Dragon Unhinged (Royal Dragon Shifters #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

DECLAN

T he jolt of electricity slams into my side. My teeth rattle and my dragon wants to rip through the asshole holding the other end of the shock stick.

Of course, he knows exactly what he’s doing, riling up the dragon clawing at my seams, building up rage I can’t vent with these damned charmed cuffs on my wrists. The iridescent black, seamless, metal cuffs are the bane of my existence. Their power pulsing into my body, keeping my dragon from me.

My dragon is trapped inside me. And I’m trapped inside this cage or the arena where I’m forced to fight whatever supernatural creature these psychotic humans kidnapped and caged for their entertainment.

If I’m lucky, my opponent won’t put up much of a fight. If I’m not, I’m going to have to kill someone who’s still got as much will to live as I do.

Either way, I’m going to end up with blood on my talons before the night is through.

I stare off into the black tunnel in front of me, trying to push the guard, Brian, I think, out of my mind, trying not to raise to his bait. I’m in a holding cage and in a couple of minutes I’ll be escorted down essentially a cattle shoot into an arena.

The only other option is to let go of who I am, the warrior I’ve wielded my body into, and accept that I’m going to die a prisoner, without my family, without a mate, without my fucking life intact. Survival has made me a murderer and the longer I’m here the more I’m sure I’m never going to escape.

I bare my teeth and snarl at another jab from the suped-up cattle prod that probably carries enough voltage to power a small town, but my fierceness is washed away with a grimace, gritting my teeth through the pain zapping through my entire body.

“Does this hurt, dragon scum? I thought you were immortal and powerful.” Brian glares at me, as if he knows how much I want to rip his arms clean off his body and beat him with them. “I know you’d love to kill me, but you’ll never get the chance. Keep that rage for the fight.” His tone is mocking and smarmy.

He’s wrong. I will get the chance someday to wipe that fucking smirk right off his stupid face until there’s nothing left but a red smear.

When I’m not getting electrocuted or ripping out the throat of another shifter, fae, or vampire my captors throw at me, I try to connect, try to hold onto what little control I have over my scaled beast.

I’m falling victim to the Craze, but I know it’s more than just that. I know this rage, this insanity settling into my skull, is more than the Craze, more than just a need for a mate to soothe me, to share my life, to make me as happy as my brothers have been. It’s like I’m being torn from my dragon altogether.

My dragon is aching, roaring out for freedom, the chance to stretch our wings, to fly, to only have to fight, to kill, when an enemy threatens the clan. Before I was captured, the last time I battled was the night Tristian and the Opals attacked our clan and killed our parents.

For the first time since Syrena sent me and my brothers out into the world, following our heartstones, I ache to be home, to be safe, to be protected from the humans of this world. Not only can I not connect with my dragon, but I can’t connect to my family.

“All right, dragon puke, it’s time to go.” Brian uses the fucking prod to usher me down a narrow hall. With each jolt, I hit my head on the low rocky ceiling even as I hunch. It’s hardly enough to keep me from occasionally scraping my scalp along some rough stone above me, and it does nothing to keep me from stumbling on the uneven ground beneath me.

At six foot seven, I’m tall, even among dragons, and if it weren’t so debasing to be a prisoner, I could almost understand the humans’ draw to keep a beast like mine caged. When I am truly in fighting form, there are few creatures, few men, who can take me or my dragon down. Before I ended up here, I almost enjoyed the thrill of human fighting clubs, boxing matches. Watching such vulnerable creatures fight with all their might is a fascinating sight.

Now, though, my stomach churns at the thought of what I’m about to do, and it’s almost enough to give in, to let whoever my opponent is take my life, so that I can be free of these damned shackles, free of the monotony, and the empty days, and nightmare-filled nights.

Finally, the cave-like hallway opens up into a large cement arena. It is modernized for spectator comfort and fashioned with antiquated stone walls like we’re at the Coliseum or in Jabba the Hut’s dungeon. I smell my opponent before he comes into view, but I can’t get a lock on what kind of shifter I’m up against tonight. It smells as if he’s being kept in conditions not unlike my own, a constant heightened sense of fear, coupled with a lack of any sort of comforts to make us actually feel like men. Then there’s the stench of rot like his body isn’t healing, but decaying.

It wouldn’t surprise me if our captors prefer us this way—nearly feral, animalistic, and as far from human as they can make us, without letting our beasts out. This one smells like death, like he’s on his last leg. Did his captors bring him here for me to put him out of his misery?

Brian pushes me into the arena, and then slams the door behind me, waiting for the tell-tale click of the locks before he gestures for me to hold out my wrists.

There’s still two gates between my opponent and me. In my new cage, the bars are so heavily spelled, it makes my stomach clench and my body ache to just put my hands through the openings.

The pitiful excuse of a man takes more time than he needs to just to release the bands from my wrists. He knows how little time I get away from these fucking things, so he takes his time, delighting in my discomfort. His eyes are nearly black in this dark light, but they just reflect his soul, with the emotionless glee he takes in making me suffer.

I know I’m not the only shifter owned by Orran Shirakita, but I do seem to be his favorite toy to torture. The wounds from my last battle haven’t fully healed, thanks to my magical bindings. But if I don’t play along, if I don’t fight whoever waits for me, and put on a good show for his fucking friends, they’ll do worse than just leaving me bloody and bruised.

As much as I crave release from this torment, I’m also not ready to surrender, not ready to bow out like a coward. Not yet anyway.

For punishment and termination, they’ll bring out one of the women given Dragon’s Breath, and I’ll burn. I’ve seen enough to know I don’t want to die that way. Death by fire for a dragon is a defeat I can’t even begin to comprehend. Things haven’t gotten bad enough for the desire to burn.

Finally, the cuffs release, and I yank my arms back into the cell, rubbing at them as if I could wash away the magic or the bruises from their death grip on my wrists.

If only it were that easy.

The bars rise with a low groan on the side of the arena, and a low buzz of electricity echoes in my ears, warning me of what’s to come if I don’t go into the ring on my own. My hands open and close into fists. This whole hall is wired to fry me if I don’t move quick enough. I still remember the burnt stench of the bear shifter who didn’t move quickly enough and got damn-near barbecued by the currents. His fight didn’t last long with so much damage—it was a mercy to put him down.

I won’t let myself meet that same fate. My dragon rushes to the surface, nearly feral from living in the conditions we’ve been in.

At least if I die in battle, it’ll be over.

I breech the bars once they’re high enough, cringing against the high-pitched squeak as metal grinds against metal, letting the bars disappear into the cement above.

Almost immediately, a thready plead fills my head.

Just let me die.

It’s been so long since I’ve connected with another shifter, so long since I’ve gotten to hear another, it’s jarring and so foreign I almost want to push it out.

I try and keep my feet under me as my dragon pushes at the seams over my skin.

You cannot stay in there. Move. Now! I mentally roar the last word. I can’t stand the thought of bearing witness to another shifter choosing to commit suicide.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, trying to hold my dragon back. Once the beast is released, it’ll be about survival.

They took my mate.

The defeat and ache in his voice cracks in my head. His ache bleeds into my own.

You can’t just give up , I try, pleading at him.

They killed her in front of me, to ensure I would play their games. I won’t give them the satisfaction. There’s the rage he needs to move forward.

I growl low, fire churning in my belly. Then come out. Die a fighter, die an honorable death, so that you may see her again. She would not want you to give up this way.

I don’t know what it’s like to have a mate, except through stories, through seeing others find theirs, but I know that female shifters are often more fierce, stronger, than the males. I have seen the strength even humans who mate dragons have, and I cannot imagine that this shifter’s mate was any different.

Slowly, the scuffing of feet moving across the stone floor fill the silence of the ring. Losing focus on keeping my dragon at bay gives him the inch he needed to give into the magic yanking him out of me. Every bone in my body is breaking at once to reform, grow, and shift.

What was once as normal as breathing, now is as alien as my life and a special form of torture. There’s no control, no smooth transition, as a wing rips free from my back. Talons shred the skin of my hands and feet pushing the human bones away, burying them inside broken and in shambles. There’s no order to my shift, no way my body is remotely prepared for the motions I fall to the floor as my dragon gets the reins. Fire erupts out of me, charring the cement beneath me.

The other shifter hunches and tumbles out of the cage into the arena, tufts of fur sprouting over his exposed skin, his veins pop out along his arms, neck, and forehead. A roar escapes him as he tries to keep hold of control. His head grows square with a gaping mouth of sharp teeth. Orange, white, and black fur rolls over his pale skin. He falls onto all fours, his body mass growing as his hands morph into giant paws with scythe-like claws ready to reap me. Another roar pushes out of his snarling muzzle and his stripped tail swishes back and forth. He’s a magnificent tiger, reminding me a friend of mine. But this tiger shifter and I won’t be friends, we’ll be each other’s ends in one way or another.

It will be over soon. I’ll make it quick, but you have to make it look as though you want to survive. Give them a show and then you’ll be back with your mate.

Even reaching out telepathically hurts, but I push past it.

What’s your name? I ask.

Silence fills my head as I finish shifting into my dragon form.

Finally, Marcel.

Marcel, I am Declan. I promise you, this will be over soon.

For you, at least.

When my dragon form has completely taken over, I stretch my wings out slowly, wincing at the pain that settles all the way down into my bones. Taking a few shaky breaths, I ready myself for what’s to come, what has to come. I can’t hear Marcel’s thoughts, but I imagine he’s doing something similar.

Even in his fully shifted form, I can see the abuse weighing on his massive form. His fur is patchy and doesn’t have the sleek look of being well cared for, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of the way his captor treats him, or if it’s a symptom of losing the one woman in all the world he shared everything with.

Probably both.

I crouch low, projecting out to him, Attack me first. Aim for my neck.

It seems impossibly stupid to be feeding him the instructions on where to hit, where he might be able to hurt, but I know that if there’s not blood seeping from my tourmaline-colored scales before this fight is done, they may force me to stay here, shifted, to fight again until their bloodlusts are satisfied.

Marcel lowers his head slightly, a subtle nod, and then he lunges, claws spread wide. I try to ignore how gaunt he looks as he flies through the air at me, sinking his claws and teeth into my scales. I don’t want to hurt him, I want to get us out of here and to help him find a way to heal or find a better way to meet up with his mate again. A more kind way.

I whip my head around, working to shake him loose, but not without ensuring those sharp points rip through a few more scales and flesh on his way to the ground. His claws tearing through my body should hurt, it should make me scream, but it’s almost a relief against the rest of the pain I’ve been enduring.

This would hardly be a fair fight, even if he wasn’t mourning his loss, even if he weren’t so despondent.

Tigers are strong and fierce, but dragons are much bigger and have a lot more advantages. They’ve probably sent him here to die. Get their money’s worth and dispose of his carcass when it’s over.

Still, I take my time, guiding Marcel to a couple more well-placed attacks. Each time he draws blood, each time his claws sink into me, my dragon shrieks to end him, but I know what these people want.

They crave brutality. They desire animalistic rage. They create and destroy monsters.

We grapple for a few more minutes, a quick dance I choreograph on the fly, giving him every move just before we make it, until finally, I give Marcel and the spectators what they both want.

I snap his neck under my talons and raise my head to the sky, shooting a blast of fire several yards above me, signifying to even the most obtuse in the crowd my victory.

It’s short lived, though, as a new spell falls over the ring.

The loser may die, but the victor’s award is a painful, jolting sleep that tears me from my dragon once more.

I know I’ll wake up again in that damned cage, and I can’t help but feel a little bit of jealousy at Marcel’s release and freedom.

Find your mate, Marcel, and find the peace you deserve . It’s my last thought before I go under.