Chapter One
Iron Hall
The ancient corridors were quiet and still as Marcus soundlessly walked through the underground city.
It had been three days since he’d first heard the plaintive whisper of his name drifting to him like a ghost’s caress.
That should have been enough to keep him from the atrium, but he couldn’t resist the draw to that place.
It was as if someone—something—had latched onto his soul and called for him.
He hadn’t been the only one to sense that something was off.
Constantine had used magic to block the long, caved-in hallway connected to the atrium.
That was the only thing preventing Marcus from striding down it now.
He couldn’t make up his mind if he was thankful that Con had taken such drastic actions or not.
When Marcus first heard the whisper, it had taken him aback. He’d thought he had just imagined the voice. He even went so far as to dismiss it. Yet it kept reaching out with a faint “Hello.” Almost as if whoever—or whatever—it was knew he was there.
The Dragon Kings had taken up residence in the forgotten city, but they had yet to decode all its secrets.
It was supposed to be a refuge, a sanctuary for them and their family and allies, but they were discovering they had to be on guard, even in Iron Hall.
There were secrets under every stone and around each corner.
Something was down that corridor. Of that, he was sure.
The city was constructed in connected sections in order to aid in preserving the structure and it was so well designed that, after abandonment, while a few areas sustained damage, the rest of the city remained intact.
But it held a flaw—a fatal one, at that.
If struck at the right locations with the right force, the entire city could be ravaged within seconds.
That was the case with one of the halls attached to the atrium, and the very reason he was there.
His main flaw was becoming so engrossed in his work that everything else faded away.
Hector had vanished only steps away without Marcus realizing it, simply because he had been too intent on repairing the city to be aware of what was happening.
It was only after Hector disappeared that Marcus discovered that the city was in danger.
Luckily, they’d found Hector, and Iron Hall had been saved—barely.
Marcus rubbed his forehead, inwardly berating himself for his lack of attention.
He hadn’t always been this way. He had been through so many changes over his very long life that he no longer tried to think about the past. The one thing he knew for certain was that nothing stayed the same.
Pain dulled. Anger could be quashed. Even the sharp ache of loss eventually became blunted.
But the Dragon King he’d been had died the day he helped to send his clan from Earth.
His feet slowed as flashes from that day flickered in his mind.
He stopped in the silence of the hallway and looked down it.
The light from the wall torches reached his boots, shining upon them like a halo.
As bright as the light was, it barely reached his knees while the rest of him stood in darkness.
All he had to do was take half a step forward and he would be in the light, but it seemed as if the hand of fate had stopped him there to show him that nothing he did would ever completely shake off the darkness that had enveloped him that long-ago day.
How naive he had once been to think that becoming a Dragon King would solve everything.
He, like so many other Kings, had reached for the position without a second’s hesitation.
How could they not, if the magic had seen into their hearts and chosen them?
It meant that each and every one of them was worthy of holding the position.
It wasn’t that Marcus thought his duties as a King would be easy. Rather, he assumed that he would know what to do in every situation. How bold and arrogant of him. How confident and utterly foolhardy.
Then the world he’d known and loved had gone up in flames, taking everything he held dear in one fell swoop. He, along with the rest of the Kings, had been plunged into a nightmare that some were still living in, even after countless millennia.
One didn’t simply wake from something like that without deep, lasting wounds. The scars might be hidden from the world, but they were there all the same. Inflamed and festering day by day. Even if they scabbed over, something would always chafe the lesion, irritating it until it bled once again.
It was a cycle he couldn’t seem to get out of.
And he had stopped trying.
Long after the dragons had been sent away and the Kings finally emerged from Dreagan, Marcus had found himself in a world he didn’t recognize.
Learning how to coexist with humans while hiding who he really was and pretending not to want to unleash a torrent of dragon fire on the world had been one of his greatest trials.
It had taken a tremendous amount of effort to calm his ire, and he only managed that by finding the things that gave him joy—building and planning.
He had designed and erected every structure on Dreagan, from their home to the many distillery buildings. And then he’d come to Zora to build Cairnkeep, a manor for the capital on the dragon’s land. Soon after, they discovered Iron Hall, and he’d found himself here to help repair the city.
The dragons on Zora barely tolerated the Kings and refused to abide any humans on their land, regardless of whether the Kings brought them.
The dragons were descendants of those from Earth, so it was understandable how their aversion to humans would grow.
Iron Hall was perfect for the Kings, their mates, and the children and other magical beings needing a place to hide.
It was large enough that over half of it was situated under dragon land, with the other half on the human side.
Marcus looked down the corridor, his superior vision letting him see clearly into the darkness.
Each time he thought of the atrium and the voice, he remembered the cold hand of terror that had gripped him.
He wanted to find who the voice belonged to but also worried about what the revelation might mean.
He stepped out of the light and into the darkness, putting his back to the wall and closing his eyes.
The last time he had been so restless was the day he’d lost his clan.
Something was down that hallway. Con wanted more time, but for what?
The only way to see what awaited everyone—and called out to him—was to go down there and investigate.
Marcus turned his head to the side, raising his eyelids. The voice had called him by name. Did it know him? Could it see him? Why him, of all the Kings?
Or had it called others by name, too?
After all, he hadn’t been the only one to hear it.
Evander had, as well. Ryder had walked halfway down the corridor, and while he had felt the same sinister threat, he hadn’t said anything about voices.
Marcus wanted to know if others had heard their names being called, but he was hesitant to ask.
If they hadn’t, they might think he was losing his mind.
If they had, Con would be even more adamant about waiting.
Marcus looked down at his jeans, tee, and thick-soled boots.
He hadn’t worn a suit in weeks. His love of designing and constructing eventually evolved into a highly successful business that brought in considerable assets for the Kings.
Though nothing surpassed the profits of their whisky, Dreagan.
It hadn’t been difficult to clear his schedule to come to Zora.
He wouldn’t have cared what he had to do to see the dragons again.
After he had stepped through the Fae doorway onto Zora and heard the dragons, he’d lifted his gaze to the sky to see them.
Being on a different planet and away from the Dragon Kings had changed many things for the dragons.
They no longer remained in clans designated by color.
They intermingled in life and with their mates.
There were dragons of mixed colors now, and they were a spectacular sight to behold.
Whatever homecoming he had expected from the Lavenders was hastily dispelled.
The only thing that had kept the Kings together and slogging through the endless years on Earth was the hope that they would find the dragons again someday.
Perhaps they should’ve expected the dragons to have centuries of built-up anger and resentment.
Just one more of the Kings’ failings.
He blew out a breath and straightened as he pushed away from the wall.
Once more, he wandered the city as he did every night.
His patrol rotation had finished hours ago, but he didn’t bother returning to his chamber.
He never stayed there for long. Dragons didn’t need sleep, and he couldn’t stand to be idle.
They’d taken him off the guard rotation at the borders after he and Ryder ventured into the caved-in hall and lost time.
Marcus didn’t want anyone in the hallway.
Each time someone got close, he had the overwhelming impulse to stop them—at whatever cost. And he couldn’t explain why.
Ryder had also felt the impulse, which made sense, since they had walked the corridor together.
Strangely, however, Evander had felt it, too, and he hadn’t been with them.
Or had he? Perhaps Evander had been there, and none of them could remember.