Chapter 12
DUEL ME
Ziara
Ididn’t know jack about dragons.
I needed information, but where the hell could I find books on winged lizards that weren’t pure fantasy fiction?
All the books in the den’s library had been specifically put there by my father and his soldiers.
Our reading selection was limited, and I was a social pariah who’d grown up with one friend.
When I wasn’t with Mackiel, I was training with Rust or alone in my head, wishing I could freaking sleep.
I’d read everything in the den library.
There were no books on weapons that could pierce dragon hide or regarding dragons in general, since our inventory hadn’t exactly been restocked since the Mondeine found out about magic and threw the world into war.
I’d always been curious about what proper libraries offered, which was likely how I found myself across the street from one now, contemplating stupidity.
Six hours at the gym and my brain still wouldn’t shut the hell up. The dragon’s threat kept ringing through my mind like a death knell. He was coming for me. Whatever intentions Dad had for the bloodstone, they weren’t worth the lives of our pack.
Confident the alpha would feel the same, I needed to know if I could take the stone and bolt if necessary. The dragon wanted me and the artifact. He’d follow, and my pack would be safe.
Having already doused myself in Sereana’s concoction to hide my scent, I cautiously neared the pack boundary line.
Every wolf who’d gone through the Bloodrite was bound to the alpha’s will.
Disobeying a direct order was supposed to be physically impossible.
Mack had described it as hitting a wall inside his own mind, an override that seized his muscles before his body could betray the pack.
I’d never tested it. Not really. I’d fudged the edges a few times, skirted the spirit of a command while technically obeying the letter, but I’d never planted both feet on the wrong side of a line the alpha had drawn.
My heart hammered as I stepped off the crumbling sidewalk and onto the street.
Nothing happened.
No wall. No override. No invisible hand yanking me back by the spine.
I stood on forbidden ground, breathing hard, waiting for the consequences to find me, but there was nothing.
Relief hit me first. If the dragon came for the pack, I could grab the bloodstone and run. I could draw him away from our people, away from Tali and the pups and everyone who’d be in danger. The pack would survive, and that was all that mattered.
But the relief curdled almost instantly, replaced by something cold and unsettling that settled in the pit of my stomach.
The Bloodrite hadn’t stopped me.
Why?
Every wolf in the pack was leashed by it. Mack, Rust, soldiers twice my size and three times my rank, no one could defy the alpha’s authority. The binding was absolute. It was the foundation of everything we were.
And it didn’t work on me.
I didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good.
Another way I was mistaken. Another crack in the illusion that I belonged here.
If anyone found out—if Hitch found out—the whispers about Jillian would be nothing compared to what they’d say about the half-breed demon wolf that even the alpha couldn’t control.
The library across the street watched me with dark, empty windows. I wanted to go in. Wanted to lose myself in a fictional world that had no dragons, but I didn’t dare. Not today. Not with this new secret sitting like a stone in my gut beside all the others.
I backed across the boundary line, pulse racing for entirely different reasons now.
Turning, I hurried home to shower. Then I pulled Mackiel’s old T-shirt on, breathing in his scent.
He was at the farm training recruits, and this was the last shirt he wore before leaving.
Considering that was a month and a half ago, I should have washed it, but there were some days I just needed his scent, and this was one of them.
I collapsed on my bed, realizing my mistake when I tried to stand up and found I lacked the energy and the willpower. My eyes grew heavy, and it felt so good every time they closed.
Darkness.
The hair on my nape bristled as déjà vu hit. Another dream. A freaking recurring nightmare. Had to be.
The air chilled, sending a series of shivers up my spine.
I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck, refusing to show fear, and muttered, “This is getting old.”
Thick and oppressive silence was my only answer.
My pulse kicked up despite my best efforts. Where the hell was he? The void stretched in every direction, empty and infinite. I turned slowly, searching for movement, for anything.
The darkness shifted, and the scaly beast appeared about a hundred feet away, every bit as awesome and terrifying as he’d been in the first dream. He stalked toward me, those menacing vertical pupils locked on my every move.
He was getting too close.
I threw up my hands and shouted, “Stop!”
To my surprise, he did.
Emboldened, I added, “That’s close enough. We’re not doing this again.”
Frost wafted from his enormous muzzle, chilling the air between us.
Are you ready to surrender then? he asked, his voice thundering in my head.
Anger coursed through my veins. I was tired and wanted restful sleep, not more of this bullshit. The gleam in his silver eyes promised a fight, and I couldn’t do it tonight.
I bit my hand.
The dragon roared.
Either pain, terror, or the taste of blood woke me.
Trembling, I gasped for breath. Having a dragon roar in my face was a new and terrifying experience, one I never wanted to have again.
Like before, it hadn’t felt like a dream, and I wanted to throat-punch my subconscious for summoning that asshole twice in a row.
Maybe I was going crazy.
The smell of copper focused my attention on my hand. I was bleeding. From my teeth marks. Which wasn’t at all how dreams were supposed to work. Was something else going on?
No, everything is fine. He must have cursed my dreams or something.
Could dragons do that? I had no idea. I’d just… never sleep again.
No big deal.
No, that was crazy. I cleaned up my already healing hand and returned to bed because I was a whole-ass adult. Whatever this was, I had to deal with it if it didn’t go away. I already had insomnia. I couldn’t fear sleep. I needed to be sharp to help my people through whatever came.
I lay down, closed my eyes, and meditated.
Darkness.
“This is bullshit,” I muttered, reaching for my daggers only to find that I was unarmed once again. “And unoriginal. God forbid you do anything to level the playing field.”
In answer, cold prickled my skin, and a thin layer of ice froze around me.
“That’s a dick move.”
This time, he appeared in his human form, shirtless and flawless. His muscles rippled, and I could only stare. If this bastard was about to kill me, at least I could enjoy the view.
Guilt pierced me, and I dropped my gaze. He was the enemy of my people. The dragon who promised to hunt me to the ends of the earth. I couldn’t lust after him; I needed to cut off his head. Which would prove difficult to do since he’d taken my daggers and trapped me in ice.
Pins and needles stabbed at my toes and fingers as they started going numb.
“Only a dream. Not real,” I muttered, searching for any cracks in the dragon’s reality that would help me distinguish truth from nightmare.
Dark, sensuous laughter rumbled from his chest. “Let me assure you, I am very real. My presence is no mere trick of the mind. I warned you that your theft would carry consequences, and here I am. Here I will stay until you throw yourself at my mercy.”
He could stay here as long as he wanted, because I sure wasn’t. I met his silver eyes and didn’t look away as I chomped down on my tongue.
Blood flooded my mouth, and the bizarre, dark world disappeared.
Waking up in my room, with the taste of copper on my tongue, I decided I’d had enough of dreams for the night. Giving up on sleep, I pulled off Mack’s T-shirt long enough to put on a sports bra, then added shorts and sneakers and headed to the gym.
I needed to get that damn dragon out of my head.
The pack had two gyms. The first was near the den's main entrance and was used by my packmates on a rotating schedule to prepare them for the upcoming war.
The second, much smaller gym was located at the back of our underground city and held a single treadmill, a boxing bag, free weights, and balance beams. Rust had built it for my training, but I sometimes used it to coach Tali or spar with Mack.
Today, it would be the place where I wore myself out, exorcising all thoughts of my dream stalker.
I dropped off my backpack by the door and headed straight for the treadmill to warm up with a five-mile run. When that didn’t work, I lit into the punching bag, wishing it were the face of Mr. Tall, Hot, and Terrifying—the man, not the dragon, since I wasn’t suicidal.
Boxing was a form of meditation, and before long, it cleared my mind and settled me into a zone where nothing mattered but my breaths and the bag. Jab-hook-cross. Exhale. Inhale.
Smack, smack, smack. Exhale. Inhale.
Fresh dark blotches speckled the faded gray vinyl, adding to the collection of dried blood. Pain registered across my knuckles, and I flexed my hands. They itched as flesh tugged and knitted itself back together, healing almost instantly.
Once, when I was a younger and more foolish wolf, I’d asked Rust why we didn’t use boxing gloves to train. The next day, he showed up with a pair, tossed them to me, and thrashed me soundly in the seconds it took to don them.
“We don’t train for a boxin’ ring; we train for survival,” he’d said. “Pain can be an asset or a distraction. Learn to embrace it, and it can never be used against you.”
I wondered what Rust would say about my dreams.
I considered telling him, but what would I say? That the enemy I should have killed showed up and tormented me every time I closed my eyes? Yeah right.