She raced out of the building to find herself in a large warehouse area. There was nobody in sight and she took off toward the side of the building, where she could at least be out of sight from the door. From there, she darted between buildings and took a left turn here, a right turn there. Traffic noise soon reached her ears and she angled herself toward it.
Soon, she came to a highway. Her heart in her throat, she dashed to the side of the road and waved her arms wildly.
Two cars slowed, and one stopped right beside her. The young woman in the car stared at her with wide eyes as she darted in. Cara’s screams were becoming hoarse as Misty shouted at the woman to drive. They peeled away as several of the assassins burst from the cluster of buildings.
“What happened to you?” her rescuer asked, eyes still as wide as saucers.
“I was kidnapped,” Misty mumbled. Her eyes filled with tears as the surging adrenaline started to lessen. She had gotten away. Cara was safe.
But Volcant wasn’t.
The image of his torn and bloody wings came back to her, making her stomach churn. Her tears increased as she held Cara close to her chest. Her heart continued to beat rapidly. That woman, Volcant had known her. She was going to kill him.
If I had helped him—
She refused to go there. He had fought to give her a chance to escape, to get Cara away from that crazy bitch who wanted to kill her. If she had stayed, then he’d have been killed anyway and so would she and Cara. At least this way, she could warn Indulf about what had happened. And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that Volcant wasn’t…
Her tears overcame her, and she started to sob.
***
The woman who picked her up insisted on taking her to the police and then the hospital. Misty knew it wasn’t going to do any good to send the police out to the warehouse and she was right. When they returned, they said they’d found nothing but a couple of bodies and blood. When they showed Misty pictures of the bodies, she broke down again in relief. They weren’t Volcant.
Shortly thereafter, there were screams from outside of the hospital. Misty rushed to the window to find three dragons setting down in the yard. She pushed past the police and rushed outside. Anna sat on the back of a huge silver dragon and she reached out for Cara; Misty scrambled up after her and they took off again.
The dragons set down at a large mansion. Sylvia slid off a black dragon to rush over to Misty. The dragons shifted, revealing themselves as Indulf, Hendric and a man that looked vaguely familiar. They ushered the women inside, where Indulf turned to Misty.
“Is he alive?”
“I think so.” She had no clue, but she had to keep hoping.
Indulf nodded, his face pinched. “Thonis, with me. Hendric, protect the women.”
He and the other dragon raced back outside. Hendric watched them go with a slightly frustrated expression, then closed the door and turned to the women.
“It’s going to be okay,” he assured them. “My king is a mighty warrior, despite his youth. Now, the parlor is in through there. We’ve just gotten a security system installed, so we’ll be safe, but I would prefer you stay together. I will go get dressed and bring things for the baby. What do you need?”
Misty rocked Cara, who was hiccupping quietly at this time, her tears having gone dry. What did she need? “Uh… diapers. Wipes. Um… if you have a bottle, she probably needs water.”
Anna and Sylvia both put their arms around her and ushered her into another room. It was simply but comfortably decorated. Anna took Cara again and Misty collapsed on the couch. She was grateful that Anna took the baby—her mind was tripping over itself and she couldn’t bring together any thoughts in a coherent manner. She’d never have been able to look after Cara properly in this state of mind.
Anna sank down next to her, eyes full of compassion. “So… Volcant is Cara’s father?”
Misty nodded silently.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
There was far too much in that question to answer right here. She shook her head, the tears that had dried starting up again. Her hands clenched around themselves as she struggled to remain in control.
“Indulf is strong and so is Thonis. There are a half dozen more guards who will be joining them,” Anna told her. “They’ll get Volcant back.”
“They’d better.” Misty hunched over, hiding her face in her hands. “Oh, God! What if he’s already dead? What if that woman killed him?”
Hendric spoke. “Then he will be avenged.”
Misty glanced up, about to snap at him that she didn’t want vengeance, she wanted Volcant, but the words caught in a sob. Hendric handed Anna some things for the baby and gently put a hand on Misty’s shoulder. In his eyes were understanding and sympathy. He knew. Somehow, he knew even better than she did.
“I love him,” she whispered. “I love him.”
“Indulf will get him back.” Anna wrapped Cara in a blanket and put her on her shoulder, rubbing her back softly while Sylvia did the same to Misty.
Misty stared at her, wondering how she could be so confident. Volcant might already be dead. And if he was, there was no bringing him back. There would be no watching him get to know Cara, no admitting to him that she had feelings for him. She was always falling in love with the wrong guy and the first time she might have gotten it right, he was being taken away from her.
And the last thing she said to him was that she didn’t want to marry him. She had spat it out as though the thought of marrying him was what had offended her and not that he was only saying it because they had a child together. If she had only had the chance to explain…
“Hendric, can you get Misty something to eat and drink, please?” Anna asked.
“I’m not—” Misty started to protest, but a short glare from Anna cut her off.
There was a time when she would have said that Anna was the most immature and irresponsible of them all, always obsessed with her comic books and other nerdy stuff. Well, she still loved all those sorts of things and still got overly excited about action figures, but she had matured a great deal since she and Indulf had gotten together. Now, Misty was more than happy to let Anna take care of her.
She shivered again when her gaze landed on Cara. That woman had wanted to sacrifice her. Kill an innocent baby just so she could destroy the dragons. What sort of psychopath was she that she wanted to do something so horrible? Indulf wasn’t going to invade this world. He didn’t want to enslave humans. And it was all because dragons had longer lives than humans?
Hendric came back, carrying a tray of food and water.
“That woman who took us, she said something about humans begging for dragons’ favor to be granted long lives,” she blurted, eyes on him. “What did she mean?”
Hendric hummed under his breath as he set the tray down. He handed her the glass. “Dragons live long lives compared to humans. A hundred of our years is equivalent to one of yours. But if a dragon mates a human, that human’s aging is slowed to the same rate as a dragon’s.”
Misty frowned as she turned to Anna. “But if that’s true, why is Erik aging at the same rate as a normal—er, human—baby?”
A guilty look flashed over Anna’s face as she shook her head. “He isn’t. It’s been a year for you in this world… and a hundred for me in Byrelmore. The reason Cara is aging at a normal human rate is the lack of magic in this world. If she was back in Byrelmore, she’d be aging much slower.”
That was almost too much to handle. Misty stared at her friend, the gears in her mind churning. So, Anna was over a hundred years old now? That seemed… impossible. Sylvia gaped at her, eyes as round as saucers. Misty slumped, pressing the cool glass to her forehead. Volcant wanted Misty to go to Byrelmore regularly. That would mean her aging would slow…
So, what did that mean for her, as Cara’s mother? Was she going to die of old age before Cara even started to walk? Was that why Volcant said they’d have to marry?
Not that it mattered,
if he died. There would be no reason for her to go to Byrelmore then.
Tears started rushing down her face once more. This time, there was no stopping them.
Chapter Fourteen
Volcant
Every breath he drew in hurt. His lungs wouldn’t expand all the way, leaving him struggling to take shallow breaths without hyperventilating. At least one rib was broken. And that wasn’t the only thing; a bullet hole in his shoulder oozed blood, another in his leg and a jagged, shallow cut from a knife across his stomach stung bitterly in the cold air. No single one of these injuries were fatal. In Byrelmore, he’d have healed within a few days from such wounds.
All of them together, though, and in this world? He didn’t know what to expect. Even worse, he was bound to a table, awaiting whatever Vilma decided to do to him.
Worst of all was the smoldering remains of his fires, slowly growing colder and colder.
All his life, his fires had been a hot light inside him. Raging too hot at times, but always there. They made him strong, they made him a fierce warrior. Without his flames, who was he? And now they were being taken away, whether by Vilma’s magic or the lack of magic in this world, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he’d survive losing them.
Was that why Vilma hadn’t killed him right away? Because he was her test, the one she’d use to see if dragons could survive losing their fires, losing their dragons? Or was she hoping to use him for some other nefarious purpose?
A door opened, and Vilma entered. She looked strange in this world’s clothes. A button-down shirt, tight slacks, and a dark blazer. With her dark hair pinned up like that, he wouldn't have been able to tell her from any woman he saw on the street here.
She glanced at him, clucked her tongue and set a case on his lower legs. From inside, she drew a pair of stretchy gloves, tweezers, and a bottle of alcohol. Volcant hissed as she dug into his leg and pulled out the bullet.
“What the hell are you doing?” he spat.
“Tending to your injuries so you don’t bleed to death.” Vilma’s voice was bored as she poured alcohol over the bullet wound.
Blinding pain made him gasp, which sent bolts from his ribs. Volcant struggled against his bonds, but it did no good.
“Stay still,” Vilma chided, sounding like she was concerned.
“Why? So you can make an example of me when you decide to cut off my head?”
Vilma looked up at him, eyes wide. “Why would I do something like that? You’re my friend.”
Volcant stared at her, jaw dropping open. “Friend!?”
“I don’t want you dead. It’s the reason I worked so hard to keep you alive. Honestly, you’re the one who gave me the idea for all this. I realized that this world purges the dragon from you during those times when you came here and then returned. When you were in my portals, I could always feel your fire. Always hotter when you left, colder when you returned.” Vilma finished stitching his leg and tapped some gauze over it before she moved around the table to his shoulder. “The original plan was to just make all you dragons fight each other until you were wiped out, but this way is much more benign. No deaths.”
Volcant licked his lips. Sweat beaded his brow. Though he wanted to argue with her, his brain couldn’t seem to find the words.
Vilma mopped up the sweat on his brow. “I know that you’re strong-willed, Volcant. It’s one of the things I like about you. Don’t you think this way is better? No death. It’s a kindness, isn’t it?”
Volcant forced himself to be still, panting and sweating. Bursts of pain still shot through him and his vision dipped and swayed. Whether Vilma stopped talking or if he was just in too much pain to hear it, he wasn’t certain. The voice that rang in his ears said the same thing, over and over and over again.
Sacrifice the child.
Vilma wanted to kill his daughter. She wanted to wipe out all dragons and use the child he never thought he’d have to do it. The anger and desperation burned through him hotter than the pain and he strained against the bonds that held him down. A growl ripped from his throat. Vilma leaned over him, stroking his face again.
“Calmly, now. You don’t want to tear open these stitches and bleed to death. You’re not in Byrelmore, Volcant. You aren’t going to heal like you’re used to.” She stroked the hair from his forehead, frowning lightly at him. With a sigh, she shook her head. “I hope that you come to understand why I’m doing this. It’s not fair that we should look to you with such awe when you’re as fallible as the rest of us.”
Volcant clenched his teeth, which were starting to chatter. “And so, since we have faults, you want to wipe us out?”
“No. It’s because you have faults and yet still dream that you’re better than us humans. You are the ones wiping us out. How many dragons take humans as mates? And then those humans give birth to more dragons. I’m doing this for a better world.”
Vilma retrieved a blanket and tucked it in around him. She kissed his forehead, ignoring his hiss of fury and took a needle from the medical case. “This will help you sleep. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to survive.”
“If you kill my daughter—”
“Are you so certain she’s your daughter? Your fires burn too hot, remember? I’m the one who found that out for you.”
Volcant snarled at her. “Our fires grow colder here. She was conceived in this world.” Something inside of him broke, thinking of his baby being harmed. “Please. Please, Vilma, there has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.”
He jerked against the restraints again, uselessly. Vilma stuck the needle in his neck. A cold feeling spread from the point of injection and the blackness took him.
***
“Volcant!”
The voice was familiar, but his sluggish brain didn’t want to recognize it.
“Wake up.” A hand slapped his cheek gently. Volcant laughed; the pain was nothing compared to everything else in his body. His laughter upset his ribs, though, making him groan.
Another familiar voice spoke. “He’s alive at least.”
“Not for long if we don’t get him back to Byrelmore.”
Volcant finally placed the voice. His eyes opened to find the king staring down at him. He tried to straighten, but the pain made him curl inward, clutching his ribs. Indulf lifted him from the table. Volcant yelped, though he tried not to.
“Lean on me,” Indulf instructed. “Thonis, make sure the path is clear.”
“Shouldn’t have come,” Volcant chided weakly. “You’re the king—need to stay safe.”
Indulf snorted and shook his head. “A lot has changed in your absence, Volcant. A lot. Now stop whining and start walking if you want to get out of here alive.”
Volcant nodded weakly. He could hear the shouts and clashing swords of fighting now, accompanied by the sharp bangs and whistles of gunfire. His vision faded in and out as he struggled to remain conscious enough to put one foot in front of the other. He heard the roar of a dragon and his heart sunk; even if he managed to make it back to Byrelmore, would he still be a dragon?
“Keep steady,” Indulf pressed. “Come on, keep going.”
Volcant realized he was sagging against the king, slowing them both down, and tried to force himself to put his weight back on his own two feet. A sharp bolt shot up his wounded leg, making his knees buckle beneath him. With a curse, he released Indulf. He would not be the cause of his king’s death!
“Leave me,” he panted. “Just go!”
Indulf seized him around the chest and yanked him back to his feet, then dragged him over his shoulders. “I don’t think so, Volcant. We lost you once. I’m not going to mourn you a second time. Stop squirming!”
Volcant made himself be still, though his chest pressed into the king’s shoulders brought bile to his throat. He desperately clung to consciousness, but in the end, it was no use. As a furious scream sounded behind him, he faded once more to the blackness.
***
The
first thing he noticed as consciousness began to seep back in was that he was warm. At first, he thought it was due to a thick quilt, since his chest felt so heavy, but he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. His fires burned hot and strong again, filling his belly and spreading its heat to his veins. The pain that had been overwhelming before was now a dull ache.
His eyes snapped open, pulling in a deep breath that made his ribs protest, but nowhere nearly as painfully before. He was in a dark room, laying on a stone table. A fire flickered in a hearth nearby and the scent of lemons was strong. He lay still for a moment before slowly sitting up. A grin crossed his face as he realized he was back in Byrelmore. Finally.
The door opened and Indulf came in. His eyes widened and then a grin burst over his face. He crossed the room quickly and smacked Volcant on the back.
“Back among the living, I see.”
Volcant managed a weak smile. “So it would seem. Thank you. For rescuing me.”
Indulf’s expression became serious. “Of course. I thought you were dead. I wasn’t going to lose you again… you’ve always been there for me, Volcant. You taught me how to fight. In many ways, you were more of a father to me than my own father was. I’m just glad that we got you back.”
A lump had risen in Volcant’s throat, though he tried to swallow it down. He gripped Indulf’s shoulder. “Was anybody injured?”
“None of our men. Not permanently, anyway.” Indulf patted his back again and grinned. “Now that you’re awake, we’ll be able to figure out what to do about Vilma. First, though, I think there’s a young human woman who is eager to see for herself that you’re alright.”
Misty. Volcant straightened, every bit of him suddenly yearning to be next to her. He headed for the door without waiting for the king to dismiss him, too eager to see for himself that he was unharmed.
Chapter Fifteen
Misty
Misty had just put Cara down for a nap when the door opened and Volcant came in. Her breath caught in her lungs at the sight of him standing there, fully awake and alert. A thin scar ran over his torso and his shoulder was still heavily bandaged, but his eyes were bright and clear as they stared at her. Misty pressed her hands to her mouth, almost too afraid to believe that it was real.
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