by Mills, Julia
Smiling to herself as the woefully misshapen rock began to wiggle, she thanked the Heavens that Theodore, the only Null - a witch born of magical parents with no mystical powers of his own - ever born to Coven McGregor, had done his normally half-assed job. Never had she been so happy for incompetence as in that moment.
Deeper and deeper she dug, dust stung her eyes, tiny rocks and debris bounced off her face and landed on her long, black skirt as the grating scratch of stone against stone grew ever-louder. Finally, after what seemed like hours later, her makeshift trowel slid completely through the grout, getting her one step closer to escape, one step closer to making Terran pay.
Grinning from ear-to-ear, ignoring the pain in the tips of her fingers where her nails had been ripped from their beds and the burn of cuts and scrapes lining her fingers and hands, Kam shoved her fingers farther into the hole. None of it mattered, she would endure anything, escaping the dungeon and finding the Grand Priestess was her goal and nothing or no one would get in the young witch’s way.
With one final tug, the stone shifted side-to-side, finally popping from its hole. The glorious scent of night blooming jasmine mixed with the cool, night air rushed through the tunnel and into her cell. Wiping the blood and dirt from her hands onto her skirt, Kamdyn got on all fours and without the slightest glance backward, sing-songed, “Screw you, Terran. Screw you and all the idiots who follow. You better watch your back, ‘cause I shall return and this time I’m gonna blow your ass to kingdom come.”
“Damn, if I don’t sound like a comic book villain.” She snickered aloud. “And I like it.”
Chapter Three
She was close. He had no doubts. Her soul called to his, her magic reached for his, her heart beat in sync with his heart. Dreams, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, filled with visions of the uninhibited, fearless, raven-haired beauty, left him spent and wanting every morning. He’d seen the rips in her dress, the blood on her hands and the almost maniacal gleam in her eye and had feared the worst. She was in trouble, of that there was no doubt. She needed him as much as he needed her. The wild abandon of her thoughts and actions was like gold coins to his dragon. Ignoring all the signs was not an option, she was his and he would find her – no matter the consequences.
“I have to be the stupidest, or maybe it’s craziest…at the very least I know I’m the most masochistic dragon whoever walked the earth,” Callum murmured to himself before laughing, “I’ll take all three for a thousand Alex.”
Damn those guys for always watching games shows. They’ve invaded my brain…
Shaking his head, sure he was losing his mind, especially taking into account that he’d attacked Maddox and threatened not only the very same mad dragon, but also the freaking son of Lugh, the freaking Celtic God of the Sun, Callum scoffed, “My dad always said go down with your sword in your hand and no regrets in your heart. Well, Pops, there will be no regrets, cause I have no plans of going down.” Stopping to listen to his surroundings and scent the area for any unwanted intruders, he added, “I wonder if insanity really did run in my family.”
Smiling to himself as he moved closer to the woman who’d been haunting his dreams for nearly a month, the electric dragon thought about all the stories the older Guardsmen told about Callum’s father. Not only was MacNaughton O’Shea revered for his prowess in battle but he was also notorious for his take-no-prisoners, leave-it-all-on the-battlefield, leap-before-you-look attitude. Callum’s biggest regret was that his father had died in battle before he’d truly gotten to know the great man for himself.
“I was only five, after all, and that was over a hundred years ago, not sure what I expected in the memory department?” He paused then snickered, “And here I am, not only talking to myself, but asking questions, and expecting some kind of divine answers Yep, my mind’s a goner. Call the men in the white coats. Rubber room here I come.”
Since he’d never known his mother because she died during childbirth and had lost his father at such a young age, Callum was raised by a group of women, known as the Nans, females who’d lost their mates early in their lives. His childhood may have been different than others, but there was absolutely no doubt that it was filled with lots of love, tons of great food and four of the best surrogate mothers any dragon could’ve ever asked for.
He’d also been able to start his training as a Guardsman as soon as he’d been able to stay on his feet with a sword in his hand. During those training sessions, with men who’d fought beside his father, Callum learned so much about MacNaughton. All the things he’d never gotten to see for himself. Those stories and the respect he heard in the Guardsmen’s voices, fueled the electric dragon’s desire to be just like his dear old dad, even to this very day.
“Of course, then I turned thirteen and found out I’d inherited my mother’s lightning.” He grinned at his memories. “I’ll never forget the look on old Ronin’s face.” Vivid visions of the day he’d been sparring with not only the Leader of their Clan, but also his three sons, floated through Callum’s mind.
The electric dragon saw himself, two boys with bright red hair and their older brother whose was as dark as night, all practicing their stances, parrying and thrusting with their short blades, preparing for the battles to come. All four boys followed Ronin’s instructions to the letter, soaking in all his years of experience, hoping and praying for the day they would fight the enemies of not only their kin, but all mankind.
Callum held his breath as the scene played out in his mind. What came next always shocked him, no matter how many times he relived it.
“Come on, Cal, fight back. Stop just blocking and weaving. What’s the matter? You scared? You chicken?” Rory the youngest of the O’Reilly brothers, and by far the most petulant, taunted with the nasty little sneer of a true smart ass.
Holding his tongue, refusing to be baited into making a rash decision, Callum continued to fade to the right, parry to the left and pull all his blows before they made contact with his opponents’ blades. Sure, he was playing with them, but it was all part of his grand plan. He could see in their eyes they thought he was weak and scared, but the young blue dragon had a plan. All too soon, they would witness his strength and prowess.
Sliding his feet to the left, Cal spun on his toes, returning to face front as he planted his feet the exact second that Rory’s blade grazed his fingers. Pain, mixed with fury that his friend had broken the rules of their engagement, fueled Callum’s intense, unrelenting focus. Determined to take them off guard, to beat all three of the Dragon Leader’s sons with one well-placed blow, Callum slowly spoke on of the verses the Nans had taught him.
Blocking a sudden onslaught of forward thrusts and ripostes he knew was being orchestrated by the oldest brother, Rian, from the telltale buzz in the air of the siblings’ mind-to-mind communication, Callum refused to be swayed. Watching their eyes instead of their blades, he tightened the grip on his emotions, pushed back the taint of jealousy filling his being at their comradery, fought to hold onto the quickly fading shred of his iron-willed control, but all his best intentions went up in smoke when once again the tip of Rory’s blade tore through his skin.
With blood running down his arm and uncontrollable fury pushing him into a frenzy, Callum flipped from offense to defense. Moving so fast, he was but a blur, his flurry of advance lunges, aggressive frontal assaults and intricate swordplay he hadn’t even realized he knew, shocked his opponents.
Sparks flew from his sword as it struck the blades of his friends, mixing with the electricity multiplying in the air, like an over-inflated balloon about to burst. Burning ozone stung his nose. The hair on his arms and at the nape of his neck stood on end. Currents of fiery power inched up his spine, spreading through his body, filling him with untold confidence and strength, forcing him to act.
Fear, true cold dread, bled into the eyes of the O’Reilly brothers. Callum was drunk on power, unstoppable…damn near invincible. He was battling the sons of his Leader and winning
. It was nothing short of intoxicating.
Continuing to push them back, seeing the O’Reillys as true opponents, not the boys he called brethren, Cal refused to back down, even as he heard Ronin’s commands to halt, to drop his sword.
Cal refused to be tamed. He would not bow down. Victory would be his, consequences be damned. It was his Destiny. He could feel it in the depths of his soul. It was miraculous and he never wanted it to end.
With Rory’s back to the wall and Rian trying to protect his own hide from Callum’s attack, Royce, the middle brother and all-around protector, took the lead. Spinning to the right, just out of Cal’s eyeline, the large red-headed boy thrust his blade across the small of Callum’s back, drawing blood as he roared, “Stop Cal! I don’t want to hurt you.”
Throwing out his hand to stop any further attacks from the side, Cal looked on in complete awe as a brilliant bolt of white light shot from his fingertips. Watching in absolute wonder as the current flew directly into Royce’s stomach, threw the six-foot-seven-inch dragon shifter all the way across their massive training pitch and into the solid oak wooden rail fence, the electric dragon was filled with pride.
The pound of his heart, the sweat running down his back and the sting of the wound from Royce’s blade, were all overshadowed by the victory before him. He couldn’t help but smile as his dragon roared in victory, glorious red and golden flames streaming from his muzzle.
“Callum O’Shea!” Ronin bellowed. “Stop it! Stop it now!” He grabbed the electric dragon by the shoulder, spinning him around and glaring down at him. “You have no idea what you’re playing at.” The Dragon Leader’s grip tightened harder as he continued to scowl at Callum, growling through gritted teeth, “You are not to use your lightning until you have learned control.” His grip loosened. “You will report to the Cave of the Ancients tomorrow morning to begin your training with Marcas.” The look in Ronin’s eye took on a hopeful glint. “Although he is the Elder of the Guard, he also inherited powers from his mother, an Earthen witch not unlike yours. I believe he can teach you control…among other things.”
The sound of a branch snapping in the meadow pulled the Guardsman from his memories. Using his enhanced sight, Callum scanned the area between the large stone walls of Castle McGregor and the cliffs overlooking the rocky jettys of the ocean. It took several long tense moments, but then he saw her, and let out the breath he’d been holding. There she was, keeping just out of the glow of the nearly full moon, his raven-haired beauty in all her glory.
Both man and dragon took a moment to admire her grace and the wild abandon with which she seemed to take flight as she raced across the meadow. She was nothing less than perfect. A work of art the Universe had created just for him.
It was all Callum could do not to run to her, his dragon growling to simply be by her side. But there was something not quite right. Something that made him pause.
Something…dark…dangerous…deadly…
But to who and why?
Chapter Four
“Thank the Goddess,” she huffed after nearly an hour of pulling at vines, dodging ginormous cobwebs and crawling across more rocks and stones than she knew existed in the whole damn world. “At least I’m praying they were rocks and stones.” Kamdyn cringed as she rubbed her knees, thinking about the creepy wiggling and unnatural crunches she’d vehemently tried to convince herself were rocks.
Emerging just beyond the stone and iron walls surrounding Castle McGregor, Kam plopped down onto her butt, sat back and took several deep breaths of the cool, fresh, clean country air. Letting her head fall back, she gazed up at the nearly full moon and declared, “Oh beautiful glowing mistress of the sky, I cannot wait to stand in the glory of your light and utter the mystical words that will return what was heinously taken from me.”
Slowly climbing to her feet, it took several steps of simply putting one foot in front of the other before all the feeling returned to her feet allowing her to pick up speed. Every slide of her feet through the dew-soaked grass brought her closer to the cliffs. The scent of salt and brine assaulted her senses as the sea air caressed her cheeks and she grew closer to her hidey hole, excited at the prospect of returning to one of her favorite spots.
“And my box of goodies,” she chuckled to herself.
It had been hard not to use one of the spells or amulets she’d been creating to use in place of her magic on Terran. She’d spent many an hour imagining the rat bastard lying on the Oriental rug in the middle of the massive library immobile, helpless, completely at her mercy, but still very conscious, as she tortured him for the answers she so desperately needed. Anything that would once and for all show the world that the four-eyed freak had ruthlessly murdered her parents.
“Oh yeah, I’m gonna make him beg for his life,” she growled, clenching her fists at her sides and doubling her speed.
It didn’t bother her one iota that the tiny cave where she’d hidden her magical treasure trove was a mile in the opposite direction of the Grand Priestess, the one person in all the world who could single-handedly restore Kam’s magic. It also hadn’t escaped her mind that the most powerful witch in all the world was also the same person who’d sentenced Kamdyn to the loss of said magic.
“But I gave her no choice. I overreacted. I’m older now, more reserved, more in control. I can make her see that I’m more than ready to possess the McGregor magic and use it wisely and for the good of all,” she reasoned, the argument sounding a little forced even to her own ears.
Stopping dead in her tracks, Kamdyn sighed and let her head fall forward. Looking at the pointed toes of her boots through the tall, wet grass of the meadow, she took a second to reassure herself that what she was doing was right and just, not just revenge. “You have to do this, and you have to have your stash. You’re going into unknown territory. The Grand Priestess no longer lives with witches. She’s surrounded by those dragons, and you have no clue what to expect from a man who can sprout scales and wings and blow fire.” Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled as she went on, “What if the Priestess had told her mate what I said” What I called her? He might turn me into a Kam-Kabob before I can plead my case.”
Chuckling to herself, the witch added, “Actually sounds kinda sexy.” Then barked out a single laugh before finishing, “Well, the hot man part anyway. The Kam-Kabob thing gives me the willies.”
Lifting her head, throwing back her shoulders and marching towards her destination she continued to think of hot guys that turned into dragons and thought maybe she’d try one on for size. Snickering at her own silliness, it wasn’t long until Kam was jogging, spurred on by the thought of feeling her family’s mysticism filling her soul once again.
Tying her ripped and torn skirt high above her knees, Kamdyn maneuvered the cliffs hanging over the rugged sea at high tide repeating, “I will not fall. I will not fall. I will not fall,” over and over.
There was no doubt in her mind that even experienced rock climbers would have called her crazy, but there was no other way. She had to get her stash. The insatiable drive to have what was hers, demanded she honor the memory of her parents, and that was all there was to it. After nearly two hours of climbing over, around and in and out of more rock formations, ledges and jettys than witches have warts, she finally reached the opening of the small, desolate cavern where she’d hidden her supplies.
Stopping just inside her stone grotto, Kamdyn pulled a tiny piece of onyx from her pocket and whispered, “Solas.”
Soft, warm light filled the chamber as she scanned the walls for the markings she’d carved on the stone to lead the way to her bag of goodies. Following her map that looked more like hieroglyphics than the pictures she’d originally drawn, the witch finally reached the center of the cave, made one last turn and ended up in the smallest alcove, in the deepest part of the cave.
Anticipating all she could do with the abundance of charms, potions and even a few gris-gris bags her friend, Angelique, who hailed from the Caribbean had
taught her to make, Kamdyn hurried to the farthest corner. Kneeling in front of what appeared to be nothing more than a fallen rock, she wrapped her arms around the huge stone and with all the strength she could muster, pulled what felt like a boulder away from the wall.
Jumping over the rock, Kamdyn landed in a crouch while holding out her glowing rock to light the way. Pulling tiny wooden boxes and small silk pouches from the hole she’d hollowed out with a garden trowel nearly ten years ago, the witch bounced on her toes with excitement.
“I thought this day would never come,” she whispered, mentally preparing for the most important part of all.
With the final little chest in her hand, one that was so very precious because it had belonged to her mother, Kam carefully got to her feet with a sigh of relief. Stepping back, took a seat atop the big rock she’d just moved and let the satisfaction of completing the first part of her plan wash over her.
Looking at her stash, going over the checklist in her head of what each parcel held, Kamdyn stopped short, doused her mystical light and held her breath as the sound of boots striking rock echoed through the cavern, originating near the front of the cave. Gathering her treasure and shoving it into every pocket she had, the witch jumped to her feet, crept to the entrance of her hidey hole and stood silently, listening and waiting.
Counting in her head, she’d just ticked off thirty-seven and taken her first step outside the tiny alcove when once again she heard the footfalls. This time they were much closer and felt infinitely more threatening.
Pulling an ornate silver disc from the side pocket of her denim jacket, Kamdyn ran her fingers over the word stiúdú that she’d carved into the precious metal the day she’d transferred the spell she’d “convinced” Paisley, one of her closest friends, to work for her into it.
