by Black, C. I.
“What can I do for my lady?”
She turned, swishing her robes. The toe of a soft brown shoe flashed beneath the fabric and then was covered. “And now you flatter.”
Grey frowned. The Handmaiden never wore shoes. Unless she was leaving Court. And she hadn’t done that since 1521 when Regis had taken the throne.
“You will need to deliver my book.”
“Your book?” He glanced at the grimoire. He doubted she used it often, not since she’d created Court and had needed to conserve her earth magic by using power words instead of exhausting herself by willing spells into existence. But the incantations within the book, honed over the years, harnessed magic with extraordinary force and in the wrong hands could be used to subjugate dragon-kind completely. However, if she planned to leave Court and feared she wouldn’t return, someone needed to take over the rebirthing ceremonies. But no other dragon had that kind of power. Only a true sorcerer could cast that spell.
“What about the ceremonies? If the souls are left for more than a couple of days without a vessel, even in the medallion while at Court, they’ll lose cohesion and can’t be reborn.”
She raised an eyebrow and more energy flickered over her eyes. “Don’t worry about the ceremonies. They will be taken care of.”
“Yes, Handmaiden.” Of course she knew the souls could be lost. She’d been the one to discover that, and he doubted she’d forget something so important. “To whom should I deliver the grimoire and how soon?”
A wicked smile pulled at her lips and she touched a finger to his forehead. “You’ll figure it out.”
“I— What?”
Energy tingled over his nose and cheeks as she set her spell.
“I see. When the time is right, your spell will activate and tell me who to give it to.”
“You have been reading my journals.”
“It’s the only thing you’ve asked of me.” If only she’d require more of him. Perhaps more purpose to his life could distract him. Flirting was fine, but it didn’t fill the void. Unfortunately, his aura sight couldn’t distinguish between dragons and mages so the Asar Nergal wouldn’t take him. And while he suspected Tobias had a team that reported on the happenings in Court, Grey wasn’t interested in spying on his friends.
“And I ask it of you again,” the Handmaiden said, drawing Grey’s attention back to her. She held out her hands, palms up, and a journal from her secret library materialized on them. It was thick, bound in black leather with a gold ‘1477’ inscribed on the spine.
“I’ve read that one.” He’d read them all, and because of his so-called magic, could remember the contents of every single one. So soon after her soothing spell, he wouldn’t even need to concentrate as he usually did to recall the details of the book and the risk of losing himself to his memories was slim.
She held out the book. “I know. It will be important soon.”
“How soon?”
A sly smile pulled at her lips. “Read it again.”
Right. In her own good, mysterious time, just like delivering the grimoire.
“It’s the record of dragon involvement leading up to the Spanish Inquisition.” One of her more exciting reads, but having lived through that time and read the book five times already, not something he wanted to revisit any time soon. “My lady, if you require, I can tell you the twentieth letter of the twelfth line on every page.”
She pressed the book into his hands. “Three hundred and nine.”
The image of the page flashed into his mind unbidden. “N.”
Her smile curled open in full, revealing her teeth in a sexual challenge.
“Would my lady like any of my other services?” She wouldn’t accept. It was just the game they played. But it was still fun to flirt, even if he wished it was Capri. Besides, the Handmaiden was still a female. Just because she represented everything that was sacred to dragon-kind didn’t mean she was without mundane desires.
“For now reread the journal and deliver my grimoire when the time comes.” She blew him a kiss and withdrew into her chamber.
He sighed. Right. Reread one of the many bad times of his life and wait for whatever spell the Handmaiden had put in his head to activate. Until then, he had a body-sharing Hunter to deal with, and the odds were bad the Handmaiden wouldn’t notice. Here was hoping she’d show the same compassion to Hunter she’d shown Grey.
CHAPTER 15
Zenobia strode up the last step of the sweeping staircase to the balcony overlooking the grove and squeezed the railing beneath her palm. This forgotten cavern on the edge of Court, magically able to sustain vegetation, was the perfect place to build and hide her strike force. Containing a large clearing encircled by shaggy pines and majestic oaks, she’d cut off the only entrance, making it accessible only by an unanchored gate so no one could accidentally stumble upon them. Most days she loved watching the twenty-seven trusted members of her inner circle train the fifty human mages they’d created, but not today. It was proving more difficult than anticipated to acquire the medallion, and now she’d lost Pearl and Welkin. Why wouldn’t Hunter just die?
The stone under her fingers cracked. Dust drifted down to the moss-covered floor below. She had to have the medallion. The coup was only days away and without that symbol of power more drakes would oppose her, threatening her success. And she’d seen what Regis did to drakes when their plots against him failed.
Her heart ached and she shoved the thought aside. Now was not the time to wallow. Her lover’s plan had been good. Abduct transients from around the world, particularly those from third world countries who wouldn’t be missed, and find a drake who could enspell them to obey commands. Done and done. Then came the risky bit, body-sharing with the humans until they connected with the earth’s magic, because well, she could scrounge the earth looking for a natural human mage, but one hadn’t been seen in two thousand years and body-sharing was faster. Her lover, however, had made the fatal error of body-hopping himself and getting caught before he could finalize his attack. She wouldn’t be so foolish. There was too much riding on this, and as much as the Handmaiden wanted all souls saved, a select few, like Hunter’s, were going to be sacrificed. It was just the cost of doing business.
Kijani, her Second, and Howel gated onto the balcony a few feet from her, framed by the stone arch to the hall behind them. They were a study in opposites, Kijani’s dark skin, short hair, and tall muscular stature, beside Howel’s diminutive build, messy brown hair and slightly tanned skin. And while Howel stood straight-backed he was missing the age and power that Kijani radiated. That, and the still oozing handprint Hunter had seared onto Howel’s flesh, eliminated any sense of the young drake’s competence. The fool couldn’t even follow her simple command to call a challenge, and then he had backed down. At least he’d stuck to the plan and looked at Nero instead of her, redirecting any suspicions Hunter might have. Obviously the youngling couldn’t be trusted with anything more complicated than creating human mages for her strike force.
She would never again welcome another unknown drake to her inner circle. Certainly not someone she hadn’t approached herself. She’d only invited two dozen young drakes, those who were the most discontented with Regis’s rule, but Kijani has vouched for Howel and she’d trusted her Second.
“It was rash to challenge Hunter in the feast hall.”
Howel shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes, Doyen, but I—”
She jerked her chin and Kijani nudged Howel into the passage behind them. A lesson needed to be taught before he could screw up again.
“Howel, do you know where we are?”
The young drake shook his head.
She hissed her power word and with her earth magic drew a pebble from the ceiling. With a flick of her mind, she sent it skittering down the hall into darkness, drawing a moan from within the walls.
Howel’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes grew wide.
Kijani had dubbed this passage the Hall of Lament, a place
where she imprisoned those she could no longer trust in the granite walls. Since she didn’t have the medallion, she couldn’t have them reborn and while souls would be lost during the coup, they didn’t have to be lost now. Besides, this was so much more effective as an object lesson.
They stopped at an alcove, sarcophagus sized.
“I told you to challenge Hunter.”
“I did.”
“But not in the feast hall.” She hissed her power word again and whipped a tendril of granite around his legs. He squeaked. It echoed down the hall, drawing more moans and cries from those encased in the walls. “And then you rescinded.”
She surged the granite to his waist and shoved him into the alcove, the granite’s movement fluid under her control.
“Doyen, please. I—” He clawed at the rock encasing his lower body. “Please.”
The cries of those imprisoned turned to wails.
She pressed her palm to Howel’s sternum, forcing him to lean back. “If I leave you just a crack for air, I’m told you’ll survive for centuries.”
“No, Doyen.” He drew desperate gasps and his chest heaved under her palm. He clawed at her hand, digging rents in her flesh, but as fast as the pain flared, her soul magic healed her.
“Your human body will waste away but your dragon spirit will keep you alive, on the edge of death, in constant agony.” She inched the rock higher.
“No, please! I’m sorry!” Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Mother of All, he was disgusting. No true drake begged. And they certainly didn’t whimper and cry like Howel. She yanked the rock away and he collapsed at her feet. “Perhaps you’ll be more use to me making mages... if it doesn’t make you soul sick.”
Howel babbled hysterically, but she didn’t wait for a response. Kijani would see it done if he didn’t want to take Howel’s place in the alcove. She strode back to her balcony, the wails grating on her nerves.
Kijani followed.
Good puppy. She needed his abilities, even if he was a lousy judge of character. But for all of this to work, there was one thing she really needed. “Get me that medallion.”
“With Hunter in Court that will be more difficult,” he said.
She hissed her power word and with a flick of her thoughts jerked the rock under his feet, throwing him back into the Hall of Lament. “I don’t need you to state the obvious, I need you to get the medallion.”
“Yes, Doyen.”
“Make sure you use those drakes who’ve recently changed their allegiance so it’s not blatant we’re making a move.”
Kijani scrambled to his feet and gave a curt nod.
She was so close. Soon she would have the throne and dragon-kind would once again take its rightful place at the top of the food chain.
CHAPTER 16
Wind caressed Anaea’s face and the ground slid by far below her. She was flying, her body held aloft by large, leathery wings that caught and adjusted to the air currents. And while she was flesh and bone, weighted and solid, she felt buoyed, supple, magical.
In that moment, she realized she was dreaming. The current she’d been riding dissipated and she faltered, dipped, then glided into the next updraft and rose higher and higher until she skimmed the bottom of the clouds.
So what if it was just a dream. It was the most pleasant thing that had happened to her in days, perhaps even months. There was no appeal to waking up, either. Hunter’s people... dragons... whatever, were crazy. Every single one of them. No matter how hard Hunter had tried to intellectualize the situation for her, she couldn’t deny the terrifying truth about them. After that dinner she couldn’t get through the rebirth ceremony fast enough. Sure they looked human, but there was nothing human about them. They were predators. Even Hunter’s friend, while nice enough, still gave off the predator vibe.
Even Hunter had darkness about him. And Anaea had the feeling he was the most dangerous of them all.
There she went, making assumptions again. She didn’t know anything about Hunter, not really. As much as he’d been forthcoming about what he really was, she still felt he was giving her the watered-down reality of their situation. But perhaps that was a good thing.
Yet even with his memories swirling through her head like a montage of the world’s history of violence, she felt there was something more to him than just a predator. She felt it in her gut and at the back of her mind. It was like a glimmer seen from the corner of her eye that disappeared when she tried to get a better look. If only she could put her finger on what that was.
Of course, maybe that was just her mind trying to justify how Hunter’s presence made her feel. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to a cold-blooded killer dragon. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She couldn’t be. There had to be something more to him. If only he’d let her in long enough to figure out what that was.
But after the last couple of hours, she didn’t know what she was any more. There was blood on her hands now. Lots of it. And if confronted again she knew she would defend herself.
She stretched her wings, reveling in the weightlessness of flight. She could almost imagine her soul was weightless, too.
Miniature houses dotted the landscape, surrounded by a patchwork of yellow and green fields. A narrow road wound through the fields into the villages and disappeared into the horizon. Crisp, fresh air flooded her nostrils. It was beautiful, wondrous. She had never experienced anything like this before, so it had to be one of Hunter’s memories. A good, non-violent one, at that.
Sudden, sharp pain pierced her chest. She gasped and a burning sensation rippled over her skin. It subsided for a moment, no more than a heartbeat, then flared, hotter and more intense. It zinged through her, igniting sinew and bone.
The acrid scent of smoldering flesh stung her nostrils. She tried to shake the sensation from her body, twisting and turning in the sky with strong beats of her wings. But the fire increased, filling her with hot agony. She was burning from the inside out and there was nothing she could do about it.
Something on her chest cracked and scales fell to the ground. The soft skin underneath peeled and burst.
She screamed, hearing a roar instead. Fire exploded from her mouth and smoke poured from her nostrils and yet, in only the way of dreams, she knew the fire and smoke were hers, not whatever consumed her.
An updraft forced her away from the ground. Her wings trembled and the consuming blaze blurred her vision. But she couldn’t land, not so close to the humans. And yet, each movement, even the minuscule ones to keep aloft, sent sharp agony straight to her heart.
More scales blackened, cracked, and peeled away. She strained forward, desperate to get away and find safety. She refused to be the next to die.
She beat at the air, each stroke more unbearable than the one before. Her breath caught in her throat, the ground below swam in and out of focus, growing darker and darker. Just a little farther. She could do it.
The fire pierced her heart and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. All she could feel was pain. An all-consuming pain.
And then she plummeted toward the earth. The ground hurtled toward her faster and faster. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to witness that last moment of her life.
But she didn’t hit the ground. There was no excruciating moment as every bone in her body shattered or as her skin and muscles burst from the impact.
She cracked one eye open. The leafy canopy of the twin maples in her mother’s backyard stretched above her. The hammock lay at the base of the one on the left. She’d torn it down when her mother had died, making Anaea an orphan at twenty-five. The word ‘orphan’ had weighed on her. It weighed on her now with a profound emptiness. She was alone, estranged from her mother’s family, and unacquainted with her father’s. Perhaps that was why she’d been so eager to love John, her husband. But that hadn’t turned out right, either. Not her marriage, or her life, or her—
Strong hands slid up her arms, drawing shivers, and the heat of a body pressed agai
nst her back.
Hunter.
Guilt twisted fast and fleeting through her that she’d assume, even want, Hunter to be the man of her dreams and not her college sweetheart, Mark. But something about Hunter inspired a desire within her that Mark never had, regardless that he wasn’t, spiritly-speaking, human. Besides, Mark didn’t deserve to bear witness to her too-soon death. Maybe Hunter could just be a fabulous fling. Besides, it wasn’t even real. It was just a dream.
“Anaea.” His lips brushed her neck.
Surely she could allow herself a small fantasy.
He kissed a trail along her jaw, his breath caressing her cheek. Desire burned low within her.
It had been too long since she’d been with a man, and even longer since a man had touched her with passion. All she yearned for was to feel normal and loved again. Just for a moment.
His mouth was tantalizingly close to hers. He flicked his tongue against the edge of her bottom lip. She shivered, straining to turn into him. Just a little more. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted this until it was offered.
Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his short hair to the back of his head and drew him closer, tentatively touching his lips with hers. They were soft, welcoming, waiting.
She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. This was a dream, her dream. No fantasy lover would refuse her. Here she was whole and well. Here she was anything she wanted to be. And what she was right now, was hot for this man.
She pressed her lips against his, needing, burning. He matched her desperate passion, licking and sucking, as she tried to kiss away all her heartache and pain at her husband’s betrayal, her cancer, the deaths by her hands, and her lonely existence. It was all devoured, swirled in a fiery frenzy of breath and lip and tongue.
