24. Chapter 24
The door flies open again with a resounding thud.
This time, the force of the impact causes it to tumble off its hinges and shatter to the floor in splinters of wood dust. The billowing storm dwindles down to a whisper as a dark enigma floods the doorway.
Clad in metal-pronged armor and a hooded cloak, he resembles a haunting phantom of death, his eyes brimming with an animalistic rage as ancient and primal as time itself.
“Mine. She is mine,” he growls.
Augustine.
I practically melt to the floor at the sight of him.
What is he doing here?
And more importantly, why is my heart about to burst out of my chest?
“That’s funny,” the dragon prince says, all of the amusement wicking from his face as quickly as a cloud dissipates. “Because I was under the impression that she belongs to no one.”
True story.
“Get out,” Augustine snarls at him.
My mouth falls open in shock.
The dragon prince’s eyes flicker toward his sword, which lies as silent as an ember dying in a puddle of snow on the floor. In one clean, continuous motion, he dives for it, swiping it up like it’s made of air and dragon smoke—weightless, pliable, and easily proddable through an opponent’s eyeball.
“If you think you’re going to kill me—” he starts.
“I didn’t come here to kill you.” Augustine cuts him off, his lips pulled back to reveal teeth, his expression almost wolf-like. “But I will if you don’t get out of my way.”
I press myself against the wall. Because fuck, that was kind of hot.
The dragon prince lifts his sword toward the groove in Augustine’s throat, forcing the god to stop mid-stride. They stare at each other in silence. It’s almost poetic really, like an unyielding wall of ice standing against the pinnacle of darkness.
“That curse of yours is a pesky little thing, isn’t it?
” the dragon prince asks, his voice lilting with hints of ancient draconic tongue.
The same language that the Valenorian people had spoken in the tunnels—Tannerian.
“It forces you to have feelings that you’ve never had before,” he continues.
“Like the feeling of despair once you learn that your pet has fallen in love with a dragon lord instead of you. Make sure to send her a love note from Purgatory, won’t you? ”
Me? In love with a dragon lord?
Oh, you have GOT to be fucking kidding me right now.
Silence billows as the hut glitters in a free-fall of ethereal light.
Almost like it’s silently daring the two mountains of power to collide.
The starlight grows brighter, poking through the unrepaired fissures in the ceiling, mirroring the bottled-up rage that’s threatening to spill from my caged heart and bleed out all over the floor.
He thinks that I love him? After only just meeting? He’s joking, right?
Augustine’s ire is palpable as he unsheathes his blood-soaked dagger and uses it to force the prince’s sword away from his neck with a resounding clang. “I was willing to spare your life and allow you to wage war against my siblings, but it seems that I’ve changed my mind,” he growls.
“God’s teeth, how long has it been since you last cleaned that thing?
” the dragon prince goads as he inspects Augustine’s dagger with a head tilt.
Augustine jerks the weapon at him. The dragon prince spins away, dragging his sword along the wood-paneled floor in a friction-filled display of sparks that threaten to catch fire to everything… especially my damn heart.
Are these two idiots really fighting for my fucking honor right now?
“Says the man who failed to seduce a woman yet again,” Augustine says, his eyes narrowing.
“It seems that nothing has changed, Sylas Skornborn, king of the dragons, master at dissuading women, breaker of veils and repeller of hearts. In the future, if you desire a title of such length, at least be honest about its origin. Personally, I think you should rename yourself Fumbling Prongtail.”
Sylas stops in his tracks, his attention seemingly bombarded by delightful realization. “You’re afraid that she’ll pick me over you, aren’t you?” he asks, his eyes glinting with specks of golden wonder. Meanwhile, my heartbeat comes to a cataclysmic halt.
Did Augustine just say that lying son of a bitch is the king of the dragons?
The very guy who placed the bounty on my head?
Augustine flexes the fingers of his free hand like he’s preparing to disembowel the dragon king’s intestines and then rip his heart out through his neck.
Me first, buddy.
“Believe me,” Augustine growls, his eyes darkening, “the last thing Shadow wants to do is traipse across the Leviathan Sea alongside a hoard of winged serpents who feast on bloodmagic for a living.”
He's got a good point there.
“You’re afraid that she’d be happy,” Sylas the Dragon King counters with a sneer. “She’d certainly have more freedom in Skaldrathia than she does under your watch. With me, she’d be an equal. A queen. Not some kind of imprisoned pet.”
Oh dear. My heart seems to be knocking around in my chest, suddenly unsure of which direction my blood should pump in.
Freedom. Queen. Equal.
Augustine bares his fangs. “She’d have freedom, sovereignty, and a fiery demise… considering that the last I heard, dragon queens tend to die.”
Right. Nevermind.
“Can you two stop bickering over me like I’m not standing right here?
” I blurt out. Augustine opens his mouth as if to speak, but I cut him off with an upheld hand.
“I didn’t ask you to come here and involve yourself in my shenanigans.
” In fact, I was trying to escape the gods entirely with my friends.
I study his sturdy face, his strong jaw, and the way the light glints off his lips, causing them to sheen.
Gods. He is so… damn… beautiful. And vexing.
“Yet for some godsforsaken reason, I keep finding you around every corner and bend,” I continue, “breathing down my neck and infiltrating my dreams. Don’t think I haven’t figured it out yet.
You’ve been tampering with my memories.”
Augustine falls still.
Silence reigns as I spin on the dragon king next, wiping the smirk right off his pompous face with my insidious expression.
“And you. You ruined my bowl of soup.” I jam a finger against his chest plate, hard, and then fight back the urge to wince in pain.
The wall of metal meets my bone, causing my cartilage to crunch.
Gritting through my teeth, I glare at the two stubborn giants.
One of darkness, and the other of light.
Both of whom are grinding on my very last nerve.
I drag my hands across my face and exasperate, “I want both of you to get the fuck away from me. Permanently.”
“I came here to inform you that the statue is back in one piece. I thought you’d be pleased to hear it,” Augustine says quietly, almost as if he’s ashamed of himself.
“Wait. Are you being serious?” I ask.
“That’s cheating.” Sylas flays the god with a stare.
“Since when have I ever played fair?” Augustine asks as he flings his dagger, sending the ruddy thing pirouetting through the air. It lands directly in Sylas’s grasp, who catches it by its toothy blade without so much as a wince.
Then there’s the bloodshed. So much bloodshed.
It leaks from the dragon king’s palms in rivers of golden ichor.
It coats the planked floors and slips through the cracks in the hut’s very foundation.
I pray that Trisda has a basement full of pails to catch it with, as gods only know she could use the spare bloodmagic.
But then again, she betrayed me. So I take that back. Screw her.
“You missed my heart.” Sylas squeezes out a fictitious laugh as he drops the blade, giving it an additional kick for good measure and sending it skidding back toward Augustine.
“How about you give it another go? Second time’s a charm,” he goads.
Then he rips off his sleeve with his teeth and uses it to wrap the fresh wound on his palm.
Augustine ignores the weapon and leans against the doorframe instead, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’s just missed his intended mark. “You know, I learned something fascinating the other day,” he says.
Sylas’s face falls.
“Wraithbane,” he continues, “which is often mistaken for rust, is poisonous for dragons in high enough concentrations. Apparently, the poison enters the bloodstream through a minor cut in the skin and then waterlogs the lungs. Within moments, the victim’s body is forced to succumb.
It is truly the most inhumane suffering one can possibly imagine.
” He leans forward, eyes widening with fascination.
“Which is why I thought it perfect for such a worthy adversary.”
Sylas’s body stiffens. His face turns a ripe shade of sickly green, and he drops his sword with a clatter.
“You…” He clenches his stomach and then collapses face-first on the floor, where he begins contorting in seizure-like movements, leaving behind rows of scores along the floor from the way he’s dragging his nails.
“You… fucking… prick.” His groan is a guttural sound, barely audible through all the rabid foam rimming around his lips. “I’ll castrate you.”
In a casual display of nonchalance, Augustine strolls across the hut and steps over Sylas’s fallen form.
Smugly, he reaches into the depths of his pocket and pulls out a little yellow vial.
“Truth serum,” he explains in what feels like slow motion.
“It’ll reverse the effects of the poison, and it’ll force you to tell Shadow the real reason for why you’ve come. Think of it as a two-for-one.”
“I’ve already told her my true intentions,” Sylas chokes out, his face contorting in paralyzing fear as Augustine pops the lid off the vial and bends down to greet him at eye level.
“Tell her the truth, Sylas.” Augustine thrusts the vial into Sylas’s bloody grip. “Not just the part you think she wants to hear.”