With a surge of rage and a rapid flapping of his massive wings, Lyre realized that that man was holding a small boy in his hand, drawing his tiny body up towards his face. A threatening gesture, no doubt meant to terrorize those who were watching. Even from so far above him, Lyre could see the jagged teeth gleaming white against dark, thin lips. The man intended to make a victim of the child.
And Trix was going to try and stop him.
* * *
The Forsaken pivoted rapidly, holding the whimpering boy before him, a tiny human shield clenched between bone white fingers. A snarling smile revealed a feral set of canines, long and unnatural on that oddly human face. Trix had always heard tales of bloodsuckers whose teeth elongated when they wanted to feed, but this man’s were nothing like she would have expected. They were more like those of a wild creature, a carnivore about to tear the flesh from his defenseless prey.
“One step closer, Hunter, and the boy dies,” the man hissed, pulling at the child’s collar even as his mother watched helplessly from the ground beside them. Slowly, she tried to rise to her feet, a hand stretched towards her son as she pleaded quietly for his safe return. Instinct seemed to tell her to keep her distance, but a brief glance told Trix that the woman’s body was convulsing in terrified sobs. She was fighting against the desire to lunge at the man, a mother desperate to protect her young, but who knew she was powerless.
Quickly, Trix drew out two white shuriken from her inside pockets, grasping the white stars, their long, curving tips between her fingers.
“These are forged from Dragon bone,” she snarled at Farell. “I know what they’ll do to the likes of you, and I know how to throw them to do the most damage. So put the boy down, you goddamned buck-toothed wanker.”
“You think your trinkets frighten me?” the man said, even as his eyes narrowed in disgust. “They’re nothing to me.”
She wanted nothing more than to throw them then and prove him wrong, to lodge one in his forehead, one in his neck. If only he’d stop moving the boy about like a rag doll, she might have a clear shot.
But just as Trix was setting herself to aim, a sudden movement behind the Forsaken made something inside her explode, her heart all but driving itself through her chest. She didn’t know whether to gesture a wild warning or to cheer with delight.
The massive Dragon was hovering behind her prey, silent as the night and beautiful, its shining scales capturing the light so that they seemed to glow with luminescence. Realizing that she was tense as a steel rod, Trix allowed her body to relax, moving her feet apart as though she were surrendering for a moment.
“My trinkets may not frighten you, you chalk faced twatwaffle,” she told Farell, jutting her chin towards the Dragon. “But that should.”
As a swift gust of wind blew a lock of the Forsaken’s hair into his face, he swivelled his head round to see what had generated it. Suspended over the road itself was Lyre’s enormous blue-white form, wing tips nearly far enough apart to clip the buildings on either side of the street. When his feet hit the ground, his wings folded in to his sides even as his long neck stretched forward, eyes narrowing, glaring with hatred at his prey. His massive mouth, filled with spiking teeth harder than diamonds, let out a piercing roar.
The man spun round again, drawing his back up against the wall next to him, the boy still pressed hard to his chest. Armour, intended to ward off the imminent attack. The child’s mother stood fully now, turning to the Dragon and recoiling, not sure who—or what—she should fear more.
“Your Dragon friend won’t risk hurting a human boy,” the Forsaken hissed to Trix. “That’s what separates us, you see. He values lives such as this one. I don’t.”
“Then take my life. Put the boy down,” Trix growled, placing the shuriken back in their slots and taking a step towards him. She knew the man was right; Lyre wouldn’t assault the Forsaken while he was holding the boy.
But the man didn’t move to release his victim. Instead, with one more cruel narrowing of his eyes, the bastard drew the child up and sank his teeth into his shoulder, drawing blood even as he held Trix’s stare, all the malice in the world locked inside his cruel eyes. The child cried out, his mother’s screams even more desperate than his own.
A wave of nausea overcame Trix, a feeling of faintness falling over her like a thick veil. She’d killed, hacked, taken a hundred lives. But never had she watched an innocent being drained of blood at the hands of such an evil entity.
“No,” she thought. “Don’t let the bastard manipulate you into failure.” It took only a split-second to remind herself of her own strength, and of what she was. Every instinct dictated her next move, quick reflexes hurtling her body forward. “Stop!” she screamed, leaping at Farell, drawing the throwing stars and flinging them hard at his forehead.
The Forsaken hadn’t drunk his fill, but he’d taken enough of the boy’s blood to give him the power he needed. And before the shuriken had even met his flesh, he’d shifted into his déor: a large black cat, darting away into the night almost faster than Trix’s eyes could register. Away from Lyre’s Dragon, away from her.
The boy, meanwhile, had dropped to the ground like a sack of sand, his flesh pale as death. His mother, forgetting the Dragon’s existence for a moment, was running to him, lifting his small body from the sidewalk, cradling him. Whimpering, “No, no, no,” even as she held him to her chest, trying to inspire breath from the small body. Trix watched, helpless, for once in her life unsure of what to do. Never before had a Forsaken attacked a human with witnesses around to see the act. Never had a child been a victim.
In that one moment in time, London had altered inextricably. And she had been at the centre of it all.
“Get on, quickly now.”
The voice pulsed through her, a throbbing force inside her mind. She knew its deep resonance all too well, the tone commanding this time instead of gentle. Darting over to the Dragon, she leapt onto the his back, unwilling to question him. Misery overtook her as he lifted off, fingers pressing hard into the bright, hard scales on his neck.
“Lyre. I did this. He’s dead because of me. I pushed the Forsaken to it…”
“He’s not dead. The boy will survive. He’ll be fine, in fact.”
“Are you certain?” she asked, hesitant to know the truth of it.
“Yes. He’s badly hurt, and will likely need a transfusion. But there is a pulse in him. I could feel it. Someone is on the way already to take him to hospital. He’ll be all right, Beatrix.”
“Oh, Thank God. I thought I’d killed him.” She didn’t ask how he knew all this; there was no point. The Dragons were mysteries, their powers far beyond her comprehension. All that mattered was that the boy would be all right.
“Of course you didn’t kill him. But that bastard nearly did. The Forsaken isn’t finished for the night; he hasn’t fed enough yet. And we need to stop him, you and I.”
Killer Instincts
The iridescent Dragon spread its wings and once again he took off into the night sky, his keen eyes scanning the territory below for the black cat’s sleek, speeding form. As Trix’s own eyes moved to the city far beneath her, she could see little more than the street lamps and rooftops; anyone wandering London’s sidewalks now obscured in shadow.
“Can you see anything?” she asked silently, leaning in, her chest pressed to the back of Lyre’s craning neck as he searched.
“Yes, I’ve got him now,” he said. “He’s still in cat form. Still running, though he’s slowed down. He’s headed towards a row of warehouses. Are you ready for a quick descent? We’re going to have to intercept him before he manages to dash into a building.”
“Yes. I’m so damned ready I can taste it.” She wanted so badly to dig her weapons into Farell’s flesh, to steal his life. If he was still shifted, so be it. A cat wouldn’t be as easy to take down as a man, but Lyre could provide backup in the form of fire breath or whatever other Dragon goodies he had to offer.
With her cons
ent, Lyre swooped downward, his neck stretching forward as Trix clung to him, arms wrapping about the scales that glowed in the engulfing darkness.
“Be careful, Beatrix,” his voice rumbled through her mind, all business. “He’s incredibly dangerous in this state. He hasn’t entirely fed, but he’s still powerful.”
“I know.”
She could just make out the blue-black wildcat as they shot down, its sleek form bounding forward, skirting between parked cars and the odd confused passerby. At least the size of a lion, his body was lithe and graceful. Beautiful, even, for such an evil beast.
His speed never wavering, Farell turned down a road to his right at full throttle, shooting around a reflective yellow construction sign.
“The road’s closed to traffic,” Trix said, a hint of joy in the words. This was good news.
She could see that ahead, a giant, gaping hole had opened up in the centre of the asphalt, no doubt the reason for the closure. A sink-hole would make it very hard for the Forsaken to escape if they managed to corner him.
“Yes, luckily for us. I’ll pin him in when I land,” said the Dragon shifter.
Lyre swept down, taking care to hit the ground behind the large cat, who stopped when he reached the crumbling edge of the chasm, forced to make a decision that might cost him his life.
The moment Lyre’s talons hit the asphalt, Trix leapt from his back, drawing her two sai blades from her sheaths on either thigh, twisting the pronged handles about her wrists. The cat turned and froze, staring at them, yellow eyes reflective in the dark as he sized up possible escape routes.
“Come closer and you’ll have to deal with us, you gaunt sack of mangy bollocks,” Trix snarled at him, her feet shoulder width apart as she and the Dragon took over the dark street.
The insult seemed to have the effect that she desired. The cat shifted into human form, defiant and proud in front of her, a look of molten anger plastered onto his features. He was now larger and broader than he had been before. His face appeared to have filled out, his skin aglow with a pink hue under the dim light shining down from the sky. The boy’s blood had done its job and revitalized him, if only temporarily.
“You’re a weak little girl,” the Forsaken said, a stubborn hatred rising up inside. “Nothing more. I could take you down in a second.”
For a moment his threat almost worked. Trix, rarely unsettled, wondered if she’d been an idiot to get off Lyre’s back, to make herself so vulnerable to such a powerful man. He was strong—the only problem was that she didn’t know how strong, and finding out was probably going to hurt a lot more than a tattoo needle.
But she was surprised when it was Farell who hesitated, his eyes shifting over to the Dragon for a moment. Then of course, he knew that such a beast would burn him alive if he tried anything stupid. Watching the man, she remembered what Neko had once said about Umbra. That rage dominated him, clouded his judgment and caused him to behave erratically. His desire to hurt her was greater than his desire for self-preservation, rendering him easily manipulated. The Forsaken, it seemed, weren’t entirely right in the head.
“So try it, you panty-waisted fuckbiscuit,” she snarled. “Take me down, if I’m nothing more than a little girl.”
Beside her, as though he knew just what she’d said, the Dragon’s mouth opened, an icy white flame rising up in his throat. In seconds he would unleash his own fury at the Forsaken.
Except that Farell robbed him of that chance, when he flew at Trix in a blur of motion too fast for their eyes to register. A far larger, far stronger being than herself. But she’d anticipated it, and as soon as she saw the first hint of movement, she extended her arms, slashing at the air around her. The satisfying skish of Dragon bone through flesh hit her ears only a moment before he cried out, confounded by her skill and the sharpness of the blades. How had she managed to so much as touch him?
But the bastard wasn’t completely crippled, not yet. And in another second he’d reached his destination behind her, an arm wrapped around her neck, the other around her waist, pressing both her arms to her sides as he inhaled deep through his nose. Trix swallowed the sharp cry that had formed in her throat. No. Don’t let him know he’s getting to you. Lyre wouldn’t hear it anyhow, even if he knew perfectly well what was happening.
She’d become the Forsaken’s latest human shield against the Dragon, the only one Farell actually seemed to fear.
“Jasmine,” Farell murmured into Trix’s ear as he inhaled again, biding his time as he worked to mentally torture her. “Such a lovely smell, when combined with that of blood.”
She tried in vain to pry her arms away from her sides, the blades now uselessly pressed against her legs, their pointed tips threatening to pierce through her jeans.
Lyre, unable to spin around so fast as Trix or the Forsaken, twisted his enormous head sideways to face the man, who thrust the Hunter’s body between himself and his giant enemy.
“Going to use flame on me then, are you?” Farell hissed. “You’ll have to go through this one, and it would be a shame to grill such a pretty face as this.” The Forsaken’s cheek pressed against Trix’s as he taunted Lyre, rubbing her with his stubble in a vile gesture of mock affection and ownership. She could feel the ice of his breath on her skin, his razor teeth far too close to her neck for comfort. God, he was horrible.
The Dragon’s mouth opened wide and he let out an earth-shaking roar, the back of his throat sparking in bursts of white fire. He might not be able to hear the bastard’s words, but intent was plastered on Farell’s cold, hard features. There was no need for communication between the two of them.
“You know, if I take your blood, I won’t need anyone else’s,” the Forsaken told Trix, his mouth moving closer still to her neck. “And I suspect that you taste delectable. A Hunter’s blood is really something special.” He ran the tip of his tongue over her skin, savouring the salted perspiration of fear. Trix did her best not to gag at the thought of where that tongue had been, all that it had tasted.
The gesture, it turned out, was too much for Lyre, who stepped forward on massive scaled feet. He was a Dragon of Air. Of Ice. And he knew exactly which weapon in his arsenal to deploy. Fire wasn’t necessary here.
Once again his giant mouth opened, revealing the rows of dagger-like teeth. And a second later, a spear of rock-hard ice shot from the back of his throat with a precision that even Trix couldn’t have matched, skilled though she was. Striking Farell hard in the forehead, it embedded itself in flesh and bone, sending him reeling backwards. The arms around Trix unravelled, the body dropping away, limp. She spun around, slashing at him with her sai blades. One she plunged into his chest where his heart should have been. The other she pressed to his neck, pushing hard until its tip pierced the asphalt beneath him.
Even as his body struck the ground, his eyes were still open, their brightness already faded. And within seconds, he was gone. A grey cloud of ash, blowing away in the quiet breeze. A faint memory of a man, never to return. Even the woman whose son he’d attacked would barely remember the incident, and the child would think of it in years to come as nothing more than a strange dream. Farell wasn’t going to haunt anyone, now that he’d disintegrated into the dark of the night.
Trix straightened her body, turning back to Lyre’s Dragon to speak to his mind, her chest heaving, heart racing. For a moment she wasn’t sure if it was the Forsaken or Lyre who had done this to her.
“You—that was amazing. I don’t know how you….” She stammered the words, trying to formulate a proper sentence inside her mind, to convey something sensical to him.
“I didn’t know if it would work,” he told her. “I’ve never faced one of them. The first Relic’s power has increased the powers of all the Kindred. We’re capable of more than I knew.”
“Well, you saved my life, I think. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Trix turned away for a moment, looking for signs that their prey really was gone
for good.
“He was so strong,” she said. “I suppose I underestimated him, even with your warnings.”
“It’s easy to do. But as you know, it takes a Dragon—or a very powerful human—to take them on.”
“A powerful human like Neko, you mean,” Trix said, pivoting back to face him. But he wasn’t receiving her thoughts anymore, it turned out.
He’d shifted into human form, and now the tall man she’d seen under the Heath stood before her in dark jeans and a grey v-neck t-shirt. His eyes, dark blue, the pupils ringed by shards of icy white, looked into hers even as she wondered if he could feel her heartbeat accelerating under his gaze.
He nodded, as though to say, Yes. A human like Neko.
“A human who’s mated with one of your kind,” she said, knowing that he couldn’t hear her. But he nodded again. Lips. He was reading her lips.
Yes.
“Do you have a mate?” She knew the answer in her hammering heart already. But she needed to ask.
He shook his head. No. No mate, he silently conveyed.
She wiped her blades on her jeans, sheathing them. Extracting her phone, she typed a quick note and held it up for him to see.
“I need a drink, after all this madness. There are a few pubs still open. Come with me?”
He shook his head. No again.
And again she typed a message.
“Please, Lyre—I want to thank you for what you did. Please don’t turn me down. It’s not polite.”
As he registered the words, she could see that she’d made the right move. He was a gentleman, and courteous. Not one to turn down an invitation, particularly one so assertively presented.
Extracting his own phone from his pocket, he quickly typed a few words and pressed a button. A second later Trix heard an electronic male voice, British accent and all:
“I’ll come then, bossy Beatrix. For one drink, if you insist. And then it’s bedtime.”
Dragon Seeker [Part One] Page 4
