Ruin My Kiss (Dragons of Blood and Bone #5)

Chapter 1 End

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Death from exposure is not a Blood Dragon’s preferred way to die—battle is. But this is a battle for our very lives, after we just fought the battle of our lives, as I huddle now in the strange underground city with my drakes.

A deathly shiver takes me as I sit on the mossy flagstones of the towering, dark hall. Though we’ve found shelter in this ancient Blood Dragon citadel, our waning energy drags on me in the luminous darkness.

I feel colder than death as my Fourth Drake, Baldur Siguresson’s curses haul the very life out of me and my drakes via our Bloodbond.

No amount of heating breaths can help anymore, as I fight to remain conscious, waiting for my First Drake, Bjorn Magnussen, to return with something that can save us.

Laying inert upon the stones between myself, my Second Drake, Strom Eriksson, and my Third Drake, Mikkel Thorsen, Baldur is in a deathly trance. Terrible curses still seethe through his blood, bones, and flesh from the Black Dragon of All Souls, as Baldur keeps himself in stasis out in the Void.

He’s drawing strength from our Blood Dragon Ancestors to survive. It’s enough, barely; as we wait for Bjorn and Mikkel’s sister Laerke to find better shelter and food, I set my hand on Baldur’s bare chest, feeling his intermittent heartbeat.

We’ve all got our hands on him, as Strom, Mikkel, and I help him stay with us. Desperately, we push back those curses, though I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to.

Although I banished the Black Dragon’s heart-curse that nearly killed him, the rest of his curses are still creeping back towards that most essential organ, despite how Mikkel and Laerke helped heal them earlier.

I gaze down at Baldur now, laying so still and pale upon the ancient stones.

I don’t see his tall, lean physique, nor the luminous white, silver, and blue tattoos that curl over his skin in arcane Blood Dragon runic dialects as I watch him, praying that he’ll live.

I only see his struggle for life, as my drakes and I give our everything to help him.

And barely manage it.

The Black Dragon’s diseased crimson-black curses march up Baldur’s arms and legs into his torso now, trying to retake his heart. His blond brows furrow, his beautiful face strained as he fights them with all the power he can access out in the Void.

Though our physical battle against the Usurper is finished, I feel him battle on deep inside, devoured by its taint. Healing the Black Dragon’s curses is taking everything from us also, as Mikkel suddenly swoons and Strom grips his shoulder to help him stay upright.

Even Strom is shaking with fatigue as his lips turn blue and he puffs exhausted breaths into the chill air. As his vivid green eyes flick to me, I feel his unspoken thought through our bond.

That none of us are going to make it, if Bjorn doesn’t find help—quick.

Mikkel needs to rest, Rikyava, Strom says through our minds now as he regards me intently, holding Mikkel upright. He’s been through hell these past few hours, nearly as much as Baldur. He can’t spend any more energy doing this.

I know, I tell him, as Mikkel shakes his head with a growl and refocuses on staying conscious, though he’s unable to put his hands back on Baldur. This is all we have, though, Strom. Until Bjorn and Laerke get back.

“They better find food and proper shelter soon,” Strom says aloud now, because sustaining our mental connection is just too hard in our current state. “Or we’re going to freeze to death right here in this strange underground hall. You know we will.”

I do know, as I nod, feeling what we’re up against. As another bone-deep shiver takes me, I feel how the temperature in this underground hall is just about forty degrees.

Hypothermia is a bitch; a person can die in forty-degree weather, especially if they’re wet. Unfortunately, this strange Blood Dragon-meets-Fey city, lost for countless generations, is as wet as it gets.

A deadly subterranean paradise some place in the frozen north, fresh water burbles out of small fountains in the walls, to run through the floor in channeled rivers, sustaining the plants.

More like a thousand-year rainforest rather than a chamber, the incredible hall’s vast heights are lost to darkness, as gargantuan columns rise from the stone floor.

The hall glimmers, as trees as big as the redwoods in California glow in a dense forest around us. As the trees flicker with their own inner light, they seem like silberskrae, though their silver-white bark is unlike any silberskrae tree I’ve ever seen, luminous.

Their roots and trunks are far larger, too; their gargantuan roots tunnel right through the stones of the floor, their massive trunks growing up to spread their silver-white canopy across the faraway ceiling.

Luminous mosses and phosphorescent vines crawl up every surface of the ancient alabaster and sky-blue stones around us. Shimmering lizards, moths, and beetles flit through the underground space, scurrying up the gargantuan trees. It’s haunting and beautiful, a lost paradise.

Though one that’s going to kill us, if we linger here much longer.

Because the moss is chill and damp, the humidity like the Pacific Northwest in the human realm—fucking cold. Our breaths puff into the chill air, and there’s nothing we might make shelter out of.

The trees have lost leaves but no limbs down here; the vines are slick and wet, and stung Strom as he tried to pull some close for shelter. We’ve made do by gathering a pile of dead leaves around us; we can’t even touch that, though, because it’s so damp and rotten.

We pull close now, shivering as Strom and Mikkel resume Blood Dragon heating breaths to stay warm, which we’ve been doing for the past hour. As my vision fades to black yet again, I shake my head, growling.

I focus on my First Drake—sending to him hard through our bond.

Bjorn?! I say desperately now as I reach out to him. Please tell me you have found something!

I can feel my First Drake through our Bloodbond.

Exhausted, he’s having trouble staying on his feet, as he and Laerke check out the ancient underground for a better place to hole up.

They’ve been at it too long, though; hours we don’t have, as Mikkel swoons again, and Strom catches him for real this time.

Laying him down beside Baldur, to rest.

With a growl, Mikkel protests, but he doesn’t get up.

His breaths are labored now, all his myriad scars and barely healed lacerations a testament to everything he’s been through in the past day.

It makes his tall runner’s physique with his stark red and black tattoos of raiding ships and sea-dragons across his left chest look like a war zone, as fury saddens me to see all that decimation.

Thanks to his imprisonment and torture by the Jarl of Copenhagen, Mikkel would have died six times over, if Baldur hadn’t poured his energy into my Third Drake to save him.

Now, Baldur pays the price, as he struggles to find enough energy out in the cosmos to keep himself alive after our insane battle against said Jarl, the Black Dragon, and our enemies who wield it, not to mention Baldur’s cursing.

Mikkel is little better, having returned the favor and given almost everything he had left to heal Baldur of the Black Dragon’s curses. Now, both drakes might not make it, as Strom lays his hands on Mikkel rather than Baldur, giving him all the energy he can spare.

I redouble my efforts upon Baldur and feel the slightest twitch of his finger against my leg, letting me know he’s still with us. As an utter desperation fills me, of not wanting to die this way, my chest compresses and my heart pounds in a jilting, irregular rhythm.

I cough, and Strom puts a hand on me, dredging deep of his incredible Bone Magic to give me whatever he has left.

“Hold on to your heart, Rikyava. Don’t let it fail just yet…

” Strom tells me quietly, as he feeds me power so I can stay upright.

“Just hold on to your fierce love, for our people and for us. Because we’re all here with you, drakaina.

Right here, right now—in it, right along with you. We always will be.”

I know what Strom means, as he locks his vibrant emerald gaze on mine in the haunting hall. He’s telling me my drakes are with me to the end—and after everything we’ve been through in the past months, I know it, as I remove one hand from Baldur to grip Strom’s hand.

His lips quirk into a wry, beautiful smile. It’s everything I need from my best friend in this Bloodbond, as I understand his gratefulness to die beside me, if it comes to that.

The gratefulness all my drakes feel, to battle with me to the end.

“I love you. You know that?” I say now as we hold each other’s gazes in the gloom.

“I know. But don’t say it to me like that. Not just yet…” Leaning in, Strom kisses me, tender and sweet, though our inner dragons are too tired to rise inside us.

Deep within, I feel the barest growl from my dark Bone Magic drake and my brighter Blood Magic drakaina, as Strom and I kiss.

They’re too far gone to form the rise in energy that touching my drakes usually provides my Bloodwalker magic, however.

It’s a bad sign, as I part from Strom’s lips with a hard sigh.

His sad squeeze on my hand holds everything our words can’t say right now.

His hands are like ice, though; mine are, too, as I fight to feel my fingers and toes now from the deadly cold overtaking them. They’ve gone numb; I rub my heart with both hands, brisking my chest as I renew my heating breath. Because if I die, Baldur will have no one to help.

And if Strom goes, Mikkel will die, too.

As Baldur’s energy goes so far out into the Void that even I can’t find him now, a dark terror consumes me. Still, Strom and I hold on with the last iota of stubbornness we have, because that’s what Blood Dragons do.