by Liliana Hart
I watched his taillights fade as he drove away. I looked at my watch and tried to estimate how far I could track and still get back in time to get ready for dinner. Far enough to know the next steps I’d need to take at least.
I turned to go back inside but the wind shifted and I stopped in my tracks. There was something in the air—a bitter smell of sweat and blood that clung to the body after a night of hunting. It looked like the killers had found me after all.
Chapter Four
I lifted my nose a little higher, hoping to get another whiff. The atmosphere was thick with ozone, and lightning raced horizontally across the sky. Mist crept in slowly, building in white waves so the ground below it was invisible to the eye. The rain fell harder, almost as if it were a sign of bad things to come. And then the mist grew thicker, taking the shape of a man—a mist dragon. I’d never seen one before, only heard the stories passed down through the generations.
He appeared to my left and wasn’t large, maybe a few inches taller than me, but he was thick across the shoulders and chest—built like a brawler. His jeans were old and torn, his white T-shirt ragged and stained with blood. He gave me a feral grin as he stopped at the edge of the garden path.
I answered his smile with one of my own and leaned against one of the stone arches, enjoying the theatrics. His smile dimmed a little when he saw I wasn’t as afraid of him as he’d hoped I’d be. I held the weapon I’d brought out with me in my left hand so it was hidden behind the railing.
It wasn’t long before the others appeared out of the trees and joined the first. There were five in all. Maybe half of the original group who’d attacked the woman last night. I recognized their scent. There had been others with this group when they’d killed the woman, but those Drakán had moved on.
I was looking specifically for one of my own clansmen. Each clan had a unique scent—ours smelled of clean rain and damp forest—and I’d recognized it immediately around Jillian’s body. It was the reason I’d been able to see Jillian’s death in my vision, even though she was from a different clan. I’d kept that information from Cal.
There was only one female in this group, but she was the one I focused on. I’d seen a little girl once holding a doll with blonde curly hair, blue eyes and rosy cheeks—the porcelain of her complexion so pale and flawless it seemed as if even the slightest touch would cause her to shatter. That’s what this woman reminded me of.
Sapphires the color of the deepest part of the ocean were embedded in her human skin—up her arms and across her collarbone—and a single winking jewel glittered above her left eyebrow like a beauty mark. This only happened to those dragons who slept on top of their hoard in human form. It’s why we were never able to wear jewelry—our human forms absorbed the jewels. It was just another way for us to keep our treasures close.
The female hoarder stood in the center of the group, slightly in front. Two other males—one as dark as onyx, the other as pale as buttermilk—flanked her left side. Their power was minimal. The last male was almost as old as the female. But not quite. The only difference was his clothes were pristine, his face calm, while dried blood and mud covered the others. This male stood in the rain eerily still, his dark hair plastered around his face and his eyes knowing. He gave me a slight bow with his head, and it was then I knew he had psychic abilities—pitiful as they were. He was practically an open book. But I could use him.
It was situations like this one where I thought our laws kind of sucked. I couldn’t kill them just because I knew they’d killed one of our own. Legally, I had to file a warrant with the Council and wait for it to go through. The only way I could kill them today was if they moved to attack me first.
“You guys are pretty far from home,” I called out.
“And your welcome is quite disappointing.” It was the female who spoke. Her accent was thick and Slavic.
I cast my psychic power from my body and read them all quickly. The woman was obviously from the Russian clan, but what had me worried was that the other members of the ragtag group were representing three other clans—the Romanians, the Belgians and the Irish. Our clans had been feuding since the Banishment, and I had no idea why they were working together without animosity now. They thought of themselves as a unit—a family. And for some reason, I couldn’t siphon the reason they’d joined together from their minds. All I could read was that they needed me, and if I didn’t cooperate, then I had to die.
“You made a mistake last night,” I said. “You shouldn’t have killed her. And you definitely shouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave enough of her body behind so I could find her. Now I have to kill you.”
The brawler to my left laughed thin and high, and the insanity of it raised chills on my arms. “You think you can kill us, Enforcer? You’re outnumbered. And we have powers you could only dream of.”
It was my turn to laugh. “I don’t think so. You’re the pawns. Who’s your Master? None of you has the power to breathe fire.”
The brawler took a step forward, his anger making him stupid.
“Bartolomé,” the female said harshly. “Stand down and follow orders.” Bartolomé stepped back, but he didn’t like it.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I’m here to ask you to join us,” the female said. “When the time for battle comes, you don’t want to be on the losing side.”
“And let me guess, it would help to have a psychic with my abilities on your side to even the odds a little.”
“It would,” she acknowledged.
“You already have a psychic.” I gestured to the quiet male with them. “You don’t need me.”
“Christos’ powers are dimmed in comparison to yours. Your mind is virtually untouched. Unexplored. Our Master can help you. You’ll be one of the most powerful Drakán to walk the Earth.”
“You still haven’t told me your Master’s name.” I was stalling. It was hard to ignore the rush that the promise of so much power would bring me. My dragon nature wanted to take their offer and never look back. The human in me kept a more level head. “I’d like to know who I’m working for.”
“His name is unimportant. You only need to know that there is no other of our kind who holds more power. He will be king.”
“Tell your Master his arrogance looks like ignorance when he sends five children to the house of Alasdair. You are all foolish for following someone who holds so little value over your lives.”
They all moved at once, closing the half-circle they’d formed as they pressed in on me. My finger tightened on the weapon I held. I knew I’d get no help from my family for this battle. Erik wouldn’t know we were under threat unless they broke into the house, Cal was probably still asleep, and Alasdair would never help me. He would probably dance on my ashes if I died.
“Our Master will not like to hear your decision,” the female said. “Maybe we can change your mind.”
I waited patiently. All it would take was one of them to lose control. “You’re all traitors to your Archos. No better than cowards.”
Bartolomé growled low in his throat and rushed me, his hands shifting into sharp claws. It was all the excuse I needed. I pulled the trigger of the crossbow and watched as he crumpled to the ground with a howl of pain.
The cold numbness took over my mind as I faced Christos—the other psychic—and enveloped him in my power. The others didn’t get a chance to react. Christos turned and faced the remaining three, his eyes wide with fear. The others looked at him in confusion. He wasn’t in control of himself anymore. He belonged to me. He pushed his arms out into the empty air in front of him, and his friends went flying backwards toward the trees. The dark-skinned male hit against a tree so hard that the base of it cracked in two, the echo deafening as it toppled to the ground.
“Kill them both,” the female screamed.
I came at them with a vengeance. I was going to get hurt, but I was going to take as many as I could down with me. The female came up on me fast, her fists
a blur as she struck at me, but I was able to dodge the blows. Something grabbed me from behind, and I struggled against the tight grasp fiercely. I didn’t see the female strike, she was too quick, but I felt the sudden pain in my chest. Something inside me tore—muscle and cartilage that ripped away from bone. If someone hadn’t been holding me in place I would have crashed into the side of the house. My vision greyed, and my heart stuttered.
Despite the damage to my body, I knew I had to think or die. A calm overtook me, and I sent waves of pain, as fierce as knives, into the one who had me trapped in his arms. He let go of me and dropped to the ground, clutching his head between his hands.
The rain sizzled off my skin so steam rose in a cloud around me. I was pissed. And now I was through playing. Christos was no longer of any use to me. His head lay detached from his body a few feet away, his eyes still panicked and his mouth opening and closing as he gasped for air that wasn’t there. The two men that were left moved closer together and turned to face me. I didn’t have time to reload the crossbow, so I threw it to the ground.
I charged with a blur of speed at the dark-skinned male. My hand shot out, and I felt the give of flesh as I pierced through skin, muscle and bone. My fingers ripped out his heart, and I held the pulsing organ in my hand and squeezed it to dust. He collapsed at my feet, but his friend took the opportunity to tackle me to the ground.
My hands were slicked with blood and kept slipping off his skin as I tried to find something to grab on to. We rolled through puddles and mud, exchanging blows, until I finally wiggled around and embraced his middle with my legs. I tore him in two with the strength of my thighs and tossed the pieces aside.
I was covered in blood from head to toe as I stood and faced the last dragon. The female.
“Tell your master I refuse his offer to join him. I don’t play with cowards. I kill them.”
She nodded her head in submission and shifted into her dragon form, her clothes tearing at the seams as her body elongated and her bones seemed to turn to liquid. The sapphires encrusted in her human skin glittered across her pale belly like beautiful chain mail. She was icy blue, fragile, like spun glass. But the brief glance of teeth and talons I got before she flew away were anything but delicate.
I walked over to the one called Bartolomé. The stake in his chest protruded grotesquely. His eyes were open and confused, but the fear was there. I barely spared him a glance. I snapped his neck and took his head before he could draw any more strength to heal himself. We’d have to burn them all.
Drakán blood dripped from my body, and I stood in the rain for a few more minutes, my face tilted up toward the sky to let some of the blood wash away. I closed my eyes and pushed my senses outward, making sure everything was as it should be. My internal injuries were already healing, but my breath still came in shallow pants. I was going to be sore for a couple of days.
A colorful streak flew from the trees and over my shoulder, landing in front of me. She was long and sleek in her dragon form—one powerful muscle—her scales luminescent and pale pink. And familiar. It had been a long time since I’d seen her. More than fifty years.
The dragon slowly transformed until a woman stood before me. Her nakedness went unashamed, and her body was the palest marble, the blue of her veins visible beneath the delicate skin. Her face was smooth and unlined, her hair so blonde it was almost white. But her eyes were those of an Ancient—dark blue and clear like a deep lake.
“Hello, Aunt Calista,” I said as the tension built between us.
“I thought you’d be dead by the time I got here,” she said. “Your fighting skills have always been less than adequate.”
“Apparently not this time.” I moved to walk past her.
I barely saw the blur of her body as it hit me hard, the healing muscles and bones inside my body breaking once more.
“Don’t speak to me that way. Rebellion does not become you, Rena. You disappoint me.”
I’d been a disappointment to everyone in my family for my entire life, so I let the insult pass as I pushed myself off the ground. To say that most of my immediate family hated me would be an understatement. Calista resented me because she’d been forced to raise me. My father hated me not only because I was a constant reminder of my mother, but because I possessed the powers of an Enforcer. He didn’t understand why I’d been blessed with such a gift, but not also been given the physical strength or other Drakán abilities to go along with it. He considered me weak, but at the same time he considered me a threat. And he was always watching me, afraid I’d take over his mind and claim his position as Archos.
An Ancient’s shields were impenetrable to anyone, including me, but if he ever let them slip enough that I could sneak past his guards, I wouldn’t hesitate to take control and free us all from his tyranny. So come to think of it, I guess he had a pretty good reason to want me dead. The only thing that was keeping me alive was my title as Enforcer. The gift was so rare that the Council had forbidden anyone from killing us.
There were only three who’d gained the power of Enforcer through the millennia since the human blood first tainted our race—Calista, me and Cal. Alasdair was the Archos of our clan, a son of one of the original warriors and the most powerful of our dwindling numbers, but the gift had passed him over.
We hated each other, and I would have left long ago—I’d tried on many occasions—but Alasdair always hunted me down and brought me back, usually broken and bloody. As Enforcer, I was a useful tool for Alasdair. When clan members became too powerful he liked for me to invade their minds and make them loyal to him, so they’d never try to challenge him for his position as Archos. I did it for him when I had no other choice, but I’d gotten pretty good over the last century or so of avoiding Alasdair whenever possible.
“Come inside,” I told her. “I’ll find you some clothes. Alasdair isn’t going to be pleased to see you.”
“He already knows I’m here. We’ve got trouble, Rena. I’ve seen it.” Her voice was strong and made the hairs on my arms stand up. Calista was the most powerful psychic I’d ever known, so if she said we had trouble I believed her.
“What kind of trouble?”
“We’re all going to die,” she said, and then turned her back and walked calmly into the house, leaving me in the rain with my mouth hanging open in shock.
Chapter Five
After the initial surprise of Calista’s bombshell, I disposed of the bodies on the front lawn. I didn’t think Special Agent Ford would appreciate the carnage lying in the gardens. I tossed everything I could find into our incinerator—one that Erik had tweaked so it burned at the same temperature as dragon’s fire—and I twisted the dial to the highest setting, taking no chances that they might survive.
The day was starting to catch up with me, and it felt as if bags of sand had replaced my bones. I went to check on Calista, the numbness in my legs growing so it was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was terrified of the vision she’d seen or because my body was more hurt than I’d thought. I looked down and saw the odd angle of my knee and figured that, at least, explained the numbness.
Calista lounged across the couch, the paleness of her naked body a drastic contrast to the blood red of the sofa. Her body was eerily still, a Drakán trait that only the most Ancient of our race could truly master, and the only sign of life I could see was the tumbler of whiskey she held in a white-knuckled grip.
I went to my quarters and showered quickly, turning the water to blisteringly hot so my aches and pains would heal faster. I dressed quickly in jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt and pulled my wet hair back in a clip, not taking the time to dry it. I then went in search of clothes for Calista. I knew from experience if I didn’t bring them to her she’d just walk around the house naked.
Calista used to live with us, and there was still a trunk of her things upstairs after her abrupt departure. She’d been the Enforcer for our clan before I took over the job.
I’d been in the middle of my training when Alasdair had decided to propose a new law to the Council stating that as Archos and head of the family, he should receive a certain percentage of his clans’ hoards. Calista didn’t take the news well, because everyone knew that Calista’s hoard was one to be envied—filled with gold and jewels and priceless artifacts.
Calista confronted Alasdair with his treachery and the ensuing fight left our lair in shambles. Some of the walls had been completely destroyed and all of the furniture had been turned to smoldering piles of ash. Blood had slicked the floors for days. But what sent Calista over the edge was when Alasdair tried to breach her magic and break through the shields that surrounded her hoard.
She’d renounced her pledge to serve Alasdair as her Archos, breathed one last impressive stream of fire in his direction, and then flown off into the night. It became obvious pretty quickly that she wasn’t ever coming back. Her hoard was suddenly gone the next day, and all that was left was a single trunk of her things. Erik and I were left to clean up the mess of our lair while Alasdair went on a hunting spree to quench his thirst for violence.
None of us knew where Calista had gone, and Alasdair and I couldn’t track her because she knew how to hide her scent and guard her mind against us. The only contact I’d had from her had been a formal letter, giving up her title as Enforcer and passing it on to me. She said she no longer cared to protect her people from being discovered. She only cared to protect herself and her hoard.
So I grudgingly stepped into the role of Enforcer, even though I was far from being ready. Cal had still been a child at that point, and I was the only other choice. Drakán law stated that as long as another Enforcer was available to take their predecessor’s place, then an Enforcer could forfeit their position without punishment. And no one could find Calista to try to talk her into keeping the job.
Hell, sometimes I still thought I was far from being ready. My baser dragon powers had never developed like they should have—the abilities to shift, fly and breathe fire. All I had was my strength and the ability to control minds—which granted, was a pretty powerful gift, but I’d always been a little pissed I couldn’t breathe fire.
