by Julia Mills
The person Maddox now watched rant and rave bore no resemblance to the brethren he’d known a century ago, neither in looks nor dress. Hair dirty and matted with dried blood, dirt and leaves. His body a mass of scars, both old and new, oozing wounds, bruises in every variation of yellow, green, blue and purple, and strange tattoos surrounding his dragon marking that Maddox knew he’d seen before but in his present state, simply couldn’t place.
Kyran’s jeans were ripped and bloodied as well as too large in the waist and at least three inches too short. Obviously something he’d ‘borrowed’ after his harrowing escape. His feet and hands were so damaged from either torture or by his own actions that they hardly looked human. His fingers and toes were gnarled, some missing the nails. Long red welts decorated the tops of all four appendages just barely disguising more scars and bruises. Maddox wondered why the black dragon’s beast had not healed the damage, then wondered if something else was at work within his old friend.
Making what had to be his hundredth pass in front of Maddox while swinging his sword and pounding his forehead with the heel of his free hand, the black dragon mumbled, “A fháil ar bhealach amach. Find a way baile.”
The continual switch between and Gaelic and English was giving Maddox a headache, not to mention all the blood rushing to his head while he hung suspended by his feet.
And they call me the mad dragon…
“I swear to all that is holy if this is some kind of prank, I will kick your ass and leave you for dead, Kyran O’Connor. I’m not above it and no one knows that better than you.”
At the sound of Maddox’s growled threat, Kyran stopped, spun on heels, and stared at the mad dragon with a look of shock and confusion. For a split second, Maddox saw a glimmer of recognition. He opened his mouth to speak but immediately held his tongue as the dark, haunted veil slid back over Kyran’s onyx eyes and he hissed, “Shealbhú do Demon theanga,” raising his sword as if to decapitate the mad dragon before abruptly doing an about-face and returning to his pace and ramble routine.
Demon? Did that asshole just call me a demon? He’s the one they called the Phantom.
Trussed up like Kyran’s latest kill, hanging upside-down from a thick lava tube jutting from the cave wall, bound at the wrists and ankles, Maddox struggled to loosen his ropes. Calling to the dragon within, the mad dragon focused on the tips of his fingers, willing the talons of his beast to appear. Cursing under his breath when only the faintest tingling sensation warmed his hands, Maddox finally had to admit to himself that the cave was under a dampening spell. Denial was doing nothing but giving him a splitting headache and making him even more angry.
Sneaking off into the night without a word to anyone had been stupid. Closing himself off from not only his brethren but also Calysta had been even stupider. But what made the mad dragon feel like the Grand Poohbah of idiots was that he’d refused to call for help while being held at the end of Kyran’s sword on the side of the mountain. Rule one: never get taken into an enclosed area before calling for help.
I really should practice what I preach, dammit…
For some stupid reason, Maddox believed he could get through to his brethren, bring Kyran back from whatever trauma he’d suffered, and get him home where Niall and Calysta could work their healing magic on him. He’d used the old technique of ‘befriending your captor’ and had gone along like a willing prisoner. It was only now that he wanted to kick his own ass and save his mate the trouble. Shaking his head and immediately wishing he hadn’t as his vision blurred and his brain threatened to explode, the mad dragon tried to think of how it had all gone so wrong.
The plan had been solid. Heavens knew it should’ve been after over a month of preparation. It had all started the day of Calysta and his dragon mating ceremony. He’d been waiting in the wings for his mate to appear in the Garden of Serenity when Kyran’s voice sounded in the far recesses of his mind. The mumblings were incoherent at first, as if the Phantom were talking to himself instead of Maddox. There was resignation in the black dragon’s voice, as if he was accepting his fate.
Maddox stood still, listening to his old friend’s ramblings, trying to make out every word when Kayne shouted through their unique link, “It’s your party, asshole. Get out here. Your beautiful mate is waiting.”
Without thought of his surroundings and trying not to give anything away, the mad dragon snapped back, “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That voice.”
“I heard nothing but the sound of Calysta reconsidering her harebrained scheme to mate your mangy ass. Maybe I should tell her that you’ve finally officially lost your last marble and I’m free to be your stand-in.” Kayne laughed.
“Well hell,” Maddox growled, still listening to Kyran while he raced from behind the flowering bushes into the waiting crowd.
One look at Calysta in her light blue gown with her long strawberry-blonde locks piled atop her head and the look of love in her eyes, chased all thoughts of lost dragons and rescue attempts from his mind. Maddox’s only thoughts were of mating his gorgeous mate.
After the ceremony, they’d eaten and danced the night away. Kyra, Calysta’s daughter, and the other girls had done a great job with the reception, or so he was told, because the appeal of anything other than whiskey and food he could eat with his hands was completely lost on the former recluse. After two hours of cajoling and ultimately begging Calysta to leave, he’d finally whisked her away to the mountain retreat he’d called home for almost a century.
They’d consummated their union in ways not even he could’ve ever imagined, which was saying something considering how close to two-hundred-and-twenty-five years old he was getting. Maddox admitted over and over to himself, his mate, and the Universe how truly blessed he was to no longer be alone. The old hermit dragon had once and for all been domesticated.
To make matters worse, at least he grumbled like he was being descaled, Calysta had somehow worked her ‘magic’ on him. With a lot of love and a few well-placed nudges, his little witch had him packing up everything he owned and returning to the civilization of the clan and the lair.
He’d put up a good fight, at least on the surface. Had complained as every book, pot, pan, and knick-knack went into the box while smiling on the inside at the beautiful gift of Calysta he’d been given. It was what she wanted, so it was what he did. Making her happy was all that mattered. Not once in all that time did he think about Kyran or voices in his head. The mad dragon and his Grande Priestess were in a world all their own…peaceful and happy.
On their return to the lair of the Blue Thunder Clan, the mad dragon took serious abuse from his brethren about being ‘whipped by his mate’. Even his oldest friend, Kayne, had chuckled and teased, “You can teach an old dragon new tricks.” The mad dragon vowed revenge with a twinkle in his eye and evil thoughts dancing in his head.
All thoughts of Kyran gone and forgotten, life as a mated dragon was rolling along really well. He’d even used the word bliss in reference to their relationship, made his little witch breakfast in bed on two occasions, and brought home flowers almost every day. To say Calysta was taming him was a monumental understatement.
Then, as had always been the case of existence, life smacked the mad dragon in the back of the head with a two-by-four. While mindlessly painting the dining room some light blue color Calysta and Della had deemed ‘perfect for their color story’ (whatever the hell that meant), the Phantom’s voice sounded, loud and clear, into Maddox’s mind, complete with the mad dragon’s obnoxious nickname from his youth.
“Doxie… Doxie, you there? Did we get the bastard?”
Acting on pure instinct, Maddox immediately responded, “Kyran? Where are you?”
“Rendezvous point alpha.”
The mad dragon frantically searched his memory for any mission where that had been their final destination and came up with only one. The one they’d all tried to forget. The one where they’d lost not only the peopl
e they were trying to rescue but one of their own. Their victory at destroying a Wizard Leader had been hollow and grief-ridden on that day.
Pushing back the memories, trying not to waste what might be his only opportunity to locate his old friend, Maddox quickly replied, “Yes, we got him. How many for extraction?”
“One.”
Before Maddox could respond, anger and frustration filled the bond between brethren with a fiery vehemence and Kyran shouted in Gaelic, “Saoire dom spiorad. Crá dom nach bhfuil níos mó,” before he cut their connection and completely disappeared.
The mad dragon searched his mind for any trace of his reignited connection to his old friend and found the path gone, wiped from existence as if it had never been. Waiting, he barely took a breath as he prayed Kayne would holler at him to say the demi god had also heard Kyran. The three of them had been thick as thieves in their younger days. Maddox knew Kyran would reach out to Kayne, as well as him. Couldn’t imagine the Phantom wouldn’t call the demi-god for help, but the longer he waited to hear from Kayne, the more deafening the silence became.
The thought of calling Drago rolled through his mind before being dismissed. The Assassin would’ve let them know if he’d heard from Kyran. Besides, both Maddox and Kayne had agreed to let Drago and his mate enjoy their time away. There was no need to bother them until they either found Kyran or he raised so much hell that they needed to bring his Commander in to make the hard calls.
Rolling the paint over the same strip of wall for at least the tenth time, Maddox also debated whether he had once and for all lost his mind. Of course, that was only wishful thinking. Kyran had spoken to him. There was no denying it and no ignoring it. The dragon they’d all called the Phantom for his extraordinary way of ‘killing without touching’ was back and most definitely not in his right mind. Kyran was a hazard to himself and anyone he deemed a threat. Hell, there were some cases in which he’d been several miles away when an adversary had simply dropped dead and that was when he was sane and focused; it was unfathomable what he could do in his present state.
At the time, in his gullible youth, Maddox believed Kyran’s special abilities were a magical gift. Had thanked the Universe for his friend’s keen skill in battle. Having now experienced the mind-melting screech the Phantom could blast into anyone’s brain at will, the mad dragon doubted the ‘gift’ part of Kyran’s super power, only sure that he never ever wanted to experience it again.
Maddox spent the next week searching for the Phantom without his mate or anyone else finding out, which had proven easier said than done. He was out of practice when it came to shielding his thoughts, especially where Calysta was concerned. He’d never had or been a mate before. Had never known what it was like to truly share himself – body, mind, and soul – with another. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time it was the best feeling in the world. It was that pesky point-one percent when he was trying to keep secrets that made him wish for the solitude of his cave.
If his little witch had asked once she’d asked him twenty times what was wrong; each time with more intensity and more animation. It was cute to watch her talk with her hands but only when she was complaining about someone or something else. During one such ‘interrogation’, she’d sighed so hard he worried she might just deflate. Maddox was sure she’d test the limits of their bond to ease her curiosity but was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t. Through it all, Calysta respected his privacy and trusted him. On one hand it was a great feeling, on the other, he now wished she’d been nosey.
Had to get a witch with a conscience, didn’t I? Gotta love the Universe’s sense of humor…
After ten days without a peep from the Phantom and no way to contact him or track him, Maddox settled back into mated life and thought little about his old friend. He decided life would go on with or without Kyran and returned one hundred percent of his focus to Calysta and their future together.
Life with his mate was never boring. Tasks, that a few months ago he would’ve thrown a fit about performing, were fun with his little witch by his side. Even home décor had its finer points.
“So, tell me, Mr. MacQueen, which means more…me…or this chair?” Calysta cooed while giving her best ‘Vanna White’ wave of the hand that pulled the lapels of her silk robe apart to reveal her gloriously naked body.
With his brain scrambled and most of his blood heading south, Maddox stammered, “Y…you…m…m...my love.” Racing across the room, the last word was still on his lips when he slammed his mouth to hers. His hands roamed her body. She moaned softly, opening to him as only one’s true mate can do.
Their tongues slid along one another; the gentle glide adding to their already explosive connection. Pushing the silk off her shoulders, he loosened his grip for a split second to let the soft fabric float to the floor before laying her on his oversized La-Z-Boy and kneeling.
Pulling her beautiful bottom to the edge of the seat, Maddox looked into her emerald eyes and smiled. Slowly spreading her knees, he leaned down and kissed up one thigh. Inhaling the succulent scent of her arousal, he smiled at the proof of the effect he had on her already wetting her curls then kissed down the other thigh. Mercilessly teasing them both, drawing out his seduction, the mad dragon was making his way back to Calysta’s center when the front door swung open and Della, Calysta’s sister, sang, “Anybody home?”
Scrambling to his feet, Maddox threw Calysta’s robe to his giggling mate and growled, “Where the hell else would we be?”
“Well, I was just…” Della’s words trailed off as a deep blush covered her cheeks, immediately making its way down her neck.
Refusing to be embarrassed for loving his mate in his own home, Maddox harrumphed. “You were just what, Della?” His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that the crack of his knuckles sounded in the lingering silence.
With her robe now covering her body and her merriment under control, Calysta rushed to her sister and took the bags from Della’s hands. Turning towards the kitchen, his little witch winked at him while speaking to her sister, “Come on, sweetie, you can tell me what goodies you got us for supper.”
In Maddox’s head, she teased, “And you can go take a cold shower.”
“When is she going back to the coven?” The mad dragon growled while adjusting his erection away from his zipper and once again cursed the fact that they were not on his mountain with no one to interrupt. Ignoring her joke about the cold shower and heading out the door to the sounds of Calysta’s laughter in his head, Maddox ignored everyone he passed.
Lennox appeared at his side with a shit-eating grin on his face and a spring in his step. The mad dragon knew what was coming and opened his mouth to head off the mad bomber’s joke, but was a split-second too late.
“How’s life as a domesticated dragon, old man?”
Spinning to his right, he grabbed Lennox by the collar of his Led Zeppelin shirt and glared. “Shut. The. Hell. Up.”
Throwing his hands up in surrender, the mad bomber chuckled. “Gotcha old man. No more jokes.”
His words were sincere but the cheeky grin on his face said every other Guardsman in the lair would know about Maddox’s outburst and more teasing at his expense was sure to follow. Snatching his hand from his brethren’s shirt, spinning back to the left, and marching off in a huff, the mad dragon swore he would find a way to convince Calysta to at least put locks on their front door.
And get Della her own home…
Arriving at the training pits for his turn at sword practice with the young Guardsmen-in-Training, Maddox grumbled and growled at every person who dared to tease him about being ‘domesticated’ and threatened to put silver in their cornflakes when they asked how it felt to be ‘tamed’.
Does no one have anything else to talk about?
Sharpening his sword, still grumbling to himself about the advantages of being a recluse, Maddox wiped off his blade and stepped away from the workbench. The light from the noonday sun momentarily blinded h
im just as his dragon jumped to attention and chuffed within the confines of the mad dragon’s mind at something only the beast could hear. Walking farther into the barn, the Guardsman shut out the rest of the world and focused on his dragon.
The beast circled the confines of Maddox’s mind on high alert. He wasn’t angry or defensive; simply on guard. After several tense moments, his dragon jerked his head to the side and looked directly into the Guardsman’s mind’s eye. It was the closet the two beings could or would ever come to actually looking one another in the eye and for most Guardsmen, never happened.
Maddox’s beast narrowed his large blue eyes until only the center of his elliptical pupils could be seen. Slowly nodding his huge head, the dragon pushed the thought of an intruder into the mad dragon’s mind at the precise moment the sensation of someone trying to access Maddox’s thoughts pricked at his senses.
Throwing up his mental shields, the mad dragon focused all his enhanced vision and perception on the almost indiscernible trail of magic the intruder left in his wake. Following the ribbon of light, apprehension at who or what they would find filled man and beast alike. Both beings fought against the need to draw blood first, ask questions later, concentrating instead on identification. Maddox had just begun to lower a small section of the wall he’d built within his mind when the remnants of a conversation floated through his mind.
“But hoo dae Ah knoo whit's real? How kin Ah be sure?” It was Kyran with his thick Scottish brogue and ability to ask the hard questions, but he wasn’t talking to Maddox, or at least that’s how it felt.
