by Debra Kristi
A screech accompanied by the humming of thick wings blasted from above. The sound grew closer, like a battle cry at the run. Drakhögg examined the sky, dropped Sebastian, and turned to block the zilant descending upon them. Even Sebastian could see it was too late, the zilant was too close, and soon the massive flying snake would be munching on dragon Drakhögg meat.
“OoRah!” came a warrior’s cry. Leaping into frame, a dragon force wrapped in reds and coppers and hair pulled tight at the back, slammed into the zilant, pounding it with a face full of fist and knocking it off course. A pitiful pitch escaped as it flapped and lurched, attempting to return to the sky, but it found silence after one swift kick from the dragon girl’s boot. “Must I always save your sorry ass, Drakhögg?”
“Thought you liked my ass?” Drakhögg retorted.
Rubbing her battered knuckles, the girl swaggered closer, a carefree pretense about her. “It’s all right, when the picking is slim.” She gazed at his butt and smirked. Drakhögg laughed.
Sebastian failed to share their humor. “The fight,” he said, and scrabbled to his feet.
“It’s not going anywhere.” Drakhögg grabbed the girl and pulled her to his side, slapped her on the backside, then pointed to Sebastian. “Have you met your sister’s latest distraction?”
Sister—the word echoed in Sebastian’s battered head. He couldn’t tell if it was surprise, frustration, or anger inching through his blood—a sense of betrayal at Kyra’s lack of disclosure. But then, she owed him nothing. He hadn’t exactly been forthcoming on the topic of family…or anything else.
The girl’s eye twitched, her steady gaze narrowed. “I don’t know what Kyra sees.” She peered up into Drakhögg’s face. “But if it keeps her away from Mobürn, I’ll endorse the infatuation.” Her hip popped to the side. “I’ll endorse anything that keeps her out of our business.” Her glare appeared to be examining Sebastian, scrutinizing everything about him. “Your species is unfamiliar to me. What are you?”
“Nothing you need worry about.” Chelsea, in her once-fluffy white robe, now dingy, blood-splattered, and torn, jumped between Sebastian and the two dragon shifters. Her hair a mess of tangles and knots and her voice a gravely growl, she stood in a protective stance with her back to Sebastian. Drakhögg and Kyra’s sister took a step back.
“What the…” Drakhögg mumbled.
“I got this,” Sebastian said, taking Chelsea’s shoulder and spinning her around. Her face, usually a soft sight of delicate features, was momentarily a mask of darkness, her eyes pits into a forever void of nothingness, and then she was sweet, pretty Chelsea again. Sebastian’s chest clenched and gut twisted. He turned to Drakhögg. “Can you temporarily forget whatever your beef is with me and do what you can to end this turmoil?”
“I’m out.” Kyra’s half-sister disappeared in a flash of red. Drakhögg hesitated, his steps wavering between retreat and advance, his eyes sparking with a desire to strangle Sebastian and then, with a blink and a shake of his head, he left.
Supervision of the dragon warriors gone, Sebastian gave his full attention to Chelsea, blocking out the world beyond, turning everything into a fuzzy array of colors and noise. Her smile, filled with sadness and remorse, was almost convincing of a genuine human girl’s. Only, he knew better now, and he knew what had to be done.
He glanced away, taking in the war all around them. He hadn’t realized until this moment, when he’d reached out to understand Chelsea, that he was no longer being inundated by everyone’s thoughts and emotions. When had he learned to control the Mara side of himself? Didn’t matter. Not right now, anyway.
Gazing deep into Chelsea’s eyes, he cupped her face and sighed. “You’re so tired, and you’ve been fighting so long.”
Chelsea closed her eyes, a lone tear streaking down her left cheek, and lowered her head.
“You’re ready.” With the gentle compassion only possible through pure understanding and devotion to the cycle of life, Sebastian lowered them both to their knees. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not,” she sobbed, another tear running down her cheek. Her words were lies, but Sebastian admired her bravery in spite of fear. “I’m thankful to have you here with me in the end.”
Soft and tender, he placed a kiss on her forehead, pulled a card from his deck, and pressed it between her palm and his, holding it there, firm.
She stared down at their hands, then gazed up at him. “Thank you.” Her body, ripe with cancer, collapsed into his arms, her spirit having fled in a flash. Laying her out on the dank ground, he gently wiped the blood from her nose and waited. Moments passed, possibly minutes, and there was nothing. Not a breath, a flutter of an eyelash, nothing.
The banshee wailed. And then Chelsea screamed. She was dead.
“Sebastian!” The call had come from the crowd to his left.
Against all his better judgment, something compelled him to stand and turn to the sound. He needed to stay steady, confront the demon who had destroyed Chelsea. But…the voice.
Kyra and Talia were running toward him through the haze. His heart fluttered.
“Got you.” Marcus stood behind him, breathed down his neck.
Pain shredded Sebastian’s insides, erupting into dragon fire across every nerve and cell in his body. He glanced down, watched the dagger retreat from his chest, then collapsed to his knees, all his good intentions for Kyra shattered. Kyra—she was screaming. Desire, need, ability, they were draining from his body, his soul. He dropped, made the sawdust his bed, and stared up at the dim, exploding sky. Tarot cards floated down upon him like falling stars.
Marcus kicked him in the ribs.
26
DRAGON LINES
Kyra
Kyra ran through the mob and spotted Sebastian in the midst of it all, not fighting, not running, but tending to a body lying on the ground. Her steps faltered, and she watched with a morbid sense of fascination. Is he reaping a soul? The body was of a young girl wrapped in what was probably once a lovely white ensemble.
Kyra’s heart leaped into her throat. The dead girl was Chelsea. Not her most favorite person in all the worlds, but still, she’d never wished the girl dead.
Then dead Chelsea screamed. And something else screamed—the banshee.
And Kyra screamed. Screamed for Sebastian, started running toward him, pushing people and objects out of her way. She tripped on something. She couldn’t see what. Didn’t take the time to find out, just got up and started running again. Dead Chelsea was wrong. All wrong!
Like a magician, Marcus appeared through the smoke and dust behind Sebastian, and Sebastian didn’t see him. It was her fault. Her fault for calling his name, distracting him. Her heart took off like a wild cheetah, her legs desperately attempting to match the speed. Helpless anxiety fought to seize control of her systems. She was nothing more than a mortal, after all. No powers, strengths, or abilities to use against Marcus in the protection of the man she loved.
Then fears became reality, and she watched Marcus plunge the dagger through Sebastian’s chest. The dagger she’d taken from Sebastian. The one she’d hidden in his trailer. Her heart came to a full stop and her lungs burst with protest, her screams enveloping her.
Her world would be over without Sebastian. He couldn’t die. Wasn’t allowed to die.
He fell to the ground and didn’t move. Kyra’s feet began to move again, dragging through the dirt with monstrous effort. Talia grabbed her arm, gave her a needed tug, and Kyra’s stagger picked up momentum.
Marcus tossed what looked like cards down on Sebastian, and then kicked him, and Kyra’s soul cried out. It was now that she wished for her dragon, to tear Marcus into unrecognizable pieces.
Then her family was upon the monster of a man, removing the need for her. Bolsvck slammed Marcus in the chest and the two tumbled into a brawl amidst the mayhem of fighters. Marcus burst into dragon form, and Bolsvck followed. Rushing to Bolsvck’s aid, Drakhögg and her half-sister Keahi. On the other sid
e, Kyra recognized Marcus’s lackey, Toby, stepping in. They now fought several yards away, their combat constantly taking them farther and farther from where Sebastian lay.
Dropping at Sebastian’s side, Kyra placed herself between Sebastian and the battle, so that she might serve as a wall of calm, blocking the chaos from his view as well as blocking him from those battling. Her hands hovered over his battered body, his bloodied shirt and vest, afraid to hurt him with her touch. His eyes were black, stared up at the night sky, and his breath was shallow, with a wheeze.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the sound of a gurgle in his throat.
“No, no, no. Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about.” She cupped his hand in hers, kissed it.
“I failed you. Kalrap…”
“Shh.” She silenced him. Kissed his cheek. “Fix him, please!” she called to Talia.
Talia stood behind her, placed her hand on Kyra’s shoulder. “This is beyond me. I’m sorry.”
“No!” Kyra yelled, and brushed her hand along Sebastian’s cheek. Fidgeting, she fixed his jacket, pulling it closed across his wound. She brushed her palms along his chest, along his arms, through his hair, lowered her lips to his, and kissed him ever so softly. “I love you,” she whispered. She thought she saw a glimmer in his eye, as slight as it may have been, and then it was gone.
“Kyra.” His voice croaked. She pressed against him, snuggled close to hear his words. “Don’t let them decide for you.” He raised his hand, his arms moving as a weak and feeble man would move. He pressed his palm to her heart. “You know.” His arm dropped, and his eyes closed.
Kyra sucked in a breath, then called his name. No sound, no movement came. She pressed her face to his and kissed him, and then cried. She cried for all the troubles they’d been through, for his brilliant potential lost, but mostly, she cried for all the days they would never have together. She hugged him to her as if willing her life to him, until the gentle wave of a hand along her back tried to wake her from her grief.
“I…” Talia stumbled for words. “I don’t know what to say.”
“What is there to say?” Kyra stood, a surge of heat flushing through her blood. She turned her back on Talia before the girl could answer and stormed toward the dragons fighting in the midway.
Bolsvck, Drakhögg, and Keahi were easily recognizable. The beast they battled, on the other hand, Kyra wasn’t sure could be considered a dragon. The magic Marcus had employed had morphed him into something else, something Kyra had no words for. He tossed Drakhögg and Keahi around like chew toys. Only Bolsvck provided any kind of challenge. She wondered how her Moorigad would have fared. Would Kalrapura be tossed aside as easily as Drakhögg and Keahi? Toby was laid out on the ground, a bloody mess. Kyra had missed whatever caused his demise.
None of them had been paying any attention to her. Too caught up in their fight, and completely unaware of who she was behind the disguise. The surrounding area provided nothing worthy of throwing at a dragon. Nothing she could lift, other than things like empty popcorn containers. Small things like those wouldn’t warrant a glance. If she could lift and toss a body, now that might provide a chance of gaining Marcus’s attention. There were several bodies to choose from. But since she was trapped with the strength of a mortal, such a choice wasn’t really an option at all.
Fire raged in her soul, and it cried for vengeance. The longer she stared at the battling beasts, the more she wanted to destroy them all. If her father hadn’t come to the carnival, none of them would have come, and Sebastian would still be alive. Her father was trying to talk to Marcus, only he called him Balidhug. Like the guy at the club that first night. Bolsvck spoke of family and deception, things Kyra no longer cared about, so she tried not to listen. But she couldn’t help but hear Marcus was blood, an uncle, torn from the family through the treachery of a faction led by Jon Davies. Lies. All lies.
Talia screamed. Another scream, horrific and perching, followed. Kyra spun around and came face to face with a bewitching woman with flowing midnight hair that swung in the breeze and eyes that could lead a man to his doom. She stood beside Chelsea’s body and stared down at Sebastian.
“She just…” Talia stammered. “She just…” Pointed her finger at the woman.
“Rose like a spirit from the dead?” the woman said, with a wild spark in her eyes.
Talia nodded numbly.
The woman flashed a small but wicked smile, then turned her stare on Kyra. “Who did this?” Her voice was stern, harsh, and packed with anger. Her hand flicked to the side, indicating Sebastian.
Sharp pains splintered along Kyra’s jawbone. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching her teeth so damn tight. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pointed to Marcus.
The woman’s face frosted over, her lips freezing in a sharp, straight line. “Then he, too, shall die.”
Fury and fire, malice and ice, whatever Kyra had expected, was not what came to be. The woman moved past Kyra and approached the dragons in a soft-mannered way. One that made her appear as if she floated above the ground rather than walked. Her stature was solid, no trembling or pause. No visible show of fear. When she was within a tail swipe of Marcus, she dropped her cloak and spoke. “My lord, you have failed me for the last time.”
“Come on, we’d better go.” Talia was suddenly at Kyra’s side, yanking at her, trying to pull her away from the scene, but Kyra planted her feet firmly into the ground. “You don’t want to get involved in this.”
“Oh,” Kyra glanced at Talia, her brows arched, “I think I might.” Then she glanced back at Sebastian and choked back a sob. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Not after everything they’d been through.
All the dragons had stopped fighting and they stared at the woman’s bared beauty. Only, it wasn’t a normal, naked-woman-standing-in-the-midway kind of ogle, if there were such a thing. There was something much more sinister and magical in the way everyone was transfixed, and it set Kyra’s insides into a frenzy.
“What is she doing?” Kyra turned her pain from Sebastian to the woman, and concentrated. “Why aren’t we affected?”
“Because she has her back to us. Let’s keep it that way.” Talia gave another tug. Kyra shoved her off, moved closer.
All of the dragons began to howl. They lashed out or flopped on the ground, they withered and clawed at the ground. They were in pain. That bewitching whore wasn’t only destroying Marcus, she was torturing Kyra’s family. Maybe killing them.
Before she realized what she was doing, Kyra was free of Talia and running at the whore’s back. She may not have the power of a dragon, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t tackle someone with whatever strength she did have. Kyra braced her arm out in front and slammed into the woman, square in the back. The momentum carried the two women into a drop and slide, Kyra with the advantage. She slammed her knee into the woman’s back and pressed her spread palm over the woman’s head, holding her face in the dirt of the midway.
Kyra sighed heavily, and then peered up to find Marcus’s beastly glare upon her. He had recovered. She had only seconds before he would kill her, or so she suspected. An even temper had never been his strong point. The other dragons would save her, maybe. She didn’t have the time to assess their situation.
“I thought you would’ve gotten smarter after the convergence,” she yelled. “All those dragons in one should have increased your brain’s ability, not diminished it.”
The other dragons were beginning to shake themselves back to something that resembled normal. What had the bewitching whore done to them?
Marcus growled through his teeth, sending spittle like cannon fire at Kyra. She turned her head away. “Who are you? Why do you risk such impetuousness?”
“You see that?” She pointed to Sebastian, glimpsed at his still body lying on the ground, then wiped a tear from her eye. “That,” she pointed again and sniffled, “was stupid. Dumb. Reckless. Completely senseless.” She tuned all her mortal fury into her
words and glared at Marcus. “Or whatever other label you want to put on it. Killing Sebastian was monstrously moronic!”
Marcus roared with laughter, setting Kyra’s skin to tingle. Oh, how she wanted to knock him into the netherworld. But she couldn’t, not physically. Instead, she stood her ground before him, standing tall, clenching and unclenching her fists.
The woman at her feet hissed and swirled into a stance beside Kyra, snarling at her. “Don’t you ever—”
“Shut it, Leila. I’ll deal with you in a minute,” Marcus said, and turned his burning dragon eyes back on Kyra. Leila hissed but made no further moves.
Marcus showed no signs of recognition. Her guise appeared to still be in place and she would use that to her advantage. Kyra took a deep breath, let it sink down to her soul. She attempted to find calm, but there was no calm to be found in this situation. Sebastian was gone. “You want the Moorigad, am I right?” She locked a stare with Marcus. He didn’t move, not a twitch.
“Who are you, girl?” His breath rolled over her, a wave or rancid meat and sweat.
She could play his game. Not twitch. So she did. She stood perfectly still and held the glare between them. “You just killed the Moorigad.”
Marcus jerked. Kyra would have smiled at the win if the circumstances weren’t so beyond heartbreaking. Her father was already morphing into human form, moving toward the body, without realizing he was moving directly past his own daughter.
Kyra swallowed, and then continued. “Sebastian, not Kyra, was in possession of the dragon.” She paused, took another deep breath, and then locked a steely stare on the murderous dragon. She poured every ounce of venom she could muster into her next words. “The Moorigad dragon.”
Marcus tossed his head in the air, swinging it from side to side, and roared with the sound of a dying zilant. One flap of his massive wings, and he took to the sky and soared overhead, in Sebastian’s direction.
