Fury of Shadows: Dragonfury Series: SCOTLAND #2

by Coreene Callahan

  “I don’t know. Shit—I don’t know.” White-faced, Ivy clutched at her arm as Elise pulled her out of the kitchen. “I don’t spend a lot of time here.”

  A dragon shrieked. More cacophonic roars. A second later, the terrifying growls turned to words spoken by male voices.

  “Oh, my God,” Ivy whispered. “Whoever it is just shifted.”

  “Female!” Grizgunn’s shout throbbed through the labyrinth. “I can smell you.”

  Her muscles tensed. Her mind raced. A place to hide, a place to hide…she needed a goddamn place to hide. Some place safe. Some place secure. Somewhere Grizgunn wouldn’t be able to get in to and—

  “The vault.” Adrenaline hit her like rocket fuel. Dragging Ivy behind her, Elise sprinted across the great room. “Ivy—we need to get to the vault!”

  “What vault?”

  Elise didn’t answer. She ran instead. Her shoes thumped up the stairs. The thud of heavy boots echoed across the great room. Heart pounding, Elise glanced over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway across the room, Grizgunn snarled as he spotted her.

  “Come on, Ivy—run!”

  Breathing down her neck, Ivy yelled, “I am—go!”

  Running shoes providing grip, Elise raced across the vestibule, down the steps on the other side, and legs churning, skidded around the corner. Her knees skated across stone. Her palm slammed the dragon emblem in the center of the wood panel. The wall retreated to one side. Elise didn’t wait for it to open all the way. She pressed her hand through the narrow opening. Her skin met steel.

  “Open. Open. Please, open.” Chest heaving, she pushed against the vault face. “Open Sesame!”

  Magic hummed. A click sounded. The vault door started to open.

  Grizgunn shouted at someone. “Get them!”

  Afraid to look behind her, she shoved Ivy into the wedge between steel jambs and followed her through. Her pant leg caught on metal. Grizgunn roared again. Gritting her teeth, she yanked at her leg. Denim ripped. Her foot cleared the doorway. Elise slammed her palms on the interior of vault, asking it to close, praying it listened before Grizgunn reached the library and pushed in behind her.

  Twenty

  Eyes on the sky, Cyprus leapt from his perch atop a high cliff. Cold air ruffled his wing-tips. Tucking each in tight, he landed on the church roof and climbed toward the steeple. His paws slipped across aging cooper. He curled his claws under. Metal groaned. The razor-sharp points of his talons bit, raking the hard surface, stopping his slid, making green flakes slough off and fall toward the cemetery below.

  He hardly noticed.

  The ancient tombstones snaking beneath tall trees didn’t matter. Neither did the humans asleep in the small village less than a mile away. If all went well, none of the villagers would ever know he’d been here, on the outskirts of town, looking down over the snug hamlet they called home.

  Tilting his head, he adjusted his sonar. Magic whispered through his veins. Tingles swept over his horns as he broadcast the signal. The invisible vibration went wide. He murmured in satisfaction. Mimicry at its best. Elise’s bio-energy up and running, pulsing in concentric circles around him, surging through the air like a satellite signal. The perfect lure with which to set a trap. One Grizgunn would fly into any moment, except...

  Cyprus frowned. The bastard should’ve arrived by now.

  Firing up mind-speak, he nudged his first in command. “Wallaig—anything?”

  Scales clicked, the sound impatient, accompanying a growl through the connection. “Nary a peep.”

  Not good. Wallaig’s frustration signaled a trouble. The kind Cyprus refused ignore. Unflappable in a fight, uncanny at reading situations, his warrior was never wrong. Which meant if Wallaig didn’t like the current of state of affairs, the plan he’d set in motion less than an hour ago was about to go sideways.

  Swallowing a snarl, Cyprus touched base with the others. “Anyone?”

  A round of ‘nays’ came through mind-speak.

  Positioned outside the three-mile marker to avoid detection, his warriors waited alongside Wallaig. The plan was simple. Nothing fancy. Set a parameter, broadcast the signal, and wait for Grizgunn to take the bait. The instant the bastard flew into the kill zone, his pack would close ranks and unleash hell, annihilating the enemy in short order. A great strategy…if the bloody rogues ever bothered to show up.

  Pushing from his crouch, Cyprus he wrapped his tail around his paws and searched the horizon. His brow furrowed. Nothing. No one. Not a single a ping on his radar.

  Concern rattled the spikes along his spine. “Something is wrong.”

  “Agreed,” Rannock said. “It’s taking too long.”

  Levin grunted. “With the strength of the signal, the rogues should’ve been here by now.”

  “Which leaves us where?” Tydrin asked.

  Good question. One he needed to answer—and fast—given Grizgunn didn’t appear to be falling for the ploy. Any other dragon would have. His mate’s bio-energy was powerful, irresistible to any male with a pulse and—

  “Fuck,” Kruger said, sounding worried. “We may be in trouble.”

  “Tell me.” Cyprus’s tail twitched as his disquiet increased.

  Kruger cracked his knuckles. “Grizgunn is Randor’s son. What if the bastard shared the location of the mountain lair before he died? What if—”

  Wallaig cursed. “Grizgunn might know where we live.”

  “Even if he does,” Levin said. “The protection spell will close ranks at the first sign of an intruder, shutting the doors in and out of the lair. Grizgunn won’t be able to get inside.”

  “Unless,” Cyprus clenched his teeth as something horrible occurred to him. “Randor was part of our pack. He lived in the lair before he fled. If Grizgunn’s DNA is a close enough match tae his sire’s, the shield might recognize him and—”

  “Jesus,” Tydrin said, panic in his voice. “It’ll let him walk right in. My mate—”

  “Goddess, nay.” Unfurling his wings, Cyprus took flight. He wheeled over the cemetery and banked north toward Cairngorm. He needed to return home…as fast as his wings could carry him. No time to waste. If Kruger was right, Grizgunn might already be inside the lair.

  Terror tore at his heart. Elise. His mate. The female made and meant for him. If anything happened to her, he wouldn’t survive. No matter how short their time together, Cyprus knew he couldn’t live without her now. The bond he shared with her defied nature. Was so powerful the threads wrapped around his heart and squeezed, making him feel things he never had before.

  Fear for her propelling him home, he reached out with his mind. If he could feel her, he could mind-speak with her. If he could warn her, then she might—

  The bond flared, then sputtered and died.

  He tried to link in again. Nothing came back. No signal. No connection. Just an empty void where energy-fuse should be, and a terrifying amount of silence.

  Twenty-One

  Ahead of the pack, Cyprus rocketed through a stone archway. Cairngorm and the mountain lair lay ahead. Less than five miles out, and…he was gaining fast. Flying in formation behind him, his warriors stayed on his tail, covering his six, searching for rogues hiding in ragged outcroppings. Snow whipped off high peaks and slate ledges, blasting over his scales, whipping into a squall, dialing visibility down to almost nothing.

  Terrible conditions. Some might even say dangerous.

  Squinting against the weather, Cyprus pushed himself hard and flew faster. No way would he slow down. He was close. Almost there. Just minutes away from landing on the LZ and—

  His sonar pinged. The signal whiplashed, feeding him information, letting him know what lay ahead.

  Cyprus bared the double row of his serrated teeth. “Seven rogues on the east side.”

  “I sense the bastards.” Flipping up and over, Wallaig split wide right. Red scales flashed against white as wind whipped snow into a frenzy. “Near the LZ.”

  Tiger-striped navy, grey and
gold scales blending with the mountain side, Levin flew in, setting up off his left wing-tip. “Is Grizgunn among them?”

  Recalibrating his magic, Cyprus searched for the male. “Nay. No sign of him.”

  His brother snarled. “Goddamn it.”

  “Steady, Tydrin,” Rannock murmured, doing what he did best—staying calm when a situation went from bad to goat-fucked. “You won’t do Ivy any favors by losing your temper. If the arsehole’s still here, he hasn’t found our lasses yet.”

  “Smart females,” Kruger said, ice coating the long green spikes along his spine. “They’ve found a place to hide.”

  Trying to remain in control, so worried about Elise he couldn’t join the conversation, Cyprus breathed in, breathed out, forcing himself to think. His warrior’s words echoed inside his head. His brain stopped whirling for a second. He frowned. A place to hide…a place to hide…a place to—

  “The vault,” he rasped, relief releasing its grip on his throat. “Bloody hell—the vault. They’re in the vault.”

  No wonder he couldn’t feel her. Elise wasn’t dead. She was in the fucking vault.

  Designed to cage dragons when the Meridian realigned twice a year—now used to house the rare book library—the vault was protected by powerful magic. The kind able to lock a mature Dragonkind warrior inside when he became consumed by mating heat. A dangerous time for a male, which meant the vault boasted extra thick walls and a steel door that couldn’t be broken. At least, from the inside. From the outside, though?

  Worry hammered him. He didn’t know. Had never tested—

  “Will it hold?” Tydrin asked, plucking his concern out of thin air.

  “Let’s not find out.” Wheeling around a corner, Cyprus set up his approach. “We need tae get in there.”

  “Fly around the other side, lads. Use the west entrance,” Wallaig said. “We’ll hold the line, keep the bastards busy until you retrieve yer mates. Once yer free and clear, we’ll peel off and make for the city lair.”

  “Good enough.” Cyprus nodded. Smart plan. Thank fuck for Wallaig. At least someone was thinking straight. Goddess knew it wasn’t him right now. “Tydrin…on my six.”

  “Already there,” Tydrin growled, banking hard, staying right behind him. “Move your arse, brother. I need my mate.”

  He didn’t have to be told twice.

  Splitting from the pack, Cyprus circled back and, flying low, jetted into a chasm. Long and deep, the fissure provided the right kind of cover. With Wallaig and the others providing a distraction, the enemy pack wouldn’t see them, but—shite. The trench was narrow, so thin his wing-tips scraped over rock. Pain nipped at as hard friction burned his scales. He grimaced, but kept flying. Thirty seconds and he’d be out of range, completely invisible to the rogues under attack by the rest of his pack.

  The west side of the mountain came into view.

  Angling his head, he folded his wings and spiraled out of the ravine. Sheer rock face in front of him, narrow ledge above him. Body acting like a projectile, he rocketed straight up. At the last second, Cyprus unfurled his wings. The webbing caught air. His talons slid over rock and his claws dug in. Ripped from its mooring, granite shavings flew as he shot over the edge onto the ledge. Tucked into a somersault, he shifted from dragon to human form. Conjuring his clothes in mid-air, he tumbled across the platform.

  One revolution. A second one and—

  His boots slammed down. He legs took over, pumping as he sprinted across the LZ toward the door. He thumped on the portal with his mind, requesting safe passage as Tydrin landed behind him. Adding his request to Cyprus’s, his brother hammered on the door.

  Magic warped the air. Heat blasted over the landing, melting ice and snow. The stone wall disappeared, leaving behind an open archway.

  Ducking his head to avoid the lintel, Cyprus crossed the threshold and ran to his right. Warm air blasted over him as the dark tunnel closed around him. His night vision sparked. Details came into focus: compact dirt floors and scorched walls marred by a recent fire, chisel marks covered in soot. A loud bang echoed through the lair. The sound of shouting followed. Slowing to a stop, Cyprus held his breath and listened. He needed to know how many warriors were inside the lair. The voices came again—frustration alive in each syllable.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Three males.”

  His brother nodded. A clang echoed through the labyrinth. “With crowbars.”

  Metal struck metal again. One strike turned into more, the high-pitched sound reverberating through the lair as Grizgunn tried to break into the vault.

  Cyprus snarled. Thank the goddess for his mate’s quick thinking. She made him so proud and…fuck. He could imagine her reaction: the realization his enemy had breached the lair, her fear as she ran for her life, the uncertainty as she locked herself inside the vault, hoping it would protect her. The scene played out like a bad movie inside his mind. Cyprus ground his teeth together. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Grizgunn. He’d rip his heart from his chest. He’d tear his head from his fucking shoulders for frightening his mate. Again. For the second time in as many days, but first…Elise.

  Despite his desire for vengeance, she came before all else.

  He must get her out of the vault, and then out of lair. No way would he be able to function in a fight unless he knew she was safe. The realization tempered his anger and slowed his pace. He needed the element of surprise. Wanted to surprise the bastards and make each warrior hesitate. Victory lived in that moment—in his ability to send another male running—so instead of rushing, he crept down the corridor, searching every jut in along the tunnel wall. He heard three males, but that didn’t mean Grizgunn hadn’t sprinkled more inside the lair. A good bet, given the Dane’s success rate so far.

  Coming to a fork in the passage, Cyprus veered left into a narrow hallway. Dirt turned to mosaic tiles beneath his feet. Light bloomed up head. The voices grew louder as the shimmer of globes against a vestibule ceiling came into view. The library, dead ahead: one left turn and a twenty second sprint away.

  He flexed his hands. “Get ready, brother.”

  “Blitz attack?”

  “Aye. I want them scrambling before they know what hit them.”

  “I’ll hold the bastards at bay.” Purple eyes aglow, Tydrin bared his teeth. “You get into the vault.”

  “Use whatever means necessary.” Fueled by worry and rage, magic circled the center of his palms, itching to be unleashed. “Fists. Fire and acid. I donnae care if we burn the lair down, just as long as we get our mates out.”

  “Agreed. Now—go.”

  Cyprus ran toward the vestibule. His feet churned over stone. Three steps straight ahead. He vaulted over the treads and, soles sliding over tile, pivoted toward the archway into the library. Three males holding crowbars looked up. Grizgunn’s red-gold eyes met his and widened in surprise. The bastard sucked in a breath. Cyprus roared and unleashed hell. Fire burst from his palms, shooting out in a ribbon of orange flame. The magic-born whip snapped out, sailed wide, then came back around. The tongue lashed at the closest male.

  Backpedaling, the rogue dropped his crowbar.

  Metal banged against stone.

  Cyprus didn’t stop. He wrapped the lash around his enemy’s leg. Fire and acid burned through clothes to incinerate skin and scorch bone. The male howled in pain, flailing, fighting to get free. Baring his teeth, Cyprus yanked him of his feet and conjured a second fire whip as Tydrin roared behind him. The battle cry blasted through the library. Heavy wooden shelves teetered. Books tumbled off shelves and hit the floor. Without losing speed, his brother ducked beneath the slashing fury of his fire whips and vaulted into the room.

  “Retreat,” Grizgunn yelled at his warriors, sprinting toward the rear of the room. “Move it! This way!”

  Hurdling a couch, Tydrin gave chase.

  With a flick, Cyprus held the third rogue immobile. The male rasped “mercy”. He refused to show any. With a flick, he snapped the sec
ond whip around the arshole’s neck and yanked. Fire and acid cut through skin and bone. His head left his shoulders. Expression blank, it bounced across the floor, coming to a stop next to the vault door before disintegrating into a pile of ash.

  A crash sounded. A bookcase tipped over. Wood splintered, ripping through the stacks as a gust of fresh air blew into the library.

  Out of view, Tydrin snarled, “Fucking hell. The bloody cowards. They entered a hidden tunnel.”

  “Donnae follow,” he shouted, guessing Grizgunn had already escaped. Shite. The bastard was probably airborne, tail tucked between his legs, flying south to safety. “Stay with me, Tydrin.”

  His brother growled in answer.

  Cyprus didn’t wait a second longer to approach the vault. Dented in places, scorched by fire in others, the steel face looked battered. He slammed his palm against it. “Open.”

  Magic swirled in the air. Hinges groaned. The door began to open, widening slowly, making his heart thump and—

  A piece of wood came hurtling out of the vault.

  He dodged, diving to his left. The projectile sailed past, missing him by an inch, and slammed into the standing case behind him. Glass shattered. Relief made him huff. “You’ve got a good arm, lass.”

  A pause. A shuffling sound. “Cyprus?”

  “Aye, talmina,” he murmured, fingers flexing, wanting to get his hands on her, trying to be patient as the vault opened wider. “Come out of there. We need tae go.”

  Leaning to one side, Elise peeked between the door edge and the jamb. Tears pooled in her eyes as she spotted him. A second later, she dropped the table leg she held like a cricket bat and launched herself like a bullet through the opening.

  Her target? Him.

  With a murmur of relief, Cyprus closed his arms around her.

  Burrowing into his embrace, she fisted her hands in the back of his shirt. “Thank God, thank God, thank God. I was so scared.”

  “Easy, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered, stroking his hands along her back, comforting her, reassuring himself. Scared, but alive. Trembling against him, but uninjured. “I’ve got you, Elise.”