Dragon's Chosen Mate

by Riley Storm

  Christine looked around, spying one of the dragons and the witch heading up the Outpost watch, even as she triggered a blast of fire from her staff, driving the gremlins back.

  “Those are your responsibility!” she screamed. “Hold them off us while we deal with him!”

  The others nodded. The witch in charge barked orders to her team and the other witches, not as strong as Christine’s team but still equally capable, went to work on the demonic hell creatures.

  Something warned Christine and she spun back, thrusting her staff into the open mouth of a gremlin that had rushed at her. One of its jaws bit down—and the creature simply exploded as yellow light burst from the tip, the magic incinerating the creature instantly.

  “I don’t think so,” she snarled savagely, standing her ground as the tidal wave of grey creatures was slowed. She let loose with everything in her arsenal, trying to kill them quickly. The Outpost team slowly came forward as they worked together, one by one relieving Christine’s team, giving them a chance to get organized.

  But it meant the four members of the watch were momentarily without help. Four of them against the demon lord. Christine chafed as she took a step back, her place in the line taken by a frost dragon. The man gestured, yanking a hand upward and closing it into a fist.

  A line of ice spikes erupted from the ground, impaling everything for forty feet to the left and right of him. A second later, one of the witches stepped forward and fire blackened the bodies.

  “Okay, team, let’s go after the big one,” Christine said. There were only eight of them, the rest still on the line stemming the tide of gremlins, but she could wait no longer.

  Berith’s maul lashed out, and Becca went flying off to the side as the deadly weapon slammed into her shield. Nearby, a pair of gremlins broke through the witches’ attack and three of the outpost’s members went down under the razor-sharp jaws, either dead or out of the fight. Christine shut her eyes, pushing them out of her mind. She couldn’t focus on them now; she needed to wage a war against the main enemy. Berith.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t shake one thought in particular. They were losing. The surprise was absolute, and though she thought she’d been ready for the waves of fear and the sight of the demon lord in person, Christine wasn’t so sure now that she was about to confront him.

  “Okay, team,” she said. “Lance. Let’s go. We need to stop Berith.”

  Wands and staffs came up together as the tips began to glow blue. At the front of the formation, two witches cast another spell, facing one another, their staffs and their arms forming a diamond shape.

  One of them nodded when they were ready, pointing the opening right at Lord Berith.

  “Now!” Christine shrieked. Six beams of blue magic went into the diamond shape, bristling and cackling with power.

  One giant beam emerged from the other side. The focusing spell combined the magic into one strike. The three-foot-wide beam of magic sliced into Berith, shearing off some of the armor on its upper left thigh and digging into the skin beneath it, though it didn’t penetrate.

  It got the attention of the demon though. The monstrous figure whipped around faster than any of them could have expected. It leapt over the portals from which gremlins still emerged and landed right in front of her team.

  “Shield wall!” she shrieked as the maul rose high into the sky.

  Eight arms went up into the sky and green light nearly blinded her as the maul struck the barrier a second later. The force of it nearly dislocated her arm and she cried out with pain, as did most of her team.

  He was too powerful.

  Fire blazed on the ground around them as Berith leaned onto his maul. The green dome shuddered and was pressed downward, stopping several feet closer to the heads of the witches.

  Christine struggled mightily, her arm trembling. She didn’t dare give up. If one of her team faltered now, they would all die.

  A mighty roar caught her attention.

  A dragon with scales as white as snow launched itself from the ground. It was the same shifter who had relieved her on the line earlier. Christine watched as it flung itself at Berith, a cone of frigid ice spewing from its snout as its claws dug at the demon.

  The beast from the Abyss stumbled back and roared in pain.

  Its maul also whipped up and around, crushing the dragon’s chest and flinging it through the gremlins and the line of witches, scattering them.

  Then Lord Berith lifted a leg and brought it down, spilling Christine’s team to the ground as the earth ripped in half.

  “It’s too strong,” she gasped. “We need to regroup.”

  She started barking orders. The witches all backed away.

  Lightning cracked and a tremendous bolt of thunder slammed into the ground at Berith’s feet.

  The shockwave spilled the creature to its back as it lost its footing, stepping in one of the cracks in the ground that it had created.

  “Now!” Christine shouted. “Go, go, go!”

  Her team rushed back to the line as Berith roared in anger. They hit the gremlins like a runaway freight train, spilling them back to the portals, momentarily stemming the tide and blocking the exit for those that came behind.

  Witches and dragons gathered up their wounded comrades, leaving the bodies of the fallen behind, and they took to the air as fast as they could.

  Berith shook his maul at them as they went the one place he could not follow. The skies.

  “We’ll be back!” she screamed as they turned tail and fled back toward Winterspell.

  Christine might not be a part of the team that came back after her disastrous performance today, but the witches would be back. Perhaps with Circe at their head.

  She was last in line as they rose higher into the air, headed over the mountain, leaving the dreaded Lord Berith behind.

  Once she was certain that everyone was safe, she allowed herself to relax ever so slightly. They were going to be okay. They were going to—

  Agony sliced through her side with such force that she wobbled mid-flight. Looking down at her right side, she noticed for the first time that it was a mess of open wounds and chewed-up skin.

  How?

  Her fingers pulled out a long gray tooth. Gremlin. One of them must have gotten her at some point, but the battle adrenaline had pushed the pain aside. Now that she was coming down from the high though, her body was telling her she was hurt.

  Bad.

  The cushion of air she was riding shivered as pain shut down more and more of her body.

  “Help,” she whispered, sensing she wasn’t doing well. But the wind stole the word away. Nobody was going to hear.

  Darkness closed in rapidly after that.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Altair

  His wings flapped slowly, keeping him aloft as the group headed back to Winterspell.

  Altair was tired, exhausted even. The fight with Lord Berith had taken more from him than he’d believed possible. The demon lord was stronger than anything they had gone up against in training. It was faster too.

  He cursed the loss of Jarri, the frost dragon who had sacrificed himself to save Christine and the others. Even Altair had been shocked at the speed of the response. The demon’s attack had been so quick. They had left Jarri’s body behind. There was no way they could have brought it back.

  Wistfully, he glanced behind him at the valley, hating to leave the brave dragon behind, but Jarri had been killed instantly by the blow. There was nothing he could do.

  As he looked back, his eyes picked up the trailing figure of their flying caravan. It was Christine.

  Of course, it was.

  Despite his dislike of her, the pain of her betrayal, Altair had to give credit where credit was due. He still wasn’t sure what had overcome Madison, but the other witch had played only a small part in the fight. It had been Christine who had organized the response team and deployed them to help Altair and the rest of the watch.

  Not a momen
t too soon as well.

  He had done his best to help distract the demon lord, while also ensure that the other witches were safe. His ability to move them out of the way of the maul, including reflexes that were much closer to those of Lord Berith’s than normal humans, allowed him to stay safe.

  But the demon had been getting closer and closer. During the last attack on Becca, the one that had sent her flying, Altair had only been able to cushion her landing and not prevent the strike from hitting home at all. The witch was flying with them now, shaken, but seemingly none the worse for wear. She had exchanged a nod in his direction when their eyes had met, a silent thanks.

  It was Christine who had led the attack. Who had organized the Outpost detachment to handle the attack of the gray creatures. Christine was the one who had hurt Lord Berith, deploying part of the team as best she could, given the chaotic situation.

  No, as much as he disliked her personally, Altair had been impressed. She was a strong witch, and in his opinion, she should have command of the team going forward. If there even was a team.

  One of the membranes closed over his eyes as he blinked, watching the woman still, unable to tear his gaze away. She was something else. Even now, she was descending from her position on high at the rear, likely to check on the others.

  That’s not a controlled descent…

  Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

  Altair banked hard, scattering a handful of witches as he flipped up and over before pulling his wings in tight and letting gravity take over. He plunged from the sky after Christine as her limp body fell.

  He watched, seeing her twist as she was buffeted by the winds, and his big yellow eyes went wide as he saw the huge wound to her side. How the hell had that happened without someone noticing?

  She was falling fast, but Altair was faster. Still, he wasn’t sure it was going to be fast enough.

  Calling to his powers, using energy he’d hoped to conserve for the flight home, winds swirled around him and he sped forward, propelled by the air. As he closed on her, he reached out, steadying her flight, slowing her fall. His body was dangerously weakened, low on energy and reserves, but none of that mattered now. All he was concerned with was catching Christine.

  He slid underneath the falling body with precision and spread his wings. She dropped onto his broad back, lying there limply between several spikes. Craning his neck, he watched her, ensuring she stayed put as his wings beat hard.

  They had come within several hundred feet of the ground, but she was safe now. He gained altitude and speed, working to reunite with the rest of the group.

  Inside, he tried to ignore the feeling of relief. He had simply been doing his job, he told himself, saving one of the team. Nothing more. It wasn’t personal. There was nothing personal between them.

  That’s what he tried to tell himself at least.

  ***

  He touched down back at Winterspell, the last to arrive. Other witches were pouring out of the castle-like building by this point. Some of them rushed to his side, leaping upon his back when they noticed his cargo.

  “How is she?” he asked. “Is she going to be okay? Will she survive?”

  There was no response. His long neck turned, and he watched as they cast spells on her, the greenish energy covering her mangled side in a soft glowing patch.

  “Well?” he asked impatiently. He needed to know. Now.

  “She will live,” one of them said, looking up at him. “She’s in bad shape, but she’ll be okay by morning. She’ll need to sleep until then though.”

  He nodded and sagged in relief. The pair of witches jumped off his back as shouts went up the line, rushing to the next victim.

  “Wait, where do I take her?” he called, but they ignored him.

  All around him, he could see witches streaming to the walls. In the background, lights were flashing as Winterspell came to life. Altair understood then. They were preparing for attack.

  Lord Berith and his army of demon creatures from the Abyss could attack at any moment. The walls were manned and as he watched, a powerful light emerged from the very top of the main building. His keen eyes picked out a hooded woman standing on the very highest tower. The light was coming from her hand.

  It rose up and spread out, descending over all of Winterspell, a shimmering shield barrier.

  Altair swallowed and reminded himself never to cross Circe. A woman with that sort of power was to be respected. Lots and lots of respect.

  Back in his human form, he knelt beside Christine. She looked peaceful now, while her side glowed under the magical bandage.

  Ignoring the onlookers, those staring at his nudity—there had been no time to take off his clothes and stow them safely during the retreat—Altair scooped her up into his arms.

  Her room was likely empty. But so was most of Winterspell. Its witches were on the walls, prepared to fight back any assault. If he took her to her quarters, she would wake up alone. Unsure of everything. After her performance today, she didn’t deserve that.

  Knowing what he had to do, Altair turned and headed toward the smaller of Winterspell’s main buildings. The one that housed the dragons. To his room. She could sleep better there, quieter, without being disturbed.

  He walked slowly, not wanting to jostle her in her sleep. Others watched him go but he ignored them. They could say what they wanted, but damn them all. He wasn’t doing this for him; he was doing it for her.

  Reaching his room, he lay her on the bed, folding the covers over her to ensure she stayed warm. Despite all the movement, she never stirred, the magic keeping her fast asleep.

  Altair watched her for a moment, knowing that he was glad she was okay, and yet not wanting to explore what that meant. Not now.

  Reaching into his drawer, he drew out a pair of pants, sliding them on. Then he dragged a chair and put it between the bed and the door. He sat down, and seconds later his eyes closed as he passed out, his foot against the door.

  If someone came for her, they would have to go through him first.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Christine

  She awoke slowly, fighting her way to full wakefulness against something that insisted on lulling her back to sleep.

  Christine was known for being a little stubborn sometimes, however, and she thrashed the notion aside. If she wanted to get up, then she would get up, and nothing was going to stop her.

  Her eyes flickered upon, revealing an unfamiliar pattern of stones in the ceiling, and a layout to the room that wasn’t hers. Wherever she was, she wasn’t in her quarters, but somewhere else.

  A memory of her injury returned, and she pulled back the covers that had been folded over her to inspect the wound. Her robe had been sliced free around the area, as had her shirt underneath. All that was there now was bright pink freshly healed skin.

  She sagged back into the bed. Somehow, she must have kept it together enough to get back to Winterspell, where she had been healed. That would explain the deep sleep. She could sense the spell now, designed to keep her under while she healed.

  The room was dark. It was nighttime out. Her brain reminded her that the sun had been rising when they had left the Outpost, so she’d been asleep for the better part of a day—at least. It could have been more, but she doubted it. Her wounds would be far more healed if that much more time had passed.

  Her sleep-addled brain moved on to the next question. Where was she? Scanning the room, she realized it was familiar.

  Why am I in Altair’s room?

  She sat up straight, wincing slightly at the motion, but it didn’t hurt as bad as she thought. The pain was fading swiftly. Another few hours and she would be completely back to normal.

  The sound of someone breathing alerted her to the fact that she wasn’t alone in the room. Using a tiny bit of energy, she flung a spark of light into the air to see who else was there.

  An empty chair sat near the doorway. The breathing was coming from under it. Sitt
ing forward she leaned over the edge of the bed. As she suspected, it was Altair. He was passed out, his foot pressed against the door.

  Some might have assumed that it was just how he had slept, but with the positioning of the chair as well, it told Christine a different story. He had placed himself there, ensuring nobody could entire without him knowing.

  It was a protective measure.

  “Altair,” she said quietly.

  His eyes snapped open instantly, focusing on her. He got to his feet in a rush.

  “What is it? Is everything okay? Are you alright?” he asked, concern etched into his features, his brow knitting as he looked her over, trying to spot the problem.

  “I’m okay,” she said, reassuring him. “I promise.”

  “They said you would sleep till morning. Why are you awake?” he asked once she’d finally calmed him down.

  “Following orders isn’t always my strong suit I guess,” she said.

  “You need your rest,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” she said forcefully. “It’s just a wound. I got back here, I got treated. I’m fine now, I promise.”

  Altair snorted.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t get yourself back here,” he corrected. “You passed out and fell from the sky like a stone.”

  Christine’s heart raced. She had? Concentrating, she tried to remember the last few moments of alertness. What had she been doing?

  Pain. She’d felt pain and turned to look at her side. She could recall the shock of it, the surprise that she’d been hurt. Pulling the gremlin tooth from her side. Remembering that they were filled with venom.

  Then nothing.

  “Oh shit,” she whispered. “How am I alive…” Her brain connected the dots for her. “You,” she said quietly. “You saved me, and brought me here?”

  Altair shrugged. “I happened to look back and see you fall. It’s no big deal. Anyone would have done it.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But you did. Thank you, Altair. I owe you my life.”

  “Please no,” he said. “I wasn’t about to let you die. That’s just rude after all. And I’m not the rude one.”