by Lolita Lopez
With one goon rolling on the ground in pain and bleeding profusely, Stig switched his attention to the other man. To his surprise, the man pulled a gleaming dao sword from within the folds of his long black coat. He stepped into the moonlight and Stig got an even better look at the single-edged blade. There were very familiar markings on the metal. A memory of a drawing of that sword in one of the books Reynard kept in the Archives sprang to mind.
Stig’s stomach clenched. A Knight. How the hell had Cora gotten mixed up with the Knights? Or was it something else? Was she just a pawn? And Hector too?
He’d sort out the specifics later. Right now, he had to save Cora.
Stig hovered at a distance. If he hit the ground, he’d lose that edge on his opponent. His gaze swept over the sword-wielding man. This Knight clearly knew what he was doing.
The slayer made a break for Cora, who was still slumped unconscious on the grass. Stig didn’t waste a second. He snorted a violent burst of fire. The slayer skidded to a halt mere inches from the roiling flames. The wall of fire pushed him away from Cora. Stig considered rushing down and snatching her up but couldn’t be sure how her touch might affect his ability to defend them. He’d lost his dragon hide last night, which would come in handy facing off with a well-armed Knight.
The sound of gunshots snapped in the darkness. Stig had been so wrapped up in making sure Cora was safe that he’d taken his eyes off the dragon slayer long enough for the man to pull his weapon. A silver harpoon sliced through Stig’s left wing. Metal teeth exploded from the head of the lance, ripping through the thin membranes and hooking onto one of the bony veins supporting his wings.
Stig tried to grasp the offending projectile but the slayer yanked hard on the trailing line and tore through the length of Stig’s wing. The burning pain ripped a hideous scream from his throat. Try as he might, Stig couldn’t stay airborne. His good wing flapped futilely. He turned his focus to making the best landing possible.
With a thunderous boom, Stig slammed into the unyielding ground. The air rushed from his lungs and left him dizzy. But he couldn’t nurse his wounds. He had to get up. He had to fight to protect Cora.
Stig clambered to his feet. The slayer struck just as he rose on shaky limbs. The tip of his blade slashed through Stig’s chest and punctured the gas sac that allowed his breed to breathe fire. Stig choked as the noxious fumes bubbled into his throat and out his nose and mouth. He fought the instinctive urge to ignite them with a click of his throat but that much gas in such a small space would cause a fatal explosion in his mouth and one that would easily engulf Cora.
He threw out his arm and struck the slayer hard enough to knock him flat on his ass. Stig sucked in short, painful breaths to try to clear his nasal passages and throat of the gas. His broken and mutilated wing hung limp at his side. The other snapped angrily. He flexed his talons and prepared to engage his enemy with the only weapon he had left: brute force.
Stig and the Knight rushed one another. In a flash of talons and sword, they crashed. Both drew blood and both refused to give even an inch. Stig knew this would be a fight to the death. For Cora’s sake, he hoped he was the one limping away from the battle.
The Knight struck another victorious blow with the sword. Stig hissed as the blade sliced through his forearm. Blood splattered the slayer’s face. With every beat of his heart, the nicked artery spurted blood. Stig didn’t have to be a doctor to know that was probably a fatal wound. He didn’t have much time.
Gathering all his strength, Stig lashed out at the Knight. He raked his razor-sharp talons across the slayer’s chest and followed with a quick swipe of the man’s throat. The Knight’s sword hit the ground. He stumbled forward, a look of shock etched on his face. Clutching his bloody throat, the slayer gurgled and collapsed to his knees. A few moments later, he fell on his face and expired.
Stig clamped a hand over his wounded arm and panted from exertion. Taking another being’s life still affected him. He’d done it more times than he cared to think about over the centuries but it never got any easier. Perhaps that was a good thing. He liked to think it was the best of his humanity that allowed him to feel sadness at the loss of life, even if that life belonged to an enemy.
“AARRGH!” Stig cried out in surprise and pain. Something sharp pierced his back and belly. He glanced down and spotted the tip of a similar dao blade poking through his abdomen. In a moment of horrific pain, the sword was withdrawn.
Stig fell to his knees. His insides burned. Blood poured from the wound. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder. He knew what had happened. The goon he’d thought he’d finished clearly had a little life left in him, enough to strike a final, deadly blow.
“Cora.” His whispered words would likely never reach her ears. Somewhere behind him she lay unconscious and possibly close to death herself from blood loss. There was no way she’d escaped that rollover without sustaining major injury. In a last desperate attempt to protect her, Stig hoped her passing was quick and painless, so the Knights wouldn’t be able to take her as a prisoner.
His, on the other hand, was sure to be gruesome.
Stig’s ears perked to the sound of the sword cutting through the air as it lifted for one last swing. He braced for the bite of the blade against his neck but it never came.
There was a loud snap and then a wet gurgle. Seconds later, the goon fell onto Stig’s back. Stig rolled his shoulders, sending the man’s body to the ground next to him. A harpoon impaled his chest and throat. The upward angle affirmed Stig’s suspicion—the speargun had been fired from the ground.
“Stig?” Cora’s weak voice filled him with hope and a renewed strength.
“Cora?” He turned slowly, his arm pressed to his oozing gut, and found her half crawling, half dragging herself toward him. She held a broken arm to her chest and dragged her misshapen and bloody leg. A speargun rested not far from her.
Stig was struck by the irony of the moment. He’d come to save Cora’s life and she’d saved his.
“Oh, God, Stig.” Cora wept at the sight of his mangled wing and bleeding stomach. Cringing in pain, she removed her shirt and pressed the cloth to the deep wound. She caressed his bloody face with her free hand. The change took place more slowly this time. The pain was nearly unbearable. “We have to get you to the hospital. I think their SUV is still running. I can probably drive.”
He knew she couldn’t drive in her state. She’d kill them both.
Through gritted teeth, Stig gave his final instructions. “Find your cell phone and call nine-one-one. After you make the call, you can help me into those bushes over there. I’ll hide until the ambulance leaves.”
Cora shook her head. “I’m not going to leave you here to die.”
“You have to, Cora. I can’t go to a hospital looking like this.”
“No.” She gripped his hand tightly and refused to let go. “I’m not leaving you again.” Cora pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss. “I love you.”
Her words soothed the still-raw wound of her earlier rejection. He’d seen the orientation of the vehicles. Cora had been coming back to him. He couldn’t fault her for being afraid of changing into a scaled beast. Had he been in her shoes, he might have done the same thing.
“Cora, I love you.” He swallowed a painful lump. He tasted blood and wondered how long it would take for the internal bleeding to finish him. “I love you so much. I want you to live.”
Her protest was interrupted by the unmistakable rumble of approaching dragons. Stig’s core vibrated with awareness of his kind, of his Brothers. Relief saturated his weary muscles. He’d come to their aid in situations hairier than this. Their shared senses of danger were much like those of the mate bond. He should have known they’d come for him.
The ground trembled as Madoc and Griff landed with very little finesse. In such a stressful situation, Stig wasn’t surprised they came in heavy and loud. The Welsh Reds panted noisily as they appraised the scene, the crimson scales on their c
hests expanding powerfully with each breath. In dragon form, it was often difficult to gauge their emotions, but when their gazes fell on Stig and Cora’s entwined bodies, the shock was evident.
Stig could only imagine how bizarre they looked. Cora, his mortal lover, held pressure on his orange and red mottled abdomen—his decidedly not dragonlike abdomen.
Cora stiffened with fear. Stig used the last of his energy to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s all right, Cora. They’re friends. They’ll take care of us.”
Certain Cora was in good hands, Stig finally relaxed. His eyelids drooped and he slipped into unconsciousness. He hoped he’d wake again to the sight of Cora’s sweet face.
Chapter Seven
Cora woke with a start. Her strained neck immediately protested the jerky movement. Wincing, she rubbed her aching muscles and glanced toward the open bedroom door for the source of the sound that woke her. There was an ungodly ruckus down in the kitchen. Apparently Griff or Madoc were trying to make lunch. Trying being the operative word.
She stretched her sore back and sat up a bit straighter. Falling asleep in the chair next to Stig’s bed had put her back and neck in a weird position. She gingerly moved her leg, the cast still heavy and unfamiliar. Her broken arm rested in a sling.
It had been four days since that nightmare of a night but she seemed to be healing surprisingly fast. The perks of becoming a dragon, she supposed. There was little pain, only infrequent bouts of throbbing when she moved too quickly or bumped into something.
Madoc and Griff, the shockingly red dragons who had come to their rescue, had taken very good care of them. They’d been whisked away to the closest Brotherhood safe house where a very scary, very intimidating dragon named Ignatius, their leader, saw to their medical care. She’d been so weak and in so much pain those first few hours were mostly a blur. She remembered snippets. Madoc starting an IV in her good arm. Griff steadying her as Ignatius worked to straighten her leg. The prickling heat of their dragon magic enhancing the human-made pharmaceuticals.
Cora had slipped into a deep sleep at some point and had woken up late the next afternoon. Stig still remained in an almost comatose state. All that regeneration to heal his extensive injuries required a lot of energy. His breathing was slow and deep, his eyelids hardly moving.
The sight of his motionless body in that bed left her aching with fear and guilt. She’d watched her grandmother slip away in a hospice bed and had been the one to ID Hector after he’d wrapped his truck around a tree. Realizing how close she’d come to losing Stig made her never want to leave his side again, not even for the briefest of moments.
The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. Moments later, Ignatius appeared in the doorway. He cast a glance at Stig’s motionless form. His scarred face showed no emotion. “He will wake soon.”
Cora sensed Ignatius knew the exact moment when Stig would wake. There was something about his bond with the rest of the Brotherhood that was different. He’d been the one to send Madoc and Griff, the two closest Brothers, to their rescue that night. Ignatius had felt her terror and Stig’s pain.
He lifted the lunch tray clasped in his big hands. “I brought you some lunch.”
Her hungry gaze swept over the sandwich and chips as Ignatius settled the tray over her lap. A glass of iced tea and a few celery sticks slathered with peanut butter and sprinkled with raisins rounded out the simple lunch. “Thank you.”
He allowed the tiniest of smiles to curve his mouth before moving toward Stig’s bed. Ignatius closed his right eye, his only eye, and swept his fingertips over Stig’s forehead. Could he see what Stig dreamed? After a few seconds, he removed his hand and crossed to the empty chair on the other side of Stig’s bed.
Cora felt a little weird eating by herself. She picked up a celery stick. “Hungry?”
He shook his head. “I ate earlier, but thank you. I should tell you that I spoke to a friend and we’ve dealt with that legal issue of yours. You can’t go back to San Antonio but I think it’s a small price to pay for escaping that mess you created.”
Cora blinked at him. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Stig considers you part of our family now. I take care of my family.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that so she ate. The room fell into an awkward silence punctuated only by the crunch of the celery sticks. When Madoc or Griff sat vigil at Stig’s bedside, Cora found it easy to talk with them. Ignatius was a different story. He was so distant. Not mean, exactly, just…aloof.
“Do you like me?” Cora figured the worst he could do was say no and thought he probably would. His opinion of her shouldn’t matter, but she’d seen the way the other dragons looked up to Ignatius. She didn’t want Stig to suffer because Ignatius disliked her. If there was some way she could make friends with him, she’d damn sure try.
Ignatius seemed a little surprised. “Why would you ask me that?”
She remembered the tale Stig had told her in the kitchen about the deaths that had started the war. “Your brother died because he fell in love with a human girl.” She gestured to a motionless Stig. “You almost lost one of your Brothers because he fell in love me, another human girl. You see where I’m going with this?”
“I do but you’re not Cornelia and he isn’t Sixtus.” He exhaled slowly. “I like you…”
“But?”
He was quiet, as if considering his words carefully. “You make Stig vulnerable and his love for you makes us all vulnerable. His loyalties are torn between you, the woman he loves, and us, the Brothers he’d bled with on the battlefield for centuries.”
Guilt twisted Cora’s belly. “I didn’t know what would happen when I left San Antonio that night and sought refuge with Stig.”
Ignatius’s face softened. “No one blames you. What happened to the two of you was terrible but we managed to recover and destroy two swords, so some good came out of it. Unfortunately, you were just a pawn. The Knights found a way to use you in their nasty little game.”
Anger zipped through Cora. Within hours of waking from her deep sleep, she’d learned the whole ugly truth about the Knights buying her brother’s debts from those loan sharks and using her to draw Stig from the safety of his home. “I still can’t believe they set this whole thing up.”
Ignatius sighed and stretched out his legs. “They’re a treacherous lot. Their seer is particularly skilled. I can’t help but wonder how long she’s known about you, how long she’s been plotting Stig’s demise.”
Cora frowned. “You think Stig’s attack was in the works for some time?”
Ignatius shrugged. “You were meant for him. That’s clear enough.”
“Because my touch makes him humanlike?”
Ignatius nodded. “I suspect there’s a touch of the dragon in you. It’s not common but we’ve come across human descendants of dragons in the past. Human women with supernatural abilities seem to have the easiest time conceiving with us. Back in the old days, when persecution was high, witches and their kind were offered sanctuary in our communities. Interbreeding was inevitable. A large number of those offspring became clavigers.”
“Stig said some of those clavigers also became dragons.”
“When two people love, when two dragons love, it’s impossible to separate them.”
“And I’m part dragon?”
“A very small part,” he clarified. “We’ll have Reynard research your family line in his archives and then we’ll know for sure. The signs”—he gestured to his own back—“are clear enough. Diluted dragon blood explains why your mating with Stig caused the scaling on your back. His touch, his love, the magic between you, awakened those sparks of dragon inside you.”
“And that’s why the Knights used me.”
“It’s no coincidence your brother and Stig fought together during the war. I suspect the Knights were involved then and again after your brother left the Marines. They likely pushed him toward their loan sharks. The re
st, of course, you know.”
Cora took a small bite of her celery as visions of her brother danced in her mind. “You know what I don’t get? Why didn’t the Knights go after Stig when he was in Afghanistan or Iraq?”
“There are rules. Human wars supersede our blood feud. Places of conflict, churches, and homes are strictly out of bounds. We don’t trespass on the Knights at their homes and they don’t come to ours.”
Cora frowned. “All these rules are confusing.”
“You’ll learn them in time.” He caught her gaze. “If you intend to stay, that is.”
“I’m staying with Stig.” Whether you like it or not, she added silently.
“I’m glad.”
Cora scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. I make you vulnerable, remember.”
Ignatius nodded. “You do, but you also make Stig happy. And he deserves some happiness after all these many years of solitude and war.” His voice grew soft. “We all do.” He angled his head a bit to the left. “Perhaps it’s time to reconsider some of our older, more draconian regulations. Maybe we all need something to fight for, something more than our Brothers.”
Cora sensed his sadness. From the scars on their bodies, it was clear the Brotherhood had seen some truly awful times. They’d fought to protect their species from Knights and sacrificed so much. How lonely it must have been all those years for all of them.
She stared at Stig, his face relaxed and calm. “I wonder if I’ll ever understand what he’s been through.”
“I don’t think you can,” Ignatius said bluntly. “Your life experience is so miniscule compared to his.”
Cora’s stomach pitched at his frank reminder. He must have seen her fallen face because he quickly added, “Don’t let that discourage you. The very fact that you care enough to want to understand him is what matters.” Ignatius’s gaze landed on Stig. “And he knows that.”
Ignatius stood and walked around the bed. “In six months, Stig will go through his heat phase again as a completion of this cycle. This time you’ll be with him through it all. You can have a proper mating ceremony. I suspect the binding magic will force your body to make the full change. Once you make your final transformation, your new life with Stig is all that really matters. Everything in the past is just that: the past.”
