Chapter 8 #2
He didn’t need this now. Not when every damn shadow could hold a spy.
“You feel familiar,” a rough voice cut through his thoughts.
The aggression in it wrapped around him like barbed wire. “Fuck off.”
“You smell of power,” the mofo behind him rumbled, sticking to Race’s ass like a burr as he stalked back into the alley. “The king’s enforcers would pay good coin for one like you—”
His patience worn thin by his inner turmoil, Race pivoted and drove his fist into the bastard’s face. Bones cracked. A roar exploded, and the cur shifted, his form transforming into a massive slate-blue dragon, scales glinting dully in the gloom.
I smell…a human on you, the asshole projected, his mental voice thick with satisfaction. The highest bidder will want her. I’ll make a fortune.
Race summoned his Gaian sword. The inked mark on his biceps tore free, black smoke spilling and forming in his hand.
He swung hard. The blade caught the dragon mid-turn, slicing across its scaled chest. The creature roared, unleashing a torrent of fire.
Race dove into a recessed doorway as flames roared past, blistering the stone. The air shimmered and walls warped, cracking under the molten intensity. The smell of scorched earth and burning filth clawed at his senses.
The dragon shrieked, the sound echoing off the soot-stained buildings like a beacon, certain to draw the guards. He reared up on his hind legs, his elongated throat glowing red, fire building again.
Not fucking happening! Race summoned his obsidian dagger and hurled it. The blade shot through the heat and buried itself deep in the beast’s throat.
The mofo staggered, shaking his massive head, hacking out smoke and flames—
Race spun, and with one final swipe of his sword, the blade sang through the beast’s neck.
The colossal body hit the ground with a heavy thud, blood spraying everywhere.
The dragon shimmered back into his humanoid form, his body slumping amid the smoking heap of debris and gore, blood pooling in a gush of red.
The severed head rolled, clanging against a bin before coming to rest.
Race retrieved his dagger from the slain male and leapt upward, landing on the high rooftop, calling on Gaia’s gift of concealment. The mystical power cloaked him in shadows, shielding him from both sight and spells.
An ability he’d never had to use before in his endlessly long life.
As a Guardian, Gaia had bestowed him more power than most Lemurians dreamed possible. He would need every bit of it to keep Ash alive in this dangerous realm.
At the ruckus below, yeah, the guards had already found the body. While they investigated the sudden death, Race scanned for Ash, sensing she was still in the shop.
His dragon prowled within him, restless. Get her.
Race didn’t move, fighting against the beast’s yearning for that slip of a female. She’s not done yet.
Jaw clenched, he remained invisible in the shadows, watching for danger, waiting for her.
C’mon, Ash, get your delectable ass back here fast.
The faint, acrid odor of slag and oiled leather clung to the air as Ash moved through the dimly lit shop, keeping her breathing shallow.
Everything inside was practical. There were no mirrors or flourishes, just clothing in muted shades of gray, black, rust, and forest green hung in precise rows. Some were rough-woven, others reinforced with scale-backed hide, all built for endurance and, hopefully, comfort.
A few long coats dangled from hammered hooks, their shoulders stitched with dull, patchworked leather.
Yeah. Armored clothing for the people in a world that didn’t fight fair.
Ash picked out two leggings, trousers, a few tunics and tank tops roughly in her size, and other necessities she needed, along with a gray, scaled backpack to carry everything.
A tall, slender woman stood behind the counter, rubbing her palms down her tunic-covered hips. She didn’t speak, but watched Ash with cautious curiosity, as if trying to decide whether she was trouble.
Ash set the clothes on the counter.
The woman cashed up. “Four silvers.”
Ash paid with the exact amount, packed everything in the backpack, dipped her chin in thanks, and left with measured steps.
The street teemed with bodies and stalls, but the usual sounds of a marketplace—haggling voices, laughter, and the clatter of wares—seemed muted.
Children lingered on the periphery of it all, barefoot and hollow-eyed, then scattered like birds at the metallic scrape of armored boots.
Conversations stopped mid-word, leaving only the guards’ echoing footsteps as they passed.
The low conversation resumed, and vendors quietly hawked their wares. Ash moved between them, her backpack hooked over one shoulder, her head down.
The aroma of spiced meat cooking over coal fires drifted from the nearby stalls, and her stomach pinched with hunger. Goodness, she could eat a cow, horns and all, right now.
She slowed her steps, her gaze darting over the food stalls—the thick loaves of ash bread, skewers of grilled meat, root vegetables with blackened skins, and spiky, almost colorless fruit that looked like it grew in the shade—everything made her mouth water.
“I’ll have a dozen of those skewers and two loaves of bread,” she told the vendor.
The stocky merchant gave her a quick once-over. “Two silvers.”
Ash paid, then took the wrapped food and carefully tucked it into her backpack. She turned and knocked into a hard body.
A growl erupted, low and displeased, raising the hairs on her arms.
“Careful,” the tall woman snapped, brushing past, but then she halted. Slowly, she turned.
Built like a huntress—at least how Ash imagined one was—her waist-length honey curls framed a sharp, angular face. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed. Gold-streaked green eyes fixed on Ash with a feral interest that made her spine lock up.
Of course. The first person she bumped into reeked of trouble.
“I’m sorry,” Ash said quickly and sidestepped, but the woman mirrored her, moving with liquid grace, each step a deliberate glide, her nose twitching as if tasting the air.
“You smell…perfect,” she crooned, her voice low and husky.
Wonderful. A stranger with personal space issues and an olfactory obsession. Just what she needed.
Then the eerie hush in the marketplace cracked through her irritation. Most of the vendors and shoppers had melted away from their vicinity. The remaining onlookers pressed against walls and stalls, leaving a wide circle of space around them.
The quiet hiss of sputtering coal fires broke the deadly silence as the woman stepped closer.
“What?” Ash bit out.
“You carry the smell of someone…powerful. I don’t see him…” Her gaze whipped around, then flicked to Ash’s throat. “He’s yours?”
A she-dragon.
Of course, she was. Arrogance marked every inch of her, and now Ash understood why everyone had fled.
It wasn’t just posturing. It was a challenge. For a male.
This horny cow bumps into me and decides Race is up for grabs? Ugh.
“You’re in my way,” Ash snapped.
The woman moved fast—too bloody fast—yanking Ash’s hood back and revealing her throat.
Her smile widened. “As I thought. No mark. Not paired.” Fangs glinted as she bared her teeth. “I claim him as mine.”
“Good Lord.” Ash gaped, stunned for half a heartbeat. “You don’t even know who he is.”
“Doesn’t matter. He smells powerful. I’ll fight him, pin him down. Can you do the same?” Her gaze slid over Ash’s smaller, slender frame with smug contempt.
“He’s not a bloody prize bull!”
“Then I’ll just kill you—” The she-dragon lunged.
Ash barely ducked in time. “Seriously?” she snapped, as the bloody heifer circled her. “You’re picking fights over someone you don’t even know? What is this? Love Island: Dragon Edition?”
The woman moved too fast. Searing heat clamped around Ash’s forearm, burning through her coat. Shit, she gasped and bit back a wince, acidic pain shooting up her arm—and she remembered, the pod.
The bitch smirked.
Two can play this sodding game!
She fumbled it from her pocket and slammed it into the she-dragon’s face. A burst of sweet, choking perfume exploded.
The she-dragon shrieked, lurching back a step, her eyes watering. “You dare use a Somnara pod on me?”
Bloody tired of the shit in this place, Ash’s powers surged. Lightning exploded through her fingertips, crackling white-hot. She blasted the bitch-dragon in her chest.
The woman reeled backward, her hand pressed over her heart, shock widening her eyes.
“Never. Ever. Touch me!” Ash spun on her heel and stalked off like she owned the whole marketplace.
For about two steps.
“Catch her!” the stupid scaled-witch roared.
Yells erupted. Footsteps thundered after her.
Oh, sod it! Ash bolted, darting for the nearest alley. Rain didn’t fall this time, but her pulse thundered like a raging storm.
These lunatics would quarter her if they caught her. Or worse, burn her alive.
“Race!”