The Blood King

by Abigail Owen

  Immediately, Ladon started casting out his thoughts, first to Gorgon, then to the rest of his own guard. In minutes, they coordinated. Gorgon and half of both their troops still remaining would head to Brand to hold the mountain in case of attack. Ladon would take the other half to Ben Nevis.

  He would’ve preferred to take only his blue dragons, but he didn’t entirely trust Gorgon not to double-cross them and take Brand and Kasia prisoner. This was the best he could do.

  Ladon lowered his head to Skylar, who he’d made sure to include in his mental conversations. “You need to go with Gorgon.”

  “I know.”

  Ladon rumbled his approval, unable to contain the sound. “You’re not going to argue?”

  “Until you see me in a fight, I’m merely a distraction. Besides, I can’t send myself without Kasia.”

  “You think you’re recovered enough to do what we discussed?”

  She put a hand on his face, her palm not even covering one scale, so tiny beside his bulk. “They won’t expect you to show up that fast. This could turn the tide now. I’m ready.”

  Fuck, she was incredible.

  Skylar smiled. “Gather the men here. I’ll have to send you in human form.”

  Ten minutes later, his men standing behind him, Ladon stepped in to his mate, taking her face in his hands and running the backs of his fingers down one soft cheek. “Are you sure?” he asked in a low voice meant only for her ears.

  Skylar nodded, her gaze steady on his. “Let me do this for you.”

  Now that the time had come to go, to save his people, Ladon found he didn’t want to leave her. An anxiety like he’d never known ripped his soul in half, and he had to physically hold his body still against it.

  Skylar’s eyes widened, and she raised her hands to his wrists, not to pull away from his touch, but to latch on to him, like she was holding him steady.

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Ready?” Asher asked.

  “I…” She paused, then shook her head. “Go save your people.” Skylar kissed the side of his mouth in a gesture that almost brought him to his knees.

  Before he could respond, she ignited her fire, the flames caressing her skin, shining in her eyes, consuming her in a rush. With a hard shove, she disappeared. Everything disappeared, his sight going black, his hearing turned off, like he’d been forced into a soundproof room.

  Asher’s hand on his shoulder was Ladon’s only connection to the black hole his mate had forced him through. This was where she’d been trapped when he’d had to pull her out of it? He could have lost her that day to this? Knowing that only made the idea fester. Fire would be preferable over this nothingness.

  With a whoosh of sound and a flare of light, Ladon’s senses returned as he and his men landed directly on the training platform inside his mountain.

  Immediately, shouts thundered in his ears a heartbeat before his sight returned. The second fucking time his mountain had been attacked. At least this time, he was ready.

  He’d make sure it was the last.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In a single glance, Ladon took in the scene.

  He’d used his mountain as bait, knowing full well Brock would need the warriors who remained prisoners. Knowledge that those of his people who weren’t trained or able to fight were already safely hidden in the back caverns where Brand had spent much of his formative years hiding, now with wolf shifters as protection, helped. So did knowing, as much as he could, that Skylar was safely away from here.

  Ladon focused on one thing only.

  Taking out the fuckers who’d dared to attack his mountain twice.

  The cavern swarmed with dragons of gold, black, and blue, like living gangrene, or a glittering mass of angry weirdly colored locusts. No green dragons, though, or white.

  They’d helped Brock and Uther last time. Did their absence mean they’d backed out of the fight? Had the two Skylar sent back to her father’s clan convinced others to stay out of it?

  A quick check showed him that Ivar and Rainier had done their jobs, shutting the massive dragonsteel door that cut off the training arena from the rest of the mountain, containing the fighting to the massive opening chamber and outside, not allowing the gold dragons in the dungeons to be freed.

  Hopefully not many of their attackers had made it inside the main mountain. Neither of the brothers was anywhere in sight.

  Let’s hope this time we’ve found all the fucking traitors.

  In the last attack on this mountain, Chante’s betrayal—letting the gold dragons in, an act that almost lost Ladon Ben Nevis—still burned deep. Whatever his spy in Pytheios’s council had done with Chante was minor compared to what Ladon would’ve done to him.

  Immediately, Ladon’s men surrounded him in a formation that allowed him to shift. Blue dragons already in the fight turned to hover over him, protecting him from above. He pushed through the process, straining and stretching his body faster than he normally would.

  As soon as he finished his shift, he stepped in front of his men, spewing blue-tinged fire, allowing them to complete their own shifts.

  Each of his men’s thoughts popped into his head, one at a time, as they completed their transitions, relaying their readiness. Ladon looked to Samael, who’d joined them with several of Gorgon’s own warriors.

  “Take your men. Sweep the perimeter to the right. We’ll go left and meet at the top, then close in smaller circles.”

  Samael, his obsidian scales appearing almost wet in the light of many fires, was unusually large for a black dragon, most of whom tended to run on the lean side. He nodded his massive head and, in near silence, spread his wings to leap into the air, angling off to the right. In an impressive series of moves, he looped back over a gold dragon on the ground, smashing his tail into the beast’s sides, then picked it up with the spikes that imbedded into it and spun, hurling its body with unerring accuracy to take out another gold dragon with the force of the blow.

  Damn. I wouldn’t mind having a warrior like that in my clan.

  But Ladon didn’t have time to sit and admire. Even as he noted the other dragon’s fighting skills, he turned into the fray himself. With a boom that echoed off the stone walls, he clashed with a massive dragon so dark gold, he appeared more brown than yellow.

  The two of them tumbled end over end, but before they hit the ground, Ladon sunk his teeth into the other dragon’s jugular. A crunch of diamond-hard scales preceded the sweet, coppery taste of blood that gushed into his maw. Ladon slammed his wings down hard, jerking them both up. Another nauseating crunch sounded as he broke the dragon’s neck with the force of that sudden change of motion. He spat his opponent out, allowing the carcass to fall to the ground below.

  “Watch your six!” Asher, hovering directly ahead of him, shouted.

  Ladon pulled in his wings, even as he spun, which dropped his body. A blindingly bright motherfucker buzzed by overhead, right into where Asher waited, navy talons outstretched.

  The gold dragon flared his wings in a vain attempt to stop, unable to slow or change course enough to evade Asher, who was a fast sucker. With a twist in the air, Asher had him by the neck, leaving just enough space between his talons to get his teeth involved. Ladon’s Beta dispatched him with little effort.

  A quick check showed Fallon gutting some poor bastard on the floor like the armor of its scales was nothing. Samael pinned a butter-colored dragon to the wall, slamming it into the rock face over and over until the thing was a bloody pulp, almost unrecognizable. Duncan and Wyot took yet another gold dragon by the wings, pulling it apart as though they were plucking the wings off a butterfly.

  Ladon growled, even as he searched the area for his next attack. This was too easy. No way could they have killed all Brock’s best warriors. This fight should be harder.

  “Ivar? Rainier?” Ladon sent the thought out.
He’d yet to locate the brothers.

  No answer. Not a good sign.

  He didn’t have time to stop and observe, however, taking on one, then another foe, working in tandem with his men as they dispatched their enemies in turn. As they moved, each gold dragon to come at them or happen into their path was either killed outright or maimed to the point of taking them out of the fight.

  Ladon focused all his senses, attuned to everything around him even as he engaged and dealt with one dragon after another. The bloodlust of battle overtook him, rage fueling every move, every calculated maneuver, driven higher by the thunder of battle all around him and the metallic scent of blood and death in the air.

  He battled, not stopping, until the obsidian glitter of Samael’s fathomless eyes stopped him.

  Pulling up short, Ladon did a quick inventory of the other black dragons with his ally, in their varying shades of blacks and grays, as well as checking for his own men. The forces waiting for them when they got here, and the addition of more fresh fighters Skylar sent with him, had given them the advantage. Like Ladon, Samael had lost only a handful of men. In a fight like this, the best a leader could hope for.

  The gold assholes they fought couldn’t say the same, the bodies piled high on the stone slab below, crimson blood staining the gray rock in pools and splatters. He didn’t recognize any as the prisoners they’d held, which meant the plan had worked. Except where was Brock? Or Ivar and Rainier? Further review of the area showed them to have taken control of the fight.

  The battle wasn’t finished yet.

  Beating his wings to remain airborne, Ladon craned his neck, returning his long gaze to Samael. “Let’s end this.”

  Side by side with their men, they moved into the center of the room. With a collective roar that shook the very mountain, they charged.

  Ten more minutes of frantic fighting, and the remaining gold dragons still able voluntarily dropped to the ground to shift, the haze around them almost forming a bubble as so many did at once. The ultimate sign of surrender, putting themselves into their more vulnerable human forms. Ladon took his time, allowing his men to herd all their enemies—those who still lived—into a circle in the center of the space, surrounded by dragons ready to turn them to ash at the slightest sign of rebellion.

  Once he landed, Ladon took a moment to survey the men gathered, assessing which of those might be leaders.

  Before he could address them, though, Asher clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  Ladon turned to his Beta with a scowl. “What can’t wait—”

  But he saw. Ivar, drenched in blood Ladon hoped to the gods wasn’t his, stumbled under the weight of Rainier’s limp form, who he held. With a look at the men holding the prisoners, needing no order to remain, Ladon ran to his friends, shifting as he moved.

  Ivar gave out as he reached him, dropping to his knees, holding his brother to him. “We decided to lure them in by being the only two in the training room, the others hidden inside the town.”

  Fuck. A risk. One he would’ve taken himself.

  “Get Fallon,” Ladon ordered Asher.

  Ivar raised his head, sweat streaking through the blood covering his face, eyes gone dull and hard. “Don’t bother.”

  No. Ladon dropped to his knees, putting a hand to Rainer’s shoulder, already turning gray and ashy under the skin. Muscles clenched so hard, Ladon shook with the force of his own responsibility.

  “This is my fault.” He’d chosen to use his mountain as bait. Chosen to kill Thanatos and start this war.

  “Don’t—” Ivar stopped and swallowed. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t take that away from him. Rainier is…was…a fighter.” His voice cracked on the word, and he cleared his throat with an angry grunt. “He was born to be one of your warriors. He believed in you. And he knew the danger. You don’t get to take this on your shoulders, too.”

  Ivar spoke in a voice gone harsh, blue fire flashing in his eyes.

  Ladon clenched his fists. “You’re right.”

  Ivar dropped his gaze to his brother’s still face. “Go kill the fucker who brought this on us.”

  Brock. Then Pytheios.

  With a nod, Ladon got to his feet and stalked to the dragons still held in waiting.

  “Which one of you is Brock?” he demanded, deadly quiet.

  A tall man with a badly broken arm, the bone jutting out in a jagged, bloody protrusion below his shoulder, stepped forward. “You snapped his neck,” he accused with dead eyes. “His body lies over there.”

  Sure enough, the man pointed to the form of the brown-colored dragon Ladon had taken out first, his head sitting at an odd angle to his neck, grotesque. The dragon’s body was already starting to change color, turning an ashy gray at the edges of its snout, the dragon fire consuming the carcass from the inside out.

  Ladon looked to Samael and Asher.

  “I had heard that Uther’s son was a dark color,” Samael offered. “I never met him.”

  Ladon grunted. “No way to tell now.” In less than an hour, he’d be a pile of ash.

  “That might be the point,” Asher warned, a conclusion Ladon had already reached.

  “Bring me all the survivors, including those in the dungeons,” Ladon ordered. “Tend to the wounded. Search the mountain for anyone who got past our defenses.”

  He had the pleasure of seeing at least a few of the men before him blanch. They should be scared.

  An hour later, Rainier was another pile of ash along with the rest of the dead. When this was all over, they’d give their people a proper sky burial, but Ladon couldn’t think of that with every last living gold dragon involved in either attack kneeling before him.

  “Check their hands. Put those with Brand’s mark back in the dungeons,” he ordered.

  “What are you thinking?” Asher asked in a low voice beside him.

  “That I don’t give my enemies second chances.”

  “These are Brand’s people. He should decide—”

  “He’s not here,” Ladon said.

  On his orders, a man stood behind each gold dragon bearing no mark on his hand. Rogues. Traitors to the rightful kings.

  Ladon shifted before them, assuming his dragon form; the men, massive even in human form because of the clan they hailed from, becoming smaller in his sight with each passing second.

  Soon they would be nothing.

  “Now,” he ordered.

  Without hesitation, his men slit the throats of the men before them, then stepped back. Ladon took a second to enjoy the sight of these bastards, trying to suck air through the thick liquid pouring from them.

  With no remorse, he took a deep breath, igniting the fire in his belly. In a stream of blue-tipped fire, he guaranteed not a single man would survive his wounds on the off chance one of his men hadn’t cut deep enough.

  As soon as he was satisfied, Ladon shifted back to human. “Get me Brand. Now,” he ordered.

  …

  Mental note to avoid flying through clouds when possible.

  Despite the dragon beneath her, warming her from below, as well as her own fire, which provided some warmth, Norway in oncoming winter was freaking freezing. Skylar shivered against the wind. They’d chosen to take advantage of lower clouds, using them as cover as they flew to Brand’s mountain. Only flying through this soup was soaking her and chilling her to the bone.

  Skylar tried to ignore her discomfort. They couldn’t do anything about it. She’d get dry and warm when she made it to the mountain.

  Flying on Gorgon’s back was a different experience than flying on Ladon. His body wasn’t as broad or long, leaner as she understood most of his clan to be. That difference in size made the seat between the spikes on his back a tighter squeeze. At least they didn’t have too far to go.

  The creepier difference was the fact that Gorgon, and all the othe
r black dragons, flew in near silence. When she flew with Ladon, small sounds accompanied them—a slight rustle as his scales shifted with the movement of his body, the push of his wings, hell, even the wind sounded different.

  “Okay,” she finally gave in to curiosity. “How are you so quiet?”

  Gorgon vibrated beneath her with a chuckle, and even that was silent. “In addition to training in techniques that make us stealthy, black dragons are genetically adapted to be quieter than the others.”

  “Like how?” Never let it be said that she suffered from a lack of curiosity.

  “Our scales are smaller and smoother than other clans, allowing them to adjust almost noiselessly when we move.”

  Skylar glanced down but couldn’t see a huge difference. Of course, Gorgon was a dark gray, like sitting on a swirl of dense smoke, so making out individual scales became more difficult. “That’s nifty. Anything else?”

  “Our wings flow from our bodies more attached, sort of like bat wings, providing a seamless flow of air over us in a way that makes us quieter fliers. Think stealth fighter jet technology. Based on a black dragon, as a matter of fact.”

  Now she tipped to the side, trying to get a better view. Sure enough, the shoulder joints were thicker and more part of the body, rather than a distinct shoulder. The membrane of the wing was attached down the ribcage, rather than starting at the armpit. “Does that make it harder to maneuver on land?” She’d seen Ladon and his men crawl on all fours.

  “It does. We prefer to stay in the air.”

  Her mother, while educating them on dragon-kind, had touched on many things, but not to this level of detail. She hadn’t liked talking about dragon shifters, beyond what they needed to know to evade them. “I know all dragons are different in small ways like these.”

  “Yes.”

  But no description of how the others were? Looks like I’ve asked as many questions as he has patience for.

  Skylar made a mental note to ask Ladon. She frowned as that thought penetrated. Ladon. Please let the fighting be over. Let him be okay.