Games of Fate (Fate ~ Fire ~ Shifter ~ Dragon #1)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  Ladon landed in a crouch between Metus and Rysa.

  Flame shot from the invisible Dragon, his anger pounding through the entire rail yard, but Ladon kept his eyes forward, on Metus.

  Distracted, the future-seer glanced toward Dragon. Ladon threw his short sword. Metus dodged and pulled his own, whipping it at Ladon. Bending left, Ladon caught the hilt. As dark as midnight, the blade reflected no light. Sharp, its cutting edge all but disappeared. Ladon flipped it around and laid his new toy against his scabbard.

  The edges of his perception jarred.

  Rysa hooked in. “Let go of me!”

  Pain fired through every fiber of Ladon’s body, her siphoning stretching their limits, but he willed their connection tighter, ignoring the million needles raking his nerves.

  Dragon couldn’t. He volleyed pattern and color to Ladon, unfiltered by any language. The beast’s sudden hysteria burst through Ladon’s vision. He tried to shoot back calm, but Rysa drew too fast. Fatigue jigged inside the beast and he couldn’t slow the siphoning.

  Ladon planted his feet to keep from swaying. He wouldn’t stagger. He could not allow Metus to see him weakening. Rysa battled to overpower Adrestia’s hijacking and by all the gods he and Dragon would give her what she needed to do it.

  Rysa’s gaze locked to his. “Ladon!”

  Adrestia clamped a hand over her mouth. The siphoning vanished. Behind her, Dragon skidded on the gravel.

  “No!” Ladon dropped to his knees. She almost freed herself. If they willed her more—

  Adrestia spun Rysa toward Timor. She pulled her gun, her present-seer blipping toward Dragon as she backed toward Rysa and her brother.

  Behind Ladon, heels scuffed on the gravel. He ducked, swinging around, and slammed Metus’s head into the ground. Future-seers lost advantage in close quarters. Their ability delayed their responses by a microsecond and in hand-to-hand with Ladon or Sister, it meant their death. Better to dodge, as Faustus had.

  Metus clucked and grabbed for Ladon’s leg but Ladon kicked at his face. Metus rolled, Ladon’s boot scraping his cheek.

  Fury hardened the future-seer’s features. “Fâché, maintenant, n'est-ce pas?” ‘Angry, now, no?’

  “Your seer finally working, connard?”

  Metus swung his other short sword. Ladon kicked up with both feet as the blade passed by his arm and slammed a boot into Metus’s gut. Revolving in the air, Ladon finished the back-flip, landing in a crouch. Metus slid across the gravel, the night blade dropping at Ladon’s feet.

  The sword had opened a hole in his t-shirt and skimmed off the bottom half of his chest hair.

  Too close. The night blade clinked against the gravel and he caught the hilt, lifting his second blade as he laid Metus’s other onto the scabbard.

  Dragon boomed from the top of the passenger car.

  “You’re an idiot, Ladon-Human.” Metus sneered.

  Timor and Adrestia had Rysa.

  Ladon broke for the train but it accelerated west, toward the river. His gut heaved, the pull too strong as Dragon moved away.

  Metus, behind them, started the SUV.

  36

  Ladon unlocked the van with the remote, the alarm sounding the familiar whoop whoop. Dragon rolled into the back as Ladon slid into the driver’s seat.

  The rail service road paralleled the lines. They’d pace the train faster on concrete than on the dirt next to the tracks. Slamming the van’s gearshift into drive, Ladon accelerated out of the parking lot.

  They needed to cut off the train before it left town, but Metus intended to cut them off first. The future-seer sped alongside the train, the SUV slipping on the gravel, moving fast to stay between the van and the train’s engine.

  She fights, Dragon pushed.

  “There they are.” Ladon pointed at the train as it rattled along picking up speed. Three miles beyond the yard, the tracks crossed a wide overpass spanning the road. From there, the line looped over the Green River and headed west. If he reached the overpass first, he could get to the tracks.

  They’d get her back.

  Long-buried memories punched into his consciousness like a sledgehammer to the gut. Their blunt force knocked into the real world and Ladon gripped the wheel, trying to breathe through it. Dragon wasn’t going to cut down her burned corpse. Ladon wasn’t going to hold her while she bled to death.

  Rysa wasn’t going to slip away.

  Two different pasts overlaid the present. Ladon’s chest ratcheted and for an instant, the memories drowned everything else.

  Dragon touched his shoulder. Rysa calls to me.

  Reality snapped back and Ladon forced the memories down. Even after the long centuries, they still made splinters of his bones. But now, right now, he wasn’t going to allow the same horrid future to destroy Rysa’s life.

  The part of her abilities she called “her nasty” called out, pleading for help, but neither he nor Dragon understood what it needed. Ladon slammed his fist against the driver’s door. The plastic cover next to the handle cracked. The damned Burner chaos distorted her link and they couldn’t will to her what she required.

  A quarter mile ahead of the overpass, the road slowly dipped under the concrete span before curving away on the other side. Retaining walls terraced the sides of the road. A fence blocked access, but if he jumped the curb, the terraces led the tracks.

  Metus had a solid lead and was a good ten dragon lengths closer to the overpass than the van. Ladon steered hard toward the fence, but Metus accelerated again, and the SUV turned toward the road.

  The vehicle burst from the gravel next to the line and over the first low retaining wall and onto the road. Sparks flying as it bottomed out.

  Metus’s future-seer would lay bare any plan Ladon made. He’d counter. Getting the van through the fence and onto the terraces wasn’t going to happen.

  So he accelerated past the access point, praying speed would be enough to get them around Metus and close enough to scale the concrete in time.

  The train’s engine crossed the overpass. Twenty lengths back, the passenger car lumbered forward.

  In front of the van, Metus slammed the SUV into reverse, the transmission screaming, and backed toward the overpass, attempting to block the road to keep them too far away for Dragon to jump.

  Ladon pulled the parking brake, spinning the van. The overpass and the concrete block of the retaining walls flew by. He clenched the wheel, his gut twisting. Dragon gripped the van’s wall and used his weight to counter to the spin.

  The van stopped a dragon length from the overpass, the back end toward the span. The SUV screeched to a halt sideways between the van and their goal.

  Dragon burst out the back and rammed all four limbs into the roof of the SUV as Metus dove out the driver’s door. All his air gushed from Metus’s lungs in one exhale when he hit the ground, but he still waved his big semiautomatic.

  A glass shard had opened a gash across Metus’s forehead. He wiped at it with his pistol hand, anger and agony spitting from his throat in a choked grunt. “Your big lizard’s dead!” His good arm aimed the gun at Dragon.

  The beast ignored his threats and vanished as he leapt for the overpass.

  Ladon yanked the dagger he carried under the driver’s seat and whipped it at Metus’s knee. It hit true and the Fate screamed. The bullet flew wide, bouncing off the van’s exterior, and Ladon ducked.

  Metus’s expression warped. Smugness overrode pain as his future-seer clanged between the vehicles.

  His seer pinpointed Dragon’s most probable location. The gun swung back toward the overpass.

  Ladon burst forward. He’d smash his heel into Metus’s face—but he wouldn’t be fast enough. Metus would squeeze the trigger before Ladon reached him.

  He’d hit Dragon.

  A massive, six taloned hand appeared over Metus’s head. He yelped, his body stiffening in shock. The digits pulled Metus’s shoulder from its socket. The gun dropped, the Fate screeching like a rodent caught in
a wolf’s jaws.

  Ladon pulled back, his boots skidding on the asphalt, but his nose and chest smacked into an invisible neck anyway.

  A new roar cascaded off the retaining walls as light danced from Sister-Dragon’s snout, down her back to her tail. Her head swung around and she snorted. Metus is not a good future-seer, she pushed.

  The dragons had called to each other. They had hid their intent so deeply and played an improbability so remote Metus had no idea the other dragon approached.

  And neither had Ladon.

  Sister-Dragon dropped her head. Ache seethed from the beast, her connection to Sister stretched tight. Ladon searched for his sister’s double-axle RV. She’d parked on the other side of the overpass, behind a fence and up the hill.

  She dropped off the retaining wall on the other side of the span, gun out.

  Ladon laid his hand on the other dragon’s neck. They hadn’t abandoned him. “Thank you.”

  Go, Brother-Human. We will deal with Metus.

  Dragon clung to the overpass walkway, the train passing him by.

  The underside of the span was more than a full dragon length above the road bed. Ladon ran for the SUV and vaulted, one foot hitting the vehicle’s hood, his other the roof. He pushed off, all his strength propelling him for the span overhead.

  He lifted a night sword from his back. With both hands gripping the hilt, he tightened his core and willed all his strength into the blade.

  It sliced into the concrete, silent and purposeful. Ladon hung from the hilt and the blade slid down, a long gash opening in the overpass supports.

  Feet against the structure, he extended an arm to Dragon. The tracks creaked and the train thundered, but the beast threw him true. Ladon’s boots found purchase on the roof of Rysa’s passenger car.

  Ladon lifted the second sword from his back as he dropped. Dragon landed and the car quaked, his talons folding around a side. A metallic reverb shrieked from the roof until the beast stabilized.

  Ladon punched the sword into the metal.

  He pulled it forward, his arms working to their limit. The blade cut through sheathing and insulation. Wires sparked, heat rose, electricity arced across the gash. Ladon twisted the blade, drawing it at an angle to the first cut.

  Rage boiled from Dragon, fueling Ladon’s own. From below, Rysa tapped in, but she did not siphon. Instead, she added strength and calmed fury. Ladon’s joints quieted and his muscles strengthened. His perception steadied—his mind countered the vibrations of the train instead of adding his anger to them.

  The sword slashed through an aluminum support beam and the metal’s give flowed up the sword.

  She’d freed herself. She’d met the War Babies seer-to-seer and beat them back. But if Adrestia regained control, Rysa might lose hers forever.

  Ladon and Dragon fired pride through their connection. They’d give her everything they had to help her to maintain control, even if it weakened them. Even if they suffered because of it.

  Dragon’s talons scooped under the roof. It buckled, the stability of the entire car compromised by Dragon’s strength. Ladon dropped through the hole but the beast backed away, unable to fit through the ragged gash.

  Adrestia held her temple against Rysa’s and her gun pointed at Ladon. Timor backed toward the car’s door.

  “You hurt them and I’ll feed you to the Burners, you—” Rysa stopped in midsentence, her eyes glazing.

  Adrestia sneered. “Je ne serai pas battu, Dracos.” ‘I will not be bested, Dracos.’

  Ladon mimicked her sneer. “Vous serez morte bientôt, Adrestia.” ‘You will be dead soon, Adrestia.’

  The present-seer yanked Rysa to the side. “Le dragon est entré par la porte—”

  Dragon erupted through the door. The beast reared over the seats and the two Enfants de Guerre rolled under the beast.

  Adrestia pushed Rysa toward her brother, her gun swinging for Dragon. The beast’s foot smashed down and present-seer’s head cracked against a seat.

  Timor yanked Rysa’s taped wrists over her head, a long knife at her throat.

  He’d slice her. Maybe rupture an artery. Because of the three members of the War Babies, Timor was the one most likely to cut their losses. The one who didn’t give a damn about the future.

  Ladon flung himself under Dragon’s belly, his feet aimed at the past-seer’s legs. Timor kicked but Ladon grabbed his boot. The train rocked, Ladon slid, and Timor rolled on top of Rysa. The blade stabbed the car’s floor next to her ear.

  Timor punched.

  “Let her go!” Ladon wanted to kill Timor. Rip his arms from his torso.

  Timor pulled Rysa to a crouch, their backs to the open door. “Reculez!” ‘Stay back!’ He yanked the blade and pressed it into her neck while his other fingers dug into her midriff.

  Rysa’s head lolled. Her lip bled. But the car filled with the vibrating power of her Prime abilities.

  Blood spread across her belly. She stared, her eyes as blank as Adrestia’s, unaware of the darkness spreading across her shirt.

  New wounds. Rysa manifested another round of attacks on her mother just as she had at the house.

  “Qu'est-ce qui se passe?” Timor grunted, holding out a bloody palm. ‘What is happening?’

  Adrestia panted, Dragon’s foot holding her to the floor. “Brûleurs.” ‘Burners.’ “Vous n'êtes pas Parcae.” ‘You are not a Fate.’ Her present-seer fired. “Sorcière.” ‘Sorceress.’

  Timor’s stance changed to a menacing, fatalistic scoff. His eyes showed confusion—the future he was supposed to help bring about no longer made sense. Somehow, the wounds on Rysa’s belly were outside the fate Les Enfants were bound to when they stole her away from the hospital lot.

  “Vous êtes déjà la Reine des Brûleurs.” ‘You are already the Queen of the Burners.’ Timor wrenched Rysa to standing.

  She whimpered, grasping for Ladon with her taped wrists. The past-seer’s fingers rose from her waist. They trailed over her breasts and a slow blink fixed a cruel leer in his eyes. Around her outstretched arms and over her throat, he traced her body until he clutched her jaw.

  Timor jumped backward through the door onto the bridge over the Green River, Rysa in his arms.

  Dragon roared, his hide exploding in violent bursts. He didn’t wait. He didn’t listen. He flew over Ladon’s head, his body contorting out the opening. He landed hard on the tracks and the entire bridge shook.

  Rysa didn’t fight. She didn’t pull. She stared into space, her eyes glazed and her body limp. What this vision was doing to her, neither Ladon nor Dragon understood. The Burners hurt Mira. Rysa bled and Timor yanked on her neck. He hauled her to her feet, cursing in French.

  He tugged her up the guardrail.

  “Timor!” Ladon landed in a crouch on the bridge’s wooden walk. Standing slowly, he raised his hands.

  A line of sparks moved up Dragon’s snout as it appeared next to Timor’s cheek. Flame curled. His sounds blended with the exiting train.

  Timor had pulled his own death to the surface and it now showed on the beast’s hide, in his giant eye, and along the full extension of his talons. Les Enfants de Guerre would have their war and Dragon would slice them each into slivers.

  “Faites la retraite, Ladon-Dragon!” Timor hissed. ‘Back away.’ The blade cut shallow into Rysa’s throat, a hint of blood touching the metal.

  Long ago, Daniel had pointed into the courtyard of his manor as the young Jani triad disembarked from their carriage, laughing and playing, as children do. “We need to kill them now, my Dracos. Before he activates them.”

  Ladon should have listened.

  “Let. Her. Go!”

  Timor laughed. “Did you know Adrestia’s had a crush on you since we were children?” He shook his head. “My poor sister. All this time, she thought you’d never want a Parcae woman.”

  Dragon snorted and inched closer.

  Timor yanked on Rysa again. She moaned, still in the grip of her vision.

&nbs
p; “My father’s never thought us good enough to stop you. He says she’s the only way. I told him to use a rocket. Hit your van when you’re out in the open and little bits of dragon would rain from the sky.” He grimaced like he smelled Burner. “But no, he said the world’s not as simple as our context.” The past-seer’s expression blanked. “Maybe he should have listened to me.” His eyes closed as he dropped into the water, Rysa in his arms.

  Flames poured from Dragon as he dove. Ladon ran up a support and flipped over the guardrail, diving feet first.

  37

  All that had dripped from her place in the clouds filled the river. Gravity finally pulled her down. Now she drowned.

  Water flooded her eyes, her nose, her mouth. It screamed into her ears. The river snapped shut and Rysa’s vision of Billy stripping flesh from her mother bubbled away.

  She’d brought this on herself. Billy punished by hurting her mom and blood filled the spaces around her eyes. Her uncle punished through Les Enfants and gravity bound her to her purpose.

  Her hands pulled against their bonds. The real world teased, ten feet above. Rysa’s life melted into the mud at the bottom of the river.

  No air. Nothing.

  A new vision unfolded.

  In the dark, clarity caged Adrestia’s false world and contained her uncle’s damage. Agony transmuted to terror. It fired like a Burner’s acid through her limbs and pushed against the river’s current:

  Dragons.

  Burners.

  A haze, orange and thick and burning, blistered the sky.

  ***

  The river thundered like the seers of Les Enfants de Guerre and Ladon filled his lungs to dive. The current pulled and he kicked, gauging its tug and the distance and speed Rysa moved downstream.

  Dragon searched the murky water for any sign of Rysa’s form. The beast felt her disorientation but couldn’t see her. She floundered, somewhere on the bottom of the river.