Stones of Dracontias

by N. D. Jones

  What he heard, on the other line of the radio, were his men being slaughtered. Not simply dying but crushed by superior numbers and overwhelming power. Rudolph had known the op was a mistake. He’d told the rich bastards that it stunk.

  Dragons weren’t stupid. He knew that. But he’d moved against his better judgment and twenty good soldiers had lost their lives. There would be no rescue. The sounds of burning, roaring, and hissing assured him of that sad fact.

  Slumping to the floor, the captain still held onto the radio. He’d failed. Again.

  The gold dragon hadn’t been prey, but bait. And he’d swallowed the worm and line whole. Damn him and damn the Circle of Drayke.

  Three years later, Rudolph hadn’t gotten over the loss of so many men. More, the Circle of Drayke hadn’t let him forget how much he owed them. They’d hired other men, more expensive than Captain Rudolph. But their track records were no better.

  Sitting in his study, he knew they’d taken the wrong tact from the beginning. Dragons wouldn’t be outmuscled, at least not without more firepower than Rudolph had at his disposal. Which meant they had to defeat them with brains instead of brawn. Meet their calculating minds with shrewd machinations.

  The Circle of Drayke still wanted the gold dragon. At this point, stubbornness and pride fueled their decisions. They didn’t care the dragon had gotten stronger and larger since their first encounter three years ago. They also didn’t care public opinion polls favored the dragon. The beast was on every damn American magazine cover because it, unlike other dragons, focused on healing children.

  Cigar smoke filled the air, the scent comforting and familiar. Randolph knew he was missing something. If he could only figure it out, everything would change.

  Propping his feet on his desk, Rudolph considered what he knew about the gold dragon. One, it traveled between the United States, Canada and Mexico. Two, it healed children, although not exclusively. Three, it had no discernible route or favorite locales.

  Wait, that wasn’t true. His feet thudded to the floor. There was a pattern with the gold dragon. The one place it was spotted the most was DC. He’d forgotten. When the dragon finally returned to wherever it went after escaping his men, and their nets, witnesses from a bank robbery had told police a gold dragon had killed the bank robbers.

  By the time DCPD had arrived on the scene, there was no dragon. But witnesses swore one had been there and helped them. For a while, Rudolph had investigated the event, hoping to find anything that would help him catch the elusive dragon. He’d hit a dead end. He couldn’t figure out why a healing dragon would suddenly play a superhero. That wasn’t their MO, so he’d let it drop.

  Now, he wondered if he’d given up too soon. Maybe there was something there he’d missed. Getting to his feet, Rudolph moved to his file cabinet in the corner of the room. His wife complained he was a pack rat. He supposed she was right, his study and basement were overflowing with boxes and file cabinets.

  He found the folder and notes on the bank robbery, employees, including the murdered ones, and the bank customers all of whom survived thanks to the gold dragon. Why would a dragon care about foiling a robbery? That’s what he’d never understood about the case.

  They healed. That was it. Except, for the gold dragon, that wasn’t it. There was more, and Rudolph was going to find out what.

  “Calling it a night?”

  Armstrong returned his six-month-old niece to her proud father. Isaiah, hands big yet gentle, cradled Isabelle to his chest, her head on his shoulder and she fast asleep.

  They sat in Isaiah and Nicole’s living room on a Monday night, watching football and drinking beer. Well, Armstrong had a beer while his brother quenched his thirst on nothing stronger than iced tea. Since he’d become a father, the bar owner had given up a lot of “vices,” alcohol among them.

  Armstrong didn’t get it. It wasn’t like Isaiah was a drunk. He rarely drank in excess or acted out the few times he did get drunk. But Isaiah, the oldest of the Knight children, had always taken his responsibilities seriously. Fatherhood was no different.

  “You’re a good dad.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Just saying. You and Nicole are lucky. You got a good life and family. I’m happy for you.”

  With care to not wake the baby, Isaiah pushed off the couch and whispered, “Give me a sec. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Armstrong followed his brother to the steps that led to the upstairs. It was near the front door, the coat closet, and freedom. He loved his siblings and tried to visit them as often as he could. They were all married, even his youngest sister, who was as big as a house and expecting her second child. He, on the other hand, was still depressingly single.

  He grabbed his coat from the closet and yanked it on.

  “Don’t you dare sneak out.”

  Armstrong’s hand fell away from the doorknob. He thought he could slip out while his brother put the baby down to bed. Apparently not.

  “You’re fast for an old man.”

  “Old, huh? Just for that, I’m not going to step in the next time Nicole tries to set you up with one of her girlfriends.”

  Isaiah, three inches taller than Armstrong but not as muscular, was thirty-nine to his thirty-two. Glasses and a goatee had the man resembling their father. Isaiah had always looked more like their dad than any of the Knight kids. Except for his dark complexion, Armstrong favored his mother, who was two shades lighter than him and stunning at sixty-three. His father, like Isaiah, had chosen well.

  Isaiah opened the front door, and they stepped outside. His brother left the door slightly ajar, adding illumination to a porch that already glowed from a security light.

  “I guess you want to talk.” It wasn’t a question. Armstrong knew his brother.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “The job’s fine. That thing with the terrorist the other day was—”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m used to your dangerous job. I want to know what’s going on with you personally.”

  “You mean why haven’t I settled down?”

  Armstrong zipped up his heavy-duty coat. The only thing Isaiah had to keep him warm was his burgundy, gold, and white Washington Redskins sweatshirt.

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean. I know you want a family. I can see it every time you play with one of the kids. They all love Uncle Armstrong. You spoil them rotten.”

  “They’re great kids.”

  He wanted a half dozen just like them.

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t. Sorry.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I’m a man of my word, Isaiah. I promised I’d keep her secret.”

  “The infamous and invisible Kya from a decade ago?”

  More like seven years, but it felt much longer. He didn’t answer his brother.

  “Really? Come on, Armstrong. If she were the woman for you, you would’ve brought her around to meet all of us. You can’t put your life on hold for a woman who doesn’t make time for you and your family.”

  That wasn’t true. Kya always made time for him. Isaiah was right, though. He had put his life on hold, which made no sense. He and Kya had no future. Armstrong knew that. He’d known from the start, and so had Kya. Yet they persisted in a friendship that was more intimate than any physical relationship he’d ever had with a human woman.

  They told each other everything. He knew her and she knew him—his fears and insecurities as well as his mistakes and regrets.

  His left hand in his pocket found his hat and Armstrong put it on. DC in December was damn cold.

  “You must be freezing your balls off. Stop worrying about me and get inside.”

  “I’ll stop worrying when you find a nice girl who’ll take care of you.”

  “You sound like Mom.”

  Isaiah laughed. “Damn, I do, and I am freezing my balls off out here.” Retreating to the threshold of his front door an
d the warmth of the house, Armstrong knew Isaiah watched him as he made his way off the porch and down the four steps to the walkway. “Do you love her?”

  He answered without turning around. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “She shouldn’t, but I think she does.”

  He stopped and turned around, back to the street and front to his brother.

  “If the two of you can’t be together, which it seems you can’t, for whatever reason, then you need to make a clean break. She moves on, and you move on. Drive safely, and I’ll see you next Sunday at church.”

  Isaiah waved, then closed the door.

  For several minutes, Armstrong remained on the sidewalk, staring at the white door and empty porch. Isaiah had gotten to the heart of the matter. It wasn’t as if Armstrong hadn’t known what needed doing. Hell, years ago Kya had made the same point as Isaiah. He’d been the one to ignore the obvious. If their friendship meant they’d never seek a suitable life partner, then maybe they needed to reevaluate their relationship.

  He slid behind the wheel of his car, pulled into traffic, and began the short drive to Capitol Hill. He’d bought the house with hopes of having a wife and brood of children. Parking in front of it, Armstrong forced himself to admit he’d envisioned his dream Kya sharing the home with him.

  Stupid. He’d wasted seven years on a fantasy.

  “Kya, where are you?”

  Getting out of the car, instinctively, Armstrong’s eyes raised to the night sky. Quiet and still, he didn’t see or sense the dragon.

  “What’s the matter, diata? You sound upset.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Are we not speaking now?”

  She hadn’t told him where she was, which meant she was either on her way home or nearer than she wanted to admit.

  The key in the lock had him opening the door and going inside. Whenever he went out and knew he wouldn’t return until after dark, Armstrong left a light on in the living room. It was a habit carried over from living with a mother and two sisters who worried.

  The light in the living room was no longer on.

  “I think someone’s been in the house.”

  “Been or still in the house?”

  He wasn’t sure. But Armstrong wasn’t about to stay there and find out. He backed up and heard the distinct sound of footsteps coming toward him.

  “In the house. One. No, two.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Unless Kya was right around the corner and intended to destroy his house to get to him, there was nothing she could do.

  When the first punch came, it sent Armstrong on his ass. He couldn’t see a damn thing, but he felt the kicks to his ribs and chest.

  More than two men. They were strong and skilled.

  He tried to get to his feet, but the men’s fists and feet kept him down. They said nothing as they beat his ass.

  He lunged at where he thought one of the assailants was, catching the man at his knees and bringing him down. He leveled three blind blows, grateful when his fists met face.

  The satisfaction of getting some payback was short-lived. Two men grabbed him by his coat and pulled him off the other man. Rough hands dragged him toward his living room and tossed him onto his couch.

  The light that should’ve already been on blinked to life.

  Five men. Four big bruisers, one with a bloody nose, Armstrong noted with pleasure, glared down at him. It was the fifth man, however, who claimed most of Armstrong’s attention.

  Unlike the bruisers, he wore the smug smile of a man used to being in charge. Blond and dressed in a black trench coat, he sneered at Armstrong from a face that had known too many fist fights. Fifty-something and confident, he settled his forearms on his knees and pointed at Armstrong.

  “It has to be you.”

  “What must be me, asshole?”

  A punch to the side of his head had Armstrong gritting his teeth. During the fight in the foyer, his thick hat had come off, leaving him no protection against the strike. Payback was a bitch, and he would have his.

  “You’re the last one on the list. It didn’t come when the others were in danger.” The older man slid to the edge of the chair where he sat across from Armstrong. “For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why it had done it. Why it would even care. Then it came to me. It was protecting someone.”

  Armstrong had no idea what the man was talking about, although he feared it had something to do with the men in the helicopters who’d tried to kidnap Kya over the years.

  He kept silent. Besides not wanting to get hit again, he wanted the man to keep talking. If this was about Kya, he needed to know.

  “It makes sense. Dragons heal. Why wouldn’t they also care to the point of protection?”

  Damn, this was about Kya. These men couldn’t have her. No way.

  Stay away.

  She didn’t respond.

  Do you hear me, Kya? I said stay away. False alarm. I’m fine. Go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.

  “We tracked them all down. We held them. Interrogated them. But no gold dragon. Either it no longer offers its protection or we had the wrong people. Which brings us to you, Special Agent Knight. You’ll either prove my theory right or these last three years a waste of time and money.”

  The man, smaller than the others at five-ten, rose and went to the living room window. Pulling back the dark-green curtains, blue eyes looked out.

  I’m fine, Kya. Just tired. Seeing things, you know. I’m going to bed now. Let’s talk in the morning, and you can tell me what a fool I was tonight for making you worry for nothing. Go home.

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Bring it to you.” Hands clasped behind his back, the man turned to Armstrong. “Tell me what I want to know, and we’ll spare your life.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. You’re not a very good liar. What will happen if we wait here? Will it come? Or maybe I need to have one of my men take a couple of fingers and toes. Would your screams of pain bring it to your side? Is that how it works? When you’re in danger, the dragon comes?”

  He didn’t know what to say, so he went quiet again.

  The man smiled, blue eyes twinkling when he nodded to the four men.

  They jerked Armstrong from the couch, their fists connecting before he was fully upright. He fought back, striking any body part he could find. He’d neither hit so hard nor thrown so many punches. He also hadn’t ever fought for his life the way he was now.

  His coat was ripped from him as he struggled against the men.

  By the time he collapsed to the floor, bloody and breathing hard, Armstrong could no longer raise his arms to protect or defend himself. They’d broken his nose and a couple of ribs, which explained the pain in his side and the labored breathing.

  “Tell me what I want to know.”

  He wouldn’t. These men would have to kill Armstrong before he betrayed his dragon.

  “Go to hell.” The blood in his mouth was spat on the shiny black boots that hovered near his head. “And get the fuck out of my home.”

  The older man laughed and raised his booted foot over Armstrong’s bloody and swollen face. “If you’re dead, will it come? I guess I’ll find out.”

  A gust of wind swarmed into the room, toppling the men. The blond man tumbled backward, swatting at the red fog that accompanied the wind. The four bruisers were also caught up in the fog.

  Armstrong couldn’t see what had the men ensnared, but he knew it had to be Kya’s magic. He’d never seen it like this before, but he felt her presence in the room.

  The men screamed from inside the red fog. That was all Armstrong heard. The sound of five men captured, desperate, and in horrific pain.

  Armstrong struggled to his feet. Limping, he made his way around the couch and away from the fog.

  “Are you all right, Armstrong?”

&
nbsp; “Kya? Is that you inside the fog?”

  Although, he didn’t see how it could be. But it was her voice who’d spoken, different yet similar to how she sounded in his head.

  “Who else would it be?”

  Yeah, that smart mouth was his dragon.

  “How can you fit in that fog? And how come I can hear your voice outside of my head?”

  “Do you wish me to kill them?”

  “I thought you already had.”

  “Close, but they still breathe. I can change that if it’s your wish. They deserve to die. I can smell your blood.”

  Kya was an all or nothing dragon. For her kind, gray didn’t exist.

  “Don’t kill them. But don’t heal them, either.”

  Whatever she’d done to the men, Armstrong figured they deserved at least that much.

  “Kya, how are you in my home?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m here, and you’re safe. I will take these humans far away from here.”

  The red fog shifted, and so did Armstrong.

  “No, no. Don’t you dare. Tell me. Show me what you’re hiding.”

  “No.”

  “Dammit, Kya, show me.”

  Years ago, he’d had a dream about Kya. It was the night they’d first flown together. He’d fallen asleep on her back. When he’d awoken, he’d been in his bed. Armstrong could never reason how the twenty-five-foot dragon had gotten him into bed without destroying his home. No more than he’d ever been able to figure out how she managed to enter his apartment that first night.

  The fog moved toward him. Men fell out and onto the floor. No cuts or bruises, only those he’d managed to get in when they’d fought. What had she done to them?

  “This isn’t done.”

  So she said every time they ripped away one more layer that separated dragons from humans. Armstrong thought they had no secrets between them. He’d been wrong.

  The fog dispersed. In front of him stood his dream. Bronzed, beautiful, and naked. Dark spirals of hair cascaded over shoulders and to waist. Hips flared out and long legs went on forever. Breasts, full and large, were formed to succulent perfection. For all her outward beauty, the green jasper eyes had his heart clenching.