“That is as it should be,” he said in his arrogant voice, the one that made me want to hit him on the head, then grab his ears and kiss the fire right out of him.
“We’re going to have a talk later about you falling madly in love with me, too, you know.”
“I believe the phone connection is fading,” he said in English, speaking loudly as if he couldn’t hear me.
“Uh-huh. You can hide, Archer, but I’ll find you.”
“It’s definitely going. Only static now. Do not do anything foolish,” he said, then hung up.
I smiled at the phone. He was so going to get with the Love Thaisa program, even if I had to drag him there kicking and screaming.
Forty-two minutes later, Bree and I waited in the front of the shop, a circle drawn on the floor, scribed with the seven symbols of the demon Naamah (a step I had missed when originally summoning him), salted, and sealed with blood. I held the Demonitica in one hand and the Chalice of Charlemagne (a misnomer, since it was created approximately three hundred years after Charles the Great’s death) in the other. Bree said it had the power to protect anyone who imbibed from its silver depths, so we’d both had a bit of Jack Daniel’s from it while waiting.
It was a long wait, and we might have had a wee bit too much protection, but in my defense, I was nervous about attacking Edgar with a demon, and thus may have relied a bit too much on liquid courage.
A car pulled up, and the familiar shape of Edgar emerged, stalking into the store with an attaché in one hand.
“Edgar Lee Wendell,” I said formally when he entered the store, the little chime above the door tinkling happily. Bree explained that names have power, and to invoke Edgar’s full name would give me power over him. Accordingly, I pointed the Demonitica at him. “By the power granted to me by the state of California—no, wait, that’s not right. By the power granted to me by the demon Naamah, I command thee to stand where thy is. You are. Hell, which is it?” I turned to Bree.
She weaved a little where she sat next to the circle, then toppled over. “Thou.”
“I command thee to stand right thou there,” I said, pointing to a spot just beyond the circle.
Edgar paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the circle, Bree now struggling to sit back up, and me. “What in Christ’s name is going on here? You’re drunk! Where the hell is my manuscript? By God, you’d better have it or I’ll make you rue the day you were born.”
“Right. You wanna do this the hard way?” I shook the Demonitica at him, then carefully tucked the chalice under my arm to flip open to a page. “We can do it the hard way. I’ll just summon my demon friend here, and he’ll make mincemeat of you.”
Edgar said a word so foul I wouldn’t sully my mind with it, then said over his shoulder, “If you have the money, she’s all yours.”
“Words that give me the greatest of joys,” came the reply in a lovely, velvety soft tone.
My eyes widened when Edgar strode past me, revealing Hunter and four men clustered close behind him.
“Well, crapbeans,” I said, flipping a few pages in my book to see if there was anything to handle getting rid of a dragon I didn’t want.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Thaisa,” Hunter said, strolling in and kissing my hand. “This time, however, I believe I shall make sure that you don’t perform another of those really quite miraculous escapes.”
“How do you think you’re going to do—”
Pain exploded in the back of my head, and my thoughts drifted away into an inky abyss.
Chapter Twelve
THE CALL CAME JUST AS ARCHER AND IOAN WERE driving home from the small airport not far from his house.
“She’s been taken,” Miles said, breathless and panting, the moment Archer answered.
Fire roared to life in him, fire and rage and a desperate need to lash out at whoever had dared to touch his flower. Ouroboros dragons didn’t often shift into dragon form, their genetic makeup keeping them in human form, and although Archer was one of the few who could shift, he had never felt his inner beast as much as he had at that moment. “Who?” he snarled, his fingers so tight on the steering wheel that indentations remained once he had released it. “Who took her? Who dared touch my mate?”
Even as he asked, he knew the answer. Fire swamped him, setting the leather seats alight. Mindful of the gas tank, he leashed his rage and tried to focus.
“It’s not what you think. Hunter has her.”
“Hunter?” His fury lessened, but only by a small amount. If she had been hurt, if anyone had harmed her…He bit back the need to shift now to rage and storm until he had her safe again.
“She went to her apartment. About five, Hunter and her boss found her at the shop.”
Ioan watched him warily as Archer lurched from the car, waving Ioan to the driver’s seat. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut by a horse. Several horses. A whole herd of them.
His Thaisa, the flower that brought him such joy, such warmth, in obvious danger. Why had he not removed her from the shop? Why had he let her talk him into her plan to tackle her employer? He was sick with the knowledge that he had only himself to blame for what might happen to her. “Where are you?” he asked, taking the passenger seat. Ioan started the car, looking to him for instruction.
“On my way up the coast. You’re closer to Hunter’s place. I can meet you there.”
Archer said something, what he didn’t remember, but he assumed later it was an acknowledgment of that plan. He wondered for a few moments if he was having some sort of a fit—his mind felt like it was covered in molasses, slowing the thought processes down, leaving him frustrated and impotent against the need to find Thaisa.
He couldn’t risk her. Not even for the peace he so desperately wanted. Hunter wouldn’t slaughter her, but there were others…He closed his eyes against the mental images of the lifeless, broken bodies that had been left outside his compound, bodies of storm dragons that weren’t even remotely as dear to him as Thaisa.
His mate.
The love of his life.
He didn’t even blink over that idea; he just accepted it without wasting energy to wonder when or how she’d managed to work her way into his heart, becoming as necessary to him as the air that filled his lungs. He pushed away the mental images of the sorts of heinous acts that had been conducted upon the innocent.
If she was harmed…if the unthinkable had happened…Archer steeled himself against pain that made him want to scream his anguish into the evening sky.
He would die to protect Thaisa.
“Where to?” Ioan asked as Archer strove to control the pain and fury and frustration that gripped him in iron fingers.
“Shadow dragons,” he answered, spitting out the words.
Ioan, wisely, said nothing, just drove west, toward the coast town where Hunter had a large holding. Archer said nothing during the drive, focusing on creating a plan. Once he made sure Thaisa was safe, he would take care of the threat to her. He didn’t know how, but he would. There was simply too much at stake to let it continue.
Miles was nowhere to be seen when Ioan pulled into a clearing hidden from the road, near the entrance to Hunter’s twenty-acre compound.
“Do we wait for Miles?” Ioan asked. He was one of the newer members of the tribe, and Archer knew he was nervous, never having seen battle. He would have liked to introduce Ioan slowly to the art of defense against deadly opponents, but he had no choice.
“No,” Archer said. He opened the trunk of the car and took out a long metal box. The light was starting to fail, twilight stealing across the sky as the sun sank over the gray-blue water. Faint blue fingers stretched into the peach and rose that flushed the sky, reminding Archer of Thaisa’s cheeks, rosy with the afterglow of a sexual climax.
“How much training have you done?” Archer asked the younger man. He removed from the box a wickedly sharp sword wrapped in black silk. Blue gems were set into the hilt, but one socket at the cros
sbar was empty.
It was a dragon hunter’s sword, an élan vital, supposedly his birthright, but Archer was no dragon hunter. It lacked the espirit infused in the blade that gave dragon hunters an extra boost to their power. Regardless of the sword’s weakened state, he hefted it, testing its balance.
“I’ve had six weeks of training,” Ioan said, looking nervously at the sword. “Miles said I show promise but that I don’t think ahead and don’t anticipate future moves.”
Archer pulled another silk-wrapped bundle from the metal box, holding it. He wouldn’t sacrifice a member of his tribe. “If you do not feel confident…”
“No, I am,” Ioan said with a sudden gulp, squaring his shoulders. “I am quick on my feet and fast with a blade. I will guard your back.”
Archer nodded and handed him a lighter sword and scabbard. While Ioan armed himself, Archer slipped a scabbard onto his back, sliding the sword home. He strapped daggers to either ankle, under his pants; then, after a moment’s thought, he pulled out a Taser, made sure it was charged, and tucked it his pocket.
“How are we going to get inside the compound?” Ioan asked quietly when Archer strode down the road toward the large gate that opened into the drive. Hunter’s ten-foot walls were dotted with glass and razor wire, Archer knew.
“We’re going in the front door,” Archer snarled, standing at the gate and loosing his carefully leashed fury. Dragon fire swept through him hot and fast, encouraging his rage to run just as free. Ioan backed up a few steps, his eyes huge, as teal scales rippled up Archer’s arms. His body shifted into a sleek, lethal shape that bore little resemblance to the dragons revered by mortals.
He stood still for a moment, embracing the power that filled his dragon form, the primal nature of the true dragon being that dwelled within him giving him a sense of invincibility. Rage threaded through the emotion. Behind that gate his mate was being held captive, taken from him. The air around him grew thick with static as he swore to himself that all who dared harm her would perish.
He pulled the sword from his back as he kicked open the gate, his tail whipping to the side to catch the guard who ran out to stop him, sending the man flying into a massive cedar tree. Two more men erupted from the shrubs that lined the fence, but they went flying as well, slamming into the stone fence with a crunch that spoke of broken bones.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Ioan said, his voice reverent as he followed Archer. “I’ve never seen anyone actually shift. I’ve heard of it, of course, but to see it…it’s amazing.”
Archer hesitated for a moment, scenting the air, trying to catch any indication that others were guarding the front gate.
“My brother grows lax, thinking himself secure in his fortress,” he said in a low tone. He shifted back into human form and ran silently along the edge of the drive. The trees on each side cast shadows that stretched into inky pools while the sun sank into the horizon.
He knew from past parlays at Hunter’s compound that the main house sat on a cliff above a rocky stretch of the coastline, flanked by a number of outbuildings. The drive twisted, revealing the long, low lodge that Hunter called home. Three cars sat in the front of it, beyond which a couple of men smoked, the glow of their cigarettes as obvious as the smell of their smoke on the air.
“Mortals?” Ioan whispered. Dragons, as a rule, did not indulge in the vices of alcohol and drugs.
Archer breathed in, identifying the smell of oil and exhaust from the cars, earthy notes from the rich soil of the beds along the porch that ran the length of the house, and…nervousness.
“Mortals,” he said with a nod. “Don’t kill them unless you have to.”
He strode forward, the sword in its scabbard on his back, his fire once again controlled, but he nursed it, keeping it alive with anger, knowing he would need to draw upon it for strength for what was surely to come.
The two mortals didn’t notice any threat until Archer was almost upon them, and then one squawked and tripped when he tried to back up, stumbling backward onto the three steps that led onto the wide porch. The other immediately pulled a gun out of his pocket, pointing it at Archer with a noticeably shaking hand.
“What the— Who the hell are you?”
Archer took the gun from the man, simply took it out of his hands, popped the clip, and threw the gun into the bushes before pocketing the clip. “If you want to survive the night, leave,” he told the men, marching up the steps without pausing to glance at the man who was still scrambling backward in his attempt to get out of the way.
Two dragons burst out of the door, swords in their hands, dragonkin preferring blades to more modern weapons. Archer had the first one down before Ioan pulled his sword out of the scabbard. The second dragon spun at Ioan, one hand drawing a spell in the air, the symbols hanging black for a second before fading, but Archer took care of that by the simple act of slamming the hilt of his sword into the man’s head, knocking him unconscious.
Archer stepped over him, pausing when he entered the main hall of the lodge. Hunter had chosen to decorate the walls with weapons, everything from broadswords, to two-handed axes, morning stars, glaives, and even a few bows. One caught his eye, a lovely bow with silver chasing on the body in the form of fantastical dragons. It had been a long time since he had felt the pull of a bowstring, and without thinking, he snatched the bow off the wall, testing the draw before sliding a full quiver of carbon arrows over one shoulder.
He marched to a big common room and found three dragons around a table, playing cards.
Archer nocked an arrow and sent it flying at the first dragon, striking him in the thigh. The dragon stumbled and fell, looking in surprise at the arrow that pierced his leg clean through. It wasn’t a fatal wound, but it would stop any attacks. The other two dragons pulled knives and leaped forward. Archer caught one of them in midstep, the arrow burying itself in his knee. The dragon screamed and slashed at him. Archer leaped onto the table and fired again, but the shot went wild when he was knocked forward by a man who had come in behind him.
The man with the thigh wound pulled out his phone, typing in a code that sounded an alarm in a distant part of the lodge.
Ioan managed to knock the knife out of the other dragon’s hand, and delivered a roundhouse kick that sent the man crashing into a wet bar, before spinning around to assist Archer.
The dragon who’d come up from behind leaped on Archer’s back, trying to pull his sword out of the scabbard. Archer snatched another arrow, spun it around, and stabbed backward with it into the man’s shoulder. He dropped to the ground, screaming.
“Where are they?” Archer growled, hauling up the man with the arrow in the knee who was attempting to crawl behind the bar. “Where is your master?”
“I am a shadow dragon,” the man snarled, his face a twisted mask of pain. “I do not answer to—”
Archer stabbed his other thigh with another arrow.
“Upstairs!” the man gabbled, try to get away from him. “In the meeting room.”
Archer dropped him and stalked out of the room, snatching up arrows from a second quiver on the wall before taking the stairs three at a time. At the top of the landing, double doors were closed, a black-and-silver image of a dragon inlaid into the wood. He shifted into dragon form and kicked open the door with a powerful blow, the force so great that one of the doors was torn off its hinges. The doors flew forward straight at four dragons wielding swords.
They went down with a crash.
He stormed into the room with another arrow nocked, aimed right at the throat of the man who sat at the center of a long, glossy ebony table.
Hunter pursed his lips at the sight of the broken door and the four felled men. “You couldn’t have just turned the doorknob like a normal person?”
“Where is she?” Archer snarled, pulling the bowstring back to his face, his index finger at the corner of his mouth as he sighted Hunter.
“A bow? Really?” Hunter shook his head as he stood slowly.
Another man sat at the table, a man with dark hair whom Archer did not recognize, but since the stranger was mortal, he was unimportant. “And not even the nice compound one that has all sorts of fiddly bits on it that my lieutenant tells me is most proficient.”
“You took my mate,” Archer growled, letting the bowstring slip a quarter of an inch. A little movement of his fingers was all it would take for the arrow to fly.
“Yes, I did. Have you stopped to wonder why?”
“I don’t need to,” he said, and let the bowstring slide off his fingers.
Hunter didn’t move until the arrow was less than a foot from his throat, at which point he gestured, drawing a symbol in the air, one that glowed black.
The arrow dropped as if it were made of lead.
“Are you done with the dramatics?” Hunter asked.
“Not just yet,” Archer said, and pulled the sword from his back, drawing first on the power of his dragon fire, then on the storm that raged within him. Electricity crackled down the sword, the runes that ran the length cold and lifeless, but the energy of the storm snapping and sparking off the metal in little blue-white tendrils.
“You really want to do this now?” Hunter shook his head and stood, shifting into the form of a smoke-gray dragon, pulling his own sword. Like Archer, he bore the blade of a dragon hunter, this one set with green gems. The main socket was just as empty as Archer’s, the runes etched on the blade invisible with the dull black miasma that seemed to wrap around it. “I should have known that you would jump to the most extreme conclusion—”
Archer didn’t wait. He pulled hard on his dragon fire, holding his sword before him with both hands, the blade pointed down. Static from the air, and earth, and sparks of life of all living things around them gathered into him. He held it for a moment, thinking of Thaisa, of the slow smile she gave him when he had loved her within an inch of her life, of the way her eyes turned liquid with desire when she touched his chest, and of the fact that she was the only person who had ever shed tears over him. He thought of the warmth that filled him when she was near, and took all those emotions, all the hate and love and fears and worries that had been bound upon him during the long course of his life and slammed them forward at the same time he stabbed the sword into the oak floor.
Day of the Dragon Page 18
