Dragon in the Blood (Vale of Stars Book 2)

by Juliette Cross

  Sighing, I dressed in my sheer robe, not caring what the Larkosians at my door saw or thought.

  My head high, I opened the door with Decimus in my wake. In the marble tiled courtyard stood a V-formation of Larkosian soldiers, Larkos himself at the center silhouetted by the rising moon. My pulse quickened, the sight of him still jarring.

  Standing nearly nine feet tall, he reeked of menace and monster. But that had never frightened me. Rather the opposite. I always preferred to walk with my demons—even living, breathing ones like the creature before me. It was the deep-seated evil lurking within that sent my pulse quickening. And the hard dominance he wielded over every creature in his presence.

  His face cut into angles and his jaw jutted too far. His clawed hands hung at his side, giant black wings arching far above the rest of the other soldiers’ wingspans. Wearing a black tunic—for the cold didn’t seem to faze him—golden torque around his throat and gold cuffs on his forearms, he looked every part the king. His dominance was unquestionable. He didn’t even mind the title of Blood King given to him by his enemies. Why should he? It instilled terror, cowardice, and obedience—all the qualities he desired in his subjects.

  “Good evening, High Priestess,” he greeted me in his faltering, guttural speech.

  “Lord Larkos.”

  I drew close enough to show him I did not fear him, but stopped at a respectful distance. For I did not. He still needed me. Or so he believed. I would let him have his fantasy because it served my own needs. For now.

  “Decimus still serves you well,” he stated, remarking on the scent of sex in the air.

  “He does.” Standing at attention at my back, Decimus did not flinch. “Very much so.”

  “I am glad that I could provide and reward our priestess.”

  It did not escape me that his gaze darted to the red tunic my lover wore, something I had made for him myself, ordering him to discard the black of Larkos’s legions.

  Ignoring the pulse of his agitation at my show of rebellion, I added, “It is appreciated. I can serve you better with Decimus at my side.”

  Rolling his neck in a beastly way, as if shedding a snake’s skin, he switched subjects. “I require a blood blessing for this warrior band before their journey.”

  Examining the Morgon men flanking him, I noted they all belonged to the yellow-winged Sunsting clan except for two Greyclaws in the rear. The king’s spies. I glanced up at Mother Moon. She was round and full, beaming with fertile light. I could not hide my inner smile which spread from the warmth within. It was almost time for my own ceremony.

  “The moon is not yet at her zenith, my lord. Nor is she full.”

  “I require your immediate service. They must leave at once.”

  “The blessing will instill more strength with one more night for Mother Moon to bloom.”

  A gust of wind blew over the courtyard, pressing the gauzy fabric to my supple curves, which seemed to round more and more each day. The instant look of lust in every man’s eyes drifted over my body. The air was thick and charged with fierce yearning. And perhaps envy. For no one dared touch me. No one but Decimus, who both feared and loved the dance of death—mating with the Poison Witch as they were so fond of calling me in whispers behind my back.

  Larkos tilted his head, much like a predator considering the precise moment when to strike his prey. I wondered how much longer he planned to keep me alive. Until my spells were no longer needed, I suppose. By the time he realized I no longer served him, Decimus and I would be long gone.

  Finally, the beast spoke. “Tomorrow night. We can wait no longer.”

  “Tomorrow night. I will don my ceremonial robes and meet you at the altar, my lord,” I said with a reverent bow of the head, cringing. “Bring a sacrifice for the blessing.”

  He nodded and marched away with his followers directly behind.

  I also loved the dance of death. Death was power. A power that was mine. If Lord Larkos only knew. But he did not. And would not. Until it was too late.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I gazed up at Mother Moon in the starry sky and then to Decimus, my faithful lover and servant, who had eased closer to my side at the first sign of Morgon desire. He would die before he let another man touch me without my consent. He would die for me in any instance.

  “I will show them all what power really looks like. Then they will tremble at my feet.” I reached a hand out to Decimus. He cradled my hand against his cheek, eyes sliding closed. “Then you will be my lord, my lover,” I said, meaning every word, feeling the distinct pinprick of tears. “And we will rule the wide world. Slaves to no one. Masters of all.”

  CHAPTER 6

  F ucking hell. I awoke early with a crick in my neck, a cramp in my back, and a hard-on in my pants. The fire had gone cold hours ago. I dropped two bricks of coal into the grate and blew flames to warm the chilly room. But the ache in my body remained, especially down below. I glanced over at Valla’s sleeping form. One knee bent and her blond hair loose from its tie transformed the hard-edged, smart-mouthed warrior into a sleeping angel.

  Needing to get out of the room fast, I slipped back into my thermal gear, strapped on my wrist comm, and headed downstairs. Orlik was already behind the bar. The priest—a white-winged Icewing—sat at a table near the door in quiet meditation with a cup of steaming coffee in his hands, his white robes draped over a gray thermal suit. He must be making his way out today as well.

  “Up early?” asked Orlik. “Benta is still working on breakfast.”

  “No problem. Can I get the largest glass of mead you’ve got?”

  Orlik filled a tankard from the barrel on the back bar, then slid it toward me, a head of foam puffing off the top.

  “Perfect.”

  Though Arian moonshine never caused hangovers, it always left one thirsty the next morning. As I gulped the thick mead down, I could feel my body warming from the inside out. When I finished, I asked, “Any word on this ice storm? The wind seems to have lessened since last night.”

  “So it seems,” agreed Orlik. “I’ve not taken a look.”

  “I’d like to take a look myself.”

  He nodded once. “You best take the back entrance then.”

  I downed the rest of the mead and popped off the stool. Orlik nodded toward the kitchen. I followed.

  He led me past the kitchen where Benta cooked meat on a fire grill, no telling what kind of animal she’d gotten it from, then past a stockroom where barrels and bottles lined the wall. I followed him to the end of the corridor and down a short hall to what must have been living quarters. He stopped where the stone hallway ended and slid two massive steel bolts from their latches. As soon as he cracked the door, a bone-deep chill swept from the dark interior.

  “This leads to the backside of the mountain. There are four lookouts all the way to the top.”

  I nodded in gratitude. He stopped me with a hand on my chest. “Beware of the Greyclaws. They may be waiting to ambush.”

  “Maybe. Too bad they’ll never see me.”

  I slipped on my black thermal cap as I pushed past him. Tightening the goggles, I followed the gray haze of light and found a small ledge at the end of the corridor. The ice storm was over, but the blistering cold was not. Sucking in a deep lungful of air, I opened my wings and jettisoned straight up into the misty half-light. After flying by the first lookout, then the second, I opened my wings wide, stalling my ascent to the third, and stepped onto the Morgon-made landing, the gravel loose on the ledge.

  Flattening my wings to my back, I stood flush against the mountainside, carved in a half-circle to shield any Morgon in this small space from the punishing winds. Fortunately, it created a natural shadowed alcove where the Morgon could see out, but those from afar could not see in.

  There was no need to ask Orlik why there were lookout points all the way to the mountain’s peak. History told of wars waged in the wasteland of Aria. Criminal gangs often attempted to conquer the small unprotected dwellings
here and rob them of their resources—food, drink, shelter, women. But the wild frontier had fought back. Every town within this ungoverned territory had instilled ways to protect themselves against the onslaught of would-be tyrants. Barren Falls had carved these ledges long ago with secret entries and exits from the main town. This was the backside of the mountain, opposite to their homes and small businesses. But it was the perfect spot to watch for an encroaching army by air.

  I tapped on my wrist comm and changed the setting on my lens to heat vision. I scanned the area for life. Nothing from here to the next peak in the near distance. What was more, the ice storm had dissipated enough for us to travel. Since the Greyclaws’ hideaway wouldn’t be with a local of Barren Falls, now was the perfect time to move on before the winds died enough to encourage their return. With reinforcements.

  It hadn’t been a surprise to see Larkosian scouts waiting for us at the first safe house along our route. I’d been sure we would run into Morgons in league with the Blood King. But their leader would be well-hidden, sending his drones to do the dirty work. He’d used stealth and cunning to evade the Morgon Guard and Nightwing Security for the past several months. And with the Greyclaws watching our movements, we needed to take an alternate route to the Syren Coven. I wondered if Corbin might have some connections to help us.

  Chances were, he wouldn’t even be up yet, but it was worth a try. I tapped in my brother’s number into the comm. After the sixth ring with no answer, I had nearly hung up when the video screen popped on. And there was my disheveled brother, shirtless and definitely not in his own bed. Last I knew, he didn’t own pink satin sheets.

  “Damn, Corbin. You look like hell.”

  “Hey, brother.” One eye was swollen shut with a fresh cut across his eyebrow. He grinned, cock-eyed.

  “Are you still drunk?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Slade found an underground pit fight in the Warwick District.” He slid his gaze sideways and nodded his head to the woman at his side. “It had benefits besides the winnings.”

  I heard a soft, feminine sigh on his end, then saw a pale, willowy arm drape across Corbin’s back. While the bare shoulder and breast of a full-figured woman remained in view, the rest of the sleeping woman disappeared from the edge of the screen.

  “You’re in Gladium? I thought you were training in Drakos.” I attempted to keep my anger in check, but it was difficult when dealing with my brother. The world was a game to him, full of nothing but toys and endless parties. Rather than pursue an adult career like the rest of the world, he still spent his time in the bars and low-life clubs, brawling in underground fighting pits for money.

  Corbin sighed, smile fading. “Yeah. I was in Drakos, but that fucker in charge was a hardass. Couldn’t stand him.”

  “Corbin, his job is to be a hardass. To get slackers like you in shape for the Obsidian Games. Come on, man. This could be a serious break for you—if you’d just fucking try.”

  “Another lecture? Fuck, Conn. I wouldn’t have answered if I knew that’s where this was going. Did you call to check up on me Dad?”

  I bit back the furious words trying to make their way out my throat. I sure as hell didn’t want to be compared to our father. I respected the old man, but his priorities were fucked up. When my mother urged him to move to Gladium to pursue a more peaceful existence for us boys rather than remain in Drakos where the climate of national patriotism was slowly transforming to elitist racism, he had refused. She’d begged for over a year. Finally, she’d made the decision to move on her own, taking us with her.

  My father, a respected businessman pursuing politics, would rather give up his family than lose his career. And so he did. The only reason he even allowed my mother to leave was because she promised to continue to support him politically and be his wife when he needed one for elections. Stability, even the façade of stability, was considered a virtue for all Morgons. Actually, for all men. The other reason he allowed her to go, I discovered later, was because he loved her and knew she’d been miserable in Drakos, suffocating under the unbearable weight of Morgon high society. She had been an Icewing before she was heartbound with Father, before her wings mutated colors to match the rust-red of his clan. She was a gentle woman, unable to survive in Drakos. So he let her go.

  And he let us go.

  Rejection by a beloved someone could mar a person in many ways. It created a seed of doubt within, which grew into a poisonous weed when nurtured with repeated rejection, missed birthdays, missed graduations, missed…everything. When a boy became a man, there were two choices—cut out the weed and move on, or let it run wild and strangle your heart till all that was left was bitterness and anger. I’d been able to move on, but my brother, well, he wasn’t as forgiving.

  “No,” I finally answered. “I called because I thought you might be able to help me with something.”

  “Where are you anyway? What’s with the headgear?” He rose up on his elbows to study the comm screen more carefully.

  “I’m in Aria.”

  “Aria?” He laughed. “Dude. What the fuck? You’re going to freeze your dick off.”

  Didn’t I know it. And not necessarily from the cold. My thoughts flicked to Valla before I refocused. “Look, I’m on a mission for Nightwing Security, but I can’t give details. Do you know anyone familiar with Aria?”

  “Why would I know someone?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because you hang out with the dregs of society.”

  “Thanks.” He rolled his eyes.

  I sighed heavily, wondering how we’d grown so far apart in the last few years. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just a little keyed up.”

  “I can see that.” His brow creased. He slipped from the hold of the woman at his side. “Hey. You’re not in serious trouble, are you?”

  And there it was. No matter how badly we wanted to punch each other in the face, it always came back to this—our blood kinship. Even if he hated me, he’d have my back any day of the week.

  “No,” I said with a smile. “I’m fine. We’ll be fine. I was just hoping for some information.”

  “We? Who are your partners for the mission?”

  Corbin wasn’t a member of Nightwing Security and therefore wasn’t privy to mission information. And he especially wasn’t entitled to cross-jurisdiction information since my partners were Morgon Guard officers.

  Rather than tell my own twin that information was classified, which was basically saying “fuck you,” I changed the subject.

  “It isn’t important, man.” I shouldn’t have called him. I was only reminded of how drastically different our lives were and how far apart we’d become. “Look. I’ll be home in another few weeks. How about we catch a match at the Vaengar Stadium together?”

  “Sure thing.” The red-nailed hand of his bedmate slid over his shoulder again. She muffled something low that sounded more whimper than words. “Gotta go. Duty calls.” He winked and clicked off the comm.

  I blew out a frustrated breath. Frustrated that my brother was a total fuck-up. And frustrated that he was getting lucky, and I was closer to getting a knee in the balls than in the bed of Valla Moonring.

  I dove over the edge, my arms and legs straight and wings tucked tight, letting my body freefall for a few thousand feet, the wind biting hard as I cut through a blanket of velvet fog. My heart pumped faster, my blood flowed stronger, relieving the tight strain in my chest and the pain in my groin. I inhaled a deep breath then flared out my wings, swooping me into an updraft where I soared before beating my wings to carry me back to Orlik’s secret entrance. Or exit.

  With a quick backward glance that confirmed there were no signs of body heat, I reentered the cavern and walked the few feet of the interior corridor before sealing it shut with the bolt. I raised my goggles to my forehead, removed and tucked my leather gloves into the gear belt at my waistband, and then followed the smell of food. I passed through the kitchen where Benta was no longer slaving over the stove. I found her se
rving dishes to the priest, as well as Valla and Bowen who were sitting with him.

  We crossed paths as I wove through the tables.

  “I’ll have your plate right out,” said Benta, scurrying around me.

  “Thank you.”

  I pulled up a chair and joined them, steam rising off my shoulders and chest from the sudden reentry into a warm zone from sub-freezing temperatures. Thankfully, the thermal suits moderated our body temps and kept our hearts from stopping at severe climate shifts.

  “You shouldn’t have gone out alone,” said Valla. “Weren’t you the one who told us we shouldn’t separate?”

  Such a smart mouth. What I wouldn’t do to silence it with my own like I did last night.

  “I wanted to check on the weather. I used Orlik’s scouting posts. He’s a pretty nice guy,” I aimed at Bowen.

  “Nice is an interesting description,” he replied, raising a tankard of thick mead in greeting.

  “This is Brother Silvanus,” introduced Valla as she picked at the meat and potato hash on her plate.

  The priest wore his dark hair streaked with white in a long tail as was typical fashion of the Morgon Brotherhood. A well-manicured beard covered his wide jaw and chin in silver. His shoulders were not as square as they probably once were, though his thick chest seemed formidable enough. A wise look in his gray-blue eyes suggested he knew truths of the world and lived by them. His skin was wrinkled with age, marking him in his mid-hundreds. Morgons rarely showed age until their third century. All of my instincts told me this was, indeed, a good man.

  I reached across the table and shook his outstretched hand. Strong handshake. Another good sign.

  “Conn Rowanflame. And where are you headed, Brother?”

  “The Carpian Range to the north. My order has a priory there.”

  Valla gasped. “You’re a brother of Morga’s Keep?” she asked as she tapped the map icon on her wrist comm, apparently seeking out the location of the famous priory of the North.