Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  Eager to get to the bottom of things, he opened the door and stepped inside, where the temperature was more like it—not bordering on tropical, as he’d prefer, but comfortable. He offered a curt bow.

  “Good evening, Father. Finally made it here.”

  “About time, too. We’ve been waiting.”

  Not a hint of surprise in his tone. The man gave him a frustrated look, but beneath all that, Djibril sensed the rush of love and relief at the sight of him.

  “Not too long, it seems. Your wine glasses are still almost full. But you’re right. I extend my apologies.”

  He scanned the room, noting the imposing-looking gentleman and … the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As well as a most aggravating specimen.

  Two people he knew well—or knew of well.

  What was his father doing being chummy with the granddaughter of his archenemy—the one woman on Fire Island who’d take any given opportunity to throw him under the bus? She snubbed him in public and made it a point to avoid attending any events held, sponsored, or in any way supported by the king. The old crone would likely stage a coup if she had the chance or inclination.

  Someone not to be trusted, therefore—a volatile dragon whose ambitions had created a rift between the Vasilievs and the Sokolovs.

  And more so, what was the leader of the Marekova doing here? The man would never leave his territory unless something grave and urgent prompted it. This didn’t bode well.

  “No need for introductions …” his father murmured.

  “None indeed,” he replied.

  Standing straight, Djibril gave another curt bow, while the others bowed and curtsied, respectively. After living in the real modern world so long, among normal humans, this over the top protocol proved mildly annoying. Yet, that was the way of his kind, and none doted over protocol and customs more than the Marekova. Thankfully, his father drew the line at having house staff constantly fussing over them, particularly during private meetings.

  Eyes bore into him and, drawn to the source, he directed his gaze at the woman.

  Kseniya Sokolova’s laser-like, cutting blue stare could possibly tame a wild horse or scare the hair off a grizzly bear. The fact her orbs gleamed bright only made that gesture seem more pronounced, more threatening.

  He called on his dragon senses as he studied her, casually trying to make sense of her.

  She was like them, a Metallic. But not a royal—to the utter disappointment of her family. They liked to think they had a right to be here, but, honestly, they weren’t born for this. They’d have acceded merely through marriage. True royals in the genetic sense had a special layer of depth in their scent—the closest for comparison’s sake would be the trail of fragrant incense he picked up from any of his family members, or those related to other dragon monarchs. This woman lacked it. No amount of vacuous posturing or turning up her nose could change that.

  He met her gaze with an arched eyebrow. She didn’t shy away from him. Rather, her blue, blue eyes darkened, becoming like the storm across a twilight sky. No longer quite twin jewels, but now, they seemed more striking, somehow. He found it hard to look away. No wonder she could keep massive audiences captive all over the world. He’d never been physically in her presence before, and he now understood what they meant when they spoke of ‘Kiki’s charisma.’

  She moved first, turning away when he cocked his head at her, and directed her full focus on his father.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but we were waiting for your son so you could let us know why we are here, I believe?”

  His father coughed to clear his throat. “Indeed. Forgive me, Kseniya Dmitriievich.”

  Wait a second? Not only was his father, the king, asking for that mere low-life’s forgiveness, he’d also addressed her using her patronymic? In the Russian world, that was almost akin to making someone your equal.

  He bristled, but before he could say anything, his father spoke.

  “Konstantin Feodorovich here needs our help, which I have already granted him.”

  What kind of help would the leader of an all-powerful clan need? He’d probably have expected pigs to fly before watching the formidable man before him ask for assistance.

  Kseniya blinked across from him. “Permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?”

  His father gave a wave of his hand, granting her request.

  “I really don’t see how we are involved. I mean, me and the Crown Prince.”

  Did he detect a hint of spiteful loathing when she’d said his title out loud? But for once, yeah, he was with her. Just this once, and that was it.

  Why the hell were they all here, anyway?

  “What do you recall of the county of Shadow Bridge in the eastern United States?” the king asked.

  Djibril racked his brain trying to access the many history lessons that had been forced down his throat while growing up.

  But it was Kseniya who spoke right away, without a hint or second of hesitation on her part. “It’s the Switzerland of the supernatural world. Almost every sup race that exists lives there in perfect harmony with humans. And if I’m not mistaken, there is an element of Greek gods in the makeup.”

  “Very well stated,” Konstantin said, his voice deep, calm, and respectful. “Unfortunately, this Switzerland is now burning down.”

  “Why don’t we all sit down, so you can explain to the children as you have already told me of the situation?” The king gestured toward a seating area.

  This was getting way too convoluted. What on earth were they getting at? If he wasn’t mistaken, he could read the same disbelief and puzzlement on Kseniya’s face.

  Still, it wouldn’t pay to jump the gun. Let Konstantin Feodorovich explain.

  He poured himself a glass of red wine and went to sit down with the others.

  Eschewing the elaborate throne itself, his father sat in a regular armchair from the set of six that surrounded a massive fireplace. Each one had a small table to the side where they could set their glasses. Djibril noticed Kseniya choosing the chair farthest from the fire. He sat right next to it and almost sighed aloud with pleasure.

  “What else do you all know of Shadow Bridge?” Konstantin asked.

  “I visited once, but it was a long time ago, when the owner of the castle—Adrasteia?—had held a huge event to celebrate the birth of her child. How is she doing, by the way? And the baby?” his father asked.

  “Well, that baby is a woman now, and she’s gotten into a rather serious … scrape. Many things have happened.”

  All eyes were on Marek when he paused. King Anton gestured for him to continue.

  “Well, to make a long story short, Shadow Bridge has a portal leading to another dimension. The idea has always been to keep it closed at all times, to protect the land from the Evil that had been sectioned off on the other side of this dimension.” He paused. “That portal has however been opened—won’t get into the hows and whys now, but know that it was the work of the ones conspiring to release those undesirables—and this has created as you may imagine a whole lot of problems. There are very bad creatures who are waiting for the right time to unleash themselves onto the world at large. No supernatural being, especially, is safe.” He looked around. “And that includes you all.”

  “But how did we not know of any of this?” Djibril asked. A valid question, wasn’t it?

  “I had been informed,” his father answered. “But only recently.” He offered Konstantin a withering glance, which the man acknowledged with a conceding nod.

  “Yes, I did send word to you when Adri rallied to my territory in Prague after the portal first broke open.” Another pause. “However, this is also the least of our problems right now.”

  “How so?” Kseniya asked, echoing Djibril’s sentiment.

  “We now have an Egyptian god involved.” Gasps followed this admission, then Konstantin continued. “And the angels have come back down to the earthly plane, to help fight this scourge.”

  Angels? Ne
xt thing he’d hear, there would also be demons in the fray.

  Kseniya straightened in her chair, a hand going to her heart. “Do you mean to say … it is The Great War all over again?”

  Marek nodded while his father spoke.

  “Indeed, I fear we do face this again, my dear.”

  Djibril blinked. Okay, his dad was getting way too chummy with this duplicitous character. If his mother got wind of his bizarre behavior …

  “Djibril?” his father asked.

  He snapped out of his thoughts. “What?”

  “Are you even listening?”

  He scoffed. Of course he was listening. There’d been mention of a war or something.

  “And this is where the two of you come into play. Your help has been commandeered, and I have granted my permission and my blessing,” the king continued. “It is indeed an honor if our kind can help in this war.”

  Wait, what? They were going to war? Who did that in today’s age, in his world?

  “Explain,” he bit out as he narrowed his gaze onto his father.

  Djibril was getting impatient. If there was one thing he disliked, it was being unprepared. Or forced into doing something he really didn’t want to do. The old man sounded like there wasn’t any way out of this deal here.

  “With all due respect, Your Majesty, and also to you, Konstantin Feodorovich, how does this involve us again?” Kseniya asked.

  “Adri’s daughter, Sera, has been through some challenges, as I said, possessed by a vindictive Egyptian goddess who has used her as an unwilling vessel.”

  “Oh my God,” Kseniya said softly.

  “After a showdown with her tormentor, trying to win the upper hand over her own body being occupied by this usurper, Sera has fallen into a sort of coma. Nothing has proved successful in reviving her, and now, we fear for her life.”

  Konstantin clasped his hands and eyed his glass of wine that sat half full. From his expression, he had an urge to down it all right then.

  “If it were just her life, I wouldn’t exhort you to join us. But there is more at stake here. A prophecy, as well as fateful occurrences showing us Sera—or more to the point, the child she carries—will be of the utmost importance in our fight against this old Evil that has been unleashed. Right this moment, it is biding its time to strike, but with Set now down from the godly plane …”

  Djibril frowned. This kept getting weirder and weirder.

  His father interjected in a grave tone. “I have already spoken to the leader of the Marekova here, and as I said, I have agreed to support their request. The two of you will go with him to help win this war.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Djibril jumped to his feet. His gaze slanted to Kseniya, who suddenly looked deathly pale. If he weren’t mistaken, she was also biting her lip very hard. Indeed, a few seconds later, the tell-tale copper notes of blood filled the air. She must’ve broken the skin on her lower lip.

  “A pact was made a long, long time ago by your family, Djibril Antonovich,” Konstantin said. “A member of the royal family would help out whenever bidden by the highest orders. To help him, the one closest in birth time to him would also be expected to join the fray.”

  “And that other person happens to be Kseniya Dmitriievich here,” the king continued. “Thank our lucky stars, actually, because according to what Konstantin Feodorovich here states, she happens to be the best person to help out.”

  Kseniya sighed. “Your Majesty, I—” She bit her lip again, before nodding and dropping into a small curtsy, her head still bent as she next spoke. “As you so wish.”

  She then straightened, pushing her shoulders back and standing tall, drawing to her full six-foot height. Impressive. If it hadn’t been for this absurd pact being lorded over them, he might have been awestruck. It seemed she’d suddenly pulled all the energy in the room into her stance.

  “What do you need from us?” she asked.

  Even her voice rang with a calm, solid strength that spoke of confidence and ability.

  Konstantin nodded. “Sera Dionysios needs her blood relative—her father, who is, it appears, a Phoenix. We believe only he can help save her at this point. Her energies are fast depleting, and other options have failed. Either way, she will die, but with his powers in the mix, she could be reborn.”

  “What of the baby?” Kseniya asked.

  The woman was even pregnant? He didn’t recall hearing that.

  “A strong one. Not surprising when one knows who its father is. Rafe Harcourt, the current Supreme Leader of the Vampyre Federation.”

  “The first-ever non-born vampyre to even reach the Council, let alone the upper echelons of their command,” Kseniya said.

  He frowned. How did she know all this? Then he shrugged. True enough, her family had always had a propensity for gossip.

  But how did they factor in here? He had never signed up for this kind of shit.

  “You seem to know the solution, then. Can’t you go get this man yourself?” he asked.

  Konstantin Marek leaned forward on his chair, his feet crossed at the ankles.

  “Did I tell you what has gotten unleashed from that portal? Original vampires.” He took a deep breath. “As much as it pains me to have to admit this, they are the only sups who can decimate my kind. We already have our hands full.”

  The head of the Marekova sighed before glancing up at the both of them again. “The angels already know where he is. Somewhere in London. They would’ve gone to get him, but now with Set in the picture …”

  “So it is a basic tracking mission, followed by an exfil?” Kseniya asked.

  Konstantin nodded. “You shall receive more details and all the relevant information once in Shadow Bridge. Adri Dionysios personally wants to hand over the reins to you. We leave in the morning. But before, I require you both to join up your powers so it can be shown that you honored the pact.”

  “Certainly,” Kseniya said as she stood.

  He sure wouldn’t fall and roll over as quickly as she seemed to be doing. Maybe she thought this would win her favor with the king and the Marekova to be such a kiss arse. And they’d mentioned angels.

  “If the angels know where this guy is, why don’t they go find him themselves?” he asked.

  “There are … shall we say, factions inside their ranks. All but one of them sees it as favorable to get involved in this matter. They need someone from the outside to step in, while they deal with other crucial matters that need immediate attention,” Konstantin stated, a shadow of a sad smile lifting his lips.

  Better and better. Even angels were at war within themselves. And they, mere dragons, were supposed to help?

  “We have many dragons on the island. Why us?”

  If looks could kill, his father would probably have him dead and buried by now. He knew what the man was thinking, and he was right. He should act more decorously for a prince.

  But again, he didn’t take well to imposition. The stringent rules of the International Tennis Federation proved enough to wrap his head around. He also understood the meaning of duty. Yet, still …

  “You are the only royal dragon I can call upon. One with superior skills, too.”

  Was it his imagination, or did Kseniya roll her eyes and shift on her feet just then, as if thoroughly peeved? Seemed this woman had inherited much of her matriarch’s temperament. A point he soon confirmed by catching the look of disdain she was giving him.

  Did she think for a moment he’d wither or back down from her glance? He’d whipped out his dick and peed in a cup under the close scrutiny of ITF agents during impromptu drug screenings, for heaven’s sake. This registered a zero on the ‘ruffling feathers’ meter.

  It also did not matter that her grandmother thought herself worthy of the crown. Fact was, the law of the land had put his father on the throne, and the man reigned wisely and fairly. Her family should be grateful to still hold elevated status on Fire Island, despite their spiteful attitudes.

  “And
we couldn’t have asked for a better pairing than with Kseniya Dmitriievich here,” his father continued.

  He looked at his dad. Did the king sound awed? By this scrap of a thing who did nothing else but be a walking clothes horse for the privileged, entitled snobs of the fashion world?

  Was the old man getting senile already?

  “He is right, Djibril. You are my heir. Your job will be to hold peace among the dragons and protect them. It will not hurt you to extend this favor to our friends, too.”

  “I do enough charity work every day. I’ve helped countless people already—”

  “Humans, which is fine. But I am sure you have no objection to helping the allies of your kind.”

  This time, his father meant the sobering look he gave him—an invitation to stop arguing and take his responsibilities seriously.

  Djibril sat quietly while Marek continued to relay all the details of their supposed mission. Their mission. Why her, too?

  “I could handle this myself or choose a partner I deem fit for this task. Why do we need Miss Sokolova here?”

  No way would he agree to have her foisted onto him. He’d eat a whole clay court at the French Open and all the grass of Wimbledon if it meant getting out of this madness.

  A sudden icy chill touched his face and his whole left side, the part of him closer to her. Despite the discomfort, he didn’t so much as flinch. Yes, she was an ice dragon, and she was sending a message. The wine in his glass froze, and he gave her a glance as if to ask, ‘Seriously?’ With a pull of his energy, his hands warmed around the crystal, melting the drink. To further spite her, he smirked at her, brought the glass to his lips, and had to stifle a grimace as he forced down a sip of the ruined liquid. Yes, there was a very good reason why no one even chilled a good Burgundy.

  To take this task on with someone he could never trust at his side—that was insanity at its worst.

  “As I said, you have the closest birth times. From what I gather, that means you were both bestowed with the same kind of strength, each a reflection of the other. Believe it or not, you are meant to work together, harmoniously. Where one lacks, the other one makes up for.”