Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
The soft sounds of seduction, male groans, and muffled laughter, echoed through the tunnel.
Race didn’t care how Rhaedra got those guards down, as long as she did, his mind on Ash, on her dimming warmth in his chest.
Ash?
Still…holding. Her voice was a faint thread in his mind, as if she were unraveling. His dragon snarled, clawing at him. Go. Now.
The children? she rasped.
We’re almost there. The fever raged, his head throbbed, and the pressure built as if his skull would explode. He drove his fist into the granite wall, his skin splitting, bones cracking. Pain flared, sharp and bright, a welcome distraction from the rut-fire strangling him from the inside—
The others stood quietly aside.
More laughter came from the tunnel, then it was cut short. A heavy thud echoed.
“Get here!” Rhaedra’s shout rang out.
Flexing his fingers, his skin already knitting back together, Race launched forward, Varkyn and Koal flanking him.
The semi-shifted guard captain sprang to his feet where Rhaedra had dropped him, his throat still bleeding.
He met them with a roar that shook dust from the ceiling, his weapon swinging—
A horde of guards surged in from a back tunnel.
“Protect the forge!” someone yelled.
Steel clashed. Sparks burst. The she-dragon spun through the fray, her blade and fire keeping the guards at bay.
Race ducked under the captain’s swing, his own talons flashing. He plunged them into the male’s bleeding throat and ripped it out. Blood sprayed as he flung the body aside.
He fought in a red, killing haze. The rut-fever sang in his blood, whispering for more violence to tear and rend until nothing stood between him and his mate…
Then, unending silence, broken by muffled sobs and sheer terror.
“There,” someone rasped. “How the fuck do we get behind it?”
Breathing hard, Race pivoted.
A shimmering veil concealed what could only be a chamber.
He strode across and, with his Gaian sword, ripped through the barrier. It sizzled and tried to reknit, but couldn’t. His mystical weapon was forged for destruction.
The veil collapsed.
Race froze.
“Gods above…” Koal rasped.
In a vast chamber, children were jammed into iron cages lining the walls on one side—no bedding, only foul straw slick with piss and old blood covered the floor. Their wrists and ankles were raw, skin split and bleeding. The air reeked of agony and hopelessness.
At the center of the chamber squatted the true obscenity.
A Soul Forge.
Set on a dais, its black iron ribs arched like a skeletal maw, every seam laced with veins of molten light.
Four children were bound to it by metal cuffs attached to curved spikes driven into the stone—their eyes glassy, their skin pale as bone.
Their thin chests rose and fell in shallow breaths; they could barely lift their heads.
Golden strands, the raw essence of their very souls, streamed from their hearts into the forge’s core, where the center pulsed like a diseased heartbeat.
Each beat drained more of their energy. A boy—a half-blood by his scent—moved his lips soundlessly as gold scales rippled across his dark skin. “Mama…”
For a second, they all stood frozen.
Rage stormed through Race as he strode forward. This was what the bastard wanted from the young? Not mining, not labor, but this obscene harvesting of power?
What the fuck for?
Skaldr tore open the cages’ doors while Rhaedra knelt beside the nearest child, slicing through their restraints. Varkyn and Koal worked the cruel cuffs on the ones bound to the monstrosity, ripping them free as gently as possible.
“Get the children out of here,” Race snarled, his power crackling through his entire being and rattling the forge’s chains.
The Soul Forge shuddered, its glow flickering, aware and resisting as its meal was stolen.
His rut-fever blazed. Race gritted his teeth as he gathered the terrified children, mentally sending a soothing wave to calm their agitation.
A distant boom shattered the silence. The tunnel shuddered. Dust rattled loose from the ceiling. Pressure vents screamed open, just like Ash said they would. The mountain groaned, centuries of trapped heat finding release.
“We need to move fast,” Skaldr barked. “Less than ten minutes before this whole place falls.”
“Don’t let the young shift,” Varkyn ordered, carrying a comatose child. “It will kill them in this state.”
They herded the dozen or so children toward the tunnel, their dragging footsteps echoing off granite. Another blast shook the mountain.
Whimpers rose, thin and frightened. The ceiling groaned overhead.
“It’s all right,” Rhaedra murmured. “Keep moving.” They quickened their pace as rubble began to rain down. A little girl stumbled, and Koal scooped her up.
Through it all, Ash’s presence flickered, dim and unsteady, like a candle guttering in a gale.
Hold on, heart-fire, I’m coming.
Race vaulted onto the Soul Forge’s dais, his claws flexing as fire built in his chest—a white-hot inferno, begging for release. The chamber emptied as the last explosion thundered through the tunnels—pressure punched outward.
Race released his fire.
Flames erupted, ripping through stone, metal, and shadow alike. The Soul Forge screamed, a sound part metal, part dying soul. Its molten veins burst wide, spraying fire and shards of liquefied metal. The entire forge collapsed inward, folding in on itself, disintegrating into slag.
Somewhere deep in the mountain, a roar boomed in sheer rage, impossible to mistake.
Malcarion.
Soon, you bastard.
Race dematerialized through the falling rubble, reappearing where the others waited. A semi-shifted Varkyn—nearly brushing the ceiling in that form—was already passing the young through the vent one by one to Skaldr.
Six still remained.
“Grab the children,” Race barked.
Varkyn scooped up two and climbed out with them.
Koal and Rhaedra moved instantly, gathering a child each as Race took the smallest two into his arms. “Hold onto me, tight.”
Two tiny pairs of arms wound around his neck.
His heart stuttered. He meant Koal and Rhaedra, who complied.
With everything in him, he dematerialized with them through the vent. They reformed amid icy winds and blinding snow, the children’s wails snatched away by the gale. He staggered a step, then handed the two he carried to Skaldr.
“Varkyn, get the children to safety.”
“You?” the male bellowed over the wind.
“I’m going for Ash,” Race bit out, voice roughened by heat and fear. “Evacuation points are marked. Move. Now!”
“Sire,” Rhaedra fought forward through the snow. “Attor can see to her—”
“No!” His growl rolled out, more dragon than man. “Get them clear. Varkyn, you’re in command. Move fast and stay low. The storm won’t hold much longer.”
Then he felt it.
Ash’s strength snapped, her warmth within their soul bond faltering like a flame torn apart by wind.
No! Race’s roar split the night.
His dragon exploded free—scales bursting through flesh, wings tearing wide as he launched into the storm-wracked sky.
Race paced the attic room where Ash lay sleeping, every muscle locked tight, his pulse still hammering as if his heart might punch straight through his chest. He could still see her, blood seeping from her nose, collapsed against Attor, fighting to hold the eye of the storm together even as it broke her.
And when she saw him…she smiled.
Then she collapsed in his arms as soon as he shifted to his human form.
Stars! His precious mate was so fucking fierce, stronger than anyone he’d ever known—and she made him so godsdamned proud. But at what cost?
Now she slept deeply, her breathing even, the strain finally fading after he’d forced the healing tonic Bregga had pressed into his hand down her throat.
He halted at the rain-drenched window, the streetlamp’s glow blurred into silver streaks. He rested his forehead against the cold pane. Outside, Duskscale drowned in rain, the wind driving water through the narrow alleys, Ash’s storm still raging on without her.
Another wave of heat rolled through him, coiling his body tight, the rut refusing to lie low. His cock throbbed, his blood blazing. He inhaled roughly, trying to steady the inferno inside him—and failed.
He spun away from the window. The lamp on the nightstand spilled across Ash’s sleeping form, casting a warm glow over her. Every breath he drew filled him with her arousing scent of summer rains and ozone. It crashed through his system, tearing at his restraint.
His dragon clawed at his mind, feral and desperate. Take her.
No! He ground the thought out like a curse. She nearly died for us holding that storm. I won’t risk her!
Race resumed pacing, crossing from the window to her bedside and back again, like a caged storm in motion. Hell, he should have already left, with his control hanging by a thread, but gods! He had to see she would be okay first.
Ash moaned.
Race was at her side in a heartbeat, brushing the sweat-dampened hair from her brow. The tonic seemed to be working. Her ghostly pallor had eased, color returning to her golden-brown skin.
Thank the gods.
When she’d crumpled on that mountain ledge—
He scrubbed his face and continued pacing. Yes, she would risk her life—for him, for those who couldn’t protect themselves. That’s who she is.
Now the children were safe, and she was healing. Everything else could wait. He was no good for anything further in his current state—
“Race?”
Her sleep-husky voice, heavy with exhaustion, had him pivoting.
“Rest, my heart,” he whispered, sitting by her side and gently brushing back her damp hair, his touch light even as everything in him screamed to rip off the shirt she wore, one he’d put on her after removing her wet, frozen clothes.
He was fucking losing his mind.
“The healing tonic is working,” he rasped. “Sleep a while.”
Her fingers found his hand as if to keep him there. With a soft sigh, she drifted back under.
Voices rose from below as the others returned.