by KC Kingmaker
I cleared my head and scowled. “Why are you staring at me? It’s creeping me out.”
He said nothing.
I threw my hands in the air. “You did the same thing in Jervus’ tavern last night. What is it, huh?”
I thrust a finger toward his chest but stopped just short of touching him because I was worried I wouldn’t be able to stop once I started.
My neck was hurting from looking up at him, yet I stood my ground—I wouldn’t back down from this silent, glorious bastard.
“Just who are you, dammit? A murderer—a psychopath? I know you killed that drunk buffoon at the tavern!”
His head canted ever so slightly, his gaze examining.
Shit, does he not speak my language? People are starting to turn their heads to watch me berate this man.
It wasn’t a good look.
“Fine,” I said, frustration spilling out of me. “You don’t want to tell me who you are? Then just stay away! Or . . . or . . . somethi—I’ll tell everyone you’re a killer!”
My threats were empty. I was about to leave town, anyway. But I had to say something to fill the awkward, uncomfortable silence.
And with that, I spun on my heels and marched back toward the wagon, where Clive was getting visibly annoyed.
“Competition.”
I spun at the voice. It was just as baritone and molten as I’d expected. I desperately wanted to see those lips moving, because I’d missed it.
“W-What?” I stammered.
“You asked what I am, woman. I am your competition.”
He turned and walked away.
His words sent a fresh bout of excitement sizzling through me, chilling my bones even as my insides burst into pleasant flames.
And damn his taut ass looked good walking away.
Merlog’s saggy sack, Lev. Get it together!
With my lips parted, I worked the word over in my mouth, raising a brow as I watched him go.
“Competition.”
9
Coalt
Fernus forfend! The audacity of that woman!
I muttered to myself as I walked down the road, head dipped, and accidentally bumped into a scrawny man who’d chosen that moment to cross my path.
He sprawled to the ground in a heap. “Hey, the fuck!” he called after me, arms raised.
I grunted and continued on, lost in my thoughts.
What a debacle. Of course I had not wanted the silver vision to see me spying on her as she left town, and yet part of me was thrilled she had.
That part of me groaned to life and I had to suppress a shudder as I pulled my cloak tight.
What a forceful, loud, brazen woman! Gah, I didn’t have enough adjectives in my vocabulary to explain it.
She had shown the same grit as the night before in the tavern. Yet this time it had been directed at me and, well, it had been equally as riveting.
I hoped she hadn’t recognized the fervor pulsing through me—the fire in my veins as she rebuked me. I was fairly certain she hadn’t noticed my cock straining against my pants as she threatened me.
Typically, I did fine under pressure. But this had been anything but typical—she was anything but normal.
I had been so close to falling apart in front of her and, what, apologizing?
I scoffed at the mere thought.
I had nothing to be sorry for! I had saved her life from a would-be rapist and his gang of malcontents!
Levy, my silver vision, had made an impassioned first impression.
She hadn’t been frightened of me like most people, despite the fact I towered over her. Her face was gorgeous, her snarl somehow vicious and adorable at the same time.
And that tongue. So sharp. I wanted to cover her blabbing mouth with mine and silence her tongue, steal her breath, and feel her warmth all over me.
Why am I having this reaction?
I sighed and looked up to see where my feet had brought me.
The tavern from yesterday. Of course.
It was probably an ill-conceived idea to walk through that door right now, after the unintentional decapitation I’d partaken in the night prior, in the very spot where I now stood.
But my thoughts weren’t done harping on Levy. A bit of ale would perhaps take off some of the bite.
Against my better judgment, I walked in.
The place was mostly empty, praise Fernus. A couple drunks lingered in chairs, one man half-fallen over—collateral damage of the night before. A woman was sweeping. The place smelled rank.
As I walked toward the bar, my eyes momentarily grazed over the petite figure sweeping. I licked my dry lips and debated if I should buy one of the barkeep’s women for an hour or so to get my frustrations out.
But when I sat, I knew I wouldn’t do that.
I already had too much woman on my mind. And the idea made me feel . . . dirty. Less than. My status as a prince of the Summer House wouldn’t dignify it.
I am Firesworn. Not a lecher.
Levy, though . . .
As abrasive as she seemed, I had enjoyed it. I wanted more of it. It was a shame, then, that she was my adversary in this.
I could have followed her wagon to find out where I needed to go. It was a plausible move. All I knew was Cerophus City, without the specifics of who she was meeting.
But I needed to get ahead of her—not follow behind, always on her trail. That wouldn’t work.
The pretty woman finished her sweeping and rounded the bar with her head down, a tight smile on her face.
I recognized her as the poor girl Bastio and his thugs had tried passing around, before the barkeep Jervus had told him to stop.
“Clareen, yes?” I said. “I’ll take a mug of your strongest ale.”
Her smile widened as she raised her head to look at me. “Right away, Ver—” she faltered midsentence. Her eyes flashed with fear, mouth frozen open. “. . . o.”
The muscles of her neck tightened. She said no more, but diligently poured a mug full and placed it in front of me. Then she scampered off into a backroom.
I shrugged aside the strange interaction and went about my business, guzzling down my drink.
A thought passed through me and I guffawed in disbelief. That foolish man in the wagon—what had he said? Ah, yes: ‘Go kiss your boyfriend goodbye!’
Boyfriend!
What an absurd assumption. Did no one in this cesspool of a town recognize my garb? Had that man truly thought a fire dragon prince would be so intimately associated with the likes of a loud-mouthed, Unscaled bounty hunter?
Doubt crept up inside me as I finished half my ale. I had to pause, furrowing my brow.
Would it be such a bad thing to be intimately associated with the silver vision?
Yes, yes, of course it would be.
I have to think about Dyna, back in the Emberlands.
A ragged groan ripped through my lungs as I glanced up at the ceiling in frustration. When I looked back down, Clareen was there, and the owner of the tavern was standing beside her.
“Yes, um, Vero,” Jervus croaked, scratching near his receding hairline. His huge eyes were even bigger. It was almost frightening to see. “Hello.”
“Well met.”
“Y-You can’t be he—I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His giant eyes darted past me.
I didn’t fear any of the town guards, of course. I knew no one was behind me, too, because I would have smelled them.
“Why?” I asked.
“I think you know why.”
Ah. His balls were growing a bit. “Enlighten me.”
He fidgeted. “Look, Vero, we don’t want any trouble.”
“I’m not causing any.”
“But you did last night!” he hissed, leaning forward. “We all saw what you did to Bastio! Or at least heard it inside here.”
Clareen chirped like a bird. “I can still hear the thud of his head smacking on the mud outside.” She shivered.
I canted my he
ad at her. “I would have thought I was doing you a service, Vera. Had he not been groping you just minutes prior to his unfortunate demise?”
She looked down. “Y-Yeah, but—”
“You can’t just go chopping people’s heads off in this town!” Jervus cried. “We’re not barbarians! Just who in Merlog’s name are you?”
I had kept my identity a secret thus far, but I was growing tired of it. I downed the rest of my ale and slammed it on the counter, causing Clareen to squeak again.
I stood from the stool and Jervus took an instinctive step backward. Wise, that, even though he was in no real danger.
Striking a tall stance, I flared my eyes at the barkeep.
The color drained from his lizard-like face. He could have been a distant cousin of mine if I didn’t know better.
“I am Coalt Firesworn, first son to Dante Firesworn, and the Prince of the Summer House. I call the Emberlands my territory and anyone who’d like to object to my claim will have to face me.”
Clareen’s mouth fell open in a satisfying O. “Fire dragon!” she whispered harshly, her eyes sparkling with fear and awe.
Good. That was the response I’d been expecting.
But Jervus’ expression was a bit more anticlimactic. He furrowed his brow in confusion, as if I’d been speaking a different language.
“Uh, that’s all well and good, Vero,” he said. “And please don’t bite my head off for asking you this, but, uh, why the fuck are you here?”
The wind shot out of my sails, my sturdy shoulders deflating a bit. I looked down at my empty mug. “Because I wanted a drink?”
He flapped his hands. “No, no. I mean in Belfue!”
I frowned. He was right. I had come with a purpose, and Levy had distracted me. What a witch.
“To speak with Chief Garnu . . .” I muttered, trailing off. I felt like a bit of a fool.
“Well, you won’t find him in here, Vero.” Jervus nodded profusely. “Though I won’t tell him you’ve been by if you leave now.”
My eyes flared again, this time reflexively. Clareen gasped.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. A new fire breathed to life inside me. “He’ll know where I am soon enough. Thank you, barkeep.” With that, I turned and stormed out.
I knew where I needed to go.
I TRUDGED UP THE HILL and pushed through the doors of Chief Garnu’s large house.
Somehow, no guards tried to stop me. None awaited me inside the first hall.
Perhaps they were all scattered throughout the town, searching for me, and the chieftain didn’t think anyone would have the audacity to confront him in his own abode.
Personally, I believed it showed his gall by presuming he’d be safe here without any guards.
I found the lanky worm in the third room I searched—an eating room where he sat at an ornate table, a stern guard watching over him.
Okay, so he has one protector.
Right when I waltzed into the room, the guard’s sword came out of its scabbard and his eyes widened in surprise. He was a hefty man in full armor and an iron helmet.
As the guard charged me wordlessly, his sword arced in the air at my face.
My arm lashed out with supernatural speed.
My fist slammed into his nose and he immediately collapsed to the floor, unconscious, his sword clattering after him.
He had forgotten to close the iron visor of his helmet.
Garnu bolted up, trying to slither away as he chucked his food bowl at me and bits of steak spattered against my royal clothes.
I closed the gap in three strides and cut him off before he could escape, one hand going to the sword at my hip while the other shoved him up against the wall.
“You fucking fool!” Garnu gasped, spittle flying from his snarling mouth. “Guards will be here in seconds and they’ll slay you! You’d better kill me quick!”
I winced as the spittle hit my face. And Fernus forfend, the man’s teeth were tiny! I’d never seen anything so bizarre.
“I’m not here to kill you,” I said. To show I meant it, I took my hand off the handle of my blade and loosened my hold on his collar. “I’m just here for information.”
He hissed, “And why should I tell you anything, cretin?”
“Because you’ve already told countless people.”
He looked totally perplexed.
“I realize it was foolish of me not to come here in the first place, but now that you have people searching for me, thinking I’m a killer . . . well.”
“What on Merlog’s hairy back are you talking about?”
I let go of his collar and brushed aside the wrinkles I’d created. “Cerophus City. Where are you sending the bounty hunters?”
“Why? Are you one of them?” He straightened himself to present a more dignified stance.
“You could say that.”
His eyes veered over my taller body and the red dragon imprint near the hem of my tunic. I had come into town without my full battle regalia, not trying to make a scene. But I’d already failed in that.
His jaw bunched as his eyes inspected the emblem. “You call yourself a dragon yet you storm the quarters of a verified town leader? What are you, an outcast? An exile? No dignified dragon shifter would—”
“I could prove to you what I am, if you’d like,” I interjected, growing tired of him. I grinned darkly, eyes searching the area. “Though I can’t expect your house would live through the carnage.”
He gulped, a measure of doubt passing over his features.
I seemed to have scared him into silence. “Now stop stalling and tell me what I want to know.”
When he finally opened his mouth, I heard footsteps in the distance, far outside, probably still too far for Garnu to hear. “And hurry,” I warned, pushing my hand up against his collar again.
“Manek,” he said quickly, then cleared his throat and went on his tiptoes with his back pressed against the wall. “My associate in Cerophus City is named Manek.”
“Why do you want the sword?”
“Because it is my birthright! If you claim to be from the Summer House, as your tunic suggests, then you must know! Perhaps we’ve started on the wrong foot.”
His eyes gleamed with hope now, but that tiny-toothed smile unnerved me.
“You’re delusional,” I said.
He hissed as I let him go and turned around.
It was time to leave. The footsteps had stopped outside the front door—at least five pairs of them.
“Ha!” he cried, and the fool annoyingly followed me down the hall, trying to goad me. “You call yourself a dragon? What did you do, maraud a trader on the road and steal the prized tunic he stole from a fallen shifter? You fraud!”
I came to the front door and stopped. I had to admit I was easily goaded.
The guards were right outside. I could smell, feel, and hear them through the wooden door, their iron clinking as they drew their swords and prepared to ambush me.
I sighed. Well, I tried to leave peacefully, didn’t I?
I unsheathed both swords at my hips then took off my cloak.
“W-What are you doing?” Garnu asked, his face falling.
I wrapped the swords in my cloak and crouched to tie the bundle around my right ankle in a loose knot, letting the makeshift sack rest on the floor.
“Guards! Guards! He’s doing something!”
I stood to my full height just as the front door swung opened.
“You wish to see what I am, do you?” My wild grin made Garnu backpedal. “I think that’s the last time you’ll be so careless with your wishes, Chief.”
I winked at him and he gasped, slapping a hand to his mouth—
Then I shifted.
10
Levia
Competition, eh?
That’s what he had called himself. I couldn’t stop thinking about it as the wagon made its slow crawl through the lush grassland. The trip was uncomfortable, my butt constantly bouncing on the hardwood base
. Every little divot in the crappy road shot pain up my spine. But it was better than walking.
I glowered at my giant backpack on the other side of the wagon, nestled against a huge pile of furs. I wasn’t looking forward to lugging that thing around once Clive dropped me off.
And I was driving myself crazy thinking about my amber-eyed “competitor.”
He had sounded so smoldering and sexy—exactly what I’d wanted to hear. Did he lower his voice for my benefit?
I laughed, realizing how silly I sounded. He had somehow turned me into a wide-eyed admirer, which was ridiculous.
We’d been traveling for hours and yet the mysterious hunk was still on my mind. Behind us, Belfue wasn’t even visible. All around us was just an ocean of gently swishing, tall grass.
I was too bored to think about anything else, really. I wasn’t used to being cooped up in a moving cage. It made me antsy.
We weren’t far enough along for me to miss Blythe yet, and weren’t close enough to my destination to have any excitement coursing through my veins.
Instead, it was just a strange sense of longing I was unfamiliar with. And it was all Amber Eyes’ fault.
The waning sun blasted the land, morphing it into a picturesque heath with sun glinting off the coarse grass to reflect in my eyes and blind me.
Poking my head out the back of the wagon, I noticed mountains in the distance, but not in the direction we were headed. We were coming upon a light wooded area, which I thought we’d reach by sundown.
I craned my neck around the side of the wagon and could see the top of Clive’s head bouncing along where he guided Franny and the other horse down the trail.
I narrowed my eyes. I suspected Clive would announce our first stop for the night at the edge of the woods, so we could hide our campfire.
That’s when I would learn the measure of the man. Around campfires was where you discovered things about people: their whims, stories, history. It was hard to lie when you were staring into the heart of a fire and your soul was reflected right back at you.
I didn’t anticipate any problems with Clive, but I still had to be wary. I was a woman in a degenerate man’s world, and I’d be alone with him . . . in the woods.
