Burn by Penelope Fletcher
It surprised and saddened him so many of the hides glistened in shades of blue and silver.
All Wyvrae but for one bronze hide.
The fire breathers had run.
Koen wondered how he had been blinded to the true nature of the Drackai.
It had become known throughout the Dragon Lands Marina set her sights on the Ice Wreath. The Wyvrae had embraced her. They admired her tenacity, her unwavering strength in the face of overwhelming odds, a plight they related to on the deepest level.
Her death at the hands of treacherous fire breathers infuriated them.
Daniil’s presence shocked him.
The Drackai Queen’s muscular thighs wrapped around his serpentine neck were less a revelation.
Anastasia’s face was expressionless, yet her eyes remained alight with the fires of vengeance.
Her bloody katana rested unsheathed on her thigh.
Already the weapon had severed the life of a betrayer.
In the end, as Koen had looked into Galina’s eyes, he’d known hatred. A true and everlasting hatred, something he never believed himself conceivable of feeling.
Beneath his fingers she had been soft and vital. Alive. Her warm, minted breath brushed his skin, and her green eyes had been filled with regret. Regret. As if she had the right to sit before him feeling anything. That she still drew breath while his beloved was lost to a fiery grave caused a rapacious fury to devour his soul from within.
Bitterness eroded the loyalty he felt towards the others of his kind, decimated the strictures of honour he’d based his life upon.
Hovering in that endless moment of darkness, he stalked the boundaries of evil insanity.
How close he came to breaking.
Koen had known if he took her life there would be no going back. A monster would inhabit his body. His rampage would destroy the male Marina had loved.
With his heart breaking, his mind locked in a piercing roar yet to abate, Koen Raad had remembered the grace of his lost mate’s soul, and turned from darkness.
Oh, the blackness tainted him. He would not rest until the bloodlines of Ja and Tyr were wiped from existence, but it would be done the proper way – executions – by an army that would eradicate the bastards.
Captain Vadik stood at the claws of his overlord. He solemnly nodded, hawk like gaze scanning the fleeing crowds.
Lord Ryu dismissed the human, trusting him with instructions to protect his distressed heir.
Tail curled around a foreleg, Viktor sat trembling in his juvenile dragonskin. Tears wet his adolescent snout.
“Please.” Regent Myron once again claimed Koen’s attention. Eyes wild, he resorted to begging to diffuse the coming implosion. “More death will not ease your suffering. It will not bring her back.” He took a brave step, arms outstretched, beseeching. “Do not do this.”
‘It is done.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The creature wakened. Um, ouch? Its first clear thought was an incredulous whisper that ended on a hiss of pain. She tried to move, and her legs cramped. Somehow, she knew her four limbs had never walked before, never borne her heavy weight.
She wriggled her way from the hot sludge rushing past her hide, and flumped onto the smouldering bank of the lava reservoir. She tried to stand, but could only find enough energy to limply stir her tail in the hot gloop.
She lay there for a while, whimpering, confused.
Where am I?
The Dragoness couldn’t recall why she’d gone swimming, or how she’d gotten here. She remembered being angry because her back was vulnerable to an enemy, and she sensed betrayal....
A growl rumbled up her throat, and her maw cracked to bare her fangs.
Why that skinny ginger bitch.
The Dragoness tried again to rise, her mind fixed on tearing the betrayer limb from limb, setting her on fire then dousing her in a blizzard of ice shards, when another thought pierced the rage.
How did she defeat me?
Triangular, horned head tilting, she stilled, stumped.
Her memory showed a thin two-legged creature. The Dragoness knew the human female was mighty, but no match for her dragonskin.
Her snout dropped and she nosed a flaming globule of sulphur sliding down her fore claw.
The Dragoness felt bone deep shame to be bested by one so scrawny.
Why did she defeat me? Am I not powerful and strong? How will my mate ever look upon me without wondering if the other female is better?
Rather than fall into a bout of self-pity, the thought made her stiffen. She chased it down and pounced, pinning it.
A vision of sleek, tanned male flesh, and slanted green eyes alive with desire. Killer smile. Rough, possessive hands gripping moonstone flesh.
My mate is two-legged as well as Dragon.
She focused and burrowed deeper into the recesses of her mind.
I am not usually like this, am I?
She vaguely recalled looking down her body and seeing fleshy swells, a swathe of flat skin, upper limbs ending in splayed stars, and rounded flanks that connected to longer lower limbs.
Her mind recoiled.
Determined to get to the bottom of this, she narrowed her focus and the memories became clearer.
Aver. The quest. The scale. Koen Raad. Aver!
Marina Zar pushed her forelegs straight and angled her head to stare down at the paws tipped with shiny black claws in disbelief.
Well, hell. There’s no explaining this away.
Her mind held the thought then skipped beyond it.
Oh, shit. How long have I been missing?
During a quest the only thing that would keep a First Chosen from finishing was death.
They must think I’m dead. If Koen Raad thinks I’m dead....
Dread struck fear into her new, vastly great heart. She struggled to move.
Good grief, my ass must weigh a ton.
The black Dragon raged. His fury snaked through the halls, wiping away tapestries and priceless heirlooms in a flare of numinous flame. The searing heat melted the stone foundations into molten slag. Chunks of clay and slate dropped from above to smash into the lacquered floor. Intricately carved pillars burned to charcoal bricks. Hungry blue-black smoke lapped at the painted ceilings with ravenous fervour.
Blurs of sliver, sapphire and cobalt clashed with streaks of mauve, amethyst and violet.
Battling with primal wrath, Mikhail rolled past, locked in a vicious brawl with a purple-scaled Dragon.
The Dragon Lord oath-sworn to House Tyr had burnished gold horns he used to effect, thrashing his head and gouging the Council Mon’s hide.
On the other side of the burning antechamber, Daniil’s serpentine body whipped around. His pointed tail lashed out to slice the throat of a dark lavender-coloured Dragon clawing at his sides.
Silver eyes swivelling wildly, Jakob slinked past.
A group of soot-faced terrified younglings were sheltered under his leathery wings. He snarled in warning as another Dragon with pearl scales took a swipe at them. Urging them on, he snapped his fangs and hissed protectively as he led them to safety.
Treasure would be proud of him.
Pain knifed his heart, and the black Dragon turned away from human thought to submerge himself in primitive instinct.
Yet for all his mindless frenzy the black Dragon let Jakob and the younglings escape into the inky safety of night.
Babies could be spared.
Only the tainted need be cleansed with fire.
A fleeing Lady wrapped in velvet tripped over the rubble and debris. She tumbled over with a piercing cry, scattering the armful of possessions she’d clutched to her chest.
Lurching from her ungainly sprawl, she started frantically gathering the expensive trinkets.
The black Dragon stalked the female.
Head bent, she was engrossed in her things rather than her vulnerable back.
He lifted a fore claw, brought it over her head then down in front of her
Trembling violently, she slowly lifted her hooded head.
He slinked around so they were nose to snout.
“King Raad,” she whispered.
Tears welled and overflowed from bitter chocolate eyes. Age lined her face, deep grooves around her mouth and wrinkling her forehead.
Deathly pale, her mouth hung open. Her eyes seemed too large for her face, the orbs glassy with terror.
“S-s-sorry,” stammered hoarsely.
The female slithered forward and prostrated herself, cowl falling back to reveal glossy chestnut hair, and a slender throat enclosed with a thick gold choker. Her jade pendant slipped from concealment.
The symbol of House Tyr dangled from a leather chain.
“Galina wa-was wrong. My h-husband.... A-Artur never m-meant.... H-he never s-said–”
Fury obliterated coherent thought. A memory wreathed in pain blotted out the light.
“Your females too, Artur Tyr. All of them are dead because of you.”
The woman screamed, rearing back to shield her face, blinded by an emerald glare piercing through the firestorm.
Viktor watched his Sire fly in the midst of greatness.
Vadik leaned against his hide, and murmured soothing things in his ear. He shrugged his mentor away, and shuffled into a corner to hide his shameful tears.
He wept for his cousin, his young heart breaking.
It was not lordly, not manly, to show such emotion over a member of your House who died in glorious honour, but he’d loved her so. It did not matter she would forever be remembered, held dear to the hearts she had touched. All he knew was that she was gone. Her life taken before she could become the legendary Queen she had been destined to be.
Ululating wails of mourning filled the air. The Citadel widows would cry for the fallen Chosen for a day and night, as was tradition.
Pushing shakily onto his claws, Viktor did not stop running until the moisture in his eyes blurred his vision entirely.
In the beginning, he’d heard and spread rumours of her like the rest. Lies that said she was a monster, cold, calculating, and bent on twisting the Dragon King around her finger to rule the Drgaon Lands. He had assumed she would be a plain, disfigured thing, stern of bearing, and opinion. The kind of hard female that intimidated him no end, and thought he was ruined because of his halting speech. Those females – like Anastasia Vor – who seemed more likely to cut your throat then consider a mating.
Slowly, as the weeks passed, and they travelled to the Fire Kingdom for Aver, rumours of an even more outrageous kind circulated. ‘Princess Zar’, it was whispered, ‘is a warrior saint.’ She protected the weak and fed the hungry. She adopted a slave and made him a Prince. She loved the King and embraced all the people of Tzion as her own.
Viktor had been terrified for the first time in his life when he realized he was to sit next to the infamous High Princess during the commencement feast.
The radiant beauty that dropped into the seat next to him, flashing him a charming smile then offering him food, as if his personal servant, had been wholly unexpected, and consequently, beguiling.
It was no wonder the Dragon King and Lord Kol were so taken with her. She was kind and giving.
Aver had claimed her life. It was too horrible to fathom.
Viktor had meant what he said. After hearing of her kind-heartedness, and meeting her in person, he passionately hoped she would choose the Wreath and become Queen of the Wyvrae. Serving a female such as her would have made the inescapable future his Sire plotted for him bearable.
Heading higher up the mountain, Viktor breathed through his nose to filter the ash from entering his lungs, as he had been taught, and rubbed his reddened eyes with the softer side of his foreclaw.
A cautious mewl caught his attention. It came from beyond the crest of the rocks he leaned against.
Climbing nimbly on all fours, he craned his serpentine neck over.
He rumbled a low, baffled growl.
A wild Dragon female with vibrant purple-scales peered up at him, her violet eyes keen with intelligence.
She chirred throatily.
Sorrow too fresh to show interest in the peculiar encounter, Viktor slipped down the boulder to return to his aimless roaming.
The dragoness lifted into the air, descended with a rapid beating of her wings, and blocked his departure.
She chomped at his spiked tail.
A deep aggressive growl rumbled from his throat. He bared his fangs so she could see his flame.
He might be adolescent, but he would defeat the dragoness if she attacked.
She lowered her hornless head in submission.
Maintaining eye contact, she returned his narrowed gaze with what Viktor swore was frustration.
Confused at her behaviour – wild dragonesses were known to be unapproachable to Dragon Lords in dragonskin – he watched her cough smoke, almost disdainfully, before she flicked her bladeless tail in a steady wag.
The movement smacked him with the notion she tried to keep his attention.
She inched backwards back around the boulder, holding his gaze prisoner, yet keeping her snout lowered in surrender.
Curious, he followed.
Maybe she had a nest of fledglings that needed saving after the eruption.
Caves often collapsed killing the young of wild ones. It was a common enough occurrence in this part of the land, but he never heard of a dragoness asking for help.
Viktor charily followed from a distance. He was sure she wanted him to trail her, as when he stopped, she threateningly hissed and snapped. Rounding the boulder, she took him across a barren flat until the strong scent of sulphur burned his nose.
The incandescent orange glow of magma caught his eye – nothing unusual about that considering he stood in the shadow of a nodule on a volcano flank.
The creature dragging itself from the boiling stream of magma was uncommon.
Viktor stopped walking.
Utter confusion swamped him.
The dragoness was horned. Her opalescent scales were a beautiful black onyx edged with a slivery-blue sheen.
Am I truly looking at a horned, blade-tailed female? His mind rejected that. I am looking at a runty wild Dragon male with female scales?
Whatever it was, the poor creature seemed half dead.
Mindful of the torrents splintering off the core lava flow, Viktor lumbered towards the injured beast. The dragoness that led him to this place unmistakably wanted him to help. The adamant tail flicks and impatient snarls were impossible to ignore.
The black dragon caught his scent. It stilled, growled menacingly. It even sounded female.
‘Easy.’ He was not a Phoenix, the wild one would not understand him, but it would not hurt to send out peaceable thoughts. ‘I will help you.’
The purple dragoness coughed then took to the sky.
Bewildered by the hasty departure, Viktor turned his attention to the black-scaled dragon.
It accepted his presence, trembling and whimpering for help. Its hind leg looked swollen, and rested against its slender body awkwardly. Its laboured breathing seemed to become worse on each inhalation.
‘Poor creature.’ He looked into its eerily present eyes. Dark mahogany eyes filled with recognition. His heart skipped a beat and he reared back in fright. ‘C-Cousin?’
‘Viktor?’ The plaintive whisper was barely sound.
But he had heard it.
‘Marina.’
A reaction to the name, the horned dragoness tried to crawl closer, groaning lowly when she shifted, dragging her sensitive underbelly across the harsh ground.
Convinced, Viktor padded closer.
Reaching out with his tail, he dithered, realizing she was covered in scoria. Porous and ashy bistre, it cooled into a rigid, rumpled husk co
He winced.
It would feel heavy and tight, uncomfortable, not to mention scorching.
Keening, she tried to stand.
He calmed her with soothing noises and gentle waves of his tail. ‘Be easy. It must feel as if the weight of the world crushes your hide.’
She snorted smoke, choked, and then vomited runny brimstone.
The magnitude of what he had discovered was unimaginable. Viktor experienced true mind-numbing indecision.
Did he fly for help? Would she survive her appalling condition for that length of time?
Surviving the magma and breathing in ash thorough her maw instead of her nose had drained her of strength, not to mention the tremendous amount of mystical energy one expelled just to shift into dragonskin.
Without help, exposed to the elements, she could fade before help arrived. Yet, her people had to be told she was alive. Moreover, what if another came across her before then?
Shrinking back, scared, Viktor trembled under the immense responsibility thrust upon him.
‘Tell me what to do, Cousin.’
There was no reply.
Sobs echoed through the walls. Cathryn’s cries to be reunited with her friend inspired pity from the servants that watched her break apart.
Her grief raked across Koen’s soul with poisonous claws.
Bloody and gore splattered, he had barely passed her chamber when she had flown at him with a desolate kind of lunacy. Returning to the great hall after a respite from the tense aftermath of the latest raid, he had merely swept the woman aside, unable to deal with her sorrow because his own was too raw.
Mercifully, Mikhail intercepted.
When she demanded answers, begging him to contradict the rumour of Marina’s demise, the Council Mon told her the gruesome tale in a broken rush.
Her anguished scream, the sound of her body hitting the floor made his heart bleed.
Koen could not comfort the woman his Treasure had loved.
He could not even comfort himself.
The screeches of denial tearing from her throat had not abated in the hours since. The crash of random objects flying into the walls as she raged at anyone who came near added to the mad woe infecting the Citadel.