Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Peace is a weapon greater than fear. Guard it as you would a rare teacup.
-Humaning for Beginners: A Dragon’s Tale of Human Management
Iforced Taron from my thoughts and sprinted down the hill, the folded spear clenched in my hand.
With every step, I allowed buried anger to rise, spark and fuel until a haze of rage cloaked my vision.
But I didn’t enter a full berserkerage; I only skirted the edge of one.
I would be attacked. That was a given. Better to keep my wits, and my purpose, at the forefront of my mind.
I knew what the glade would demand. I wasn’t walking in blind, but prepared.
The closer I drew to the wraithlings, the thicker the air became, laden with a potent cocktail of anguish, sadness and frenzy.
A prickling ran along my skin, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my neck and down my arm.
Moans of misery reached my ears, carried by a constant stream of wailing.
A metallic odor coated the atmosphere, as if death had moved in and refused to leave.
Upon reaching striking distance of the wraithlings, I popped the spear. The pieces straightened with a whoosh, the joints snapping into place. Good thing.
A lone wraithling dropped and shot my way, chomping its teeth at me. All of its teeth, even those on the wings it attempted to wrap around me.
“Got no quarrel with you. Just need a flower. A single flower, and I’ll leave,” I shouted, ducking and twisting, still on the move, barely avoiding contact.
When I reached the edge of the circle, the other wraithlings whipped in my direction too.
With wild, high-pitched screeches, they attacked me in unison. So much for avoiding the fight.
I hadn’t realized how prophetic I’d been when I told Taron I was taking one for the team, but going alone was still the cleanest way through.
Their screeches burst my eardrums. The sound wasn’t just noise, but a weapon. In an instant, my world went silent. Suddenly, hundreds of teeth bit me, and multiple sets of claws slashed bone-deep. Utterly surrounded.
Pain consumed me. I screamed but still heard nothing.
Blood dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision.
At least until a wraithling clawed out my left eye.
I didn’t slow. Couldn’t let myself stop.
Wings and shrouds. More teeth. More scratches and gashes.
So much blood. I couldn’t kill these creatures; they were already dead. All I could do was fight my way onward.
Going by instinct rather than senses, I shoved an end of the spear into the ground, hoping it reached the center of the circle. Success! A blast of electrical energy exploded up and out, slamming into my opponents.
The wraithlings jerked and rained down, crashing onto the forest floor.
My plan in action. I had maybe thirty seconds until the stun wore off.
Trembling, weakening, I wiped the blood from my remaining eye.
Perfect timing. Buds grew and bloomed all around, petals glowing like little suns, seeming to be bathed in flame, fueled by pain. The Bloodpetal Blossom.
Keeping my focus on the floret, I lunged. I sensed Taron, skirting around the field, and a faint, unexpected chuckle escaped. Following a dragon’s commands couldn’t have come easily for him.
I crouched, lowering to my knees before a flower, its petals crimson, still wet with my lifeforce. Though my ears hadn’t healed, my heartbeat pounded in them as I reached for a bloom. Did a fresh horror await me when I touched it? I wasn’t sure anyone had ever gotten this far to find out.
The sight of my arm! Skin, gone. Muscle, shredded, resembling raw hamburger meat. I didn’t doubt the rest of me looked the same.
Once more I sensed Taron. I spotted him in the distance, waiting, but he wasn’t watching the glade or the wraithlings. He stared at me in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe a monster was willing to suffer to save a human.
Silly thoughts. Focus. I clasped the stem and gently pulled; the roots at first resisting. With a reluctant snap, the flower finally sprang free of the dirt.
Bloom in hand, I limped from the circle—or tried to. A wraithling grabbed my ankle and refused to let go.
The others began to stir. I fought with every ounce of strength that remained in my battered body. As the countdown clock barreled toward its end, a shrill ring rose and faded in my head, proof my ears were healing. Thunder rumbled and boomed, announcing a coming storm.
Good. I’d done it.
As the ruckus tapered off, something registered through the haze. Footsteps?
Impact stole my thoughts. A force like a Mack truck rammed into me, whisking me off my feet, locking me into a cage of strong arms. Then that force sprinted away with me clutched against its chest. Pine and cedar cut through the chaos.
Taron. “You asked me to trust you. Now it’s your turn to trust me. I won’t hurt you.”
I sagged against him, confused. How dare he think he could hurt me?
How dare he disobey my express orders? But neither could be right.
I’d given him an out. A chance to save himself pain and injury.
No way would he risk himself to aid me. Yet here he was.
I tried to ask him why, but my voice didn’t work.
Maybe because the wraithlings had ripped out my throat?
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he said, breathless.
If I didn’t know better, I would think I heard great concern. Which I didn’t. And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.
The wraithlings roused completely, darting after us. I tracked their approach over Taron’s shoulder. Closer and closer. They gained in speed, coming in hot. If we didn’t exit their territory in the next couple of seconds, we might not make it out of this alive.
Taron could have dropped me and kept going, leaving me behind to deal with the attack. Perhaps he considered it. Whatever his training demanded, whatever hatred promised him safety, he chose me.
Urgency lashed until—ja! We cleared the valley, but not before a wraithling clawed Taron’s back, cutting through shirt, skin and muscle. To his credit, he merely hissed and kept going.
The thunder resumed, joined by flashes of lightning. In seconds, the sky opened up and rain pelted us. Every drop hit my wounds like acid. Rather than rebound and recover with supernatural speed, I weakened further.
Black dots crowded my vision, the world slipping away. “I was supposed to be taking one for the team.”
“I know.”
“Then you missed the part where you were supposed to wait for me to catch up with you.”
“I did wait. I just got a bit…impatient.”
My head drooped against Taron’s warm, solid shoulder. Mmm. And it was steady. The final tether. A riptide of sleep dragged me under, plunging me into a sea as turbulent as my soul. But just as quickly, a brilliant light fractured the dark, and the waters evaporated.
That light flickered and flashed. Suddenly, I found myself standing on the snow-blanketed cliff at the edge of the mortal world, where wind howled and despair waited.
I was nowhere and everywhere at once, a phantom observer hyperaware of every heartbeat and snowflake’s fall, yet I remained untouched by the cold enveloping me.
A boy cowered in the shadows of a cave, shivering, his breath ragged and fast. Terror curled in his small frame. I’d seen this child once before, on a quiet suburban street, practicing with matches. Now he was a little older.
Outside the cavern, at the edge of the same cliff where Taron had once dared me to burn him, stood an older man I recognized. His father, Julian. The Chains of O shackled on his wrists, the metal freshly cleaned.
I gasped, breath catching like a blade in my throat. Another memory. Another truth seen from Taron’s point of view, the bond no longer showing me echoes but forcing a confession.
The man turned his face skyward, frail and weak, and there I was, descending from the sky.
My jaw dropped. I’d never seen myself this way.
Not from the outside. I epitomized a tempest, massive wings of shadow and crystallized smoke outstretched, my body a terrible amalgamation of woman and dragon.
Summoned by the chains while in the midst of a fierce battle with shifters, crimson streaked my embergold scales and crazed flames danced in my irises.
My red hair streamed behind me, turning black as twines of golden and blue fire bathed it.
Smoke curled from my nostrils with every breath, rising to form horns in the air above me. I looked unstoppable. Terrifying.
Fear contorted the man’s expression, but he didn’t run. “Test me, Queen Olyssa,” he shouted, his voice almost lost in the wind. He raised his arms as if reaching for me. His wedding band caught the sunlight.
Thanks to the reports I’d gotten, I knew that he was dying. But seeing him, compassion had yanked me from my battle haze. Death clung to him with a tight grip, refusing to loosen its hold. I was his last chance to live.
There, in the moment, I let myself forget how much I despised the process. Stopped caring about the consequences of my actions. In the dream, I circled him, just like the wraithlings circled their field, hungry and relentless. Fire boiled in my gut, spilling power into my veins.
“Please,” he cried.
And I did it. I gave in to the urge to do exactly what he’d requested and test him, opening my mouth and unleashing his worst nightmare.
His screams, oh, his screams. They pierced the mountaintop as the inferno engulfed him, ceasing only when his body blackened and fell.
I didn’t stay. Didn’t give him a proper human burial or show a moment of remorse. Like the monster I had been, I collected the chains and left, too ashamed to face the horror of killing another Locke.
This time, I couldn’t leave. I was trapped in Taron’s memory. He sprang from the shadows and crouched at his father’s side. He was trembling, mute with grief. How had I never noticed him?