Dragon: The Clan Legacy Series

by J. S. Striker

  It always failed.

  They didn’t last long, though—a day or two, tops, before they were taken to their so-called “rightful owner,” whoever that was.

  That meant she was the oldest prisoner here. Running two weeks, if her manual count since she’d woken up was right.

  Red was already on the verge of re-calculating the days in her head out of boredom when she heard it—the soft groan of the dungeon doors opening, then closing.

  She didn’t hear footsteps, but that wasn’t surprising considering these shifters had a particular talent for stealth. Red kept her stance calm, at the same time bracing herself for some sort of repeated interrogation, barely concealed threats…or, hey, perhaps it was just more food.

  This time it might contain poison, for all she knew.

  A shadow stepped into the light in front of her, and she squinted her eyes to study the silhouette. More steps, and the silhouette formed into the shape of a man who was breathtaking, at the same time intimidating.

  He was tall—taller than most with a body that was muscled and bronzed, but full of scars. It was the body of a warrior, encased in black jeans and a plain white-gray shirt that didn’t suit him at all—almost like he was only dressed because he needed to present civility in front of people. Further up, she saw a mess of bronze hair that couldn’t be bothered with hair gel, a strong nose that made her think of some sort of South American descent, and a chiseled jaw that looked like it would take more than a hammer to break with its proud lines.

  Then there were his eyes.

  Golden, bright, and full of intensity that was directed solely at her. A few seconds later and she realized it wasn’t just intensity that she saw there.

  It was hatred.

  The man stood just an inch or two outside of her cell bars, almost as if defying the electric currents running through them. She was actually somewhat grateful for the electric thing, because based on the tenseness of his body, it was probably the only thing standing in his way.

  She’d heard tidbits that the dragon shifter who’d replaced the leader she’d killed had golden eyes. She wasn’t naïve enough to think there were that many people with that eye color.

  And she wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate him.

  Still, she refused to be intimidated by a mere stare. Red lifted her head and didn’t break eye contact, no matter how much his gaze made her uncomfortable.

  Then she did something really bold—and foolish.

  “You know, it would probably be easier for the both of us if you quit staring and actually stepped inside this cell.”

  The man said nothing, though his eyes darkened in response before he banked whatever emotion was there down. She expected her statement to make him talk—and if not, she was planning to goad him further so he would end up walking away in frustration.

  What she hadn’t expected was for him to hold up some kind of remote. He clicked, and before she could even comprehend how fast it happened or how she knew, her instincts were screaming at her that the electric current had been turned off.

  And she was right.

  Red only had a second to gather her wits about her before her blood turned cold as he slowly opened the cell door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Henrik Mikhailov knew without a doubt that she knew who he was—or at least, sensed the power he held in tight control inside himself like a secret waiting to unfold. Her expression was one of calm neutrality, but he wasn’t one of the shifter leaders for nothing. He could read body language more than most, a very useful attribute that helped with interrogation skills and more.

  This was the exact reason he didn’t miss her tensing before she subtly tried to calm herself down when she realized he’d turned off the high voltage cell bars that were keeping him away. Then he was sliding inside without so much as a thought, keeping his own expression as calm as a placid lake.

  The cell that they placed her in was not that large, but it was large enough for the two of them, plus two more if need be. The bed was made of some solid material with only a sheet for comfort, and it was folded precisely. He noticed the tray at the end of the bed holding a pitcher half-full with water and remnants of today’s lunch—some kind of oatmeal with dried fruits in it. That was only half-eaten, too.

  Henrik then turned his attention towards the witch that was sitting on the bed as serenely as a woman out on a stroll, her hands folded primly on her lap. She was wearing clothes provided to her here, some kind of drab gray dress that was too loose for her figure. Her black hair was pulled up in a loose bun, and her gray eyes matched the color of her clothes oddly.

  She was a petite little thing, someone who looked harmless and innocent of all the accusations thrown at her. He didn’t remember her being this slim, or this pale—like the sun hadn’t touched her skin in years. It only added to the innocent effect, which she used to full advantage as she looked him in the eye.

  It was that façade of innocence that was good at luring people in.

  Then, trapping them and striking them with deadly power.

  Malik had realized it too late, because he’d been dead by the time Henrik had found him. The memory of that encounter had somewhat dimmed over the years, but the sight of the witch responsible freshened it up like it was just yesterday. Henrik could see the blood in his head, cloying and sticky as it pooled around his friend. Then he was seeing her, fiercely serene as she escaped his wrath like she didn’t care one bit.

  He’d tried searching for her for too many years, to no avail.

  And now, she was here.

  Henrik stood on the other end of the cell, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in a casual manner. It was more for his sake than hers, because he didn’t know exactly how he was going to act if he came too close to her. This was a risk in itself already.

  But he did promise Dylan Masters, the leader of all shifters and the only man ranking higher than him in the alpha chain, that he wasn’t going to harm her.

  Yet.

  “I’m here now,” he finally said, in response to her earlier statement.

  Red raised a brow. “So I see,” she murmured.

  “And I have a surprise for you,” he kept on as if she didn’t speak. The dungeon door was heard opening again, and Henrik waited as footsteps descended, and a shadow came across the room. A few seconds later, a pretty woman in simple dress robes peeked in, honey-brown eyes absorbing the scene.

  “Hey,” she said softly, gaze finally settling on him. The woman was a witch and a mate of his friend, Robbie, and was usually somewhat bubbly. This time, though, her gaze was sober and serious.

  Henrik nodded his head. “Soph. Come in, please.” She did, but only a step or two. He turned back to the still-unimpressed Red. “Since you don’t seem to remember anything, she will help you with it.”

  No introduction, no explanation. He left it at that and stepped out of the cell to give Sophia more space to navigate as she went closer and did some pleasantries with the enemy before kneeling down. Red made no protest as Sophia placed her hands on the other’s forehead, closing her eyes.

  Then she started chanting a spell.

  As Henrik observed, an emotion of great dislike swelled inside him as Red’s expression remained the way it was—serene, calm, with absolutely no fucks given. The fact that she lost her memory should have made her more compliant to everyone’s effort in bringing it back, but no. Instead, she held herself like she didn’t particularly care whether they brought it back or killed her—something that didn’t sit well with the other leaders, who wanted her head hanged rather than imprisoning her here. There had been a voting process among the shifter leaders about the matter, headed by Dylan, and unfortunately, Henrik had voted the opposite of killing her just yet.

  Because of this, Dylan had called him objective, and therefore assigned him with the task of making sure no harm came to her for now. What Dylan didn’t know was this was just a delay until Henrik found out what he could first.

>   He wanted to know why she murdered Malik.

  He wanted to know why she was so cold.

  Once he had the answers, once he made her feel the depth of the emotion that made him almost lose his mind, then he could say the job was done.

  Then he could kill her.

  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it took him a second too late to realize green sparks filled up the cell.

  And then Sophia was thrown out with a force that was both invisible and sinister.

  It all happened too fast—Sophia landing on the ground with a yelp, and Red quickly standing up with an aura of darkness surrounding her. The sight of the good witch hurt had Henrik seeing red, as he saw Malik all over again—and so he moved without thought.

  His hands shifted to claws out of his own accord, and he was in there before Red could so much as breathe. In one fast movement, he had her by the neck and was lifting her off the floor, keeping his grip locked tight until he felt the darkness bleed out of her, much as the blood was bleeding out of her bit by bit.

  She choked out a cry, even while she tried to speak. “I didn’t mean it,” she rasped, trying to struggle against his grasp.

  He growled in response. Liar.

  “I didn’t—”

  Murderer.

  Dimly, he heard another voice telling him to stop, but he chose to ignore it. It kept telling him to lay off, even while he kept choking her, taking the life out of her—

  A blue spark hit him in the arm, followed by hands pulling him away. Then, another set of hands that were stronger than the first. Henrik had a second to see another familiar face before he was thrown out of the cell this time, with Sophia locking herself in. There were still blue sparks on her hands, from where she tried to attack him, and her eyes were full of frantic determination.

  “She didn’t mean it,” she said.

  “Like hell,” Henrik growled, making a move to launch himself inside.

  The hands that pulled him away held on to him like steel.

  “Fall back, Mikhailov,” Robbie snapped. “That’s my mate in between, and I’ll kill you if you hurt her.”

  The words processed in his mind, but not enough for him to completely calm down. Furious that he was being stopped, Henrik yanked away from the other dragon shifter, glaring at him and Sophia. Red was on the floor, unconscious but breathing.

  He cursed. Then he stomped out of the dungeon before he could do further damage.

  *****

  It took Henrik more than a few minutes to regulate the blood pounding in his system into a steady hum, and to be reasonable enough not to punch anyone in the face. He controlled his anger by racing towards the back of headquarters and using the allotted training punching bags there to vent—a task that calmed him down somewhat, despite tearing out the punching bags.

  He wished he could shift to his dragon form and fly, but being in the crowded part of the city didn’t allow for that. So he took the second option.

  After the venting sesion, Henrik returned back inside headquarters with the intention of going back to the dungeon to check things out. He wasn’t surprised to see another familiar face guarding the door—Charlie, the Japan resident who was also a fellow dragon shifter.

  When Charlie spotted him, he nodded his head.

  “I believe you need to go back to your room, Henrik,” he said politely. Charlie was always polite about everything. However, his politeness now held a warning, however subtle.

  Henrik glared.

  “Who made you do this?”

  “No one,” Charlie confirmed. “I’m here to protect her.”

  “Protecting the prisoner, Chuck? We both know she’s evil.”

  “Not from my experience,” the Japanese said, reminding Henrik of Charlie’s story about how the witch in question had assisted Charlie’s mate, Francesca, into shifting again.

  Still, Henrik held on to his stubbornness. “She tried to kill Sophia.”

  “I believe that was already explained. It was an accident of the memory spell Sophia tried to do. Some powers came back, but her lack of memory rendered her unable to control it.”

  They remained silent for the next few seconds, just standing there. Henrik kept staring Charlie down, but the other merely gave him a calm look, unfazed.

  Finally, Henrik held up his hands and sighed roughly. “Is she awake?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yes. Sophia’s healing her right now.”

  A spark of guilt slivered its way in, and Henrik sighed again. “Please tell Soph I apologize for almost attacking her.”

  “Apologize in person or don’t apologize at all,” a voice said behind them.

  Robbie then popped into view from around the corner, eyeing Henrik with a raise of a brow. Henrik acknowledged his suggestion with an incline of his head.

  “I’ll do it. Later, when she’s out of there.”

  Satisfied, Robbie nodded back. “Good.” Then his face turned serious. “You’re wanted in the meeting room, by the way. Dylan knows what you did.”

  “Along with every other shifter in this place, I suppose,” Charlie added.

  Henrik cursed under his breath. Great. Just what he needed—more political games and more leaders puffing out their chests in a show of dominance. Despite having a knack for playing games, he preferred being in his African home, away from it all.

  But he had been given a task, so he knew he must remain there for a while.

  “What time do they want me there?” he asked.

  Robbie glanced at his watch. “In two hours.”

  Henrik nodded. “Good. Since you don’t want me here, I’ll be slumbering in my room.”

  He turned around and was about to turn the corner when Charlie called him again.

  “Henrik.”

  “What?”

  “We all lost a friend,” Charlie reminded in a smooth, almost gentle voice. “It doesn’t give us an excuse to kill without reason.”

  Silence.

  “What he’s trying to say is,” Robbie added sardonically, “We hope you don’t vote to kill her in the meeting, pal. We all want answers.”

  More silence.

  Then Henrik left without answering.

  It was only when he was in his room and sitting on the couch that he let the tension in his body go—bit by bit, a conscious effort that took some energy from him.

  They were right in that their questions hadn’t been answered yet. But at what point was tolerance no longer acceptable?

  Henrik scrubbed his face and closed his eyes. In the darkness, memories of Malik’s blood came again, vivid yet bleak.

  Grief wasn’t an easy thing to deal with.

  And whether Henrik liked it or not, he still had a lot of grieving to do.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sophia was perhaps one of the few people in this place who showed her compassion, soothing her with soft words and telling her everything was going to be okay.

  But then again, Sophia wasn’t a shifter.

  The woman healed her bruised neck, taking gentle care not to touch the spot that was darkening and further causing pain. The healing spell was a long, slow process, and in the end, she only managed to heal a portion of it.

  Red could still feel the somewhat painful throbbing, deep in her soul.

  The attack she did on Sophia was unexpected—a surge of power brought on by the woman trying to access her memories, almost as if a natural instinct. No memory was accessed, all of them remaining blank pieces of an unsolved puzzle.

  But powers were accessed.

  She didn’t realize she had that kind of power in her veins, and it was now thrumming incessantly all over her bones. It had taken her a great deal of effort not to react the moment Sophia unknowingly let it out, for fear that the shifters would only treat her worse if they knew what she could do.

  Concealment was the key.

  Once Sophia was done with her healing and had reactivated the cell bars, Red calmly waited on the bed for the dungeon door to close. She g
ave it a few more minutes, in case there were still those with sensitized hearing standing outside.

  Finally, when she felt the time gap was enough, Red stopped bottling the powers in, letting them all out in one single breath. She started shaking, starting from her toes up to her shoulders, like being encased in cold ice. Her magic was an invisible thing, but she could see swirls of color undertones in her vision, almost as if they were just floating there. She didn’t know how she could see them, because it was bizarre and didn’t deter her from seeing her surroundings as well.

  But God, it was wonderful to look at.

  Another deep breath and the colors were gone. The thrum in her bones remained steady, a vibration that was calming and nice.

  Her hand flew to her neck, and she winced at the tender spots. An idea came to her head.

  Why not?

  What did she have to lose, other than her sanity, which was obviously not faring well in this too-confined space?

  Red closed her eyes to concentrate better. She didn’t know any spells, didn’t know anything regarding magic wielding. But she did hear the chants coming out of Sophia’s mouth, and they were now in her mind.

  Softly, she repeated the chants. Nothing happened.

  She repeated it once more before realizing that maybe there were other ways to do this.

  So she concentrated on the colors again.

  The thrum inside her grew stronger, and the colors started flowing out. She let her mind guide them, almost like guiding clouds in the air, waiting until they slowly settled on her neck like a bandage.

  A cooling sensation was felt, and she sighed in relief. Her thumbs rubbed that portion again, and even when she still found it tender, it no longer stung.

  Red let the coolness remain on her neck. Her mind began to wander, thinking about where else she could lead the flow.

  Slowly, she urged half of the colors away from her neck, switching them to her ears. It was surreal how they flowed inside her, like an invisible glow. At first, nothing happened. Red let out a sigh of impatience, focusing her mind on something. A vision.

  Him.

  I want to hear Henrik.