Chapter 11
Startled by the black dragon streaking toward them, Rylana lifted her bow.
Do not fire at my kin, Jildarin told her. Such power filled his words that she felt magically compelled to obey and lowered the weapon.
He roared, leaped from his perch, and flew to meet his aunt with his talons outstretched, his fangs flashing in the sunlight.
Rylana gaped as they came together, biting and raking each other as their wings beat, keeping them aloft. She hadn’t thought he would fight his own kin—he’d just told her not to attack them. But he didn’t hesitate to tear into his aunt.
Rylana kept her arrow nocked in case Jildarin needed help, but she didn’t raise her bow again. With the dragons twisting and rolling and lashing out in such close proximity to each other, how could she have targeted the right one, regardless? All she could do was watch.
Growls, snarls, and screeches emanated from the skirmish as the dragons battled. A tail clipped the remains of a stone wall, knocking the top off. Someone drew blood—Rylana couldn’t tell who—and it flew, spattering another wall.
Afraid Jildarin's mother would come back and help his aunt, Rylana made herself glance skyward several times, but she couldn’t help but return her gaze to the battle, mesmerized.
A little larger than his aunt, Jildarin had greater strength and speed.
Even though Lysilria was terrifying herself, and could have slain an army of lesser beings, he rebuffed all her attacks.
He was the epitome of power and grace as he flew in and out, landing bite after bite.
Soon, the black-scaled dragon dripped blood from multiple wounds.
Relent, my aunt, Jildarin ordered, the same power in his voice that he’d used on Rylana.
But Lysilria didn’t obey. She snarled and sprang once more for him.
Jildarin met her charge, flapping his wings and holding his ground—his air. When they came together, he knocked her head to the side, gouging her with one of his horns, then bit into her exposed neck. As his fangs sank in, his own powerful neck flexed, and he hurled her entire body away.
Lysilria tumbled through the air, wings flapping as she tried to stop her momentum, but she crashed into the side of the pyramid. Instead of following after her to hurt her further while she was wounded, Jildarin landed on the remains of a building and roared at her, his emerald eyes blazing.
Lysilria rose to her feet, blood dribbling to the ground, but she didn’t launch another attack. She met his gaze and said, That is why all the females desire you, Jildarin-grozanarav.
He growled.
Lysilria turned her side to him, then leaped into the air and flew south, after his mother. Before she disappeared over the trees, she looked back, skewering Rylana with an icy glare.
A chill went through her as she realized his aunt might yet be trouble—not for Jildarin but for her.
Judging by that look, Lysilria didn’t like that Rylana had witnessed her getting her ass kicked.
And she was probably still thinking that Jildarin might be more obedient to the clan’s wishes if a human female weren’t distracting him.
Rylana huffed in frustration. They weren’t sleeping together; they were just business partners.
Jildarin not wanting to cave to female dragon manipulation—a notion Rylana approved of—had nothing to do with her.
Other than one dragon-spice-induced kiss, a kiss that he hadn’t returned, she hadn’t done anything to try to affect his sex life.
And she had no plans to attempt to do so, especially now that she knew what a pain in the bukok his family was.
With a disgruntled growl, Jildarin jumped down from his perch. After flexing his wings and stretching his neck, he let his shape-changing magic ripple about him, and he turned into his human form.
“I know you bristle when I give you commands,” he said, “but I require you to live and continue to run calculations for the business, so I must order you not to leave Tranquility by yourself.”
“Can you make it a request instead of an order?” Rylana asked lightly, though, after having his aunt threaten her—and give her that long, death-is-in-your-future look—she wasn’t eager to travel outside the borders alone anytime soon.
“No,” Jildarin said without humor.
“You think she’ll really come after me?”
“It is ridiculous, since you have nothing to do with my disinterest in mating with the females who’ve approached me, but yes.”
Rylana walked up to join him and looked toward the pyramid tunnel, wondering if Vormalt remained hunkered in the shadows inside or if he’d used the distraction to sneak away, find his horse, and head back toward the city.
She would prefer it if he hadn’t witnessed that demeaning conversation, but if he lingered in the area, maybe she could question him further while Jildarin glared at him and hopefully cowed him.
Usually, when Jildarin was wearing his chef’s coat and whisking eggs, he wasn’t overly intimidating, but he was glowering after dealing with his kin, and, after watching him fight as a dragon, Rylana wouldn’t want to cross him.
She was almost amazed that she’d had the audacity to shoot at him during the war.
“I got some information from Vormalt, but I want to see if I can learn more.” She pointed into the tunnel.
“You will stay in the city when I am not with you, correct?” Jildarin asked, apparently not ready to drop that until she answered affirmatively.
“Yeah, unless this curse needs me to venture out for something, I don’t plan to take picnic baskets into the woods anytime soon.”
Frowning, Jildarin reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, gazing steadily into her eyes. A little shiver went through her. He didn’t usually touch her.
“Be not flippant when it comes to dragons,” he said sternly.
“Sorry. Flippancy is in my nature.”
“I have noticed this.” His hand tightened on her shoulder but not painfully. It was more like he cared and wanted his message to get through.
She could feel the heat of his palm through her clothes and was aware of how close he was, of the magical power that emanated from him even when he was in his human form.
She caught herself looking at his lips, at the perfect line of his jaw, at his short silver hair, tousled after the battle.
How soft it appeared, inviting fingers to push through it, to stroke it.
Rylana looked away. Just because he was touching her shoulder didn’t mean he had any interest in mating. After the threats from his family, she shouldn’t have any interest in it either.
“I’ll stay in Tranquility,” Rylana said to reassure him.
“Good. It’s not impossible for a dragon to fly over the city and strike at someone, then depart before the gnomes can send their golems and launch their other magical defenses, but our kind have been wounded before when they’ve gone to Tranquility with violence in mind.
I doubt Lysilria will try to find you in the city.
“I hope not. The war is over, and there’s a treaty. I haven’t done anything to go against it.”
Not that dragons hadn’t occasionally killed humans and other two-legged species before the war. Further, the treaty was hardly a pact promising that they wouldn’t slay random people who vexed them. Regardless, Jildarin nodded with agreement.
“I believe this of you now. I do not think you are a threat to me—or my kind.”
“Nope. And I’m not oozing allure at you to keep you from mating with other dragons.”
“Correct,” he said with another nod. “Further, you stood by me to verbally defend me to my mother.”
He smiled faintly and touched her cheek before stepping back, the tenderness of the gesture surprising her but also making her think again of intimacy.
Telling herself that he had no idea what a human woman found intimate, she pointed at the tunnel. They’d come for a reason, and they had best take care of business before any dragons returned.
“The human male departed while I battled my aunt. You did not notice him running down the knoll?” Jildarin pointed in the direction of the river. “Usually, you are observant.”
“Thanks, but I was busy watching your fight and worrying about your mother coming back to join in.” Rylana didn’t mention that they—he—had been somewhat mesmerizing and that it had been hard to look away.
“It’s all right. I already spoke to him, and…
” She looked back to where she’d dropped Vormalt’s journal.
It lay there in the soggy leaf litter. “I got his diary.”
“A book where he records his innermost secrets?” Jildarin's tone suggested he was repeating verbatim how someone had once defined it for him. Dragons probably didn’t keep diaries.
“Something like that.” Rylana jogged over and picked up the book. “This has his blackmailing notes inside.”
“Blackmailing is a tactic used by villains.”
“Yeah, though he may think himself a righteous vigilante. A righteous vigilante who wants his family to prosper.” Rylana returned to the pyramid and peeked into the tunnel.
“Let’s see if we can figure out what prompted him to come out to these ruins.
Thanks to his skullduggery under my family’s castle, the city is already cursed, so what else did he need to do? ”
“I am uncertain as to what took place beneath your family’s abode.”
“So am I, unfortunately.” Only a few steps into the pyramid, an eerie draft swept over Rylana, raising gooseflesh.
It reminded her uncomfortably of what she’d felt under the castle, and she couldn’t tell how far the tunnel extended.
She paused to see if Jildarin would follow.
She’d never considered herself cowardly, but she also wasn’t keen to visit the ruins of gods who could put curses on an entire city.
Besides, she hadn’t thought to bring a lantern along on this journey. “I could use some company, Jildarin.”
He stood outside, gazing skyward. Watching to see if his mother and aunt returned?