Dragon Seeker, Part Three

by Carina Wilder

  * * *

  On his side of the barrier, Lyre could make out the reflective walls to his right and left that led far into the distance the way he and Trix had come. He would have no choice but to retrace their steps, to see if there was another way to get to her. But the thought of it was killing him.

  But meanwhile, something else was eating away at him, too. For a moment he turned back to the wall that had tumbled down in front of him, to examine its intricate carvings of Dragons warring with armies of shifters and humans. A work of art saturated with the power of his kin.

  Yet, his own Dragon had disappeared the moment the wall had come crashing down. Something in this underground lair had crippled him.

  He’d told Trix that he couldn’t shift into his Dragon form because he didn’t want to risk collapsing the tunnel, but the words had been a white lie. The creature inside him, normally fiercely protective, always ready to explode from his body to protect his mate, had gone deathly silent. It was as if he’d been tranquilized, rendered unconscious by some external force. His Dragon had been cut off from him just that damned wall had cut him off from his lover. The Seeker and the shifter had been torn apart by ancient forces, and the shifter, it seemed, was now nothing more than a powerless human.

  But Dragon or no, he had to find her. He had to help her.

  Beatrix, he called from inside his mind again as he pressed his forehead to the wall. A part of him was tempted to yell her name out, to use his voice and hope it echoed through the entire labyrinth, bringing their enemies to him, steering them away from her. But instead he whispered the words against the stone.

  Beautiful Beatrix, I love you.

  Damn it, why had he not told her how he felt last night, or this morning? He’d looked into those lovely light eyes of hers so many times, conveying all the adoration in the world as their bodies met. He’d stroked her cheek, kissed her smiling lips a thousand times. But why had he allowed fear to prevent him uttering those three simple words, when the truth of it was that he’d loved her from the first moment their minds had linked together?

  If he lost her now, he’d never forgive himself for that one failure.

  That was as good a reason as any to get moving. He needed to find her, damn it, and soon. Any Forsaken who got in his way would find its spine torn out, whether his Dragon returned to help him in the fight or not. It took all his strength and resolve to back away from the wall and to begin the long walk back the way that he and Trix had come, dragging himself farther from his lover with each step. Hating fate for what it had done to them. She would be facing almost immediate danger, and fuck, he was meant to be there with her, protecting her. He was her Dragon, her defender. She was strong and skilled, but to leave her on her own to fight such a battle felt as painful as a serrated knife twisting into his side.

  He would gladly sacrifice his life to save hers, if it came down to that.

  Strangers

  Lyre walked for some time, despising every step he took that brought him farther from his lover. But his only hope was to circle around and try and find his way to her from another of the labyrinth’s tunnels. That was, of course, assuming that they eventually all led to the same destination.

  But as he advanced, he found himself veering in directions that seemed to drive him farther away from the labyrinth’s center, rather than deeper into its core. As if the corridors were shifting and altering their own course, deliberately steering him away from his goal.

  Some dark magic was pulling him away from his mate. But why?

  The worst of it was that he had no plan of action other than to move and to hope. As he went, he kept his eyes peeled for the overhead slab of stone under the Tor where they’d jumped down, hoping to spot its small triangle of daylight, but it never seemed to appear. In fact, everything now looked different from when they’d first come in. He was beginning to doubt his own senses, and the ever-present silence engulfing his mind only served to make him feel more isolated from the world around him.

  In spite of the darkness, the solitude, he felt no fear. Only frustration, anger, and concern for Trix. He hated that he couldn’t be with her. Hated that they might get their hands on her and that he wouldn’t be there to help. Hated that he’d never revealed to her the true depth of his feelings. He resolved that if—when—he saw her again, he would yell the words with all his might.

  I love you, Beatrix.

  He spoke the syllables again into the air around him, knowing that they would dissipate, a mist that reached nothing and no one. Sound that no ears would pick up, including his own. But at least releasing them somehow made him feel closer to her. Life was better, if only for a millisecond.

  He’d trudged along for some time before he finally came to what looked like a dead end. The corridor had ceased to curve round to the right or the left and before him, a wall of stone rose up, taunting him with its solidity. Unlike many of the tunnel’s other walls, it was largely smooth and free of carved decoration. The only image on its surface was a circle, no larger than an apple. It was divided into quarters.

  As Lyre leaned forward he could see that inside each quarter was one of the symbols of the Dragons’ elemental powers: Water, Earth, Fire, and Air.

  He examined it for a moment before a quiet voice at the back of his mind told him to reach out and to touch it, though he had no idea why. Pressing a hand to its surface, hope bubbled up inside him. This was more than just a carving; it was a symbol of the Relics—a sign that he may be in the right place after all.

  And perhaps he was getting closer to his lover.

  Under his hand the circle moved inward, embedding itself into the wall, which seemed to release on either side, pivoting a little to the right like a rotating door. Lyre laid his hands flat against the right side and shoved the massive stone surface, knowing that the action would probably do no good other than to relieve some of his mounting stress. But to his surprise, it moved again under the force of his thrust, the floor vibrating under his feet. So he shoved again and the wall swivelled under his touch, revealing a smaller arched tunnel that seemed to lead upward.

  A secret passageway?

  Yes, it certainly looked that way.

  He stepped forward, reluctant to leave the now all too familiar tunnel behind him, to be locked out. But the pivoting door of stone seemed to stay open, so at least he’d be able to re-enter the tunnels if he needed to. So he forged ahead, stepping into the smaller corridor.

  In the distance, dim light reflected off what looked like a tiny trickle of water leading down in his direction. A water source, coming from…somewhere.

  Bending down a little so that he wouldn’t hit his head on the low ceiling he advanced, curious to see where this odd passageway was taking him.

  Before long, he came upon a sort of inlaid stone shelf set into the wall to his right. On it was displayed a series of weapons, from daggers to swords to a bow and arrow. They seemed to be waiting for some unseen hand to grab them. A store of emergency blades, in case of an attack from the outside?

  Lyre inspected them closely, noting their ivory blades. “Dragon bone,” he thought. The same material as Trix’s weaponry, given to her and to the other Hunters by his Guild. The weapons used against the Forsaken. But why were they here?

  Without hesitation he picked up a long, straight dagger and shoved it in between his leather belt and his jeans. If he couldn’t shift, it would be his only defense against the Forsaken.

  Within a few minutes he’d reached a set of stone steps leading further upwards, towards a round door embedded in the ceiling. It appeared to be made of iron and wood, and streaks of light poured in around its edges and through the cracks between slats of dark oak, revealing a shape in the iron frame: a circle, quartered by a cross.

  Pushing the door open above him, he poked his head outside, wincing at the sudden burst of sunlight as his eyes adjusted to the outdoors. Lifting his chin, he could see that the sky above was clear but for a few clouds, and at first Lyre�
�s sensitive eyes darted around, seeing nothing that helped him to discern his location. He was surrounded by lush green foliage and cobbled walkways that seemed to lead to a series of tall stone walls. Trickling water flowed down a long pathway of sorts, which meandered through the property. Was he in someone’s back garden?

  It was only when his eyes caught a sign to his right that his heart sank. He finally knew exactly where it was, and it wasn’t good news.

  Chalice Well and Gardens.

  Well, fuck. He’d basically made it all the way back into Glastonbury via the series of confounding underground passages. Far from the labyrinth’s core, and far from Beatrix. He’d left the Underworld. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

  He pulled himself up and out of the opening in the ground, rising to his feet on the gravel pathway surrounding the round door, spinning about frantically to search for any sign of what he should do next. He stopped when he saw the hill in the distance, the Tor perched at its top. People were beginning to climb up to the summit, innocently hoping to take a few selfies in front of the tower before making their way back down.

  “Bollocks,” he thought, staring at the now distant location. “She’s under there, somewhere. How the fuck do I get back to her?”

  He wanted nothing more than to hold her again, to kiss her, and never, ever to let her go. To pull her away from the accursed place and tell her the Relic didn’t matter, so long as she was safe with him. It was his fault that she was now trapped deep under the earth with God knows how many Forsaken hunting her down. In making her his Seeker he’d put her in grave danger, and here he was, perfectly safe in a bloody garden, of all places.

  But as he stared towards the tower, the hairs on his nape prickled, warning him of an imminent threat. Perhaps he wasn’t so safe after all.

  A second later he understood why. He could feel the presence before he saw anything; someone was here, watching him silently. Some distance off, a large, menacing man stood staring in his direction, as still as a marble statue. When Lyre turned his head enough to see the figure in his periphery, he noted that the man’s face was masked by a hood drawn over his features.

  Lyre sniffed at the air, but the wind wasn’t in his favour. It pulled the man’s scent away, leaving the shifter to rely on his other senses. His right hand went to the knife tucked into his belt, grasping its hilt as the tall figure began to approach at a very slow, deliberate pace. A Forsaken, perhaps. Alerted by the Lapsed, waiting for his chance to take on the Dragon shifter.

  Lyre’s body tensed as he searched for his Dragon, wondering if he’d even be capable of shifting. To his relief he felt the beast stir inside him, as though it were finally waking up after a long sleep. Leaving the underground had resurrected his déor, it seemed.

  Good. No damned Forsaken would take him down, not today. He was in no mood to play around with their kind. He stood, frozen, waiting for the right moment to change. Waiting for the satisfaction of tearing the creature’s throat out. But first he’d ask it where Trix was.

  If it was a Forsaken, it wasn’t a very aggressive one. Instead of moving closer to him the man stopped in his tracks, muscular arms crossing almost casually over his chest. He was as big as a Dragon shifter himself, broad-shouldered and powerful looking, his features temporarily masked by the dark hood.

  Well, whoever it was, Lyre had no patience for this nonsense. No man would keep him from his lover. He inhaled a deep breath as he turned to face the intruder head on, waiting for the Dragon to burst from his body. The irritating bastard wouldn’t even know what hit him.

  But just as he readied himself for the shift a voice halted him in his tracks, resonating through his mind like an echo of the past. A voice he hadn’t encountered in what felt like a very long time.

  The man pulled the hood away from his face as he spoke, revealing features that Lyre knew as well as his own.

  “Now, now. There’ll be no need for that, Brother.”

  * * *

  Trix walked the winding passages for what may have been fifteen minutes or fifteen days, miserable with the knowledge that each step pulled her farther away from Lyre. The Lapsed had long since dashed off into the dark distance, no doubt trying to guide her towards those who’d sent him looking for intruders. By now, it was entirely possible that he’d alerted them to her presence.

  She’d wanted to sprint after him, to hunt him down and kill him immediately. But the uneven surface of the floor combined with the sharp curves of the tunnel meant that rapid movement would have been a foolish undertaking. At best she’d end up turning an ankle; at worst she’d end up running into a nasty group of Forsaken, a trap set for the very purpose of tearing her throat out.

  She felt lost. Lyre had become so much a part of her, and when that wall had come crashing down he’d been stolen from her. Severed, painfully, a part of her body removed without anesthetic. She wondered if he could possibly feel as alone as she did, and hoped that his Dragon was keeping him company. She knew, at least, that he wouldn’t be afraid; Lyre never seemed scared of anything. He’d already been through worse torment than most people went through in a lifetime, after all. The only thing she’d ever known him to fear was hurting her by being with her. But they’d finally found their way to each other against all odds. She’d fought to be with him, and he’d surrendered to his deepest concerns to be with her.

  To be ripped apart now by forces beyond their control seemed so cruel.

  Trix tried not to think too much about the fact that the enemy waiting for her could do more than just pull them apart temporarily. As likely as not, they’d be delighted to drink every drop of her blood, slowly and painfully, until she drew her last breath.

  The image came to her of the Forsaken having their way, and all of a sudden she craved fresh air, sunlight and Lyre’s arms around her. She craved the shelter he provided.

  On her many assignments as a Hunter she’d always worked alone, and she’d enjoyed her solitude. Thrived on it, even. But this was different, somehow. Faced with curving, dark tunnels that were leading her to who knows where and the prospect of one or more Forsaken who would love to turn her into a blood smoothie…well, some backup in the form of a gigantic Dragon shifter would have been nice.

  But she continued on her way, somehow forcing one foot in front of the other, each step carrying her farther from her lover and closer to certain danger and very-damned-likely death. The sodding tunnels weren’t helping anything; each time it felt as though she were coming upon a dead end, she’d find the hallway turning in on itself, and then follow it to another hairpin turn. She was making her way downward, towards the centre of a giant ellipse. Deep into the Underworld.

  It was only after some time had passed and many more sharp bends in the tunnel that her keen eyes picked up a faint glow in the distance, warmer than the dim iridescence of the shining stone around her. Holding the Katana in both hands, she moved forward slowly, stealthily, years of training and experience kicking in. If someone was ahead waiting for her, whether a Forsaken or someone else, they would be met with a seriously irritable human female. Apparently there was nothing quite like tearing a Seeker away from her Dragon man to bring out the beast within her.

  She crept ahead on light feet, assuring herself that somehow, she still had Lyre with her. She searched her mind for the feeling she’d had the previous night, when he’d been inside her. When she’d asked him for more, begged him to give every inch of himself over to her. And for a moment she felt it.

  I’m with you.

  He was still out there somewhere. But too far away to help her.

  If she was to fight a Forsaken, she was in for a difficult time. However her senses had improved, however honed her skills, she was still no Dragon shifter. She was just a human, and all the anger in the world wouldn’t likely make her a match for one of them at full strength, unless she could find a way to gain the advantage in the fight. And that would be a challenge, to say the least.

  As she neared the l
ight’s source, she saw that she was coming up to an entrance; a large doorway leading into a long, roundish room. A massive, round slab of stone lay ahead at the chamber’s centre atop thick, carved legs, a lantern sitting on its flat surface.

  Slowly Trix slipped into the room towards the lantern’s dancing flame, her eyes darting around in search of something—anything—to guide her towards the next step. Someone was nearby; she could feel a presence, or many presences, all around her. Well let them come, damn it. Let them try to threaten her. They’d see what she was made of.

  She halted to sniff the air for a moment, realizing that she’d been holding her breath. Immediately she regretted inhaling as the scent hit her harder than ever. That sickly sweet odour of the Forsaken, wafting towards her from every corner of the chamber. But to her surprise, no one came at her.

  A slow, mounting fear of the unknown settled itself deep into her gut once again. But sod it, she’d have to conquer that fear.

  She’d make the unknown show themselves.

  Minach

  “Minach? But how…?” Lyre shot the words out of his mind, barely daring to believe his eyes. Had he gone completely mad? No. It really was his twin stepping towards him. Only a few feet away now. Minach was even smiling. Looking happier than he had in, well, ever. His long hair had been sheared off, but Lyre barely noticed that change at first. In comparison to everything else, hair seemed a trivial matter.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Lyre signed to his sibling when they were close, almost managing a smile of his own. Minach was certainly a sight for sore eyes. An ally, even. At least he hoped so.

  “I suppose you could say that I’ve come to see if I could be of use to you,” his brother told him. He wasn’t signing, and Lyre was shocked to feel his twin’s voice so deeply embedded inside him. Minach was allowing a closeness that they hadn’t shared in a long, long time.