Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Midnight. D-Day or was it D-Night?
Hmm. Hard to tell when she was about to help start a mountaintop rebellion. Either way, the hour had arrived at Talonhold House.
Ash wiped her clammy palms down her jeans and leaned against the common room’s deep-set window, the cold pane against her spine.
With sleep still heavy in her eyes, she stifled a yawn as she waited. Around the table, the men moved with quiet efficiency, the low rumble of their voices threading through the scrape of floorboards underfoot.
Her gaze settled on Race.
Dressed in a black t-shirt and worn leathers, he appeared untouchable. He leaned over the rough-hewn table, his silver hair tied back, the bones of his face sharpened in concentration.
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he spoke in low tones, tracing their route through the mountains. Stress? Or something else? Either way, if things went sideways, they would lose far more than a fight.
No, dammit. No one was failing those children—or the women.
She exhaled through her teeth and turned to the window. A storm was gathering, and the tug building within her bones kept growing. The dark clouds above churned, letting sporadic shards of moonlight spill over the sleeping town. Even the old house creaked, uneasy under the weight of what lay ahead.
The sound of wings broke the quiet. Two massive shapes cut across the fleeting moon, one scaled in volcanic rust, the other a deep jade, flashing silver before vanishing from sight.
Moments later, the back door opened, and Varkyn filled the threshold, all battle-scarred bulk and authority. Rhaedra followed, predator-grace in human skin, her coppery-red hair gleaming like a spill of blood. Both were dressed; they probably had clothes stashed in Talonhold.
Rhaedra’s gaze swept the room, passing over Ash as if she were smoke, then lingering—too long—on Race.
Ash folded her arms, biting back a snort. If only the she-hag knew how pointless that look was.
“The guards have rotated early,” Varkyn announced, stopping at the table. “The storm forced their shift. Our window’s shorter than expected.”
Race’s head snapped up. “How much shorter?”
“Maybe around three hours instead of six once the storm front peaks.” Varkyn’s scarred fist thumped the wooden surface. “More intel. My scouts report they’re awaiting the births of seven young.”
Race’s mouth thinned. “Then we hold the rescue of the females until later. We can’t move them in that state.”
Ash’s fingers curled into fists. Children. Women. All bloody stock for whatever the sodding usurper desired.
“I can work with this,” she said evenly, even if her heart wanted to crash through her ribs. “And have the storm in position within the hour.”
Rhaedra’s perfect brow arched, her expression steeped in skepticism. “You sound quite certain.”
“She knows her craft,” Attor said from the table’s head, cutting through the tension. “The storm will come. The question is whether we’re ready when it does.”
Ignoring the she-dragon, Ash pulled her parka on and zipped it. “I thought dragons don’t have kinetic powers. It’s what Malcarion’s hoping for from the newborns, right?”
Race looked up, his eyes burning.
“Aye,” Attor answered. “While we are magical to an extent, we carry our power in flesh and flame—scale, fire, strength, one or two might carry more. However, a young born of a non-shifter, or even between a human and a dragon, the chances are higher.”
No wonder these blood-breeding bastards were after human females.
“I saw a poster in Nyxholt,” Race said then. “Gold offered for the capture of a jade dragon. Why?”
Ash frowned.
Rhaedra spoke, her expression tight. “They assume we jades breed often and guarantee strong offspring. They mistake that for power.”
Much as the she-dragon annoyed her, Ash understood the anger behind her words.
“It all ends tonight.” Race straightened, the shift in him palpable—like a blade locking home. His crimson gaze swept the room. “Everyone knows their position in the tunnel?”
“Aye,” came the unified response.
“Good.” His gaze found hers. The air between them changed, grew darker, charged. “Attor will guard you on the ridge while you maintain the storm. I’ll take you both there before we begin.”
Are you all right? she telepathed, unsettled by the strain beneath his steely tone.
His expression didn’t flicker. Focus on what’s ahead, heart-fire. His voice in her mind softened briefly. Just keep yourself safe. Wear the scaled coat. It’s on the armchair.
Sighing, Ash reached for it. He likely had someone buy the coat for her. Bregga or Koal, maybe.
She pulled the gray coat over her parka, feeling like she was about to star in a Michelin Man cosplay, and dug out her beanie from her pocket—
A wall of heat slammed through their bond. She staggered, catching herself on the chair’s backrest, her heart pounding. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came, leaving her stomach roiling. Race!
Breathing hard, she spun to face him.
Before she could confront him, he was at her side, a powerful arm sliding around her waist.
“When the storm breaks, we move,” he said from above her head to the others. “I’ll meet you all at the foothills.”
Attor moved to join them. Race grasped the male’s arm. The last thing she saw before Race dematerialized them was Rhaedra’s cool stare, sharp and assessing.
As if Ash didn’t know why.
She almost rolled her eyes. Then she dismissed her entirely.
They reformed in bitter cold, the mountain air stealing Ash’s breath. Race had settled them on a narrow ledge carved deep into the mountainside, shielded by an overhanging ridge. He remained close, his warmth seeping through her thick layers.
“That’s Gildershard Mount.” He nodded at the enormous mass rising from the thick mist below, its peaks disappearing into the gathering clouds.
“How did you find this spot?” she asked.
“Last night. I had to make sure you were safe.”
Emotion welled in her chest, but aware of Attor’s presence, she kept silent. Race’s arm tightened around her, a press of warmth. She wanted to sink into him, to steal one more heartbeat of peace before the chaos broke.
“The cave system’s entrance is there—” He pointed far down the rugged, granite-gray slope. “A crack in the mountain’s eastern face. Once the storm hits, when the eye is over us, you’ll have a clear view of our exit point.”
I’ll tell you when we’re done, his voice brushed her mind.
“Okay.” She turned in his embrace to study his face. In the shifting light, the clouds swallowing and releasing the moonlight, she caught the tension in the sharp set of his jaw.
Be careful, please, she mind-linked with him.
Always, heart-fire. A flicker of a smile. Then he was gone, leaving only a ghost of his warmth and burnt ember scent in the freezing air.
Ash exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the brittle air. The cold bit at her cheeks and her powers stirred, prickling beneath her skin as if in response to what was coming. She let her senses stretch outward, brushing over the mountains’ jagged spines.
Beautiful, yes…but beneath that beauty, rot festered.
The wind shifted, carrying a taste of iron and ice. High above, thin veils of clouds dragged across the night sky, drawn by the same pull she felt in her chest. The pressure in the air shifted, subtle yet persistent, like the first deep note of a storm’s song.
“He’s different with you,” Attor said quietly, his voice almost lost to the rising wind. He stepped closer to the edge, strands of his bound steel-gray hair escaping and whipping in the gusts. “I’ve known him since he was a youngling. Never seen him like this, not with anyone.”
She kept her face carefully neutral. “We work well together.”
Attor didn’t press, but Ash had a distinct feeling he already knew. He nodded toward the valley. “That’s where they’ll enter the mountain.”
Ash moved nearer to the precipice. Thank God, she didn’t suffer from acrophobia. From this height, the valley below was little more than a pale ribbon threading between black jagged stone.
Attor stood at her side, his hands in his pockets. No jacket, no gloves, just a tunic, as if the cold meant nothing to him. “Tell me what you need.”
“Once the storm builds, I’ll have to focus—”
Thunder rumbled overhead, low and resonant.
Wind slapped against them as the pressure dropped, heavy and insistent.
The clouds thickened and stretched. Through breaks in the cloud cover, faint pinpricks of light marked the guard posts along the mountain below.
She caught glints of movement—dragons taking wing, their dull-scaled hides catching the stray light as they began their patrols.
Not tonight, you scaled menaces.
Ash lifted her hands. The air currents twisted, resisting her pull.
Wind lashed harder around their shelter.
Lightning flickered between the clouds, its crackle shivering through her bones like a live wire.
She gritted her teeth, coaxing the storm to bend to her will.
Rain fell in fat, cold drops, hardening to icy needles in the freezing air.
“We’re in.” Attor’s hand brushed her biceps, his gaze fixed on the valley now drowning in rain. “Guards are down. They’re moving into position.”
Right. Dragon vision.
She nodded, water dripping down her face, not daring to break her concentration. The rain thickened as the low-pressure front pushed in. The storm bucked against her control, wild and impatient. Lightning snarled in the clouds above, eager to strike.
“Hold steady,” she whispered. “Lives depend on you.”
Through their bond, she could feel Race’s sharp, contained focus. He was likely already moving through the tunnels. It grounded her, honing her concentration.
The storm howled overhead, and she began shaping its core, preparing for the moment the eye would open—brief, perfect, and theirs to take. Her fingers trembled, the current in her veins burning hot.
It was going to be a very looong night.