by S. A. Ravel
Ronin slumped to the ground, gasping for air. It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but his heart pounded with the force of a runner in the last half of a marathon.
“Nasty little spell, isn’t it? One of my own design. Although, there are still some kinks to work out, duration and such.”
Channing fired at him again, ripping Ronin's vital forces from him as easily as swatting a fly. The first attack came with hardly any pain at all. The second, however, was different. It started with the sensation of tiny pins pricking his skin. As Deckard pulled blood from him, the needles grew, became knives.
“But I think you’ll agree the stacking effect more than makes up for the short time frame.”
Ronin bit back his screams if only to keep Shayla calm.
"You've been living on borrowed time, Dragon. Did you think you’d get to play the savior? Defeat me and re-claim the child, while your mate tussles in the dirt with her mother? I hate to disabuse you of that notion, but you won't survive the afternoon." The blood worker fired another wave.
He rolled to the side, barely escaping another assault. "Maybe not, but my survival was never the point, was it?"
Never for one instant since Sanaa came to his sanctuary and offered herself to him had Ronin's life been his own. He just hadn't realized it at the time. Every moment of his existence since he learned the truth belonged to Sanaa and Shayla. Anything he would ever accomplish, everything he would ever be was theirs.
If keeping Channing busy was the best his battered body could manage, then it was worth all the pain he could swallow.
His death for their lives seemed like a perfectly fair trade. He just had to buy Sanaa enough time.
Sanaa crouched on the peak of the canyon, her eyes locked on the Chimera in the gulf below, watching as vile liquid glistened and dripped from is long claws. Each lungful of hot, dry air stung her nostrils and made her lungs burn. She pushed the pain out of her mind. It was nothing compared to what Niabe would do if she caught her.
They had been locked in the same pattern for several minutes, precious time that Sanaa knew she didn't have. Every second that Shayla stayed in Channing's clutches was one step closer to disaster. The blood sorcerer and dark walker were a formidable combination. She didn't want to think about the hellish Pandora's Box that would open if either of them stole Shayla's dragon imprint.
Sanaa pushed off from her perch, diving beak-first into the canyon. Niabe clawed at the air, holding off the assault with the threat of a gash or worse. Sanaa circled, but the narrow canyon was too narrow for her full wingspan. She couldn't gather speed. She couldn't maneuver. Her only choice was to retreat to the perch. Again.
The world tilted around Sanaa, blurring in and out of focus as it swirled. Her head was too much for the thick muscles of her neck. The weight of it pulled her from the perch. The Chimera roared in triumph.
Sanaa’s body shrank to normal size as she writhed in the dirt. White hot poison tore its way through her veins, burning every inch of her body as it passed.
“You’ve tasted a version of my serum before. How does it compare straight from the font?
Pure lava through her system at one hundred beats per minute. Battery acid and liquid fire rode the waves of her blood. She didn’t need Niabe to tell her the corrosive venom was laced with a dampening spell. She could feel the tendrils of powyr snaking through her body, leaving emptiness and pain in their wake.
With her thunderbird, she could at least pretend to be a fighter. Without it, she was just a veterinary assistant trying to fight monsters in the desert. Sanaa managed a small whimper. If she opened her lips to answer, she might never stop screaming. She would not add her screams to Ronin’s.
Niabe brushed Sanaa’s hair away from her face. “I swear I didn’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. You have no idea how hard it was to convince Deckard that you and the baby were more useful to him alive than dead.”
“Don’t talk like you did me any favors.” The words cost Sanaa a fresh wave of pain. It blazed through her, leaving her curled in a trembling ball.
Niabe waited until her whimpers died down to speak again. “Don’t blame me for your foolish choices. I did what I could. What did I tell you? ‘If you love him fight with him. If you love her run away.’ Nobody was every kind enough to give me an option.”
Sanaa couldn’t respond. She could barely move and yet her limbs trembled violently.
“You think the pain you feel right now is the worst that can possibly exist. Maybe you’re right. But imagine the pain you will feel when you lose them both.”
“S-stop it.”
“All because you didn’t have the backbone to pick your baby’s future over a man. Is he that skilled between your thighs?”
“I said stop!” The sound of Ronin’s screams echoed through the air again, mingling with Shayla’s cries and whimpers.
Niabe tilted her nose in the air, inhaling deeply from the blowing breeze. “Whatever it is you see in him, it won’t exist for much longer. I can smell his blood on the wind.”
Tears of frustrations stung her eyes. The dark walker’s words weren’t the source of it. Niabe had tried to break Sanaa before. Ronin’s screams of pain were more effective than anything she could muster.
“You don’t remember when your father died,” Niabe said. “You don’t remember what it was like, what I was like. One day you think you’ll spend your life with someone, and the next day they’ve used theirs up.”
“Is that why you’re letting your boyfriend kill my mate?”
“Deckard Channing is our benefactor. Where do you think I got the money I sent back to the village to help Ramon take care of you? Who do you think paid for your education?”
Fierce pride was evident in Niabe’s eyes as Sanaa push herself into a sitting position. For years, whenever Sanaa accomplished anything of note, she dreamed of seeing that look in her parents’ eyes. Bad luck had robbed her of one parent, cruel fate stole the other but left Niabe alive in a twisted mockery of herself.
In that isolated canyon, with her mate’s screams and child’s cries echoing around her, Sanaa finally let go of that dream.
“None of that matters. I won’t serve my daughter to Channing, and I won’t be his pet.”
Niabe lowered her head. For a moment, she looked like any other mother watching her child make a decision they might regret. She reached out and wrapped her hands around Sanaa’s neck, pausing to press a kiss to her forehead.
“Then soon you won’t be anything at all.” Niabe squeezed, cutting the flow of air from Sanaa’s lungs.
The instinct to breathe tore through Sanaa, blasting through the pain with raw, primal need. No. This wasn’t how her story would end. She would not die alone in a deserted canyon. She would not fall to a dark walker, not the one who used to be her mother.
She was Sanaa Chavez, the only thunderbird skinwalker in existence. The only skinwalker to tame a dragon’s heart. Their bond had brought a unique being of powyr into the world. The first skinwalker with a dragon imprint. Their Shayla. The story of their family would not end there.
Sanaa sank her nails into the dark walker’s wrists. Niabe pulled back, wincing in pain. Just enough of an opening. Sanaa twisted her fingers through Niabe’s long, raven locks and held on for dear life. She flung their bodies backward, ramming the dark walker’s head into the jagged rock formation. Niabe howled and skittered away, but Sanaa grabbed hold of her, forcing her into the rock face again and again until her body went slack.
She struggled to her feet and pulled herself onto Niabe’s horse, ignoring the powyr replica of Shayla strapped to the saddle. The real Shayla was on the other side of the canyon waiting for her Mommy to protect her.
And if her father’s screams were any indication, he could use help too.
14
Blood oozed over Ronin’s skin. He could taste the coppery foulness of it in his mouth, mingled with dust from the air that settled on his tongue as he screamed. Channing suck
ed the life from Ronin again and again, stealing his strength and adding it to his own. It wasn’t so much a fight as a slow, painful slaughter.
When the ringing in his ears finally stopped, Ronin heard Channing’s laughter. “You’re made of heartier stuff than I thought, Dragon.”
He slumped back against the rocks again and caught his breath. Three or four more rounds of it and Ronin would be down for good. But he hadn’t heard the thunderbird’s piercing wail in some time. Too long for it to be anything other than a bad sign. Sanaa had to make it. She had to.
Ronin pushed himself to his knees. There was no time to worry, no time to grieve. If Sanaa lost to Niabe, then Ronin was about to be outnumbered. He was out of time.
He raised his hand, calling a swirling mass of fire powyr to it. “Let’s end this, Channing.”
“I quite agree.”
Ronin broke into a run. Every dodge altered his path, but he pressed forward, closing the last few feet between them.
“Ronin!” Sanaa rounded the bend at full speed. Deep purple bruises and fresh blood covered her tawny skin, but she was alive.
A swell of emotion nearly overcame Ronin, but he pushed on. There was no time to celebrate. He kicked off the canyon wall, twisting his position a final time to take aim at Channing. “Duck!”
Sanaa dropped to the ground as the fire ball smashed into the blood sorcerer’s chest, sending him flying and crashing to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and ran over to him, joining him in unstrapping Shayla. When she was free, he slid the infant into Sanaa’s arms and pushed them both toward an outcropping of rocks. “Take cover!”
Too late. Another blast of powyr struck Ronin between the shoulders. He fell to his knees, sinking his fingers into the ground and clenching his teeth to hold back the screams.
His mate reached to pull him out of the way. He waved her off. “Don’t let it touch you!”
Sanaa watched with horror in her eyes. “What’s happening?”
“Stay back!” Ronin rolled onto his back and launched a ball of blazing powyr at Channing.
“What’s happening, Sanaa, is your lover is about to meet a very painful end.”
Ronin fired again, a narrow miss that sent the sorcerer sprawling for cover. A biting retort sprang to his mind and disappeared just as quickly. Any energy he could put into talking would be better spent fighting.
“I can’t shift,” Sanaa said.
He fired again. A direct hit. The cape around Channing’s shoulders went ablaze. He batted at the flaming material, screaming in pain as the first singed his hands.
“When I say so, make a run for it,” he whispered
Sanaa shook her head. “I won’t get away fast enough.”
“You should reconsider my offer, Sanaa. When the Dragon dies, I could be a good friend to have.”
Ronin looked to his mate. Fierce pride burned in his chest as he saw that she did not for one second consider Channing’s offer. Even now, pinned against a canyon wall, their terrified daughter in her arms, she put her complete trust in him.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Two days before, Sanaa’s brow would have wrinkled at the words. Doubt came as naturally for her as breathing. But an easy smile came to her lips as if a blood sucker bent on killing them didn’t lurk on the other side of her sanctuary. Whatever the next few moments brought, they would face it together.
“I love you, too.”
“Get as far back as you can. When I give the signal, jump on my back. It’ll make sense when you see the signal.”
“That’s a valiant sentiment, Dragon, but we both know how this ends. You’re clever, but you don’t have the powyr to craft a spell complex enough to take me down.”
Sanaa strapped Shayla to her chest while Ronin kept Channing occupied. She climbed to her feet when she finished, pressing her back against the canyon wall to stay out of sight. “Ready when you are.”
“I would be worried about that, except for one thing. Dragon isn’t just a title. Go!”
Sanaa ducked out from behind the rocks and raced down the path deeper into the canyon.
Ronin didn’t check to make sure she was clear. He had faith that she would get far enough away. It took every bit of energy he had left, but he called forth his dragon form.
Sanaa jumped on his back as his body expanded and elongated. Ronin took flight, rising off the floor of the canyon, pulling his mate and child out of the blood sorcerer’s grasp.
Channing glared up at the massive tricolored dragon over his head, his eyes blazing in fury. The horse, on the other hand, squealed in fear at the sight of the dragon. He broke free of Channing’s hold, galloping away from the mythical beast as fast as his legs could carry him.
For the first time since Niabe’s first attack, Ronin had nothing to fear from unleashing the full force of his dragon form. There were no innocent civilians in the canyon. Sanaa carried Shayla safely off his back, scrambling for the top of the canyon walls to give him the space he needed.
He opened his mouth, unleashing a torrent of dragon fire into the canyon below. For a moment, he saw Channing scrambling back up the path before the flames over took him.
Relief washed over Ronin. Niabe and Channing were gone. Sanaa and Shayla were safe. When he realized that his family was no longer in danger, Ronin’s strength faded.
The world around him dimmed, first around the edges, then in wide streaks that made deciphering any object impossible.
He couldn’t fly if he couldn’t see.
“Ronin, wake up!” Sanaa’s blood-curdling screams were muffled when they reached his ears as if he heard them through cotton candy.
Everything spun around him. The sky and ground switched places at will with no rhyme or reason. And then there was the darkness. Growing in his vision. Blotting out the world until there was nothing at all.
Sanaa shifted in her chair, hoping a little movement would bring the feeling back into her rear. She had long since lost track of how many hours she sat at Ronin’s bedside hunched over their sleeping daughter, the Dragon’s limp hand clutched between hers. Sanaa didn’t bother turning on the bedside lamp. Her muscles were still too heavy and sore from Niabe’s venom. She and Shayla had gotten more than enough light and heat for one day.
Now and then her eyelids grew too heavy, and she let them drift close. Each time she was rewarded with the chilling image of Ronin’s lifeless body plummeting out of the air. For three awful seconds back in the canyon, Sanaa thought the fall had killed Ronin. She could still feel the wave of relief that washed over her when a pained gasp came from his lips. The Dragon in the Mountain, her mate, had beaten a blood sorcerer…and lived.
At least that’s how the Elders would tell the story to future generations of skinwalkers. They wouldn’t talk about the aftermath. How the Dragon and his mate lay beside the blazing canyon, him broken and bloody, her cut off from her imprint. The rescue effort, mounted by the Chief and the Tribunars in Kane’s old pick up, wouldn’t make it into future retellings. Heroes didn’t need saving. They didn’t die in their bed hours after the final battle had been won.
But hours after the battle Ronin lay limp in bed. Even when the wounds and bruises from the fall faded, the Dragon didn’t wake. Nothing Sanaa did brought any reaction from him.
“Now would be a good time for you to wake up, Dragon,” she whispered.
Ronin’s quick, ragged breaths filled the silence, joined by the murmurs of the Elders. In the hours since they brought Ronin back to the house, the kitchen of Casa de Firebreather had become a remote base for the leaders. Sanaa couldn’t hear the topic of their conversations, but she could guess. Clan Bloodbone was in crisis.
Someone walked into the room and put a hand on Sanaa’s shoulder. Sanaa didn’t need to look up, to know that it was Ramon. As both their leader and her only living blood relative, he was the only one who would enter the bedroom. Nobody else would want to be with Sanaa if the worst happened. None of them would feel worthy of it.
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When the Bloodbones told the story of that day, nobody would talk about Ramon’s intuition. Instinct told him something had gone catastrophically wrong. The black smoke from the burning canyon led him to them before cops came to investigate. Sanaa would remember. She would make sure Shayla remembered.
“How is he?” He asked.
Sanaa climbed to her feet, wincing at the tingling that shot through her limbs. “No better. No worse.”
“He’s still fighting,” Ramon whispered.
“He would probably say that’s what dragons do.”
“We can send messengers to the other tribes. Ask them to lend us their healers.”
“Do you really think they’ll help when they find out a dragon joined us?”
Ramon shook his head. “Not for cheap. It would take resources or blood.”
Sanaa shook her head. “He needs blood in his veins, not spilled in his name. There’s been enough violence.”
He shrugged. “It may not be something we can avoid. One dragon in our tribe threatens the balance, let alone two. The other clans will react. If not this day then another. Our survival depends on us being prepared, but we can’t agree without more voices commenting.”
As much as she wanted to argue, Sanaa knew the Chief was right. The truce that kept the skinwalker clans at peace relied on nobody acquiring too much strength.
“What do the traditions say? Who gets to comment?”
“According to Bastian, the word of our strongest warriors carries more weight in matters of war than the Elder Council.”
That must have been the source of all the chatter Sanaa heard from the living room. “I could have saved you the walk, Ronin can’t comment on anything at all.”
“I’m not looking for his input. I’m here for yours.”
From outcast to warrior in less than a week. It must have been the fastest change of status in Bloodbone history. Bastian would probably tell her as much later. Change never came easily for Sanaa, but her comfort wasn’t important anymore. Her daughter deserved every advantage they could provide her. Nothing else would do for the child of a dragon.
