Dragon in the Blood (Vale of Stars Book 2)

by Juliette Cross

  But I knew it wouldn’t. Not today. Not knowing I’d be spending the next few weeks with that aggravating, conceited, blustering know-it-all—Conn Rowanflame.

  “Damn it!”

  I cursed my luck and circled around, heading for Tower Two. Time to finally put that man in his place. No matter what set of skills he brought to the table, he would not intimidate or antagonize me, and if he did, I’d simply pretend he had no effect on me whatsoever.

  Tucking my wings close, I dove for Mission Command. The wide wrap-around terrace opened the entire top floor to the sky, providing space for the constant flow of officers. Mission Command served not only as the alpha and omega of every operation, but also the check-in point for mid-operation briefings, equipment and weapons exchange, as well as a pit-stop for showers, meals, and overnight sleeping quarters for the officers living outside Drakos.

  I whipped my wings wide for a soft landing, then folded them tight to enter the columned archway of the front lobby. Gisa, a petite, white-winged Morgon, tapped on a keypad operating the wall-sized comm screen at her back. The wall comm listed various announcements, including upcoming weapons training, tactical refresher courses, certification classes for specialized forces, operational meetings, and whatever else we could possibly need to know. If Mission Command was the body of the Morgon Guard, Gisa was the heart pumping it.

  She glanced up from her typing. Pale gray eyes set in a heart-shaped face defied the ruthlessness with which she ran Mission Command. “Hi, Valla. So good to see you.”

  I glanced around. Several Morgons milled here and there. None of them the ones I expected. “Hey, Gisa. I figured Bowen and Conn would already be here.”

  “They are. They went to the break room for coffee.” She gestured across the lobby. “I can alert them you’re here.”

  “No need. I could use some myself. What room will we meet in?”

  “Number three. Five minutes.” She resumed tapping on her comm device at breakneck speed.

  I waltzed across the polished stone floor in long strides, boots clicking. Breathing deeply, I prepared for Conn’s smart-ass greeting, whatever it might be.

  Before I pushed open the door to the break room, throaty, feminine laughter floated from the other side. I rolled my eyes, knowing that sound all too well.

  “But you didn’t actually say that,” crooned Isadore, a black-winged Nightwing with copper hair—distant cousin of the Gladium Nightwings. Mesmerized by Conn, she leaned her hip on the counter next to him.

  Conn Rowanflame. Rust-red, high-arched wings denoting a wide wingspan. Tousled chestnut hair in constant disarray, somehow adding to his good looks. Amber-gold eyes with a mischievous, often dangerous, glint. If anyone had doubts whether dragon blood coursed through a Morgon’s veins, all one needed to do is look at Conn Rowanflame. Fire lived within him. If it weren’t for his snarky attitude, I might actually like him.

  Ignoring the conversation behind him, Bowen Huntergild read the comm on the wall that streamed news from other provinces. His long brown hair was tied back in a queue like always, hunter-green wings tucked in a resting stance. Bowen was the kind of Morgon you might overlook, but that would be a mistake. He was silent and lethal with a blade. Tonight, he had a quiver of arrows and black-steel crossbow strapped to his back.

  “Of course, I did,” continued Conn. “I’m not going to stand by and watch some guy be an asshole to his date, Morgon or human.”

  “So chivalry isn’t dead.” She laughed again.

  Conn shrugged his broad shoulders, then drank from the mug in hand, gaze catching mine.

  “Could you really do that with fire?” Isadore leaned in, an expression of intrigue fixed in place.

  Eyes still on me, unreadable, he answered her. “I’d be more than happy to show you my skills sometime.”

  “I’m sure you would,” I said, butting into their conversation. “But we actually have work to do.”

  The other two shifted their attention to me.

  “What’s the mission?” asked Isadore.

  “Confidential,” I snapped. “You know that.”

  “Good luck.” She grinned and winked at Conn over her shoulder, hips swaying all the way out the door.

  Conn held my gaze, his smirk taunting me.

  I nodded toward the corridor. “We’re meeting in room three.”

  Forgetting about coffee, I slapped my palm on the door and pushed it open, swinging it wide enough to snap back on its hinges.

  “Someone’s in a mood,” Conn commented to a silent Bowen behind me.

  I wouldn’t be in a mood if Bowen and I were alone on this mission, if Kol hadn’t insisted Conn come with us.

  But Kol was right. I needed to be more mature about this. I couldn’t allow Conn to see that he rattled me so easily. Deep breath in, deep breath out—cool and in control.

  Seating myself near the head of the comm screen, I laced my fingers on the table. Bowen sat next to me, Conn directly across.

  “Hello, Bowen. Good to see you again.”

  “For me as well, Valla.” He nodded, then returned to observing the map on the comm screen.

  I forced myself to greet the man across from me. “Conn.”

  Arching one brow, he cleared his throat. “Well, Valla. Is it not good to see me again, too? I find it wonderful to see you.” His wide mouth slid into a devilish grin.

  Just like that, cool and collected flew out the window. “Why must you torment me?”

  “Am I?”

  “You know you are. You do. All the time.”

  “I didn’t realize I had such a profound effect on you, or that I was on your mind—all the time.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m surprised you didn’t ask to be reassigned from this mission.”

  “Why should I? I have as much right to discover who this witch is as you do. Besides, I have no problem working with…difficult personalities. Makes things more interesting. You seem to be the one with the problem.” He rolled his shoulder in a shrug that shifted his right wing, bringing my attention once more to the immensity of them. His wide wingspan would equal intense speed—another asset when entering a territory where outlaws were known to roam.

  I was well-known for my stubbornness, not my stupidity. Channeling my inner calm, I straightened in my seat and said, “You’re right.”

  “I am?” he asked.

  Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

  “As a representative of the Nightwing clan, you have a place here.” I reached across the table and offered my hand. “Truce.”

  A few seconds ticked by before he reached over and took my hand, wrapping mine with a rough, callused one. Warm and wonderful, I was struck dumb for a few seconds.

  A feral grin cut across his face. “Truce.”

  The door slammed closed. I jerked my hand away.

  “All right.” Gisa strode toward the podium and comm controls. “Let’s get down to business.”

  CHAPTER 2

  V alla averted her attention to the wall-sized comm screen while Gisa uploaded mission details and dimmed the lights. For several seconds, I couldn’t pull my gaze from the platinum blonde sitting across from me. The woman was an enigma. With the body of a goddess, the instincts of a killer, and the mouth of a drunk Draconian ringside brawler, she did things to me. She was intense, and my dragon wanted to play. I was in so much fucking trouble.

  “First things first,” said Gisa. The map on the comm screen spanned from Drakos at the northern borders of Aria to the southern province of Primus—human-only territory. “All intel has been uploaded to your wrist comms.”

  “Wrist comms?” asked Valla.

  Gisa pointed to a table lining the wall behind her where three piles of equipment were set. Valla stared, probably itching to get up and inspect it all. I was itching to get up and bite her lip. And a few other things.

  When Lucius Nightwing requested that I take this mission as a personal favor to the Nightwing clan, I hesitated. It had
nothing to do with the danger of venturing into the unknown. I was always up for adventure and a little trouble. It wasn’t the perils lurking in the wastelands of Aria, but the danger in the form of a woman who stirred my beast. My dragon rose and sniffed the air whenever she walked into a room. And damn, if I didn’t love to watch her move. She was a sleek gazelle with tiger teeth. I could pretend it wasn’t a turn-on, but certain body parts told me otherwise. I shifted in my seat. My hesitation to take this mission had lasted all of thirty seconds. The limits of my resolve were weak when it came to Valla Moonring. But I’d never in a thousand years let her know.

  Gisa continued. “The trek across Aria to the Syren Coven will take approximately four or five days, depending on weather conditions and obstacles.”

  I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. “I presume you will define said obstacles.”

  “Of course.” Gisa clicked on her handheld device, and the screen flipped, revealing a creature I’d never seen in the flesh, only in textbooks. “The wulving.”

  A fearsome beast covered in coarse silver-black fur and a long, fanged snout stared from the screen with glacial eyes. Its body was no bigger than a large dog, but the impressive wing span was troubling.

  “There is no danger should you meet a lone wulving,” continued Gisa. “They won’t attack prey larger than themselves.”

  “But if we run into a pack?” asked Valla.

  “Go to ground. Immediately.”

  “I can kill a pack of dogs in the air,” said Bowen. “This shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I understand the Morgons of your clan are expert hunters. But do not underestimate the wulving. They may look to be no more than rabid dogs, but they thrive in Aria for many reasons. They know the climate and use the sudden updrafts banking off the mountainsides to their advantage. They’ve mastered the art of isolating their prey in order to make an easy kill. And they’re fast.”

  “So am I,” I said, not in the least shy about my gift of speed.

  “Yes, Conn,” said Gisa with a sharp tilt of her head, “but they’re faster. Heed my warning. If you come across a pack, go to ground.” She clicked her control, and the next screen popped up with a detailed map of Aria. The mountain ranges were dotted with red markers. “You’ll note this map marks where there are safe stopping points.”

  Valla leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on the table. “By safe, you mean it’s free of marauders and outlaws.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. But there is an inn or safe house friendly to the Morgon Guard at each of these locations.”

  “By friendly,” I interrupted, “you mean they’re paid well.”

  “Very perceptive, Mr. Rowanflame,” replied Gisa, turning back to the screen. “You’ll take shelter at these marked sites. Do not sleep in the open. While this land is remote and wild, the Guard has gone to great lengths to ensure there are a few safe havens for our officers in this territory. All of this information is uploaded into your navigation system on your wrist comms.” Gisa clicked off the screen. “Now, let’s get to your equipment. Come forward.”

  I stood, walked behind the table, and followed Valla to the front. Bad mistake. My eyes drifted south in a flash. Crossing my arms, legs apart, I focused on Gisa as she rifled through one pile of equipment.

  “Don’t look so grim,” said Valla, flipping her white-blond hair over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “You’ve got two Morgon Guard officers here who will keep you safe.” Her mouth tilted into a mocking smile.

  “I’m not concerned about my safety.”

  “Oh, really? What are you so worried about then?”

  Being confined in small quarters with her, that was what concerned me.

  “Attention, please,” said Gisa, holding a slate gray suit out in front of her. “Have any of you used a thermal suit before?”

  “I have,” said Bowen.

  “Good. Then you understand the importance of sealing the suit completely and communicating via the intercom system in the goggles until you’ve dropped to a safe altitude. Your wrist comms will alert you when you’re in the safe zone. You’ll need to assist one another in and out of the suits to ensure the backflaps are sealed correctly around your wings.”

  She turned the suit to point out the zippered flaps that were designed to surround the wings.

  “What is this?” asked Valla, picking up a floppy piece of material the same texture as the thermals.

  “Your head cap,” answered Gisa.

  “Is the head cap necessary?”

  “Everything is necessary. I realize Morgons think they’re invincible. And Morgon Guard officers believe they’re immortal, but you’ve never ventured into colds like this. Even with our dragon ancestry and strengthened DNA, you are not immune to the deep colds of Aria without proper protection. You will wear all your gear and at all times when exposed to the elements. Do I make myself clear?”

  I liked Gisa. She was probably the tiniest Morgon woman I’d ever known, not even close to six feet. But she could make a grown man cry with a sharp look and a sharper tongue. Right about now, she had Valla standing in quiet obedience, waiting for instructions. If only I could learn that skill. And the things I could do when I did.

  Valla cut me a look. “What the hell are you grinning at?”

  “Not a thing, sweetheart.”

  She bristled and stepped closer to Gisa to inspect her new gear. More likely, she sensed my beast rattling his cage. It put her on edge. It put me on high alert.

  This was going to be a long, long mission.

  CHAPTER 3

  We flew in V-formation with Valla taking the lead center-forward. Five hours into our flight, we’d finally crossed just south of Brilla’s Crag, the sharp mountain peak dividing Aria from the rest of the world on its eastern borders.

  Gisa was right. The cold was different here. Brutal. It wasn’t a calm creature freezing the elements with gentle snow or drifting winds, but a vicious beast, lashing out with jagged ice, beating at our bodies even through the thermals and cutting the tough skin of our wings. The elements would only worsen the deeper we went.

  Though our wings were as durable as the toughest leather, the winds of Aria were tougher. The northern front shifted, blowing from the northwest, directly at us. Valla was tiring. She’d never admit it. Three times in the last half hour, a gust of wind knocked her off course. Each time, she was slower to regain her position.

  I punched in the navigation feature with marked safe houses on my wrist comm to find the nearest to our current location.

  “Let’s stop at Barren Falls. It’s two miles ahead.”

  Valla checked her wrist comm then said, “Too early. We should push on.”

  The next safe house was nearly two hundred miles away. Damn the stubborn woman. She needed to rest.

  “The gales are getting rougher,” I said. “We should rest and eat before continuing.”

  “Conn, it’s imperative we reach the coven as quickly as possible.”

  “It’s also imperative we survive the trip getting there.”

  “If this is too difficult, you should’ve said you lacked the endurance for such an extensive flight.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m in excellent shape. And I have more than enough endurance. I’d be happy to prove it to you.”

  “Enough,” Bowen cut in. “We’ll stop at Barren Falls.”

  My blood was pumping hot now. I could’ve gone on for four hundred miles more.

  Valla beat her wings furiously, whipping ahead faster. Neither of us said a word as we dropped altitude and veered right toward the mountainside dwelling, Barren Falls.

  The protective eyewear tinted the world blue, but the lights dotting the cliffside were clear. True, Morgonkind preferred homes that were set high and made of stone. Even in Drakos, some homes were built into the mountains and the skyscrapers built to staggering heights. The priciest rose above all the rest. But I’d never seen an entire village carved into a mountainside wit
h so few modifications to the natural structure.

  This was Aria, where a certain kind of Morgon lived. Wilder ones. Those who preferred living closer to their beasts than their human counterparts. Those who shunned civilization and the laws that governed proper society. This was why Aria was a perfect haven for outlaws. The Morgon Guard didn’t patrol Aria. Couldn’t. It was too vast with scattered populations. Too many caves and holes for criminals to hide. When someone slipped into Aria, the best option was to wait until they ventured back out again, otherwise it would be like looking for a pearl at the bottom of a wide ocean.

  “I’ve been here before,” said Bowen through the head mic. “Follow me.”

  Bowen had been here before? The Huntergild clan lived south of Aria in Wilding Wood near the human-only province of Primus. He was a mystery, this quiet Morgon. But I trusted him.

  Bowen winged ahead as we skated along the mountains. He slowed where an outcropping jutted twenty feet—a perfect landing platform. We followed in suit, the three of us dropping one after the other.

  As I folded my wings, the muscles squeezed, strained from many hours in air. I pulled off my headgear, glancing at Valla as she did the same. Her expression was drawn tight, revealing either anxiety or weariness. Perhaps a little of both. To her credit, she said nothing.

  Bowen led us to a wooden door with an iron handle. When he pulled it open, warm light flooded the entryway. The door was at least six inches thick, the other side reinforced with steel panels. To keep out any unwanted intruders—be it weather or otherwise.

  The room opened to a small tavern. Sconces of torchlight lined the walls. Only two occupants sat at the bar. Both Morgon men, their wings denoted them of the Greyclaw clan. Stone steps led upstairs, presumably the inn quarters for guests.

  After stuffing the headgear into the pack strapped to my chest, I moved ahead of our party to the bar where a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, thick-necked Silverback stood, arms crossed. I tossed onto the bar a gold medallion with the lettering MG and the crest of the Guard embossed on both sides. The currency recognizable to safe houses.