8. Caspian
CASPIAN
T en wyverns breached our wards—the first time that had happened since we’d taken this fortress a decade ago. The alarms barely finished their first wail before the beasts blotted out the sky.
A Kharvox led the pack. Our spies had reported rumors about alpha wyverns—cunning, cruel, and bred specifically for dragon-killing by the White Witch’s covens. We hadn’t expected one at our doorstep so soon. Definitely not leading a coordinated attack.
The Kharvox was nearly as massive as Drakken’s dragon form, easily forty feet from snout to tail. Jagged crimson scales covered its body, each the size of a hand and overlapping like armor. They looked forged in fire and drenched in blood.
The enemy pack split into three formations. Six came straight for Drakken and me in the air. One hung back, circling high above the battlefield to observe. The last three dove toward the courtyard, where soldiers scrambled into defensive positions.
I gripped Drakken’s scales tighter as he banked hard. “Fuck. These beasts have strategies. That’s not natural—someone’s controlling them.”
The dragon with shimmering black-and-gold scales spun mid-air, his spiked tail whipping around to pierce a wyvern clean through the chest. The creature’s scream cut off abruptly as it fell.
I held onto his scales. “Less spinning. More straightforward fight!” I yelled into the wind. “I’ve got your six.”
He listened and charged toward the Kharvox, roaring his fury. The deafening sound made me wince.
“Less roaring, more fire!” I flung a dozen cards toward the heads of the approaching wyverns in rapid succession.
In aerial combat, I was Drakken’s ace backup.
My throwing skills and my ability to anticipate his movements made sure of that.
These weren’t ordinary playing cards but spelled weapons, each enchanted with cutting runes and explosion glyphs so the wind couldn’t disrupt their trajectory.
I never missed. It was my gift, my contribution to our partnership in the sky.
My cards sliced into all six beasts, cutting through tough hide, but they kept coming, barely slowed.
These new breeds were far tougher than anything we’d faced before.
The White Witch’s war mages had clearly upped their game breeding this new generation of freaks, probably feeding them both magic and human flesh.
To the deepest hell with the White Witch.
Battle raged in the air and on the ground. The wind carried the smell of ozone and rot from these beasts, making my eyes water. And the sounds they made—chittering like insects mixed with distorted shrieks that made my wolf want to claw its way out.
The dragon spewed a jet of blue fire toward the Kharvox, hot enough to melt stone.
The alpha wyvern countered with its own dark orange flames.
I hoped Aelindor was watching this from below while he led the ground defense.
Wyverns shouldn’t be able to breathe fire, as they weren’t dragons.
This was another modification. Another abomination.
I dropped flat against the dragon’s back to avoid being burned alive as the two streams of fire met. The air seemed to ignite. The heat was so intense, even through my enchanted clothes, that I felt my skin burning.
The dragon crashed into the Kharvox before their fires died out.
They grappled mid-air in a brutal display of primal violence—biting with jaws that could crush steel, clawing with talons designed to rend flesh, tearing at each other with savage fury that sprayed blood in all directions.
Their combined battle cries pierced my eardrums as I clung desperately to Drakken’s scales, my fingers finding purchase between the ridges.
The force of their collision nearly threw me off.
As they engaged in brutal aerial maneuvers—barrel rolls, dives, vertical climbs—I waited for my moment. When a long-necked wyvern swept in to attack Drakken’s flank, I leaped from the dragon’s back onto the creature’s spine.
Only three of them remained, harrying us in the air.
Flaming iron arrows from our archers flew toward the underbellies and wings of the remaining beasts.
The wyvern I’d landed on twisted its neck with unnatural flexibility, vertebrae cracking.
Its massive jaw opened to reveal jagged fangs dripping with venom that hissed when it hit the air.
I brought my dagger down on its ugly skull with both hands and drove the enchanted blade through scales and muscle, through bone and tissue and whatever passed for a brain in these abominations. The beast shrieked and convulsed violently beneath me.
Without waiting for the wyvern to plunge to earth and take me with it in its death spiral, I kicked off its scales hard, leaped over twenty feet, and landed in a crouch on the dragon’s back.
Below us, the courtyard was pure chaos—fire and blood, screaming, soldiers fighting the three wyverns that had landed. Aelindor’s vines had caught one, crushing it like a python with its prey.
As the dragon tore the Kharvox apart—spraying crimson scales and gore, ripping out its throat and then its wings—I sent waves of my spelled cards toward the remaining wyvern.
The last one, which had stayed out of the archers’ range, turned and fled, shrieking as it went.
The sound carried for miles. It must be reporting to its master—this had been a probe, a test of our defenses.
And then, the battle wound down.
The dragon dove back toward the ground, then banked so hard he shook me off from about ten feet up.
I rolled to absorb the impact. If I weren’t a powerful shifter with enhanced muscles and bones, I’d have at least a twisted ankle or two .
Fucking dragon.
And everyone said I complained too much.
No time to curse him, though. I needed to get to the infirmary.
Nikolai had carried the girl inside when the wyvern attacked.
I didn’t want him alone with her for long—not that I doubted his honor.
He wouldn’t bite her without permission; we had rules about that.
But I’d felt this strange possessiveness toward her ever since she’d snuggled against me on the bullet train back to base.
Even unconscious and smelly during the whole journey, she’d grown on me. There was something about her, the way she’d punched Nikolai despite being half-dead, the fire in her eyes before she’d passed out. The war paint on her face spoke of survival and strength.
I didn’t want her first view to be Nikolai’s stupid face when she woke.
Even less did I want her mistaking the vampire as her savior or forming a trauma bond with him.
I understood psychology well enough—the person who’s there when you wake from a nightmare becomes important, becomes trusted in ways that bypass reason.
If any bond was to be forged with this mysterious girl who disguised herself as a boy, it should be with me.
After all, I’d carried her for fucking five miles on foot through the Scorched Wastes while neither Aelindor nor Nikolai offered to share the burden.
Well. They might have offered at some point.
I might have shot them down with a particularly sharp tone and possessive growling .
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Drakken stepped into my path, utterly naked and not caring in the slightest about his full-frontal display. His dragon form had shredded his clothes.
When had he shifted back so fast?
I looked up at the now-empty sky to show my exasperation before scowling at him.
“It’s shower time, Drakken,” I lied smoothly. “I’m covered in wyvern blood and it reeks.”
“There’s more work to do.” He crossed his muscled arms over his chest. I’d rather see the girl’s dirty, unconscious face than the dragon shifter’s nudity. “Bodies to burn before the wyverns corrupt the ground. Wards to repair before another attack. Strategies to discuss.”
“The soldiers can handle cleanup.” I tried stepping around him. “Strategies can wait.”
He moved to block me. “We need to talk about the attack. That Kharvox was modified, enhanced. This changes things.”
“It can wait until after I shower.” I put more force behind the words.
“Since when do you fuss about a little blood?” He narrowed his gray eyes. They saw too much—had known me since we were preteens fighting for our lives.
“I’m being polite.” I should have led with a different excuse. “You really want to police when I take a shit now?”
“You’re hiding something, wolf.” He wasn’t buying it for a second. He jerked his thumb toward the barracks. “The men’s restroom is that way.”
Fuck. He knew .
“Fuck off, Drakken.” I shook my head in disgust and made a show of strolling in the direction he pointed, just to throw him off my trail.
The moment I turned the corner and knew I was out of his line of sight, I doubled back and sprinted toward the infirmary at full shifter speed.
I’d sensed Drakken shift back to his dragon form—felt the pulse of magic that always accompanied his transformation—and watched through a window as he launched himself toward the spring for one of his long, luxurious baths.
And he’d challenged me about needing a shower. The hypocrisy.
That dragon wasn’t normal, even by dragon standards.
For one, he loved long, hot baths with specific temperatures and scented oils he had imported at ridiculous expense.
For another, he didn’t chew on raw meat like a proper predator but constantly demanded it cooked medium rare and seasoned with herbs.
And for three, even in his massive beast form, he refused to sleep on hard ground like any sensible dragon would.
I’d seen his lair—the one only us heirs were allowed to enter. Inside, two king-sized mattresses pushed together made a bed large enough for his dragon form. He indulged himself in silk sheets and mountains of pillows, which was absolutely ridiculous for a creature covered in scales.
I’d never known a dragon could be that high-maintenance, but I had no basis for comparison. Drakken was the last of his line. His entire royal family had been executed; his head would’ve rolled too if not for Aelindor.
The only things that convinced me he was a true dragon and not just a very large, very prissy mutant lizard were his instinctive love of hoarding valuables in his cave—gold, gems, magical artifacts, rare books—and his compulsion to burn things when frustrated. That part was pure dragon.
I broke into a full run, my boots pounding against stone. I’d already wasted too many precious minutes on Drakken and his stupid interrogation.
I knew this urgency to reach the new girl was ridiculous, borderline irrational.
But I wanted to be the first face she saw, the first voice she heard when she opened her eyes in safety.
The image of Nikolai alone with my charge kept flashing through my mind—him standing over her, staring at the veins on her neck with that hungry look, his fangs descending, his control slipping, him lunging forward before he could fucking stop himself.
All the way back to the fortress, he’d mentioned three separate times that her blood smelled like no other, like nectar and honey and midnight sun. It called to him on a primal level, a dangerous temptation even for a vampire prince.
My mind jumped to how her breast had felt under my palm even through the rough fabric.
Distinctly female and perfectly shaped. Her heart had fluttered like a trapped bird under my touch.
My cock had hardened instantly at the contact, possessive lust I’d never felt searing through my veins and making my wolf howl with need.
It was a completely new experience for me, and I’d bedded countless women.
I regretted letting the vampire double-check her breasts, letting him slip his hand under her rag-shirt while I just watched.
That privilege should have been mine.
I charged into the seclusion room, throwing the door open hard enough that it banged against the wall.
Just as the girl’s eyes fluttered open, midnight blue meeting mine with dark rage in them.