The Dragon King (The Kings Book 12)

  The Great Gray…

  I accused him, she told the voice. Because she knew who it was now; she knew the owner of the voice. She was certain of it. I thought he was guilty, father. All this time. I thought he’d killed you… but you’re alive.

  The voice said nothing to that, but Arach moved in front of her, drawing her attention. The Traitor’s gaze narrowed. “What the….”

  Eva peered at him through her waterfall of hair. But on either side of her face, the silver white veil of shimmering locks began to change. The effect was an ombré shift, darkening at the tips first, switching them from white to light gray, as they became dark gray, the hair further up the shaft darkening, taking on the lighter gray cast. And this continued, little by little, until the ends were deep, dark, shimmering black, and the rest of her hair was not far behind.

  “Impossible,” Arach said, his voice suddenly shaking.

  Eva watched her hair turn, and felt the warmth of that transformation infuse her body, and suddenly she not only knew the voice in her head belonged to her father – she knew exactly who her father was.

  That, alone, gave her ample strength.

  “You’re Anharidan’s daughter,” Arach said, shaking his head. “How….” Arach was appeared woefully confused, but Eva could see, there in the flash of his eyes, that a part of him clearly understood. In truth, he was not quite so much confused as scared.

  As Evangeline straightened in her bindings, her fangs lengthened just past her lips, and her hair completed its shimmering transformation to settle into a hue as dark as a moonless night, the Traitor figured out what Eva already had. Anharidan, the Great White was not her father. Her father was Bantariax.

  The Great Black.

  Ban was the most enigmatic of the three Legendaries, and certainly the darkest.

  Change, coaxed the voice in Eva’s head. She knew what he meant her to do. He was telling her to shift into her true dragon form. It was something she had never done, not in all this endless time. Now she realized why.

  She had never changed because she knew that doing so would reveal who she really was. It would reveal who her father was. In doing so, it would blow away everything she had ever held as true her entire life. She hadn’t been strong enough to face that inner duplicity. Not then.

  But by the gods, she was now.

  That’s my girl, said the voice.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  William Balthazar Solan was dressed as he had always dressed, in a dark three-piece suit of the finest material and tailoring, complete with a silk tie that sported thin emerald lines which sparked the green in his striking, magnetic eyes. As always, when he smiled at those he passed, his smile held an edge of cruelty to it, of quiet cynicism that kept people at bay. As always, he moved with ultimate grace, tall and regal, silent but for the slight resonance of his leather-soled shoes on the pavement.

  And as always, he garnered the attention of those he passed by. Men paid attention because he awakened a primal fear and envy within them. Business officials paid attention because he looked like an opportunity, but a dangerous one. And women turned his way for obvious reasons.

  William had always been the Time King. Always.

  But he’d been without the astronomical abilities that had made him that King for eons. He would always be able to flash from place to place, always comprehend the intricacies of Time and where it came from, how it moved, and why. He would always be able to manipulate it as no one else to just make that appointment or perform a random act in “the nick of time.” He was good at Time. Very good.

  But he’d once been much, much better. There was a space in history when he’d been its master. The ability to travel through it, to pass beyond the boundaries of each individual second, to remain hidden in the spaces in-between the ticks and the tocks, to… change things. It was unheard of, illogical, and frankly impossible. Just ask Einstein.

  And it had once been a power solely gifted to him.

  But he’d given that power up long, long ago. Because of her.

  The thought of her flickered through his mind like a painful flash, and William slowed, his gaze darkening for only a moment. But it passed, and he continued on his way.

  He was pushing through the doors of a massive bank branch in New York City when he felt the disturbance. It stopped him in his tracks, drawing more curious looks from those who had been watching him.

  Most humans would never know what it felt like to die until it was too late to share the experience. But he knew. It was an overwhelming sense of wrongness, of something going awry – askew – deep, deep inside. Things skipped, and they were things that shouldn’t skip. Things stopped moving, and other things moved too much. There was a sickness that rode it through the human form, like a horseman with a scythe, inky and insidious.

  And then the sickness was gone. The pain went away… and you were floating. There was no feeling, no scent, no sound but what the mind created as the neurons slowly shut down and stopped sending feedback to the brain. Those sounds were snippets of songs you’d recently heard, or conversations you’d recently had. And then they were gone too. And there was only silence.

  There was no stronger sense of peace, so complete that it was often thought to be Nirvana or Heaven.

  William felt the death of his old self then and there, just inside the doors of his bank. It swept through him in record time, stopping his heart, and cruelly starting it back up again like a pocket watch slammed against a hard surface, its gears knocked into rhythm after eons of sleep.

  He stood barely able to catch his breath, and turned slowly in place, meeting the gazes of those around him.

  For the first time in countless generations, he realized he could go back. He could go back and make his presence disappear from their minds, vanish from their recollection. He could make them forget he’d ever been there – because he could not be there in the first place.

  The flood of that returning power was too enormous for a man to bear. But he wasn’t a mere man and never had been. So he bore it with the grace of a gentleman, even as his mind bellowed in opposition.

  No, he thought. Dread pumped through his veins as thick as his blood. No, no, no. This was not happening. Time would not dare break its contract with him.

  But as he finished his slow, disbelieving turn and once again faced the glass storefront of the bank, his gaze slipped past the faces of those close by to settle on one that was emerging across the street outside.

  He zeroed in on her with practiced ease. His soul was drawn to hers, after all. He would always find her. As she stepped lithely out of a Taxi cab and gave the man a tip and a smile, people turned to study her in the same way they always did William. She was graceful beyond measure. Enormous luminous eyes the color of moonbeams, silver-white and inhumanly stark gazed from the face of a manga angel. She had hair like a China doll, thick and full and carelessly long, shimmering like the cosmos trapped in silken strands.

  He’d run that hair through his hands before. It felt how it looked.

  She had an angelic face. Perfect as ever.

  Helena.

  The tip she’d given the driver was most likely a huge one. She’d always been ridiculously kind. Recklessly kind. To everyone.

  William felt his heart go hard inside him, even as it heated up, turning red as cinders and cracking in two. He experienced a sinking sensation of defeat, of helpless fated betrayal at the core of him, coupled with inescapable, driving, and merciless need. That need was so far beyond cruel it had once forced him to give up the very essence of who he was.

  It begins again, he thought bitterly. Oh yes, Time absolutely dared break the contract.

  But it had been too long since he’d seen her this time. Too many years, countless centuries, had passed since he’d made his deal with Time and Helena had vanished, supposedly forever. He’d had leisure to think, he’d had generations to grow – and prepare. Perhaps he’d always known. Maybe, as the Master of Time, he had always been w
ell aware this moment would come.

  Perhaps? his mind mocked him. Because it knew he was lying to himself.

  Now, as he watched Helena move down the sidewalk and out of sight, William Solan felt two dichotomous and yet perfectly matched emotions. War and love were mated in Greek mythology for a reason. They went hand in hand more often than not.

  He felt them both, and his tall form was filled with a severe and concentrated fury.

  In a flash, he was gone, and with a single post-thought, no one who saw him disappear remembered he was even there. The video cameras would show nothing. There would be no sign of his existence. Not that it was important; he owned the bank.

  But it didn’t matter.

  He reappeared in his ancient home. He stormed through it, and the multitude of non-working clocks along his walls sprang once again to life as he passed them by like a gale force wind. Time, in all of its pitiless glory, emanated from him as he moved down his hall, past several rooms, and into the study that held his collection of first edition books and scrolls from around the world.

  None of it mattered. Nothing. Mattered. Now.

  Nothing but Helena.

  He approached his polished wood desk and placed his hands atop it, dropping his head to close his burning green eyes, trying for all the world to regain his composure. But there was so much pain.

  How could you? he asked Time. How could you do this to me? How could you do this her? We had a deal.

  You are the Time King, it told him. The hands are moving once again. And so you are their Master.

  Time’s response was without words, but William had possessed a million lifetimes to learn to translate its language.

  “We had a deal!” he roared.

  He spun in the room, and the books exploded from their places in the bookshelves, ancient parchment, first edition pages, and authentic author signatures flying outward as if caught in a hurricane wind. But a mere second later, they froze where they had flown, held aloft and utterly still in the pulsing air of the room.

  As William looked at the frozen objects around him and his green eyes glowed with the recharged batteries of Time, he knew he was good and doomed. Slowly, and in that stillness, he lowered his handsome head.

  I did not do this, Time quietly said. She did.

  But William only exhaled softly. “I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The theatre was “packed to the rafters,” as humans put it, and the Entity casually perused the minds of the mortals around him as he and Amunet made their way inside. The Seattle Paramount Theatre building was a grand lady, built in russets and golds to seat nearly 3,000 in 1928, it was a sprawling affair that existed in gleaming sepia, as though it had taken a piece of the past and brought it up through time. Every attention to detail was made, and no expense spared. It was resplendent, from the bas relief carvings to the velvet tapestries to the nearly century-old player piano in real gold and ivory that had rested in the same place on the second floor since opening night ninety years ago.

  Amunet smiled demurely beside him as he led her to their seats at the front and center of the balcony. Her dark eyes were wide, taking it all in. Once they were seated, she leaned into him. “There,” she said, and with just a flick of her eyes, she expertly drew his attention to a young man three rows back and twenty seats over. “He came because he expected the skin color at this occasion to be unanimously monochromatic.”

  The Entity made an unsurprised but pleased sound, and just as she had, he directed his queen’s attention to another couple to their left. “That young mother there is afraid someone will start shooting.”

  Amunet glanced at the couple, and an almost sympathetic expression molded her beautiful features. She nodded. “Below us, a man is thinking of raping one of the three women sitting in front of him. He believes he has a plan.”

  “Ironic,” said the Entity. “The woman in front of him is worried about her daughter, a young teen left at home alone at the behest of her friends.” He glanced down at his queen, and she looked up at him expectantly. “They told her she was in desperate need of a ‘girls’ night out.’”

  “Listen to them all, Ahriman,” said Amunet, speaking his ancient, true name for the first time since she had awoken. He closed his eyes, not only enjoying the way it rolled off her practiced tongue, but the sound of the fear and hatred all around him. “There is so much more now than there was when Amun vindictively placed me in that sleep.”

  She went silent beside him, and he opened his eyes to find that she, instead, had shut hers. Her head fell back slightly, and her long black hair slipped over her shoulders. Her smile was still in place, but she shook her head in wonder. “It would seem people still hate paying taxes as much as they did thousands of years ago.” She chuckled – and so did the Entity. “But there is more. There is more of everything…. Am I imagining it?”

  “No,” he assured her. “At any given moment, you can hear bits and pieces of it all. Right now… ah. There it is… fear of rising taxes, yes. And fear of terrorists. Fear of disease. Fear of aging.” He shook his head. “That one’s a waste of a good emotion.”

  “Oh, but don’t underestimate it, my love. That one is strong. It’s fundamentally a fear of death, after all.”

  He couldn’t argue with her on that. He listened some more. “I hear… fear for the planet.” He frowned. “Do you hear that?”

  “No,” she said. “I hear hatred of those who fear for the planet.”

  “Ah, yes. And… fear of certain politicians?”

  She laughed and opened her eyes to grin at him. “I hear hatred of those who fear them.”

  “There is more than enough here,” he told her.

  “Indeed.”

  “And I can promise you, Amunet,” he said, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her collar bone. She gasped softly. “There is more than enough fuel anywhere you wish to start the fires of their destruction. You need only light the torch,” he said, straightening again. “And let it burn.”

  Amunet’s eyes glittered. Her smile spread with pure excitement. She quickly took his hands in hers and squeezed. “Let’s do it now,” she told him. “Right now.”

  She couldn’t wait anymore, it seemed. He’d had a feeling it would be this way, at least at first. She’d been dormant for so long, and there really was so very much of the energy she needed all around them now. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to exercise a little. Flex her muscles. Kill a few thousand people.

  “Very well,” he told her with a chuckle. “We can watch Aladdin another night.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Roman pinched the bridge of his nose and considered having coffee delivered for everyone in the room when he glanced over at the Dragon King.

  Calidum, or Korridum, as Lilith had told Roman his name was, was leaning against the room’s tall windows, gazing out at the city below. They were in Tokyo, Japan. It was the closest they’d come to narrowing down Eva’s location. She was somewhere in this country. And the country was a lot larger than most people thought, replete with mountains, beaches, bustling overpopulated cities, and miles and miles of both inhabited and uninhabited space. Roman wasn’t even exactly positive Japan was correct. But one of the seers had experienced a vision of a red dot on a white background. And they’d run with it.

  But they’d gotten no further. And it had been hours.

  Roman was a king. He was a supernatural king. He was a vampire. And more than that, he was a man. It didn’t take much for him to imagine what Arach could – and would – do with Eva in the course of those hours. And no doubt, that was what Calidum was thinking too. The tension in every flexed muscle in his body was evidence enough of that. But then there was also the radiating aura of held-in-check aggression that surrounded him. It was broadening and growing more dense by the minute.

  Already, Calidum was wrapped in the infamous dark armor that was actually his dragon scale. It was amazingly detailed, stunningly beautiful, and he had no doubt i
t was beyond effective in keeping Calidum safe. However, Roman knew enough about dragons from dealing with Arach for years, to know that when a dragon donned his or her armor, the very next step was a fully formed dragon.

  If Calidum really was the Great Gray – and Roman believed he was – then if he transformed here, he would knock every king and queen in the room out the window and destroy the entire eleventh floor of this building in downtown Tokyo, Japan.

  So Roman took a deep breath and approached the Dragon King, intending to speak with him in the hopes of offering some sense of patience or calm. If not for the king, then for everyone else in the room.

  However, when he reached the Dragon King, Calidum straightened from the window and looked up. He frowned, turning to Roman. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  Roman cocked his head a little and blinked. “Hear what?”

  But at that very moment, Adelaide the Nightmare Queen had a vision.

  Addie was the newest addition to the queens at the Table. She’d gone through most of her life believing she was psychic, but in reality she was a very powerful seer. And right now, she was having a very powerful vision.

  It was fortunate she’d been sitting on the couch rather than standing, because her head flew back to hit the cushions behind her, and her husband, Nicholas Wargrave the Nightmare King, was instantly pulling her into his arms as she sank into the magic her mind wanted her to see.

  A few seconds later, her eyes opened blink by blink, and after an initial moment of disorientation, she sat bolt upright, pushing Nick’s arms away. “The theatre!” she cried, standing from the couch, and then instantly swaying as the blood left her head.

  Nicholas stood beside her, steadying her. “What theatre?” he asked.

  She touched her forehead, obviously trying to recall details from the vision. “A sign outside says Paramount. But it looks like a really old sign. I’m… not even sure if this is a recent vision?” She made a confused face. “Can I even see things from the past?”