Chapter 4
Ever
FUCK THE TAINTED, THE RELACOURS, The Horde, and everyone else I’m too bloody tired to think of right now. They can all sit naked on thrones made entirely of cacti in the middle of a raging sandstorm until they’re poked and abraded to death one painful layer at a time.
I snort a laugh at that visual and wipe sweat from my face.
It doesn’t help—more sweat just takes its place, making me feel like soggy cereal encased in an armored suit.
My foot catches on a crack, and with an embarrassing loud squeal, I just manage to stop myself from crashing face-first against the ground.
Running on empty, I groan with the effort it takes to steady myself.
If I fall, there’s a good chance I won’t be getting up for a couple of days, and that can’t happen, not when I’m already cutting things so close.
It doesn’t help that I’m dead on my feet and questionably conscious at the moment, but I’ve survived worse odds.
I speed up, pushing myself harder than I have the reserves to support, but I don’t have a choice. The neglected warehouse on the edge of the deadlands is within reach, and once I’m inside, I’m home free.
Miracle of miracles, I somehow stopped myself from revealing in the middle of Temmeh Financial.
I have no idea how I managed it. I think the agony of fighting my dragon somehow worked in my favor, the pain helping to anchor me, maybe.
Whatever it was, it sure as shit came at a cost. I barely got myself out of the office and then out of the bank.
I was so weak and it felt like my body was punishing every step I took in retaliation for fighting the reveal.
Now, my thoughts are sluggish, my stomach is ready to mutiny from hunger, and every blink feels like fine-grit sandpaper against my eyeballs.
I’m pretty sure I’m running on nothing more than a survival instinct that’s been battered beyond all recognition and pure, unadulterated obstinacy?. .?. but it worked, my plan worked.
Not wanting to jinx myself, I quickly scan the skies. A paranoid peek over my shoulder confirms I’m still alone. I didn’t pick up any tails when I left the blood bank, and no one followed me from the storehouse where I grabbed the pallet of provisions floating silently behind me.
Almost there , I encourage myself. Just this last step to get through, and then you can eat and rest.
The wind taunts me, blasting me with sand one second and fading into a gentle caress the next before raging and trying to blow me over.
When that doesn’t work, the blustery breeze tries to rob me of my anonymity and steal my newly cleaned cloak.
I hold my hood in place and lean into the tempestuous gale.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think a Channeler was fucking with me.
With one last cautious look around, I dip into the shadow of the warehouse and gently slide the side door open.
It gives a piercing screech in protest, and I wince.
So much for sneaking in. Technically, I shouldn’t have to.
There’s not supposed to be anyone inside, but the unmistakable thump-thump of a steady heartbeat tells me my luck for the day has officially run out.
Black sand eddies around my boots as I step into the dim building.
The wind coils itself through several holes in the rusty walls, which fills the warehouse with the draft’s wails and howls.
The back wall of the warehouse is missing altogether, but my focus is trained on the two large mounds in the middle of the otherwise empty space.
Discolored tarps hide the contents of what’s waiting for me, but I don’t see anyone trying to steal anything.
That’s good, but then who the hell is here right now?
I know it’s not The Horde—they would never send just one person to apprehend me—and I don’t scent dragon in the air.
None of the Syphons or wyverns know I’m coming, so they wouldn’t have sent a welcome party of one.
Puzzled, I extend my senses and step deeper into the warehouse.
My dagger slips smoothly from its sheath as something off to the side catches my eye.
In a flash of soundless movement, I spin and rest the edge of my blade against the throat of a male lurking in the shadows just inside the door.
The magic the sorcai was using to veil himself pops like a soap bubble, the cast nowhere near strong enough to stand against a bone blade.
“Whoa,” he gasps, his hands snapping up, palms out, like the gesture could convince me he’s less of a threat.
The pallet of supplies floating behind me doesn’t get the we’re in trouble memo, and it thumps hard into my side, forcing me to stumble.
The hit costs me my advantage, and I have no choice but to put distance between myself and the porter who’s supposed to be long gone by now.
Once again, the hovering plinth of supplies attempts to track my movements, and I’m forced to shove it away before it can sabotage me again.
The last thing I need is to be taken out by a stack of shelf-stable food. Pretty sure my reputation can’t take that and the butter-knife thing.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Trank?” I demand, my patience razor-thin.
The asshole is lucky I caught his neon-pink hair out of the corner of my eye and didn’t actually go for the kill, or he wouldn’t be alive to answer any questions.
Trank’s nostrils flare and the rings in his nose glint in the muted light.
I can’t tell if he’s noting the distinct lack of centaur shit in the air or if he’s trying to scent me.
He studies me cautiously, like he’s sizing me up, and I tighten my grip on my knife and offer him a grin that says bring it before I remember that my hood is up and he can’t see my face.
“Mind explaining this?” he snaps angrily, holding up one of the vials I filled earlier.
Confused, I study the vacutainer for a second, but I don’t see anything physically wrong with it. “Your payment?”
He scoffs and shoots me a glare. “If I can’t cash it, it’s not payment.”
“What are you talking about?” I argue. “I sent the code to unlock it, which you clearly did since the vial is out of the sealed depositor. You confirmed receipt of payment. Our business is done.”
“I only did the standard tests to confirm there was enough magic in the blood to cover the fees. I didn’t know until later that the source was dragon .
You can’t pay me with dragon blood,” he exclaims, his tone making it seem like I tried to pay him with day-old piss. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Angrily, he holds the tube of blood up and levels me with a glare.
“Uh?.?.?. spend it wisely and say thank you,” I hedge. “Dragon blood isn’t listed as one of your unaccepted forms of payment, so why is this a problem?”
He takes a step toward me, chartreuse magic flickering to life in his palm.
“Careful, porter,” I growl. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Trank stiffens but rallies. “I don’t list dragon blood because no one is stupid enough to use it. I don’t deal with stolen blood. Which means the things I procured for you aren’t yours until you pay for them.”
Instantly, I grasp what he’s freaking out about and relax. I resheath my dagger and do my best to de-escalate the situation. “The blood isn’t stolen, Trank. You’ve been properly paid. Now fuck off.”
Misinterpreting my statement, the porter bristles. “I’ll call The Horde if I have to. I’m sure they’d be interested to know where you acquired this blood. I can’t promise they won’t turn your insides into your outsides though, so I’d really think about what you want to do next, milady .”
I snort a laugh and unclasp my cloak, pulling it off in one easy motion. “Go ahead. Call them, I dare you.”
My bluff hangs unanswered in the air while Trank’s gaze drops to my dragon mark and gets stuck there.
“Like I said,” I start, turning to the covered mound in the middle of the warehouse. “The blood isn’t stolen. It’s mine. Which means you can cash it, spend it, do whatever you want with it, because it’s perfectly legal tender.”
I chuck my cloak on the pallet that resumes following me when I stride over to the large mounds sitting in the middle of the warehouse. Trank doesn’t stop me, still frozen where he stands. I pull a tarp off the covered mass closest to me, and a cloud of desert dust comes with it.
“The Horde is going to show up and ask me where I got this,” Trank murmurs, almost to himself.
He stares down at the vial in his palm like he’s still unsure what to do with it.
Understanding flickers to life in his eyes, and he scrambles to secure the blood into a depositor.
If I had to guess, he just grasped how much money he was holding in his hand and realized if he dropped it, he was fucked.
“Yes, The Horde will show up and ask questions,” I agree.
“And when they do, you have my permission to tell them everything. They’ll get the truth out of you one way or another, so there’s no point making an enemy of the dragons, not on my account, anyway.
Oh, and they can question you about the money, but they can’t take it.
It’s a lawful payment for services rendered.
Just like the other deliveries you made for me today.
Everything is on the up and up, so everyone gets to keep what I gave them. ”
Trank looks baffled and then stunned, but I ignore whatever is going on with him and quickly inspect the hover-trailer I just uncovered. I walk a slow circuit around the large floating hauler and nod, satisfied. The porter may be annoying, but he does good work.