Dragon's Treasure_A Reverse Harem Serial

by Lili Zander

  But the sword? Is it just a means for me to get inside the castle, or is it something more?

  It’s freezing, but I can’t sit inside the warm cabin of the boat. I’m pacing restlessly on the deck, back and forth, over and over, trying to see what I’m missing.

  As I fret, I finger the small vial in my jacket pocket. Kioko Yone’s magic suppressant. The Rogue Dragon is powerful, and against him, it won’t buy me much time. Five minutes, according to Raedwulf.

  Can I grab Silas and fight my way free of the guards in five minutes? Can I flee the Dark Dragon’s castle before he can break free of the potion that binds him?

  Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

  The vial can’t be my primary plan. I need something else.

  “Maija Essen,” I whisper into the frigid air. “If you’re listening, I could really use a hint here. What am I supposed to do?”

  My right wrist blazes and I gasp as a swift surge of pain runs through me. What the hell? It feels like my mating mark is on fire, a fire that spreads to the Bloodstone.

  I’m poised on the edge of a revelation that could change everything. I know it. I can sense it in my bones, feel it in the throbbing of the blood running through my veins.

  But though I grasp for it, it doesn’t materialize.

  The boat pulls up at a deserted dock. “We’ve arrived,” the stone-faced boat captain says. “The Dark Dragon is waiting for you.”

  18

  Casius

  Step 1: Get the wraiths to drop the wards so we can land on Zyrian’s island.

  “Let me handle this,” Rhys says when he catches sight of the spectral creatures in our way, shrieking with anger.

  Mateo, who’s straightened his shoulders in preparation for a fight, raises an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do?” he asks, sounding more curious than confrontational.

  Rhys flashes us a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “These wraiths used to be women,” he says. “I’m going to charm them, of course.”

  He steps forward with an easy grin. “Hello, loves,” he greets them cheerfully.

  Five minutes later, the shields are down.

  I shake my head in reluctant admiration. “Fuck me,” I say softly. “Nice job, Griffith.”

  “Let’s find the west entrance.” Bastian steps onto the island, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  The moment I set foot on Zyrian’s domain, a numbing sensation runs through my body, and I’m left feeling weak and drained. “Did you feel that?” I ask the others.

  Mateo nods. “The Rogue Dragon’s magic,” he says. “I thought Maija Essen’s wards fought me.” His lips twist bitterly. “I stand corrected. Remember what Raedwulf said? We’re entirely cut off from our magic. We won’t be able to shift here.”

  My head snaps up. “Forget the shift for a second. Can you do any magic here?”

  He inhales sharply, and his eyes widen. “No,” he says. “There’s nothing here. There’s emptiness where there should be a reassuring warmth.” His hands clench into fists. “Without magic, how can I help Aria?” He sounds agonized.

  “One problem at a time,” Bastian replies calmly. “Let’s focus on finding the door that Raedwulf mentioned first.”

  Step 2: Get into the castle.

  Once the wraiths allow us entry, we land on a rocky beach on the north-western tip of the island. The exterior wall of the castle loom in front of us, almost twenty feet tall. With magic, we could shift and fly in, but Zyrian’s stripped us of that ability.

  The Rogue Prince has been alive for a long time, and he is clever and cunning beyond measure. Every account tells us that his magic is waning, that he needs the lifeforce trapped inside the Bloodstone to renew his powers. But waning magic or not, he’s the most formidable foe we’ve ever faced.

  Aria’s life hangs in the balance. There are no jokes now. No quips about Rhys’ finely-honed flirting abilities. We’re filled with grim determination. Our hands are on the hilt of our swords, and we’re ready for battle.

  Zyrian’s castle was built in 1385 in Skagen, on the northernmost tip of Denmark. It was originally made from wood and earth, but over the years, the mage replaced the wooden walls with stone, expanding it and adding fortifications.

  In the mid-eighteenth century, the Dark Dragon tired of Denmark for reasons that none of us know. After Vitus Jonassen Bering sighted the Alaskan landmass on a voyage to Siberia, Gideon Zyrian picked up his castle and moved it by magic to its current location, just off the coast of Nome, to this rocky island in the Bering Sea.

  We walk along the outer wall, looking for the door that Raedwulf swore we’d find. The main entrance is in the south, but that’s heavily guarded. As much as I ache to confront the Dark Dragon directly, I know what a stupid idea that is. Aria is the priority here, not Gideon Zyrian.

  After ten minutes of searching, we find the narrow entrance, obstructed by overgrown creepers. “Does Gideon not feed his servants?” Erik asks disgustedly, surveying the opening with a dubious look on his face. “This is going to be a tight squeeze.”

  “Let’s go.” Bastian puts his shoulder to the wooden door. We take turns battering it until it yields.

  Outer wall breached. What awaits us in the bailey?

  Wolves. At least fifty of them, heavily armed, alert. Zyrian’s pet pack, ready for battle.

  Zyrian knows, even if Aria doesn’t, that we’ll come after her. We won’t let her face this alone. And he’s prepared for us. As wily as ever, the Dark Dragon knows that the wolves don’t need to defeat us. Just delay us long enough for him to drain the Bloodstone.

  One of the wolves catches our scent as soon as we step through the door.

  Ten wolves for each of us. No ability to shift. No ability to access our innate magic, the one that gives us dragon-strength and speed.

  Erik’s mouth sets in grim lines and his shoulders stiffen with determination. “Bring it on.”

  19

  Aria

  The moment I step foot on the dock, a shock of magic runs through me, and I can feel Zyrian’s defenses sap my strength.

  Oh hell no.

  Gritting my teeth, I yank my recognizable red-hued threads of magic back from the dark, dank strands trying to steal them away. I straighten my spine and banish the fear from my heart.

  It’s all about Silas now. Zyrian took my father? I am going to kill the evil mage.

  Unfortunately, I’m not sure how to do that yet.

  A robed, hooded woman greets me as soon as I disembark. I search her aura. No magic, not even a whiff of it. Zyrian doesn’t trust his servants then. Good to know.

  “Come with me,” she says tersely.

  I follow her through the doors, across an inner courtyard that’s packed with armed men—wolf-shifters, if I’m not mistaken—and into the castle proper. “Expecting trouble?” I ask her. “All these guards for me? Overkill much?”

  As expected, she doesn’t reply. Nobody appreciates my snark.

  I’ve stood in this entryway a thousand times. I don’t need the hooded woman to show me the way to Zyrian’s keep. I’ve walked these passageways every night in my dreams.

  Wraiths glide to me as I walk down the stone corridor. Leave Silas to his fate, they whisper. You can’t defeat the Dark Dragon.

  Thanks for the vote of confidence, ghostly wraiths. Thank you very much.

  Help me, I tell them instead. Zyrian killed you for your magic. Don’t you want revenge?

  The servant walks in front of me, entirely unaware of this exchange. She can’t sense the ghosts. She doesn’t know they’re there.

  One particularly wispy shape replies, her voice sad. There is no way to win. I was the Dark Dragon’s first victim. His lover. He strangled me six hundred and forty-nine years ago.

  I stop dead in my tracks. Zyrian was killing people for their magic before he cast the curse.

  Of course, the wraith replies. We gave him the power he needed.

  My resolve hardens. Zyrian’s been on a murder
ous rampage for a very long time. Tell me something useful, I beg again. He has Silas. I have to fight. I’m ready to die. Tell me how to break the curse. Tell me how to end his stranglehold on magic.

  There is nothing to tell, she repeats. There is no path forward. You can’t defeat the Dark Dragon alone.

  Screw you, wraith girl. You’re wrong. I cling desperately onto hope, my nails digging into my palms.

  There has to be a way, and I will find it.

  20

  Aria

  In the Lord of the Rings, Sauron is a big, flaming eye. In Harry Potter, Voldemort looks suspiciously like his pet snake.

  So when I enter Zyrian’s inner sanctum, I’m ready for the arch villain to look, well, villainous.

  Instead, he looks like a Nordic god. He’s tall. His ash-blond hair is spiky. Stubble coats his cheeks, and his ice-blue eyes are vividly captivating.

  Serial killer eyes.

  “Aria.” He smiles pleasantly as I enter the room, and waves to a pair of armchairs in front of the five-foot fireplace. “How nice of you to accept my invitation. So few people visit my castle. Can I get you a drink?”

  He’s acting like this is a social visit? My body vibrates with anger. “Skip the pleasantries,” I snap. “Where’s Silas?”

  Dark threads of power swirl around him, forming an impenetrable net protecting him from attack. The tug at my magic is more pronounced in his presence. The attack feels like I’m caught in a thunderstorm, rain beating down on me, forcing me to my knees.

  Don’t push against your magic. Mateo’s calm voice flows like a gentle wave into my mind. Let it breathe.

  I take a deep breath and allow the tight bundle of stress to melt away.

  “He’s perfectly safe,” Zyrian replies. “I keep my deals, princess. Unlock the Bloodstone for me, and I will allow you to walk out of here with the wolf. As promised.”

  Don’t call me princess, asshole. Only Erik gets to do that.

  There’s a pang in my heart when I think of my mates. I’ve turned off my phone, and so I can’t talk to them. I can’t lean on them. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve come to rely on Mateo’s patient words of instruction and Casius’ warm encouragement. How essential Rhys’ teasing banter is. How much I depend on Bastian’s clear resolve and Erik’s steadfast strength.

  We’ve become a team.

  I hadn’t realized how necessary they are. Not until this moment, when I’m all alone.

  I lift the Bloodstone from around my neck and hold it in the air. Zyrian’s ice-cold eyes lock on the gemstone, his expression avidly greedy. “I want to see him,” I insist firmly.

  “Not the trusting kind?” He turns to the silent woman. “Fetch the wolf.”

  She disappears without a word. I stay where I am, my pulse racing. My head is dizzy, and my mouth is dry. A powerful sense of wrongness overtakes me.

  Every path has led to destruction. In every iteration of the dream, Silas has died.

  There has to be a way to save him. I’m missing something. Something important. Something huge.

  Steps approach. I look up to see Silas walk toward us. His hands are tied in front of him, and there’s a chain between his legs, preventing him from running free. One eye is swollen shut, and dried blood is caked on his face. Anger rises in my breast, sure and swift. “What the hell have you done to him?”

  Zyrian’s expression turns mocking. “Those small wounds?” he laughs. “That’s nothing. Not compared to this.”

  He slashes with his right hand. The air turns into a ruthlessly sharp blade.

  One that slices my father’s throat.

  A thin line of red appears on Silas’ skin. As I watch in horror, blood starts to gush from the wound. My father makes a strangled noise and falls to the floor.

  I run to his side and drop to the floor, cradling his head in my lap. Tears fall unchecked down my cheeks. “Silas,” I whisper. “No. No. Please…”

  “I’m not a fool, Aria.” Zyrian’s voice is hard. “You see, I know you. You’re the heroic type. I’m sure you’ve walked in here, absolutely prepared to die. Ready to sacrifice yourself, ready to purify the magic inside the Bloodstone with your blood. You think that it’s a worthwhile trade. Your life for mine.”

  “What have you done, you psychopath?” I lace my fingers in my father’s. Hold on, Silas. Just hold on.

  “There’s only one way to save him.” Zyrian’s eyes are bright with anticipation. “In my castle, I reign supreme. Give me the magic of the Bloodstone, and I will heal the wolf.”

  So much for my half-formed plans. So much for my willingness to die. The Dark Dragon has always been one step ahead of me.

  Fuck.

  Zyrian’s powerful, smothering magic is winning. My own magic, a warm flame inside me, flickers. There’s just an ember of flame left. Just one tiny, hopeless spot of persistent fire, buried deep inside me.

  I have to give Gideon Zyrian the Bloodstone. It’s the only way to fix the damage I’ve caused.

  There’s no way out. No path to success. The Dark Dragon has won.

  21

  Erik

  I feel her despair as if it were my own.

  Her pain blankets my mind. Her anguish clouds my vision. I move on auto-pilot, cutting through the wolf-shifters.

  Lift. Parry. Thrust. Repeat.

  But we’re weakening.

  The magic innate to the dragons not only gives us speed and strength. It’s responsible for our extended lifespan.

  And without it…?

  Separated from our powers, we can’t last. Soon, we’ll reach the point of no return.

  Bastian, Casius, Rhys, and I form a wall around Mateo, shielding him from the battle. In the normal course of things, Valentini’s perfectly capable of defending himself. Ruthlessly skilled with a sword, he doesn’t even need to access his magic to dispatch his enemies.

  But right now, Mateo needs to do more. He needs to throw off the shackles Zyrian’s placed around his magic. He needs to break free and help us do the same.

  There are too many wolves. We can’t fight our way through them all. And as my eyesight blurs with Aria’s tears, a fist closes around my heart.

  She needs us more than ever, and we’re not at her side.

  I’m failing her, the way I failed Gisele.

  Bitter history is about to repeat itself, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

  22

  Aria

  Slowly, I straighten and get to my feet. My hand grips the hilt of my sword, my knuckles white. It takes all the restraint I possess, every single bit of self-control I have, to keep myself from lunging at the hated mage.

  “You can’t hurt me with that blade, Aria.”

  He’s right. I can’t. But the moment my fingers close over Endellion’s hilt, something happens.

  Something magical.

  Casius looked up the history of Endellion back in Maija’s library. “Endellion is an ancient Celtic word for fire,” he’d said to me. “I wonder why they named your sword that.”

  I know now. Because when I grip Endellion and pull it out of its sheath—as I have in every dream—something unexpected happens.

  My magic blazes in response and flares back to life.

  And with that, the last piece of the puzzle falls into place.

  You can’t defeat the Dark Dragon alone, the wraith had said. I had focused on the ‘you can’t defeat the Dark Dragon’ part.

  I should have been paying better attention. Because the ghostly woman had given me a valuable clue.

  I can’t do this alone.

  But together with my mates?

  I thought to protect them from this. But I was wrong. Going lone wolf was a mistake. We’re a team. We’re in this together.

  I have a split-second before Gideon Zyrian realizes I’m brimming with magic. A split-second to act.

  Use the vial.

  I give Silas one last agonized glance. His breathing is troubled. I have minutes to staunch the blood. M
inutes to fix this mess that I’ve caused.

  I take a half-step toward Zyrian. “I have only one thing to say to you.” My fingers close over the bitchy head alchemist’s potion. I don’t like her, but I’m sure glad right now that she likes to brew dangerous poisons. “Go to hell.”

  And then, before he can react to my defiance, I fling the magic-suppressant at his face.

  It works. Zyrian’s face goes slack with shock, and he freezes in place.

  I have five minutes. Tops.

  First things first. I rush to Silas’ side. Closing my eyes, I feed my magic into him, giving him my strength and staunching the blood flow. He’s so pale. So cold. His breathing is faint, and I pray with every fiber of my being that I’m not too late.

  Zyrian’s moving now. I feel his thick, oily magic struggle to reform, struggling to smother me once again.

  I need my mates.

  Closing my eyes, I search for them and stiffen with shock. They’re right here. Just outside the castle. They’re fighting a pack of wolves. Bastian’s bleeding from a cut on his shoulder. Casius is favoring one side. Rhys and Erik look no better. And Mateo? Mateo is pale, weaving on his feet, his face strained with effort as he fights against the pervasive tug of Zyrian’s darkness.

  Warm pleasure blooms in my heart. They came for me.

  When I translocated Bastian and Erik a few weeks earlier, I needed to borrow strength from Mateo, Casius, and Rhys to summon up enough magic. Not this time. My magic blazes forth, blood red and hot. The Bloodstone flares to life as well, and then, with a whoosh of air, my five dragons materialize into the room.

  Mateo is the first to react. He catches sight of Silas and moves immediately to his side. He places his palm on Silas’ neck, and I watch with awe as the cut knits together.

  When he’s done, he looks at me. “Zyrian’s almost free,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”