Chapter 4
Eighteen Years Old
Cold.
It’s the first sensation I register when I wake up. The chill makes no sense to my sleep-muddled mind and even less as hazy half dreams fade.
Did the AC go into hyperdrive? Early fall in Georgia still means heavy, humid air, which causes the sheets to cling to my skin, so I normally wake up with an urge to take a shower.
This dry, frigid sensation isn’t exactly uncomfortable.
The mystical fire that always burns in my chest and hands keeps my body toasty, even in winter.
The discomfort comes from the strangeness.
Why am I cold when I should be hot?
When I force my heavy eyelids open, my surroundings answer none of my questions. This isn’t my bedroom with its high ceilings, broad windows, and walls plastered with band posters. These walls are bare, metal, and close enough that I can reach out and touch one.
I sit up, immediately regretting the move when my brain rocks and tilts, as if I were drunk.
No, wait. I’m not the one rocking. The room is.
Just then, a door swings open, one with rounded corners and a circular window.
“Good. You’re awake.” My dad strolls in, taking up too much space. “We’ll be docking in a half hour.”
If anything, I’m more confused, both by his words and his outfit.
Maximus Blaythorn spends most of his days in a suit. Dressing down means slacks and a polo shirt. Even his pajamas have buttons. If he puts on a coat, best believe that tailored garment is a peacoat, made of the finest wool.
So, why is he wearing a bright orange puffy coat, unzipped to show a set of army-green overalls?
“Where are we?” I croak the words and realize I’m fucking thirsty.
“Antarctica.” He glares down at me, his blue irises glowing the way all dragons’ do when experiencing strong emotions.
“What?” The blaze of my own reflects off his pale face. “How? When?”
Damn The Winged One’s tricks. When I fell asleep, I was in Georgia, exhausted from a night of loving Esme for the first time.
This is impossible.
“Your mother gave you a sleeping draft. We knew you would cause problems, and frankly, I have no patience for your disrespect. After that, it was simply a flight to Ushuaia in Argentina and a passage on the colony’s transportation ship.”
By flight, he means on his private plane, of course. I bet no commercial airline would be cool with him hauling my unconscious body into a first-class seat.
“Why?” But that’s naive. I know why. I stepped out of line for love. “Why here?”
My parents discussed spending a stint in the dragons’ Antarctic colony when they got older and I was out of the house. This was never supposed to be a family trip. There’s no point to me being here when I have no intention of taking my dragon form.
“Because you obviously do not comprehend how much you lowered yourself. We never should have moved to that town. Anywhere else, the distinction would have been clear. We are Blaythorn dragons, distinguished, even among our kind. Our internal forges burn like no other. Here, you will see the respect we deserve. Here, you will understand how much more you can demand from the world.” His expression is feverish by the end of his preaching of his self-aggrandizing worldview.
I’ve heard it all before.
“So, what? You want me to interact with colony dragons? They’re all in beast form.” And stuck that way for roughly forty years from the time they released their beast.
That’s the difference between our kind and other shifters. We can’t blink and go between forms.
When dragons transform, we must hold that shape for decades.
Hence the need for a colony far from prying human eyes. Seems like a failing rather than a bragging point to me.
“Plenty of our kind live near the colony in our two-legged form.” His jaw tightens as he stares toward the door, as if he can already see our destination.
“And there are other ways to communicate. In just the first day, you will see the difference. You will understand what my words haven’t been able to teach you. ”
I hate this, but I’m trapped. My father holds the power now, having cut me off from the rest of the world.
No money. No connections. No way to leave a fucking frozen wasteland, inhabited only by mythical beasts.
The only way I can get back to Folk Haven, return to Esme, is if I play along.
Ooh and aah over these great dragon traditions and impressive family lineages he always waxes on about.
And when he’s convinced himself I’m properly brainwashed, he’ll take us back to civilization. Maybe not directly to Folk Haven if he’s written off the place, but somewhere that I can get away. Leave his house forever. After this, I’ll never trust my parents again.
Get through this. Get back to her.
“Fine,” I agree with resentment in my tone. Can’t fully flip my switch and become the devoted model son or else he’ll get suspicious. “I’ll communicate with whatever dragons you want me to.” I glance around the stark cabin. “Is there a phone on this boat I can use?”
What is Esme thinking? We sleep together, and I disappear the next day. She’s the smartest woman I know, so she’ll figure out this isn’t just me blowing her off. But I can’t imagine what I would do if the roles were reversed. If I didn’t know where she’d gone.
I’d tear the town apart.
“So you can contact that harpy?” He shakes his head, disgust in his sneer. “You will forget her.”
Never.
“Get dressed.” He strolls toward the door. “We’re leaving as soon as we dock.”
When I’m bundled in the best quality winter gear money can buy, I meet my father on the deck of the vessel. Icy wind tries to cut at my face, but doesn’t bother me much. The extra layers mean I don’t have to call on too much of my internal fires to stay warm.
Still, I miss the balmy heat of Georgia.
Navigating through icebergs, we come upon a settlement that looks more like a space station. There’s nothing meant to be aesthetically pleasing. These structures were built for survival.
I expect my father to lead me into one of the buildings, sit me down in a chair, and have some other pompous assholes lecture me on what a glorious thing it is to be a dragon with a well-known family name. Instead, with a firm hand on my shoulder, he directs me to a vehicle.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, looking around for her slender form.
“She’ll be here in a few days.”
Fuck. So, this isn’t going to be just a day or two visit.
A man with a bushy beard and rosy cheeks gets behind the wheel, and my father sits in the passenger seat, leaving me on my own in the back.
As the man drives us through the intimidating landscape, I silently wish Esme were here.
Not only because I miss her and want to be wherever she is.
But also because the curious harpy would find this place fascinating.
She would make this trip fun rather than my personal hell.
After an hour of driving, a note of foreboding sounds in my head. “How much farther?”
“Ten minutes to the boundary,” our driver responds.
The boundary of the town? At least, I hope there’s something like a town, where our kind live in human form near the colony. But what structures or businesses could last in this harsh climate?
When the vehicle stops, I don’t see anything but a long stretch of snow outside the window.
“On foot from here.” The bearded man pushes open his door, and my father follows suit.
Could I steal this truck? Drive back and sail away?
But there’s no road, and I doubt the boat captain would leave without my father.
So, I climb out and trudge behind the two men.
Not long until the bearded guy reaches up a hand in a clear signal to stop.
Despite the below-freezing temperature, he removes a glove, does something with his hand, and presses his palm against what I thought was empty air.
A red light erupts from his hand, patterns spiraling out until we stand in front of a glowing arch of light-infused symbols.
“Through. Now.”
Too confused at the display to protest, I allow my dad to shove me forward, under the arch. The air is just as cold on the other side yet calmer.
And that’s when I hear the roars.
“Welcome to the colony,” the bearded man grunts, his expression stony.
The archway collapses behind us, and in that moment, I know I’ve made a mistake.
“Fuck!”
I try to charge back the way we came, but I crash into a force that flings me spinning backward through the air.
I hit the ground hard, wheezing with the impact.
Lying facedown in the snow, air knocked out of me, I can’t fight when my father takes the opportunity to grasp my arms and twist them behind my back.
Painfully cold metal surrounds my wrists.
“Wha—” I gasp, still choking on my breath.
“Magicked cuffs. You want out of them? Then shift. They can’t contain a dragon.” His harsh words make no sense.
Shift? Get stuck in a form I can’t leave for forty years? No way in hell.
The true purpose of this pilgrimage slams into me harder than the magic of that barrier.
He means for me to live here. To give over to the dragon and separate myself from the human world for decades.
Fifty-eight. If I shift today, Esme will be fifty-eight next time I see her. A life lived without me.
My mate stolen from me by time.
“No!” I roar, fighting against the bonds. “You can’t make me!”
“We’ll see.” He hauls me to my feet and drags me forward.
I don’t know how long we walk for. Or how long he walks and I fight. But soon, great, scaly forms come into view, soaring overhead. Any other time, I might find the sight glorious. Now, all I care about is escape.
My father hasn’t gotten weak with age, and he keeps hold of me until we reach the edge of a massive, icy pit. Dragons lounge around the exterior and on ledges that jut out from the steep sides. The bottom is relatively flat with only a few jagged rocks piercing the icy white surface.
The place looks like a stadium. An arena. Like something a gladiator would fight in. A red dragon the size of a fire truck waits in the pit, sharpening his claws on stone, the way a cat might on a scraping post.
“Transform now,” my father growls. “Or face him on two legs.”
“What?” I try to back away from the ledge, but he holds me in place. “You’re trying to kill me?”
“You’re a Blaythorn. He’s a nobody. A human father.
His inner forge is dimmer than the winter sun.
In your beast form, he’ll stand no match.
Transform, begin your climb to dominance, and these years in the colony will be the best of your life.
When it comes time to change back, you likely won’t want to leave.
” My father’s voice turns ragged with anticipation, as if he were sprinting while speaking.
“You’re fucking crazy. I’m not fighting him or anyone!”
“Yes,” he snarls, “you are.”
Maximus Blaythorn shoves me over the edge, and I tumble down the steeply sloping side toward the middle of the pit.
Ice shards nip at my skin, and every time I roll, it feels like the same stone bruises my ribs.
I land in a groaning heap at the bottom of the incline, lying on my back as I try to orient myself.
Silhouetted above me against the bright sky is my father.
Dazed, I watch him strip, see his shoulders bow, track how a glowing red fire seems to grow hot and pulse under his skin.
He spreads his arms wide and screeches at the sky as his skin splits open, and a massive sapphire creature of myth takes over his body.
He did it. He changed. There’s no going back for him.
But I still have a chance.
Scrambling to my feet, I’m upright only for a moment before a sledgehammer hits my side.
At least, that’s what the dragon’s swipe feels like.
I fly through the air farther than the barrier flung me.
Big Red slinks after me, letting out a huff that sounds like a laugh.
He swats at me again, and I go tumbling.
No matter how much I roll and duck and dodge, he always gets me, sapping even my supernatural strength. With my hands cuffed behind my back, I’m hampered. He’s too big. Too fast.
And after the fifth strike, it’s clear he’s just playing with me.
Because on the sixth, he lets out his claws.
The diamond-hard, razor-sharp tips rake down the front of my body, shredding my winter gear, leaving me exposed but unharmed, other than the shallow cuts on my chest. If he’d wanted to sever my head from my neck, he could have.
But it’s still a game. I’m a mouse under a lion’s paw.
I could be a lion too.
The mouse must be boring him because the next swipe is not so gentle.
He tears open my throat.
At first, I don’t feel a thing, as the cut was so quickly made. But then every nerve in my body screams in agony, and I’m sure that death must be pure fire. As my blood spills onto the snow, crimson on ivory, too much for any mortal to survive, I make a choice.
Survive. You’ll never see her again if you die.
With a roar of rage and despair, I do the one thing I’ve been warned never to do.
I release the dragon.
Esme. Her face is the last thing I see before a black rage clouds my vision and my mind.
Cuffs fall to the ground, and I attack.