to live quiet lives. I chose to hide who I was.”
“Were you ashamed?”
“No,” her mother said without hesitation. Allana looked up at her. Her silver-blue eyes held Allana’s gaze without wavering. “I am not proud, necessarily. But not ashamed either. War is ugly. I would take issue with the claim that I murdered a bunch of people, but it’s true that I killed many. And I understand if you need time to deal with that. But they wanted to eradicate us. It wasn’t just about power or land. They hate us for what we are, and they wanted every last one of us dead.”
“But some of them were dragons,” Allana said. “The ones who took us.”
“I know, and that scares me very much. It means no one can be trusted,” Dyadra said. “Back then, this was not the case. They were nearly all human, and they wished to kill anyone with a hint of dragon blood. I helped fight back.” She hesitated. “And when the war ended, we continued the fight. The power they possessed was too dangerous, so we hunted them down.”
“You still didn’t really answer me,” Allana said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel better knowing? Does it make you happy to know that I was once feared? That my name was whispered to frighten children?”
Allana smiled. “Kind of. They were pretty terrified of you.”
Her mother laughed a little. “In war, it is good to be feared. A big enough reputation can deter some enemies, and ultimately spare lives. Now, I just want a simple life. I want a life with you and your father.”
“But they don’t seem to want that.”
Her mother shook her head. “No, they don’t. And I am genuinely afraid of what that mean
s.” She extended a hand and squeezed Allana’s foot lightly. “Whatever happens, I will not let them harm you again.”
Allana believed it. Even looking at her mother’s petite form, she could still see the monstrous blue dragon that had rescued her. “Thank you for coming for me.”
Her mother tilted her head. “You are my daughter. I would have flown into hell itself to find you. If you learn nothing from me, you must know this. That I love you more than anything in this universe, and I will protect you until the last breath leaves my body.”
Her throat clenched, and she held out her arms. Mama leaned in for a hug, embracing her tightly. “Thank you.”
Eleven
It took two days of rest and gentle care from the Marashti healers to have Will back on his feet. As she’d feared, they’d cut into his intestine, and he’d been dangerously close to a deadly infection. Between the work of the Marashti and some modern antibiotics, he had recovered well. Once he was awake and managed a real hot shower, he’d insisted on sitting down with her and Sohan to discuss what had happened. His face was bruised, and his usually healthy glow had turned ashen and pale. He was still handsome, but he’d seen better days.
Not long after they’d reunited with Allana, a small contingent of Kadirai from the Broken Stone Gate arrived, led by Tarek Windstriker. They’d cleared the rest of the warehouse, finding Alec and two more of Vienna’s comrades dead. Dyadra wasn’t overly sorry about them. The woman in the crushed vehicle and Ikran, still moaning in the trunk, were alive, and being transported to Skyward Rest, a dragon community on the east coast that had a prison where they would be held and interrogated by Sohan’s people. Tarek Windstriker had apologized profusely for the breach in security at the Gate, swearing Ikran would be dealt with.
Sohan had arrived by plane the next day to join them at the new Broken Stone Gate. Disguised as a rundown motel in the Nevada desert, the compound was well-appointed on the inside. With its rebuilding, the Gatekeepers had added several large apartments for its ranking officers and visitors from Ascavar.
The three of them gathered in a meeting room overlooking a dusty expanse of desert. After exchanging pleasantries, Will leaned forward and fixed Sohan with a pointed stare. “What does all this mean? Dee says you think it’s connected to something going on back east.”
“The Raspolin are back,” Sohan said. “A new name. They call themselves the Order of Winged Justice, or the Chosen, depending on who you ask. They’re claiming that dragonkind as it has existed for thousands of years must end, but they’ve changed tactics a little now. They’re recruiting hybrids and even some full-bloods.”
“What did they want with Allana?” Dyadra asked. “It was a coincidence but they were very interested in her once they knew what she was.”
Will nodded. “They initially wanted the map.”
“The fucking map,” Sohan muttered. “That legend never dies.”
“There is no map,” Dyadra said. “There has never been a damned map. Ikran knew that one of us was Arik’tazhan, and he assumed it was you.”
“But you’re—" Will started.
“I would assume the same if I didn’t know any better,” Dyadra interrupted. “Look at us.”
“It’s true,” Sohan replied. “I’ll make a note to Tarek’s team that we need to find out if anyone else had that information. He was extremely upset that the information had gotten out.”
“It wasn’t his fault. Ikran was eavesdropping and happened to overhear,” Dyadra said. “Though he should be more careful.”
Sohan nodded. “The Chosen have a huge operation taking our kind and draining blood to generate more of the elixir. We also have some intelligence that they’re seeking out hybrids. We’re still working on why.”
“They were strong,” Will said. His eyes dropped to his lap. “Fuck. I could barely touch them.”
“We think the hybrids are using the elixir to empower themselves,” Sohan said. “It’s likely that they were much stronger than you. Not your fault.”
“Still.”
“Don’t be a macho asshole,” Sohan said. Will’s eyes shot up to him. Sohan had quit mincing words centuries ago. “Not only did they have blood magic on their side, they outnumbered you. You did well at staying alive and distracting them from your daughter as well as you could. I’m sure you know what happened to Dee and me back in the day.”
Will nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Meh,” Sohan said dismissively. His gray eyes narrowed. “The time is coming for a Conclave. Queen Valella has already sent word to Ascavar. It’ll be in a few weeks, with a location to be determined just before it begins. For security.” He hesitated. “I know you want a quiet life, but I need you there. Even if it’s just to give a report on what happened.”
“We’ll do it,” Dyadra said. “I want a quiet life, but I can’t sit by when this is happening.”
A smile crept across his lined face. “I won’t lie. I’m glad to hear it.”
They spent another hour chatting, drifting to casual conversation about Dyadra’s language classes and Will’s work with the human military. Finally, Sohan rose to leave, saying he was due back to deal with the impending work at Skyward Rest. Will hung back as Dyadra walked with him to the entrance of Broken Stone Gate.
“It was good to see you,” he said. “I was afraid of what would happen after you called.”
“As was I,” she said.
He embraced her, holding her tight. For a moment, the close contact awakened a warmth in her body, a remembrance of nights pressed against him in moments stolen between battles. “You will always be far-serahl to me. No matter how much time passes.”
“And you as well,” she replied. She kissed his cheek, rough with stubble. Their bond had lasted for centuries, forged in blood and flame. Though she loved Will with all her heart, Sohan would always be something beyond just her friend, beyond a brother.
When he was gone, she and Will stood outside in the sunlight together. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “I know he’s your old friend, but if you don’t want to go, I understand.”
“We have to help,” Dyadra replied. “I won’t put Allana in danger, but we have to help.”
He nodded. “Whatever you decide, I am by your side.”
She squeezed his hand, and he responded by wrapping his arms around her. She sank into his embrace, letting her smaller frame melt into his. Even with days-old injuries, he was strong and reassuring. “Make sure you stay there.”
She was not a fool. She had not survived the brutality of the Great War by empty sentiment. The future was full of uncertainty. But she could not have asked for more in that moment than to know that her family was safe and that her love had been enough for one more victory.
“Is that an order from the Silent Tempest?”
“It’s an order from your wife,” she replied, laughing against his chest.
“Then I say, yes ma’am.”
The End
ABOUT J.D. MONROE
J.D. Monroe is a Georgia-based author with a love for all things paranormal, magical, and downright fantastical. She has not given up on the dream of riding a dragon someday. She currently writes the Dragons of Ascavar, a fantasy romance series featuring magic, mayhem, and seriously hunky dragon shifters, and Hell’s Belles, a weird paranormal mashup featuring two sassy Southern ladies who slay both metaphorically and literally.
Read More from JD Monroe
www.jdmonroe.com
FLYING INTO CREPUSULAR BY MALEK MONTAG
Flying into Crepuscular by Malek Montag
The mighty Wokwan has lost something, stolen from her by the sorceress, Bab Yaga, who desires hegemony over Hinterland and the Empire of Tudihgai.
Hanna has lost someone dear to her, her brother Mika, sold by her mother-in-law to the sorceress of the great Crepuscular Forest.
The beautiful princess, Xai Kai has lost her parents and her beloved friend. Now her guardian, Skrawan, seeks her hand in marriage.
Flying into Crepuscular © Copyright 2018 Malek Montag
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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One
“A skiff. A matchstick floating in bathtub. Struggling through the swell slapping at its hull. You’re lying low in the water, little boat. What are you bringing me today? Oh, and what’s that out there? Your mother-vessel awaiting your safe return? I can smell their fear from here. Your oars creak in their stays and drag on the surf. Turn into the channel now, little one. Look at those steep rocks dripping with foliage. How they hem you in? Trap you like a hare in a snare? It’s so agonizing, isn’t it, this slow plough through the waves to my home. To Setchii Island. To death. I see tired olive eyes wanting sleep. But they can’t find solace with fatigue and fear. I feel them both. I sense them and feel them deep inside. I see it all.”
Scales and Flames Page 38
