Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Hell. Race held her hands against his chest and forced air into his lungs, wrestling the mating heat blazing beneath his skin back under control. Who knew one mortal could crack open a heart he’d long thought lost?
Liked getting burned? Ash had no idea.
He pressed a kiss to the back of both her hands. Every instinct screamed to claim her. But she was human. She needed to understand what a dragon’s claiming truly meant.
A bite with full venom, and she could die.
You don’t know that, his dragon rumbled. She already has some of our venom.
Stop, he groaned. We can’t rush this. She’s too important to us.
“Why the sigh?” she asked softly, letting him go, and he sorely missed her warmth.
Race glanced over his shoulder to where she sat behind him, her beautiful face flushed, her gaze searching his.
I’m desperate for you. And terrified that if I let my needs take control, I could kill you.
He shook his head and shifted his attention back to the window so he wouldn’t drag her to him.
The mattress dipped behind him again. She wrapped her arms around him once more, her curves a seductive temptation against his back, and he gritted his teeth.
“Whatever it is,” she whispered, her cheek warm against his, “it’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
He fucking hoped so—
Dammit. He had to get his ass ready for a recon once Attor got back.
“I need to prepare.” Race kissed her forearm, then rose. Later, he would explain the dangers of his venom.
He crossed to the age-fogged mirror opposite the bed and slid the tie from his hair. Haunted eyes stared back at him, his silver strands cascading down his torso like moonlight.
Behind him, Ash got off the bed and padded to the window. Hinges squeaked as she eased it open, and the sharp bite of damp stone and old smoke swept into the room, stealing the warmth.
He inhaled deeply, grounding himself, and summoned his dagger. A cold fizz of static night air brushed his palm—then nothing.
What the hell?
Ash stood by the window seat, the obsidian blade in her hand, her thumb stroking the runic inlay. Race frowned, then he shook his head. Her abilities were probably messing with the mystical weapon.
“Ash, the dagger?”
“Sorry.” She hurried over and passed him the weapon.
He gathered his hip-length hair and, in one slash, cut it. Shortened silvery locks fell to his shoulders.
“What did you do?” she gasped as he stared at the shimmery length in his hand. “Your hair’s beautiful.”
“My hair marks me, silver and long. Too noticeable.” He tossed the remains into the pot-bellied fireplace, and it crackled and blackened in seconds. “Hopefully, shorter will help me go unnoticed.”
Ash tore her gaze away from the fire. “So, your lineage all had silver hair with those black ribbons at the front?”
“Our hair and eye color were always dead giveaways for who we are. But this…” he tugged the ebony streaks, “happened because of Tartarus. Now, it’s my reminder to put things right—”
He tied back the shortened length.
“Well. That’s…a bit of a stubby ponytail now, isn’t it?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. Only Ash could pull him out of the darkness just by being—he stilled, barbs scraping his psyche.
An acrid odor of old smoke flooded the room, replacing Ash’s clean, seductive scent. His heightened hearing caught the quiet slide of scales against slate—
An immense shadow fell across the window.
He grabbed Ash and pushed her behind him as a massive head appeared at the window, its molten, orange-flecked reptilian eyes locked on them.
“Oh, shit.” Ash grabbed the back of his shirt, peering around his biceps. “Race, that’s a-a…”
“Indeed.” He was already moving, tugging on his boots, a predator on the hunt. But her gaze remained fixed on the serpentine head blocking the window, its fiery eyes lingering on her for a heartbeat longer—then the beast heaved skyward, its claws raking brickwork as it launched into the night.
“Stay here. Don’t know how much the bastard heard.” His voice was pure ice. “Shut the window behind me. You’ll be safe. The house is warded.”
Before she could tell him to be careful, Race dematerialized, vanishing in a rush of air, leaving behind his lingering scent of burnt embers edged with ice.
Ash darted across the room and yanked the window shut.
No curtains—no way to pretend to hide. Bloody wonderful.
Her hands shook as she turned the oil wick down until the room sank into near darkness, broken only by a sliver of moonlight and the steady throbbing of the ward’s faint blue light beyond the glass.
She climbed into bed, her back to the wooden headboard, and pulled the covers to her chin.
The silence closed in.
The house creaked, timbers shifting as if groaning under age—or something worse.
Don’t think about that. Don’t—
A faint glimmer on the floor snagged her eye. Race’s obsidian dagger!
She scrambled off the mattress and grabbed it. At least she had a weapon. Back under the covers, she set the blade beside her, her fingers tight on the hilt. Despite the room’s warmth, a shiver slid over her.
A floorboard groaned somewhere below, sharp in the stillness. Her breath caught in her throat.
Race, please come back.
What if it was a trap? What if they were waiting for him?
No, stop it! Nothing was going to happen to him. She clutched the dagger to her chest, listening to the silence…
A creak echoed, and her eyelids flew open.
Ash blinked away the fog of sleep, every nerve strung taut. Another scrape, and she jackknifed upright, her heart slamming, her gaze fixed on the door. Had Race locked it? She couldn’t be sure.
The soft, almost quiet scuffle of boots rasped against wood.
Oh, shit, oh, shit. She fumbled for the dagger, lost somewhere in the covers—
“Sire?” Attor called out, the heavy door muffling his deep voice.
“Attor?” she croaked, her bones turning to water.
“Aye, lass.”
“Give me a sec.” She scrambled off the bed, nearly stumbling in her haste, her bare feet slapping against the cold boards as she sprinted for the door and yanked it open.
Attor waited on the tiny landing, staring down into the common room.
He turned, his eyes more gold than blue in the lamplight, his brow furrowing. “The sire’s not with you?”
Ash shook her head. “We had an incident…”
“Hold, lass.” On alert, his eyes narrowed as his head cocked, likely scanning the place. “Let’s go down, warmer there.”
He gestured for her to proceed and he followed, the stairs creaking under their combined weight. Koal stood near the downstairs window, likely tracking every shadow outside. He turned as they approached.
Attor removed a clouded crystal from his pocket and traced something in the air, then set it on the table. White light rippled across the walls. “It’s a sound-sigil,” he said. “Whatever we say stays in this house.”
Okay, then. Ash filled them in about the dragon spy in hushed whispers, as if that beast was still around.
“There are spies everywhere.” The hard line of Koal’s mouth settled into a tight smile. “But never fear, Ash. We are here.”
While that reassured her, she wished Race were back already. She sank into the armchair near the fireplace, setting the dagger on the small wooden table near her.
“How long since the sire left?” Attor asked.
“A few hours now.” She frowned, glancing at the passage leading to the other bedrooms. “Where’s Skaldr?”
“Gone scouting for the guard rotation schedule,” Koal said, lumbering past and dropping into the armchair opposite her.
Yeah. They needed that list.
“Flaeron?” she asked.
“We followed him until he took off into the skies, toward the barracks,” Attor muttered, stalking to the window and staring upward. “With the heavy cloud cover, easy for the bastard to double back.”
“The barracks?” Ash frowned. “I thought he lost favor with Malcarion?”
“Aye.” Attor glanced back. “Yet somehow, he’s still with the army. So it’s not work; likely, something personal got him kicked out.”
Koal nodded in confirmation, a muscle working in his jaw. “We watched the garrison entrance for hours, but there was no sign of him. He’s a damn gold, easy to spot even at night. So, where the hell did he go?”
“There are other Resistance fighters around,” Attor said then, still staring outside. “We will be notified when he appears.”
God, she hoped so. At the thought of being marked by that fascist prick, revulsion crawled up her spine. Ash shuddered.
The ward-light outside pulsed again, and she rubbed her chilled arms. Her mind slipped back to the children in cages. “We should be out there, helping those poor little kids.”
“We will.” Attor turned from the window. “But the sire’s orders were clear. You stay protected.”
Right. If anything happened to her, Race would leave everything behind, not help them.
Sighing, Ash cracked each knuckle. “I still don’t understand why a lone human is suddenly every dragon’s prize?”
Attor’s brows drew tight. “Most would’ve only seen you as different. Vulnerable. But Flaeron, he scented more. He knows you are gifted.”
All because she couldn’t control her damn powers!
“But I thought humans came into your world before?” she murmured. “Race said a few had.”
Koal folded his arms over his wide chest. “Aye. Millennia ago, a rift-storm tore the veil between our worlds. A handful of traders and their wives spilled through. The men fought in the wars, but the women…well, they were taken as pleasure mates or pets…”
Her stomach churning, Ash shifted in the armchair, tucking her chilly feet beneath her. “So, they were forced to stay?”
“Kept,” Attor corrected, his jaw tight, conveying his disgust. He prowled to the dining table across from her. “Some as curiosities, and others as bed warmers, a few as breeding stock. Your kind became a status token—rare, delicate, and, to the wrong court, expendable.”
Ash shivered and stared out through the smoky window, where the faint blue light continued to pulse. A memory surfaced—something Attor had said when they first entered Duskscale.