Chapter 2
Chapter Two
TORION
The air was thick with rich incense, but it mingled with another fragrance, sour and heavy and uncomfortably sweet—the rot of death shrouded in ceremony.
My eyes were sore, fixed on the still figure in the bed, covered to his chest in a white sheet, body limp and sagging.
My father had been all life, all movement, all laughter.
Was I sitting vigil at his side, waiting for some hint of him to return, or reconciling myself with his absence?
He'd been gone for hours now. This body, all that remained of him, bore no resemblance to the man I'd loved, respected… and sometimes resented.
A knock thudded softly at the door frame, and I moved slowly, taking in the massive figure that waited just outside my father's room. Waited and did not enter, because another alpha was not permitted at the deathbed of one so recently departed.
"You should've slept," Seamus de Roche, Alpha of the Craven Sea, called to me from the hall.
I braced my hands on the arms of the chair and lifted my stiff body from its seat, swallowing the groan as my limbs and muscles resisted movement after so long in one place. I didn't need to prove him right.
"I'm sure I slept some," I said, my mouth dry and words cracking.
Seamus turned for the stairs, leaving room between us as I followed him, shutting the door to my father's suite behind me.
It was too early for dawn and the hall was dark, but the candles by my father's bedside had burned out sometime in the night and my eyes were already adjusted.
And I knew these halls well, knew the uneven trip of the steps down from the tower, knew the feel of the stone that grazed under my trailing fingertips.
"You don't have to do this, you know. You could buy a boat, join my fleet," Seamus said, wearing a half-hearted smile. He already knew my answer.
I'd spent a fair amount of time on the sea with my friend, avoiding my father's rut cycle with an extended stay on Seamus's ship, visiting as emissary and for fun.
It would be an easier life to sail the sea under Seamus's rule than to try and establish my own here in Grave Hills.
But this was my home, and while time with Seamus had always been enjoyable, there was still that slight pressure, the faint chafing, of being below someone.
Seamus might offer me freedom on the sea, but he wouldn't step aside and let me rise as alpha in his stead.
This was my chance.
It could only have arrived on the heels of my father's death.
Seamus was right. I should've slept.
"Don't waste your breath turning me down," Seamus said as we reached the second story of the keep, the balcony that overlooked the great hall and front doors.
"It's more tempting than you might realize," I admitted.
"But it's not rising as alpha," Seamus said with a shrug. "I wouldn't give it up, either."
I nodded, even though in truth, I had no idea what it would mean, what it would feel like.
I only knew that for decades now, my body had seemed too small, too tight; that I'd been stamping down the instinct to snarl at my father, to snap and challenge him.
I loved him, loved the memories of him from my childhood, the gentle smiling man who had one arm around me and one around my mother, but as the years had passed and I'd grown, my love had been sprinkled with frustrations and the urge to push him forward or out of my way entirely.
The sorrow of his passing, so deep I already felt buried even before his grave had been dug, was tempered with an eager relief. Finally, there was room for me. I only had to claim it.
"Do you think I can do it?" The words appeared on my lips before I could stifle them, further proof that I'd spent the night sitting vigil and stuck in my head when I should've been resting and preparing for the battle to come.
Seamus clapped his hand on my shoulder and guided me to the stairs. "Only you can decide that. But for what it's worth, I think you'd make a good alpha. So does Cadogan. Worthington has said the same. When you rise, you'll have us in your corner."
When I rise.
I nodded and straightened, leading the way down the stairs, stopping at a familiar old face as it exited the kitchen. "Get me water and coffee."
"Yes, milord, and breakfast?" the old woman asked.
I shook my head, not sure I'd be able to keep food down this morning. Certainly not in the fight to come.
Seamus cleared his throat. "Speak for yourself. I'll take a heap of breakfast." I glared at him, and he only grinned. "A good alpha is generous to his guests, my friend."
I rolled my eyes and found an open spot between tables to do my morning stretches, ignoring the alpha's lazy, large frame as he dropped into a chair by the fire.
I released a burst of fire in the face of the dragon whose snarling maw tried to catch me by the ankle. He screeched and turned away, barreling into another beta on its way to me.
Damn cowards.
Beating my wings hard, I turned in the air and searched the sky, surrounded by rivals. I'd grounded two betas so far, smallish dragons who had no business being in this fight. There was only one dragon worth fighting.
My eyes narrowed, and I let out a roar that thundered through me, lifting my chest and swiping out at the first beta who neared, my patience wearing thin enough to draw blood against a foe who was no foe at all.
Distractions. They were all distractions.
Betas with no chance of surviving as alpha, swarming me, wasting my time, as the only true potential threat waited just out of reach.
It was a smart ploy. Annoying and impotent as these dragons were, they were still dragons.
There were a half dozen of them to one of me.
I'd been lucky so far not to have them all manage to hit me at once, to whittle away their numbers.
No doubt, the large rusty brown dragon waiting for his turn expected them to wear me out and make me easier to down when it came time for us to fight.
Malcolm Barr, I'll remember you after I rise, I vowed.
His plan might work, but it showed me just how scared of me he was. Unfortunately, it also proved that he had allies. Allies he'd been forming behind my father's back—a risk I'd never been willing to take.
A jaw caught me by my tail, rousing me from my musings.
There was a simple way of settling this.
If these other betas were here to assist Malcolm, they would fall away when he was defeated.
I let the dragon's jaws hold me as I swept my wings up, losing the air resistance and dropping hard and straight down.
The yank on his bite burned, but I was stronger, heavier, and I'd caught the beta by surprise, pulling him along with my fall as we vanished from the circle I'd been trapped in.
I was released, the dragon who'd had hold of me scrambling to gain air, but I flipped in the air, rising to catch him by his belly, drawing blood. I was done being polite. If it took blood to ground these dragons, then blood they would have.
I would be their alpha.
Turning in midair once more, I released the dragon in my talons, sparing a brief breath to watch it flail on its way down to the ground, unable to catch air, before narrowing my frame and racing toward my quarry.
To his credit, Malcolm's dark dragon didn't race away at my approach.
Perhaps even to him, that would be too clear a sign of cowardice.
He'd bought what time he could for himself.
Now we would see which of us was stronger.
It would be me. I'd come to this battle determined but reserved.
I would do what I had to to claim my position as the alpha, but this game they'd devised against me had shattered unknown reservations.
Now I relished their defeat, a new brilliant heat burning in my chest, my wings broadening to keep height and then snapping back for momentum.
Malcolm was flying to meet me, but my sudden speed made him falter—a moment of consideration as he decided whether or not to allow the collision. The moment was too much.
I had no hesitation, no fear for myself, as I crashed into him, tail and talons swiping, knocking us out of flight and into descent.
Malcolm roared, flashing fire at my shoulder, and it bounced off my scales back into his own snout.
He scratched at my belly, and I ignored the searing sensation. I might bleed, but I would rise.
The ground rushed up toward us, and Malcolm twisted frantically. His dragon was huge, as big as mine, and he was able to jerk us but not turn us over completely. On our sides, neither one of us was able to stop the race of our descent. If we hit the ground, we would both fail in our goal.
Malcolm tore himself free of me with a scream, turning fast, trying to gain air again when we were barely above the ground, giving me his back.
I was already starting my own flight, curling my tail up under my belly before it could disqualify, stretching forward, reaching for him.
My jaw snapped on his wing, tearing through tough hide, gouging ruthlessly, ripping it open.
I clawed my way up his back, scratching at every step, forcing him lower, his injured wing weakening his flight.
I braced myself on top of him, crouched, and then leapt, pushing him below me as I rose up into the air.
I kept my head high, my body streaking back into the sky as I listened to his roar of defeat, the thunderous collision of his body against the craggy hills below.
I bristled at Francis Keane's hearty laugh in my ear and forced myself not to flinch as he clapped a hand on my shoulder, my eyes scanning the tent.
Malcolm Barr had gritted out his congratulations to me and had no qualms about leaving the celebration early, but some of his little helpers were doing their best to make up to me now.
I was sick to death of it. Even Worthington was getting on my nerves. Had he always been so patronizing?
"Indeed, Lachlan's lad will follow in his footsteps well," Keane said, too cheerily.
"I have my own footsteps in mind," I bit out.
Keane just chuckled. "Of course you do, my boy, of course you do."
I opened my mouth to remind Keane exactly who I was now—his alpha—when someone knocked into me from behind.
My snarl escaped before I could stop myself, but when I spun to face the man, I found de Roche winking at me. "Pardon me. Bit of drink?"
I rolled my shoulders out but made sure not to sigh with relief.
"A toast," Damian Worthington declared.
"No toast," I said, holding up my hand but not turning back to the man. "But a dram, yes."
Unable to make a scene of it, Keane and Worthington turned to one another, making it easy for me to retreat to the edge of the tent with de Roche.
"I've got my men on a bit of a plot to get the others out of here," Seamus murmured in my ear.
I opened my mouth to ask what kind of plot but decided it was better not to know, as long as it worked.
I was sick to death of the pomp. I'd thought I'd be excited at my success, but instead, I found myself impatient to move on from celebrating.
There was work to be done, and damn, but did I need to sleep.
Ronson Cadogan, Alpha of Bleake Isle just a flight north of here, rose from a high backed chair to face us. He'd seemed tense today, and I'd started to worry he might have changed his mind out of favor of supporting me, but he greeted me with a wry smile.
"Ready to tear your own skin off yet?" he asked.
I let out a rough breath. "How'd you know?"
He shrugged. "It's how it feels. It will settle eventually. After the rut, if not sooner."
I accepted the glass from Seamus, and Ronson raised his own, black eyes glinting with dark humor. "To your rise, Alpha. And all the trouble it brings with it."
I didn't care about the trouble. I drank deep with them.