by Donna Grant
“Bloody hell. You did it!”
She jumped at the sound of Rankin’s deep, gravelly voice—half in surprise, half in guilt at having been caught staring at her prisoner. Jeyra straightened once more and faced the man who had raised her. Rankin was a tall, broad-shouldered, gruff, and loud man. But he had a tender side that he only showed her. He’d never married or had children of his own. He wasn’t much to look at, even without the scars of war on his face and body, but he was one of their best warriors. That in itself earned him the respect the others of their village showed him.
He wore various shades of brown and tan to better blend in with the thick forest they called home and carried a double-bladed war axe that Jeyra still had trouble lifting. His pale brown hair, liberally laced with gray, was half pulled away from his face, the rest hanging free to just past his shoulders.
Before Jeyra could reply, Rankin enveloped her in his thick arms and squeezed so tight, she couldn’t breathe, his dark brown beard—nearly down to his chest now—tickling her face.
He released her almost instantly and leaned back as he held her arms in his hands, smiling brightly down at her with his gray eyes.
“I’ve always known you could do this,” he said, blinking rapidly. “I knew this was something you had to do. But I’m proud of you, girl.”
She beamed under his approval. “I couldn’t have done it without the training you’ve given me.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat and shot her a crooked smile. “We both know that’s a load of shite.” Rankin dropped his arms, his smile gone as he looked at the Dragon King lying unconscious at their feet. “We need to get him locked away quickly. We don’t know how long it’ll be before the other Kings realize he’s gone and come looking for him.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
Rankin’s brows were drawn together as he swung his head around to look at her. His eyes narrowed, and he looked her up and down. Then he peered beyond her, noting how close they were to the border of the land of the dragons.
When his gaze returned to her, Jeyra fought not to take a step back. Rankin had never lifted a hand against her. He had disciplined her with chores, words, and, like now, looks of anger and displeasure. She hated when she disappointed him. He had opened his home and his heart to her, and she had worked hard to make him proud. But this was one time she had to do something for herself—no matter what he might think.
“Jeyra,” he said with a frown.
“I wasn’t caught.”
Rankin ran a hand down his face and walked a few paces away. Then he halted and turned back to her. “Tell me what happened. All of it. In exacting detail.”
“It’s better if you don’t know—” she began.
He slashed a hand through the air, fury contorting his face. “I’m tryin’ to save your life. You know what they’ll do if they discover you’ve crossed the border.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant the Dragon Kings or the council. Not that it mattered. She had done what had to be done. Whatever the consequences, she’d deal with them.
Rankin growled and let out a string of curse words. “I know that look. I know you’re tough enough to handle whatever punishment comes to you—or at least you think you are. You won’t be if they take your life. Now, tell me,” he barked.
“I’d rather not.”
“Jeyra,” he said, the word more snarl than anything.
She shifted from one foot to the other and glanced at the Dragon King. She hated that her gaze was drawn to him over and over again. She knew how heinous the Kings were, how cruel and vicious. That should be enough to remind her that his looks were just a pretty shell to hide the horrors within. She drew in a deep breath and met Rankin’s hard stare.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
He didn’t move, didn’t so much as flinch.
Jeyra licked her lips. “I crossed the border into their territory.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Rankin said and turned away. His fists were clenched, anger vibrating his body. Several long moments passed before he faced her once more.
The last thing she wanted to do was finish the story. If her first sentence got him so riled, he certainly wouldn’t like the rest of it. But she also knew that Rankin wouldn’t give up until he had every minute detail from her. It would be more painful if she dragged things out. So, she took a deep breath and let the words tumble hurriedly from her lips.
When she finished, Rankin’s face was no longer lined with anger. Instead, it was pale, and for the first time in her life, she saw panic in his gaze.
“Ah, girl,” he murmured sadly and slowly closed his eyes as his chin fell to his chest.
Jeyra had expected him to shout, to tell her how reckless and idiotic she’d been. She hadn’t anticipated his quiet words or the alarm on his face. It caused her heart to race and her chest to feel as if someone were squeezing her—or as if a dragon stood on her.
She didn’t know how many minutes passed. She was too lost in thought, too wrapped up in Rankin’s reaction to think about it. But the moment the Dragon King groaned, both she and Rankin stilled, their eyes darting to the prisoner. Rankin was the first to move. He strode to the Dragon King and punched him hard in the face, knocking him out once more.
Jeyra breathed a sigh of relief. There was no telling how long that emotion would stay with her, though she had a feeling that once it was gone, it would never return again. But no matter how many laws she had broken, regardless of the consequences of her actions, she had to do this. Not just for herself, but for everyone living in fear of the Dragon Kings. It was time her people got justice for the numerous deaths the dragons had caused. It was time the Kings realized they couldn’t dominate everyone. Maybe then the killings would stop.
When Rankin’s gaze swung to her, she saw that he had come to a decision. “I’m going to carry him. If anyone asks, you’re going to tell them you found him on our side of the border. The two of you fought, and you got the upper hand before he could shift into his real form. I trained you, so that won’t seem too farfetched. And our people know of your skill, so that works to your advantage.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t,” he spat. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for our people. Because if it’s ever discovered what you’ve done, then whatever truce we have will be shattered, and the killings will start up once more. I can’t live through that again. We’ve had peace for decades now, and you might very well have ruined all of that.”
Jeyra’s heart clutched because she realized that whatever kinship she and Rankin had developed throughout the years had just been smashed, destroyed. Shattered beyond any hope of reconciliation. She had seen Rankin react like this one other time. He’d never forgiven his once best friend for the transgression.
And he wouldn’t forgive her.
Rankin was the only family she had, and she had ripped that into a million pieces for the justice she needed. She already ached for the loss because she loved Rankin like a father. But her path had taken her to this point. She’d always known this was exactly where she was headed. If Rankin couldn’t see and understand that, then he didn’t know her at all.
She blinked back tears as Rankin grabbed the Dragon King by his hands to sit him up. Then the warrior squatted and let the King slump over his shoulder before Rankin straightened and adjusted the body. Without a word, he started walking. Jeyra had no choice but to follow.
With one last look over her shoulder to the border she’d crossed, the line she had ignored, she squared her shoulders and prepared for whatever came next.
Chapter Two
The sound of cheers pulled Varek from the darkness. He winced at the pain in his body then realized that his ankles and wrists were bound to a pole as he hung, swaying side to side as someone carried him through a throng of people.
He opened his eyes but couldn’t make out much because some dark cloth covered his head. He saw pinpr
icks of light and the shapes of bodies but couldn’t make out anything other than that. Varek was more concerned with the pain, however. It wasn’t that he’d never felt any, because he had. But this was different. Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
As the panic rose, he made himself remain still. He wanted whoever had him to think he was still unconscious. There was a chance they would talk freely as long as they believed he was asleep. And at the moment, that’s all he had. He needed information before he released his magic and shifted. It wouldn’t do him or the other Dragon Kings any good if he escaped without information on who had taken him and why.
Varek couldn’t believe that after all the Dragon Kings had endured at the hands of their foes—and after they’d won—that someone else had risen up. The fact that so many continued coming after the Kings shouldn’t surprise Varek, but it did. They were the most powerful beings on Earth. He’d thought that would be understood by now. Besides, he and his brethren deserved some downtime to rest and relax and enjoy life.
He might not have a mate, but that didn’t mean there weren’t things he wanted to do and see. He was tired of war, tired of fighting foes and killing. He yearned to see his dragons. It was the only thing he thought about once they discovered that the dragons were safe and alive. He’d gone back to his rooms at Dreagan and simply sat in the dark, thinking about his clan and the last time he’d seen them.
Something slammed into Varek’s side. He couldn’t stop the grunt of agony, but he didn’t tense. He couldn’t tell if anyone around him noticed with all the cheers, but those carrying him didn’t stop. It wasn’t long before the sunshine gave way to darkness as they entered a building. The loud cheers melted away to unnatural quiet, broken only by the steps of those carrying him.
He smelled the earth and dampness. It grew darker and darker as drips of water plunked onto stone and wet ground—the only thing breaking the ever-growing silence. Varek didn’t need his eyes to know that he was in a cave. He’d spent many centuries deep within his mountain after the dragons had been sent away. He knew the scent of dankness well.
For a moment, he’d thought maybe Merrill and the others were playing some kind of jest on him. But just as soon as that went through his mind, he dismissed it. Whatever was happening had an ominous vibe to it. This wasn’t a practical joke.
The sound of metal scraping against metal was as loud as a shot. He was hyperalert, his senses buzzing as they took in everything. He listened to the footsteps and realized that four men carried him, and four others followed. One set of footfalls was quicker and lighter than the rest. A woman? A kid? Varek knew not. Yet.
“Bastard is heavy,” one of the men at his feet murmured through clenched teeth.
There was no reply.
Varek was intrigued by the accent. He couldn’t place it, which didn’t make sense because he had the ability to identify any accent on Earth. They spoke English, but the inflection sounded like a mix between Welsh and Irish.
More metal scraped, then what sounded like a heavy door swung open. The footsteps began to shuffle, then turn. He wanted to tense up because he knew they were about to toss him onto the ground, but he made himself remain relaxed. When they did dump him, he bit his tongue to make sure no sound escaped.
The pole he was tied to was dropped on his head.
“Fool,” a male to his left growled.
Another man near him whispered an apology and hastily began to untie Varek’s wrists and ankles. Within moments, he was free. The scuffle of scurrying feet moving away told him they not only knew who he was, they also feared him. He’d let them believe he had been captured, but the minute he discovered who had imprisoned him and why, he would bust out of this prison and return to Dreagan with the news. The longer Varek had to wait for that information, the more his fury grew. The door creaked angrily before being slammed shut. He heard the lock click into place. Then eight sets of footsteps walked away.
Leaving him alone and still very much in pain.
Varek remained still. He counted off seventeen minutes until he cracked open one eye to look around. The way he was angled, he could only see half of the area—and no one within sight. He counted another six minutes before he opened both eyes and slowly rolled onto his back.
The metal clanking at his wrists got his attention. He lifted his arms to see that both wrists were bound with thick shackles wider than his palm and attached by hefty chains. They had not only thrown him into a cell, they’d bound him, as well? He clenched his teeth in ire and stopped himself from yanking on them, showing everyone just what they could do with their fucking restraints.
His thoughts drifted to Dreagan, where his brethren—led by Constantine, King of Dragon Kings—resided. The thought of his family allowed Varek’s anger to recede and calmness to take hold. Information. He needed information before he left.
He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. The darkness of the cave didn’t bother him. With his enhanced senses, he could see as well in the dark as he could in the light. His hearing was superb, as was his sense of smell and taste. Varek looked above him to the rounded ceiling of the cavern that appeared as if someone were pushing it down from above. It hung down so low, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand up straight.
He sat up and noted that three sides of the prison were nothing but rock. The fourth side was made of metal bars in an arching design, short on either end and rising to meet the ceiling in the middle. The cave was about ten feet deep, seven feet wide, and five feet high. Beneath him, the ground was damp and hard. He rotated his neck, trying to work out the stiffness there. He had other discomforts, as well. His jaw felt as if he’d run into a granite boulder. He was pretty sure a rib or two was busted, and his right forearm stung.
Varek turned his arm and spotted the dark stain of blood. When he lifted the sleeve of his shirt, he found a two-inch cut. It wasn’t particularly deep, which meant it should’ve healed immediately. Why hadn’t it? The more he stared at it, the more unsettled he became. Uncaring if he had information or not, Varek wanted to get out of the cave and back to Dreagan and the other Dragon Kings. He yanked against the manacles, expecting them to break apart and fall to the ground.
They didn’t budge.
He frowned and attempted it again. And again. And again. No matter how hard he tried to break the bonds, they held fast. Never in all his long years had anything ever held him. For the first time, Varek knew real fear. The kind that settled into the bones, the soul…the psyche…and never let go.
Panic rose swiftly, clawing at him. Slicing and tearing until he was consumed.
Varek fought to gain some measure of control. Sweat beaded his forehead and dripped down his face and back. Breathing became difficult, to the point where he had to forcibly make his lungs expand to take in air. But by concentrating on his breathing and not fighting the anxiety threatening to devour him, it eventually loosened its hold enough so he could think clearly once more.
When the worst of the dread had passed, Varek hung his head, letting his chin drop to his chest as he shoved his fingers into the packed earth. Minutes passed as he simply sat there and let the reality of his situation sink in. Somewhere along the way, he realized what was wrong. He could no longer feel any magic.
His head snapped up. Concentrating, he forced his fingers deeper into the firm earth, tearing his nails and skin, but he didn’t notice. The magic of Earth had always been a constant. It had always been there, ready and willing to share itself with the magical beings of the realm. The magic was stronger in some places like Dreagan, but it was always there for those who knew what to look for.
But there was nothing here. Not even a whisper of magic.
The unease Varek had felt earlier returned, this time deeper, darker, more insistent. That’s when he knew he was no longer on Earth. That realization was like a punch to the gut. He searched his mind, trying to discern what had happened to bring him to another realm. The last thing he remembered was b
eing with Merrill on the Orkneys.
Merrill.
Varek jumped up, forgetting that the ceiling was low, and banged his head on the rock. He ducked, holding his head as a shooting pain ran through him before dropping to his knees until the dizziness subsided. When he pulled his hand away, he felt something on his fingers. That’s when he saw the blood.
A glance at the cut on his arm showed that it hadn’t healed since he’d first noticed it.
“Och. I’m fucked,” he whispered.
Returning one hand to his head, he crawled on his other hand and knees to the bars and tried to peer down the corridor. There were other cells. Some had their doors open, some closed. He couldn’t tell if anyone was in them or not. Part of Varek hoped that Merrill was here somewhere, but another part prayed that his friend wasn’t. Because if Merrill had managed to escape, then he would realize that something had happened and get the others to come looking for Varek.
He slumped against the metal bars and pressed his face to them, then closed his eyes and thought back to the Orkney Isles. He recalled arriving on the islands with Merrill. They had basked in the beauty that was the Orkneys before Merrill convinced him to go swimming. Merrill had the uncanny ability of finding caves beneath the water, and Varek had gone with him.
They had explored many hidden caves that humans had yet to find. Some had treasure in them. Others contained other artifacts the mortals would likely put in museums so others could pay to go and look at them. He and Merrill left things as they were.
Varek had been happy that Merrill had talked him into swimming. It wasn’t as nice as flying, but being in the water in their true form had been almost as exhilarating. The deep ocean allowed them to stretch their wings and glide through the currents as neatly as if they were air. Now, Varek understood why Merrill often sought out lochs and other waterways, especially when the need to shift and fly came upon them.
