Dixon (Stratham Shifters Book 6)

by Sarah J. Stone

  He put a hand up to her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. She was so beautiful, with plump pink lips, perfect skin, and long blond hair that he loved to tangle his hands in. He had loved her since the moment he met her. What baffled him was he always thought that they were on the same page. Some days, they talked about this wishfully, and some days they talked about knowing it could never happened. They had long ago decided that they weren't going to take this route any time soon and probably not ever.

  “I know you know it's time. It's now or never. If we want to have children, we don't have much time.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know. I just...I can't decide right now. And Prada has another three years on her training…”

  “Three years will be too late,” she said.

  “I know.” He buried his head in his hands. “Oh, Eliza, my love. I want to say yes so badly. But...”

  “Go,” she said. “Go on your quest, whatever you decide will not affect that. You have a universe to save.”

  “I always have a universe to save.” He stood up, kissing her on the head. “But I promise you I will be back soon, one way or another.”

  “I love you,” she whispered to him.

  “I love you, too,” he said, taking every ounce of willpower to leave the room.

  His head was spinning as he met the others in the hanger. He tried to put on a serene face, but Desmond knew right away that there was something wrong.

  “Should we discuss it?”

  “Nope,” Nathaniel said. “Not unless you want Prada to screech the whole trip and Sienna to talk about fairy tales”

  “Works for me,” Desmond answered, indicating the gangplank. “Think of food.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “If you think of food, they won't dive any deeper into your thoughts,” he said, and Nathaniel managed a smile.

  “That's your trick, is it?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Works every time,” Desmond said, as the gangplank came up. “I've told Sienna that she should start the IVs to block her magic from the wound, but she doesn't seem to want to.”

  “I'd really prefer she be strong for this,” Nathaniel said. “But she's not our Tiro anymore. We can't force her into anything.”

  “You can ask her, though,” Desmond said. Nathaniel sighed.

  “Perhaps right now, I'll just make sure she and Prada don't kill each other,” he said. “Prada's a decent pilot, so I'll see if she wants to take over for now. I'm exhausted, by the way.”

  “Did you come in today?” Desmond asked.

  “We did, and it wasn't the easiest journey. But when you have a one Maestro to Tiro ratio, you don't have time off.”

  “Call me if you need me,” Desmond said. “I'll remind you that I'm just a consultant on this.”

  “Thank you, Maestro,” Nathaniel rolled his eyes as he went to find his Tiro.

  It was another twelve hours to Dramoon, and he was grateful for the fact that he knew Desmond could pilot, as well as the fact that most of the approach to Dramoon was easy flying.

  Prada was up front, already in the pilot's seat. He didn't say anything to her as he sank into the co-pilot's seat, checking her navigation route. As usual, it was spot on.

  She was so smart, and such a perfectionist. Her value came in more than just brute strength. She would make one of the best witches there ever had been, if she could learn control.

  “It's fine,” he said, to her silent demeanor. “You can lock it in.”

  She began the process of locking the ship down, and making sure everyone was inside before she began take off. He barely needed to touch the controls, leaning back as they went into hyperspace.

  Only when they were cruising did he speak.

  “You can't do that again,” he said to her.

  “Do what?” Prada asked, playing innocent

  “Hurt Sienna. Or hurt anyone who is unharmed. That's a cardinal sin, Prada, and you know it. You can never use your magic for such causes , unless you want to cross the line.”

  “You spent ten years training a Tiro who amounted to nothing,” Prada said to him., staring ahead at the space flashed by. “And now my training is affected by her still.”

  “Your training is not affected by her,” Nathaniel said. “I am telling you not to harm the defenseless.”

  “But she is not defenseless,” Prada said. “Is she?”

  “No,” Nathaniel said quietly, trying to understand where she was coming from. “She wasn't. But she had chosen a different life, and so she is right now. I don't want an argument about it. It's simply unthinkable that you would argue this.”

  “I was defenseless when my family was slaughtered around me,” she said. “How can defend the universe if we operate on a different perspective from them?”

  “Because we do not stoop to the lowest common denominator,” he answered. “There are thieves in this world, but it does not mean we shouldn't pay for our meals. We are not murders, we are not soldiers. We are the defenders, the peace keepers, the voices for those who cannot speak for themselves.”

  “Ironic, isn't it?” Prada asked him, and he saw a glimpse into her soul at that moment. Here, alone with him, she was free, safe, confident.

  If he chose to marry Eliza, he would take all of that away from her.

  Unless she could find a path that she felt just as safe on.

  He only lasted an hour or two in the co-pilot seat before his eyes started to close. He knew they could safety get six or seven hours of sleep before they needed to take over manually again.

  “Come on, Prada,” he said. “Get up and get some rest, or we'll both be useless.”

  “No?” she said. “I'm not tired.”

  “Again, I'm your Maestro, and I call the shots,” he said. “I promise you no one is going to bother you.”

  She gave in to this, getting up stiffly. He made sure they were set on autopilot, and then pointed her toward some of the sleep quarters Reaching out, he could feel that Desmond was asleep.

  What was that life like? Without a Tiro to worry about? Comfortable in the knowledge of the next time he would see his love? Relaxing? Not following a strict set of rules that meant his every breath was dedicated to the magic.

  It was a life he couldn't even dream of.

  Sienna was curled up on a windowsill in the cafeteria, watching the dark sky go by. They were going too fast to see anything useful, but it was still a bit mesmerized

  “I remember when you hated space,” he said quietly so as to not startle her. “It was cold, and you didn't like the vastness.”

  “I still don't,” she replied. “But I've started to wonder what else is out there.”

  “We know what is out there,” Nathaniel replied. “So many others, planets, universes.”

  “But what's beyond that?” She asked. “Where do we go when we die? Into the magic, yes, but where? Is there other consciousness?”

  “We just go into the magic,” he answered.. “We are all around.”

  “Are we?” she asked, picking at a thread on her skirt. “Even for those of us who don't have magic any =more?”

  “Sienna,” he said, softly. “We are not immortal.”

  “We can be,” she said, her eyes dazzling as they whizzed passed a sun. “If I could have figured out how to contain my magic to...”

  “No, little one,” he said. “We are not meant to be immortal. That goes against Nature.”

  “So did I,” she said.

  He sighed.

  “You defied all the odds,” he said. “And now we're going to do it again in Dramoon, hmm?”

  “Yes,” she said, after a moment. “If we can.”

  “We will,” he assured her. “Think of it as another adventure. Another quest. But you have to stay strong, all right? We will all be in danger if you are weak. We can fight, Prada and I, but no one can communicate with them. We need you.”

  “What do you think would have happened?” she asked. “If Desmond had set up a school there
, for warriors?”

  “I don't know,” he said. “Whether we would have had a whole generation of witches who were little more than soldiers or whether it would have united the galaxy. I guess is wasn't a path we were meant to take. How's your arm?”

  “It's all right,” she said, pulling her sleeve down. It made him suspicious, and he reached out, pulling up her sleeve.

  It was indeed, all right. Almost fully healed, which he knew was impossible without magical intervention.

  “Sienna!” he cried.

  “You wanted me to be strong,” she said. “Besides, I wanted to practice. Just in case you needed me.”

  “That's not why you are practicing,” he said.

  “Nathaniel, I'm fine,” she said. “Really, I feel fine.”

  “That's because the meds are still in your system,” he said. “You may not remember what it was like, Sienna, you were young…but I remember how terrible it was.”

  “I remember how terrible it was,” she said. “I remember throwing up throughout half my childhood. I'm not eager to repeat it.”

  “Good,” he said. “Then trust we can take care of you, one last time.”

  “One last time.” She smiled. “I will treasure that.”

  Chapter 7

  “MAESTRO!”

  “AH!” Nathaniel sat bolt upright. “Sienna. Prada. What?”

  Desmond was the one leaning on his door way, with a smile.

  “I just thought I'd do that to you, and see what happened.”

  “Have I mentioned lately that I despise you?” Nathaniel rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What do you want?”

  “We're here,” Desmond said. “Landed a few minutes ago, in a field, and so far our presence has gone unnoticed. But we may want to exit soon to not look like we are doing anything suspicious.”

  “Why didn't you wake me sooner?” Nathaniel asked, still groggy. “Ugh. I need to…Are they all right?”

  “As far as I know,” Desmond said. “I haven't seen your new one in an hour or so, but Sienna was taking a shower and eating breakfast.”

  “Remember when getting her to eat breakfast was a civil war?” Nathaniel answered, as he threw off the blankets. “Those were the days when life was simpler in a way.”

  “Simpler?” Desmond said in surprise “I hate to ask what you are currently going through if that was a simpler time.”

  Nathaniel ran a hand over his face with a sigh.

  “I suppose that you should know,” he replied. “Eliza asked me to take the throne with her.”

  “Of course, she did,” Desmond answered. “She's been waiting to do that for years.”

  “No,” Nathaniel said. “We had an agreement and she's thrown everything up in the air now.”

  “What are you going to do?” the older Maestro asked.

  “I don't know,” Nathaniel admitted.

  “Well, until you figure it out, there's no point in sitting around,” Desmond said, as if it was a simple choice. “Come on.”

  “Can you—” Nathaniel felt like he'd never get enough sleep. “Make sure Prada's eaten and packed and is stable enough to go?”

  “You mean make sure she's not going throw a tantrum?” He raised an eyebrow. “She's a bit old for that.”

  “You'd think,” Nathaniel answered. “Please?”

  “This one time,” Desmond said to his former Tiro. “Ten minutes.”

  “Uh-huh.” Nathaniel resisted the urge to fall back onto the pillow, yawning as he got up. He must be getting old, because he remembered days when he go three nights with no sleep. Now, six hours felt like a catnap.

  He managed to shower and put his rut sack back together in record time, before joining the others at the back door. Everyone else looked well rested and calm, although Prada found his other side quickly, avoiding Sienna. Nathaniel chose to ignore this, instead pointing Sienna to the middle, in between him and Desmond. It was a position she took often in her youth, in between her two warrior Maestros.

  “There's no one out there,” she said, more of a fact than a complaint. “We scanned the area twice.”

  “That's good,” Nathaniel answered. “But they could still be coming, so stay on guard.”

  “Ready?” Desmond asked and Nathaniel nodded. He pressed the red button and the gangplank lowered.

  Dramoon was a puzzling planet, with many different temperatures, depending on the rotation, all of them harsh. Nathaniel sucked in a breath at the cold they weren't expecting, and took the first steps down the gangplank.

  It seemed like an easy enough descent There was a vastness that was unsettling to him as they walked onto the solid ground. It felt too empty.

  “Do you think—” he started to Desmond, when he suddenly felt a disturbance in the magic.

  Out of nowhere, beings began appearing. They had been using magical cloaking that was far advanced to any of them. It was a combat technique that Nathaniel had only dreamed of.

  But right now, he dreamed of escaping this.

  There were at least fifty of them suddenly surrounding them. And with shoulders tense, and hands up, they didn't come in peace.

  “We're here to help,” Sienna spoke right away. She knew that her accent wasn't perfect, but she felt confident and fluent, and even elated to be using what she thought was a useless root language to learn. “We are witches.”

  They stopped, staring at her.

  “We are witches,” she repeated.

  “You are keepers of magic without use,” came the reply. “You will not stray us from our path.”

  And then the first one shot magic at them.

  This was a level of magic and a strength that was not often seen. They didn't often fight other witches. In their combat training, while they did spar with each other, they usually fought technology, guns, weapons of destruction.

  Nathaniel slammed his hand onto Sienna's shoulder, shoving her to the ground as he blocked the blast. Desmond moved to her side, his magic ready after years of lying dormant.

  It came back to him like riding a bicycle. Fighting with Nathaniel was something he would never forget. They were two of the greatest warriors in the history of witches.

  Prada, though, was something he was not prepared for. For every move that Nathaniel made, she made one twice as powerful. It was as if he could set her up for every single shot that led to a killing blow for her.

  Prada, Desmond realized, with a sinking pit in his stomach, didn't need any of them. And she didn't feel any remorse, any emotion at all, from taking life after life.

  They weren't supposed to take a life unless they absolutely had to. They were supposed to defend, and only kill when absolutely necessary.

  Prada clearly thought every moment was a time to kill.

  Desmond had never seen her power in action quite like this before. She and Nathaniel were clearly made to work together, and after a moment or two, he hung back, acting defenseless rather than offensively.

  Wound only, he heard Nathaniel shout to Prada, who ignored him. WOUND, TIRO.

  Prada got the message and pulled back at last, although she didn't seem happy about it.

  It was over before Desmond even had time to judge what had happened. It was as if to Prada, they hadn't been in the middle of a life or death battle. It was as if they had just been in the middle of a normal day, and she had stopped to take care of a few bugs.

  “Check which ones you left alive,” Nathaniel said, with a tone in his voice that told Desmond he had dealt with this more than once. Prada moved forward, checking pulses without blinking. Magic killed without a trace, if done right. And Desmond could see not even a scorch mark on them. She was an expert, better than those twice her age.

  Being an expert in killing was not something that any witch should be proud of.

  “Are you all right?” Nathaniel turned to Sienna, who shakily stood.

  “I could have helped,” she said.

  “No.” Nathaniel looked straight are her. “Your skill is languages, th
at is where we need you.”

  “I was just as powerful as her,” Sienna said, and Desmond touched her arm gently.

  “Focus, little one,” he said, softly and she quieted down.

  Prada returned to Nathaniel, meeting his eyes. Her own were cold, as if she was not affected at all by the lives that she had taken, robbing Nature of them.

  She held up her hand, indicating five fingers.

  Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

  “You killed five?”

  She shook her head.

  “She left five alive,” Sienna said slowly, and Desmond looked down. Her fingers were twitching and he knew what she was thinking.

  Sienna didn't like death of any kind. Not witches, animals or flowers. Healing was one thing, but resurrection was a whole different matter. Resurrection not only made her sick, but also opened portals to the dead. It was a dangerous game.

  “They are gone,” Desmond said to her, quietly. “Send regrets to Nature.”

  “Bring me to the ones who are alive,” Nathaniel said, and Prada dutifully led him forward. “Sienna?”

  “Mm hmm,” she managed, moving forward.

  One of the damaged witches was awakening, his eyes clouded. Sienna had trouble getting the words out, especially given the destruction they had just caused.

  “We need to speak to your leader,” she managed. “We will speak for the universe about your plans for peace.”

  “The age of the witches are here,” he spat to her. “We will bring this universe to a society that can operate together, under our rule.”

  She paused, trying to think.

  “We already do that…

  “Your way of magic controls nothing,” he managed. “Ours will control all.”

  With that, his eyes rolled back. He wasn't dead, but they weren't going to get any information out of him any time soon.

  “What did he say?” he asked.

  “He… they want control of the universe, like our version of witches have,” she said. “It sounds like they might be making plans. I'm not sure they have the technology that Thomas was alluding to, to be honest. I think they might be using their magic.”