by Anya Nowlan
“Oh my god, please be alright,” Gemma begged to no one in particular when they dove for one another again.
She saw them lock in the air, teeth and claws grabbing and gnashing at one another, their wings almost useless as they spiraled down together. Only at the very last moment, when Gemma was sure they would crash into the walls of the canyon, did they pull up again, the prehistoric beasts still holding onto each other. Her breath hitched as she saw new wounds on both of them, a large gash in Devon’s long tail and Remington’s shoulder scraped and gushing blood.
The world shook around them from their roars and the way the two dragons kept smashing into treetops. It almost seemed like the Colorado mountains were experiencing an earthquake. Jolly’s grip on the dagger faltered as he had to grab for support to keep from falling, and Gemma ducked away from him. She didn’t get far though, landing on her hands and knees on the rocky floor.
Jolly didn’t seem to care, his pleading eyes focused on the fight above them just as Gemma’s were. Remington grabbed for Devon, catching him by the neck, and Devon’s roar deafened Gemma as the red dragon flung him into a mountain, snow rattling down the slopes as the dragon’s massive body hit it. Gemma watched Devon scramble back on his feet, one leg wobbly from the earlier bite and looking a bit disoriented from the hit. Blue blood colored the snow on the high mountain, and Gemma covered her mouth with her hands as she saw Remington lunge straight for Devon, teeth bared and bloodlust in his eyes.
Devon turned just in time to catch the other dragon, his teeth sinking into Remington’s long, gold and red neck.
“No!” Jolly screamed, seeing Remington thrash and fight against the grip, long nails scraping at Devon’s face and sides as the Bluewing clamped down hard. With difficulty, Remington managed to struggle himself free, but not before Devon caught his wounded wing again and ripped through it, creating an even longer tear and making the wing droop pitifully at Remington’s side.
For a moment, they stood away from one another, panting and eyeing each other with rage and exhaustion. Inexplicably, it reminded Gemma of the exact moment that had been depicted in the books between Daedalus Bluewing and Roman Redblade – two wounded but great warriors facing one another, both strong and powerful but only one could come out as the victor. The snow was colored red and blue around them, the blood flowing freely from the many wounds the dragons had suffered.
Neither one was fit to fly anymore, judging by the labored panting and the way Remington held his wing. Devon’s nostrils flared, and he drove forth once more, covering the distance between himself and Remington with playful ease, even though each step left a trail of blood.
Their blood curling screams filled the sky again as they locked together and slipped down the slope, bringing snow down with them. But just then, other voices joined theirs – one deeper, with an almost metallic ring to it, and a pair of others that were higher and more melodic. Gemma thought that nothing could surprise her any more that day, but she was wrong again.
The sky seemed not big enough for the three dragons barreling down on them, a dragon with metallic green scales leading the way and two, who shined like pure gold right behind him. The green one roared as he swooped down, and the other two followed, looking impossibly somber, though their eyes burned.
“NO!” Jolly screamed, running forward on the roof. “Let them finish this!” he begged to no one in particular, much too far to be heard by any of the dragons.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gemma
The three new arrivals, whom Gemma recognized as Greenmeadow and Goldplains dragons, landed at a respectful distance from the fighting duo, tucking their wings and watching with quiet, worried expressions. Gemma saw the Greenmeadow dragon’s chest puff, and she already knew that it meant his fire was burning bright, but he restrained himself, only snarling ever so slightly at the sight before him.
“Why aren’t they stopping them!?” Gemma asked, her voice deafened by the roars of the wounded dragons.
“They know they can’t,” Jolly cheered, a feverish look on his face. “It must be settled by the two themselves!”
With agonizing slowness, Gemma saw Devon careen his head around as Remington tried to grab the back of his neck, and caught the red dragon’s lower jaw in his grip. She heard a crack that sounded like a building collapsing and then a hissed screech as Remington began thrashing wildly, almost mewling in pain. Devon shivered with exhaustion, his legs barely keeping him up, but he held on without faltering.
“Oh my god,” Gemma whispered, her eyes never leaving the dueling dragons. She fished out the dragon stone and locked it in her palms.
Please come back to me, she begged, watching Remington scratch and tear at Devon’s face and soft underbelly, causing wound after wound. But Devon wouldn’t let go. In a last ditch effort, dark red flames puffed from Remington’s maw, tumbling over both of the dragons, but they died quickly and left both of them with burns as they were too weak to fight it.
With bated breath, Gemma witnessed Remington slump in Devon’s grip, too weak to hold himself up any longer. He collapsed on top of the blue-black dragon, and Devon struggled out from under him, still holding on to Remington’s neck and jaw. Another crack that felt like it could splinter bones in Gemma’s own body, and then, Cillian Greenmeadow sprang forward, tearing Devon away from Remington. He put himself between the red dragon and Devon, standing ground firmly with his chest rumbling with flames.
Blood rage still burned in Devon’s eyes, but the exhaustion was evident in him. He couldn’t take on another dragon – his mind might be willing but his body was unable.
“NO!” Jolly screeched in deathly terror, tears streaming from his eyes. “It can’t be!” he muttered, his shaking hands holding on to the dagger. Remington lay almost motionless on the snow, streams of blood dribbling from his body and pooling at places. The Redblade had been defeated, just like his forefather before him.
It’s not worth it, Devon. He is done, now you would just be slaying a broken man. Leave him to the mercy of his family… Gemma heard, the metallic tone to the voice marking it as Cillian’s. The golden dragons walked forward as well, one going to check on the fallen dragon while the other went to Devon’s side, as if bolstering his strength with their bright, almost ethereal presence.
Where Devon looked rough and severe, the golden dragons were as if straight off of a painting – mythical, majestic and carrying themselves like lions.
If she weren’t so wrought with worry, Gemma would have been in awe of the fantastic beasts she was allowed to witness. Devon stood strong for one more moment, but then his gaze swept across the long distance, and Gemma felt his warm eyes resting on her.
Come back to me, she pleaded again, her hands shaking around the dragon stone as she gripped it tightly.
Lowering his head, Devon trudged towards her, and before she could think of trying to stop him, his weary wings had spread again and taken him to air with painful slowness. He flew low and slow, his belly scraping at the tops of the trees as he descended upon the mansion from the mountains. The building shook as he landed, blue blood splattering on the stones.
Jolly’s eyes shone with abject horror and rage, and with bravery that Gemma hadn’t expected from him, he lunged at the big beast, screaming unintelligibly with the dagger held high above his head. He must have known it was a sure recipe for death. There was no other way. Almost as an afterthought, Devon crashed his wing into the man, sending him flying over the edge of the roof before he could ever touch Devon.
One last parting scream noted his descent and then a sickly quiet fell over the gorge, so silent compared to the rattling noises and the rumble the earth had made under the dragons’ paws.
“Devon!” Gemma yelled, the tears she had kept back so carefully now free to roll down her cheeks.
She ran to him, throwing her arms around him just as he began his transformation. His body twisted and undulated under the strain, blood marring Gemma’s skin where she touched hi
s scales, until he had turned completely into a man again. His body slumped against hers, but still, his strong arms gripped her into a hold that would take ten men to break. He pressed her against his bare chest – his clothes that usually survived the shift now but tatters around him – and nuzzled his face into her hair.
He was cut and bruised all over, large wounds on his arms, legs, chest and face marking where Remington had caught him.
“Thank the dragons above that you’re alright,” he murmured, his hand fisting around her hair. She pressed her face against his shoulder, holding him so tight she feared she might hurt him, but it seemed the great dragon was above pain at this point.
“I thought he was going to kill you,” she said breathlessly, looking up at the big, ragged man. He smiled a shadow of the smirk she loved and loathed, and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“I was sure I would kill him,” he noted absently. “I am glad I did not,” he finished, his grip loosening just a little. She could feel him tremble under her touch, sheer force of will keeping him on his feet. With a relieved sigh, Devon nudged Gemma’s chin higher and stared into her eyes, his sapphire blues so intense with love and desire that she could see both the man and the dragon behind them, coming together as one. “Thank you for calling for me, Gem,” he said.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she managed weakly. He chuckled, and the soft sound filled her with an immense kind of joy she hadn’t expected. How could it be that his life now meant so much to her? This man, who had deserved nothing but loathing from her had now become the focal point of her existence, impossible to be without.
Without thinking, she stood up on her toes and kissed him on the lips. The tremble that went through her was painful in its intensity, her fingertips clenching around him, holding on for dear life as she threw herself into the exchange. He responded immediately, and Gemma let a little murmur of a moan escape her lips when his tongue dipped into her mouth. Her hands scuffed into his hair, the dark, slick strands silky under her touch.
The kiss seemed to go on forever but was cut short much too fast when they were disturbed by heavy footsteps and a gush of wind from Cillian Greenmeadow landing on the roof beside them. He tucked his big wings by his sides and considered the couple with curious and somewhat amused eyes. Unlike Remington, he didn’t fill Gemma with fear or worry. There was something mischievous about the way he carried himself, but more than that, she felt that he was… good. Wicked but good, like Devon.
You’re playing with fire, Cillian’s voice echoed in her mind, the metallic tone reminiscent of emerald serpents and ancient secrets.
“I am the fire,” Devon replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Gemma grinned at his remark. Yes, if nothing more, he was certainly that. She considered the large dragon before them thoughtfully. He had golden horns twisting out from the top of his skull, giving him an even more fearsome look than Devon’s. His scales glistened golden-green, and he was as big as Devon, if not even larger.
He held himself differently, though, with a little more looseness to his posture that made Gemma imagine he could leap faster but not farther than the Bluewing. The way his maw curved made him seem like he was constantly amused by something, which Gemma thought to be an interesting look on a dragon.
That could very well be, Cillian agreed. It felt odd to have his voice in her head, like he was intruding on something that should have been kept just between her and Devon.
I guess I will have to get used to a lot of things that are a little bit weird, Gemma thought, squeezing herself closer to Devon, as if by her presence alone she could wish away his wounds.
This must be the bride that we have heard nothing about, the one that has brought all of this trouble. Pleased to meet you. A woman capable of bringing centuries of embers into a fire this big must be a remarkable person. I am Cillian. The dragon bowed his head slightly, bringing his muzzle almost to the ground in front of Gemma.
She inclined her head as well, her stomach twisting at having him so close. One did not get used to beasts so large that the eye could barely comprehend them quite that easily, and communicating with them was another matter entirely.
“Gemma. Pleased to meet you.”
Likewise, Cillian’s voice said, softer for a moment, before growing sterner again, his attention turning to Devon. I sent Apollo for Remington’s wife and brothers. I suggest you not be here when they arrive. I don’t think I have the stomach for another show like that today, Cillian’s voice rung in her ears, Devon growing immediately stiffer against her. Devon threw a glance at Remington’s body on the mountainside, Alexander Goldplains guarding over it, his large wings flexed to provide a makeshift cover from the boulders of ice and snow that sometimes still trundled down the mountainside.
She watched as his mouth twisted in irritation.
“I will take them on as well, if need be,” Devon said defiantly, and there was no doubt in Gemma’s mind that he would attempt just that, and because of his wounds and their greater numbers, fail miserably. That dragon stubbornness…
“Devon, no. Let’s go,” Gemma said, curling her fingers in his hand and releasing her grip on him, wanting to urge him to go. She didn’t want to think about even the option of losing him. She wouldn’t live through it, this much she knew, even though there were plenty of worries and questions swimming around in her head about everything else.
“Is he…” Devon asked, a sigh of relief going through him as Cillian shook his head ever so slightly.
No, but he will wish he was. I think it is settled now. He would be a fool to try again. You’ve given him his life. It is the highest form of mercy. We cannot wipe him from our kind, not these days… Not when there are so few of us. But I am sure his family will not leave things as they are. I suspect there will soon be a new Redblade elder.
Cillian inclined his head slightly, and Gemma nodded. She agreed, it was the right way to leave things, and Devon was in no state to take on another fight. He needed rest and time to heal. She did as well. And time seemed to be the most valuable commodity just then.
“Fine, I will go,” Devon finally agreed reluctantly, draping an arm around Gemma’s shoulder. “Please let me know, Cillian. And… Thank you. For stopping me. I wouldn’t have…”
I know. I would not have either.
Nor would have I, Gemma thought darkly.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gemma
Gemma stirred slowly, awoken by soft murmurs outside the door. Her sleep-ridden eyes opened with far more difficulty than she had expected, and when her hand instinctively reached for the spot next to her where Devon had been resting for the past few days, there were nothing but cool covers there. That woke her up with a start. For a second, she thought she was back in Remington Redblade’s mountain lair, her wrists shackled and her fate in everybody else’s hands but her own.
A few quick breaths and frantic glances later, she could let out a long sigh and relax slightly. The walls weren’t the foreboding maroon red and gold of the Redblade estate but the cool blues and silvers of her bedroom in Devon’s mansion. Despite herself, she smiled a little – the relief of knowing that she was home just so great. And that was what it was now, wasn’t it? Home.
She shifted her feet over the edge of the bed, letting her soles sink into the soft carpet. She wiggled her toes a little and stretched – that was all the time she gave herself to stir from her sleepy reverie. In her mind, Devon was still nowhere near well enough to be out and about, though she was sure he would disagree with her. Between her disappearance, him finding her, getting back to Devon’s house and then sleeping their dead men’s sleep for days on end, the whole ordeal had taken nearly a week.
Gemma was sure she’d slept twenty hours straight before the thought of nourishment or a shower had become compelling enough to make her stand from the bed. Devon hadn’t been much better. One of his servants had helped Gemma in cleaning his wounds, though the proud dragon insisted that he didn’t ne
ed any help. His magic would heal him. Gemma maintained that magic and antibiotics were not mutually exclusive, and he could suck it up and just deal with a bit of 21st century magic as well.
To her surprise, he hadn’t even fought her on it more than grumbling a few choice words. He must have been really tired.
Gemma grabbed a robe from a nearby chair to cover the tee and shorts she had been sleeping in and moved towards the door, the hushed voices still speaking right on the other side. With a frown on her face, she pulled the door open, finding Devon and a handsome green-eyed man exchanging pleasantries right outside. Immediately, she knew it must have been Cillian. She smiled brightly, and without a second thought, stepped closer to the towering, wide-shouldered man and hugged him tightly.
Gently, he returned the embrace before letting her go, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mirth she had seen in the dragon, now even warmer in person.
“Thank you for everything, Cillian,” she said, taking her place next to Devon, her hand quickly slipping into his palm. Cillian grinned in return, bowing his head ever so slightly.
“My pleasure, Gemma. I just came to let Devon know that there have been some changes in the Redblade fold, but I’m sure you’ll find out yourself when the wedding comes. Tomorrow, isn’t it?” Cillian queried, a knowing look on his face as he shifted his gaze to Devon.
Devon nodded, mirroring the smirk. Gemma had to wonder what all that was about, but she was getting used to constantly being just a little bit confused as to what was going on – damnable dragons and their mysterious ways. If they weren’t only so intoxicating to be around.
“Anything to worry about?” she asked.
“Not a thing. Nothing that we can’t handle, anyway,” Devon said, wrapping his arm around her. Devon was dressed in dark sweatpants and a gray tee, and to Gemma’s surprise, there was barely a mark left on him. He sported a wide, jagged scar on his wrist where Remington had clung to him, and she knew the scratched on his back and neck must not have been completely gone yet, but he seemed to have made an amazing recovery.
