Dragonsworn

  And her heart had followed him into his grave.

  "Praxis was five years old, Uri. Five. And he died in agony at their merciless hands, screaming for me to help him while they..." She choked on the words that she still couldn't utter. Not even all these centuries later. The horror was still too fresh and raw in her heart.

  No amount of time had rectified what they'd brutally taken from her.

  Nay, not taken.

  Shattered. She might have physically survived, but inside she was as dead as her husband and son. Only a husk of the woman she'd once been.

  And never again the doe-eyed innocent who once thought this world a beautiful place.

  So instead, she glared up at her brother. "Tell me, Urian, how am I even sane, given what they violently stole from me? No amount of time can dull a pain that sharp!"

  He pulled her against him. "I'm so sorry, Dee."

  Her tears dissolved into rage, as they always did. Because she couldn't handle the full weight of her sorrow. It was a worthless, horrid emotion that made her weak and vulnerable. Anger motivated her. Rage kept her in motion past that most wretched pain.

  That was the only reason she was still standing. It was what had seen her through the horrors of her life and what allowed her to function. It fed her like a mother's milk and kept her strong. It was what she embraced with both fists.

  Her breathing ragged, she pushed him away from her. "I don't need your pity. It's worthless. You can keep it, especially if you're not going to help me."

  Urian caught her arm as she started to leave. "Wait!" He wanted to deny her this request. In truth, he wanted Stryker to go down in flames and to laugh as he watched it happen. After all, the bastard had cut Urian's throat in cold blood and murdered his precious Phoebe--the only woman in the world he'd ever love.

  But Medea was right. He couldn't allow the rest of what had once been his family and friends to die and do nothing. Unlike Jared, he couldn't stand by and see his friends slaughtered unjustly.

  Not if he could help it.

  "There is one thing that might be able to save them."

  "What?"

  He hesitated. Not because he didn't want to help them, but because he didn't know what Stryker might do with the cure. In his hands, it could prove most lethal.

  No good deed goes unpunished.

  Somehow this was going to come back on him. He knew it. Such things always did, and they left him bleeding and cursing. Yet even so, he couldn't allow Medea to be hurt any worse than she already had. She was right. She'd been through enough, and at the end of the day, they were family. Maybe not in the conventional sense, but he felt a kinship with her. And he had grown up thinking himself one of Stryker's sons. Thinking of Stryker's daughter as his own sister.

  Every time he looked at Medea, he saw Dyana's beloved face. Remembered their time as children and the day they'd renamed her Tannis because they could no longer bear to call their only sister the name of their aunt who'd allowed her own brother--the god Apollo--to curse them to die over something none of them had participated in.

  They'd all been innocent victims of a fetid power game between the ancient gods. All of them had paid a high cost to continue living, just to spite those who would see them fall for no reason whatsoever.

  For better or worse, Medea was every bit as much his sister as Tannis had been. And because he loved her, he refused to add to her pain.

  "I don't know if it'll work or not."

  Medea chafed at his hedging. "Oh for goodness' sake, just say it, already!"

  "A dragonstone."

  Pulling back, she scowled at him. "A what?"

  Urian hedged as he sought a way to explain it. But it wasn't as easy as it should be. "For lack of a better term, it's an enchanted rock the dragons have. Supposedly, it can cure anything. Even death. It even brought Max back after he was killed saving his wife and children. So I would assume it could cure this, too."

  "Where do you get one?"

  That was the easy part.

  And the hardest thing imaginable. "As luck would have it, there's one here."

  Joy returned to her dark eyes. "Where?"

  He visibly cringed at the last place either of them wanted to venture. Because asking for help there was all kinds of rampant stupid. "That would be the stickler, as it belongs to Falcyn."

  "That surly beast I met earlier?"

  He nodded. "To my knowledge, that's the last one in existence. The rest were all destroyed or have gone missing."

  Medea groaned out loud as her stomach shrank at the very thought of having to negotiate with Falcyn over something so rare. It flipping figured. She might as well stick her head in the mouth of a hungry lion and ask him not to bite.

  Or her mother to shed blood when she was in one of her moods.

  "Great. So how do I go about getting this thing?"

  "Word of advice? Ask nicely."

  *

  Falcyn stared at Narishka. "You want my dragonstone?" He laughed in her face. "Fuck off and die in agony, you worthless bitch."

  "Does your son mean so little to you, then?"

  "About as much as you value your life." He smirked pointedly.

  Blaise stepped between them, aggravating Falcyn, as it prevented him from killing her. "Why do you need his stone?"

  Narishka raked a cold glare over him. "This doesn't concern you, maggot. Stay out of it."

  Falcyn crossed his arms over his chest as he cleared his throat. "Can I kill her now?" he asked Blaise in a bland tone that belied his fury.

  "I'm about to give her to you, but aren't you curious why she's here?"

  "Not enough to spare her life."

  Blaise laughed. "Wow. Remind me to never really piss you off."

  "I would, but you don't listen." As he moved to make good on his threat, the door opened to admit Urian and Medea into the room.

  Falcyn drew up short at the sight of them. And at this point, he was rushing through the last of his patience for anyone. Even a woman with an ass that fine. "Here to help or to hinder? Declare yourself."

  Urian's eyes widened before he answered. "Whichever choice ends with me on your good side."

  "Grab the bitch."

  But before anyone could move, a bright light pulsed inside the room, blinding everyone except Blaise, who couldn't see anyway.

  Falcyn cursed as pain radiated through his skull, leaving behind a flashing strobe that made him queasy as he tried to see past the swirling white dots that peppered his vision.

  "Urian?"

  "Blind as a bat!" he snapped in response to Falcyn's call. "Dee?"

  "Can't see shit." Medea held her hand up to shield her light-sensitive eyes.

  "It's demons in the room." Blaise moved to cover them. "Gallu."

  Ah, that's just great.

  "Who invited the assholes to our party?" Falcyn snarled.

  They were one of the few breeds that could infect a victim and turn them into mindless slaves.

  Or killing machines. Neither of which appealed to Falcyn. While he didn't mind senseless violence for the sake of it, he wanted the ultimate decision for who and what he killed to be his alone, and not the behest of some evil overlord. No one would ever hold dominion over him.

  No one.

  Something grabbed Falcyn.

  He moved to punch the fool.

  "Don't you dare," Blaise growled in his ear. "Or I'm leaving you to them."

  In another quick blur, Falcyn felt himself falling. He reached out and started to transform, then stopped himself, since the transformation could kill Blaise, or him, or both, depending on what it was Blaise was up to. Because this suddenly felt like interdimensional travel. And transforming during the middle of that was never a good idea.

  "Blaise? What are you doing?"

  "Hang on! Everyone stay calm!"

  Yeah, right. Calm wasn't his natural state of being.

  Pissed off?

  Check.

  "Then why do you sound panicked and why am I s
till blind?"

  No sooner had Falcyn finished that sentence than he slammed hard against a mossy cushion. And something soft and curvaceous landed on top of him with a loud "huff." Worse than that, it elbowed him right in the stomach.

  And would have kneed his groin had he not twisted and moved with lightning speed.

  "Hey, hey, love! You only touch the no-zone if you intend to make it happy."

  Grimacing, Medea gave him a look that said he was some unwelcome goo that had attached itself to the bottom of her bare foot on her way out of the bathroom. "There's not enough beer in the universe for me to touch your no-zone, dragonfly. Don't flatter yourself."

  "Says the Daimon crawling all over it."

  "Jumping off it, you mean, before I catch something I'm sure antibiotics won't cure."

  He scoffed at her insult. "Not what it feels like from where I'm laying, and you're still on top of--umph!" He growled as she elbowed the air out of his lungs.

  With a fierce scowl, he rubbed the abused area and pushed himself to his feet so that he could look around at something other than her shapely ass. He'd expected to find himself either in the bar or Peltier House--the residence the bears owned that was attached to their bar.

  This was neither.

  Irritated, he faced the cause of this particular disaster. "Blaise, what did you do?"

  They were out in a meadow. A dark, dismal, creepy-ass meadow, the likes of which human kids used to scare each other. Or B-movie directors favored for the backdrops of their cheesy sets.

  Yeah, he could definitely see some axe-wielding lunatic coming at them from the brush. 'Course, the mood he was in, that lunatic might be him before much longer.

  Blaise turned around slowly in a way that said he was using his dragon-sight to feel the aether. "Well, this wasn't what I had planned."

  "What?" Urian's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You weren't wanting a trip to Halloween Town? I'm so disappointed, Blaise. Was hoping to get my Jack Skellington underwear signed."

  Falcyn snorted at the sudden image he had of Urian in his head, posturing in Jack Skellington briefs like some Calvin Klein model. Actually, he could see the freak in that. Which was the most disturbing part about all of this. 'Cause really, he'd much rather be wasting that brain capacity on picturing Medea naked than imagining Urian in his twisted Disney underwear fetish.

  Pushing the images out of his mind before he went as blind as Blaise, Falcyn scratched at his whiskered cheek. "So how'd we get here?"

  "Not sure. I was aiming for the parlor of Peltier House." Blaise screwed his face up. "Epic fail. Not even sure where we are."

  Urian let out a long, tired breath as he surveyed the twisted landscape. "I think I know. But you're not going to like it. I sure as hell don't."

  Medea pursed her lips. "Try us."

  "Myrkheim."

  Falcyn grimaced at how right Urian was, as an ulcer started in his stomach.

  Blaise made an expression of exaggerated happiness. "Oh goodie! The borderlands where heathens go to rot! Just where I wanted to build my vacation home! Where's a lease? Sign my scaly ass up!"

  Medea rolled her eyes. "What's Myrkheim?"

  Falcyn laughed bitterly at her innocent question. Which made sense, all things considered. "Guess the Daimons don't spend a lot of time here, as it's not really part of your mythology. It's a nether realm. A holding ground, if you will, between the land of light and dark where the fey can practice their magick."

  "Who's feyfolk?"

  Legitimate question, he supposed, as there was a lot of fey in the world to go around, and he hadn't specified the pantheon. Falcyn sighed. "At one time, everyone's. But nowadays, it's mostly reserved for Morgen's rejects. And some other IBS-suffering bastards."

  "Yeah, okay ... So what's the--" Before she could finish her sentence, a bolt of light shot between them, narrowly missing her.

  In fact, it only missed her because Falcyn deflected it. "Stray magick. You have to keep your head up for it. If it hits you, there's no telling what it might do. Could vaporize you. Turn you into a toad. Or just ruin your chances for children."

  Medea's eyes widened as she watched it explode and morph a tree not far from them into a chicken that screeched, then dove under the ground to burrow like a frightened rabbit. "That happen a lot?"

  Falcyn nodded. "'Round here? Good bit."

  "Great. Anything else I should watch out for?"

  "Yeah," he said bitterly. "Everything."

  Blinking, she met Urian's gaze. "Joke?"

  "Falcyn has no measurable sense of humor. At least none that we've identified to date."

  Blaise braided his long white hair and secured it with a leather tie he'd unwound from his wrist. "Well, Max said that Falcyn wasn't always the pain in the ass we know him as. But I can only speak about the last few hundred years. And he hasn't changed as long as I've known him."

  "Not helping, Blaise," Urian said drily.

  He spread his arms wide to indicate their surroundings. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not real good at that. Tend to fuck up all things whenever I try to help."

  "And Merlin chose you for a Grail knight. What the hell was she thinking?"

  Blaise hissed. "We don't talk about that out loud, Falcyn! Sheez! What? You trying to get me killed?"

  Falcyn shot a blast of fire at the sky. "Still trying to figure out how we got here ... and why. 'Cause let's face it, we didn't get sent here for anything good."

  "Was hoping you wouldn't notice that." Blaise cleared his throat. "Way to harsh my zen, dude."

  Falcyn rolled his eyes at Blaise. "You need to stop hanging out with Savitar. I hate that bastard."

  "You hate everyone," Blaise reminded him.

  "That surfboard-wielding bastard I hate most of all."

  Blaise arched an inquisitive brow. "More than Max?"

  Falcyn growled. "Are we going to argue inconsequentials or look for a way home? 'Cause I just tried my powers and they didn't do shit for getting us out of here."

  Cringing, Blaise rubbed nervously at his neck. "Mine either, and I was hoping to keep you distracted so that you wouldn't beat my ass over this situation."

  Falcyn glanced to Urian. "What about you, Princess Pea? You got anything?"

  "Besides a throbbing migraine? No. My teleportation isn't cooperating either."

  They all looked at Medea.

  "Really? If mine was working do you think I'd be here, listening to the lot of you? Promise, I'd have vanished long ago."

  Blaise sighed. "I think I saw this movie once. It didn't go well for the people, as they turned on each other and it involved chainsaws ... and a whole lot of blood."

  "But was there silence? That's the real question."

  Urian snorted at Falcyn's irritable comment.

  Worse?

  There was sudden silence. It echoed around them with that eerie kind of stillness that set every nerve ending on edge. The kind that radiated with malevolence because it was a portent.

  The men drew together to stand with their backs to each other so that they could face and fight whatever threat was coming for them.

  Medea wasn't so quick to trust. While they were allies, they weren't hers. And trust didn't come easy to her--it hadn't in a long, long time.

  Actually, she wasn't sure if it'd ever been part of her vocabulary. So she stood as she'd done the whole of her life.

  Alone.

  K-bars drawn. It was, after all, what she knew best. And she waited for the imminent storm that would do its damnedest to tear her to shreds. Just as it always did.

  Falcyn froze as he caught sight of Medea and her warrior's stance. She was a thing of exquisite beauty and he wasn't describing her physical appearance. Rather it was that raw determination in her dark eyes. The steel in her spine as she stood ready to take on whatever threat was coming for her with shrewd confidence.

  Damn.

  That kind of grit reached out and touched him on a level unexpected. Bonded them. Because only someone
who'd been through the hell he'd known could look like that.

  And before he reconsidered his actions, he moved to stand with her.

  She scowled at him. "What are you doing?"

  "Covering your flank."

  "I've got jeans for that."

  He bit back a wry grin. "Yeah, you do. And a fine ass they cup. I'm here to make sure you keep it attached where it is and unbloodied."

  An unidentifiable shadow passed behind her eyes, but whatever it was softened her features and hit him like a blow. More than that, it caused his cock to jerk at the worst possible time. And he didn't know why, when he needed his blood in his brain so that he could think through how best to defeat whatever was planning to take them out.

  Suddenly, a bright light flashed near them. One that momentarily blinded him with its intensity.

  He pulled back to confront the mist that solidified into a tall, lanky male with brown hair and red eyes.

  Raking a sneer over the demon dressed in black-on-black designer snobbery, Falcyn glanced to Urian, who seemed to recognize the Fabio wannabe. "So, Slim, who is this designer asshole?"

  3

  The demon quirked a grin at Falcyn's question. "That's Mr. Asshole to you, Dragon."

  "Sure, punkin. Whatever floats your shit."

  Medea poked Falcyn on the shoulder before she rose up on her toes to whisper in his ear. "You might not want to antagonize him."

  "Says the woman who knows me not at all. Trust me. I've pissed down the throats of monsters that make this posh boy look even lamer than what he is. On my scared-o-meter, he doesn't even move the needle."

  The demon smiled grudgingly. "Which is why you've held your dragonstone longer than any other dragon in history. Now be a good boy, hand it over."

  Falcyn snorted derisively as he raked a less-than-impressed stare over him. "Uh ... hell to the no."

  A slow smile spread over the demon's chiseled features, but didn't quite reach his red eyes. "Give us the stone and I'll tell you how to save your sister."

  Falcyn went still at those words. "My sister's dead. And if you pull a Narishka on me, I swear, demon, I'll eat your heart for lunch and burp it for dessert."

  "I don't know what Narishka did, but your sister was turned to stone. So while she's not technically living, she's not exactly dead, either."