Dragon Storm

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to what action she was referring, but Asmodeus continued in a voice that belied his annoyance. “I have no argument with dragonkin. You have attacked my minions without justification.”

  “You stole our mates,” Drake said, his arm around Aisling. “I call that justification of the highest degree.”

  “A simple mistake,” Asmodeus said, spreading his hands. “A miscommunication, if you will.”

  “A miscommunication that will cost you your life,” Baltic answered, stepping forward with his sword held at the ready. “No one steals my mate and lives to tell about it.”

  Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Who would I tell? I have just explained that this was a mistake. It was the mortal bearing my ring I sought, not any dragonkin.”

  “Regardless, you took them, and we will have our revenge,” Kostya declared in a dramatic manner that reminded Constantine of Kostya’s father.

  “Did I ever tell you about Toldi, Kostya and Drake’s father?” he asked Bee.

  She gave him a look that plainly said she thought he was crazy. “No. Is it important right at this moment?”

  “He was dramatic, too,” he said, nodding at Kostya. “Everything was fodder for excessive declarations. He couldn’t be merely hungry, no, he was starving, nigh unto death. If he was happy, the world was a paradise laid out for his pleasure. If he was sad, then all life had ceased to be important.”

  “Sounds like he was manic depressive.” Bee frowned a little and leaned into him. “Why are you mentioning this?”

  “It is keeping me distracted.”

  She gave him an odd look. “Why do you have to be distracted?”

  “To keep from killing Asmodeus. He dared to take my mate. No being, mortal or immortal, will survive that.”

  Bee went very still. “I’m not your mate, Constantine.”

  “You are.”

  “Since when?” she asked, clearly a little irked. He loved that about her—just when he thought he knew how she’d react to a situation, she would surprise him.

  “Since you were taken from me.”

  “I think I’d know if I was your mate—”

  He pulled her against his chest, claiming her mouth in a way that should leave no doubt in her mind that they belonged together, that each of them complemented the other, and that joined, they would be unstoppable.

  “Golly!” he heard Gary say. “They’re on fire.”

  “Ah, so she is a mate,” Baltic said dryly. “There truly is a person for everyone in this world if a dead wyvern can find a woman such as the Charmer.”

  Constantine allowed his fire to wrap them in its warm embrace, the act of sharing it so intimate, it again roused the need to claim her as only a wvyern could claim his mate.

  “Is he going to bonk her right here in front of Asmodeus?” Jim asked.

  “Hush, you,” Aisling said.

  Constantine knew he needed to stop. He had to deal with Asmodeus, and then he could take his time proving to Bee that she was put on the earth to spend her life with him.

  He retrieved his tongue from where it was leisurely exploring her mouth, tamped down his fire, and bodily set her from him. Her eyes were soft with passion, her breath as ragged as his own, giving him immense pleasure that she felt the same way he did about their physical contact.

  “If your bawdy show is over,” Asmodeus said, cutting through his thoughts, “I have business with the mortal. The rest of you, as I have already said, may leave.”

  “This is not over,” Bee told Constantine and squeezed his hand to remind him that he was now bearing the ring. Why, he had no idea, but he assumed she had a good reason for giving it to him. Perhaps she had been impressed by the manly figure he made with the demon-blood–drenched sword?

  “We’re not going to leave without Bee,” Ysolde said firmly.

  “Of course not. If we go, we all go,” Aisling said.

  Drake looked unhappy, but tapped his sword on the ground. “You may not have the Charmer. And we will leave, but not before we teach you for taking our mates.”

  Asmodeus laughed. The wrath demons laughed. Constantine growled.

  “Do you think to frighten us, wyvern?” Asmodeus parted the demons and stepped forward, pausing to address the line of dragons before him. “You forget who I am. I am not some inexperienced, weak demon lord like the Guardian.”

  Aisling raised her chin but said nothing.

  “Nor are my minions as easily overcome as those you slaughtered to get to my palace.” Asmodeus’s dark gaze pierced them all, but Constantine did not have Bael as a father without learning how to withstand such acts. “You come here, to my house, and threaten me with just a handful of men.” He waved dismissively at the other dragons. “Begone. My time is valuable, and I do not wish to waste it on your empty threats.”

  “Our threats are anything but empty,” Kostya said, swinging his morningstar.

  Constantine lifted his sword, just as the other wyverns did. He fully anticipated that it would come down to a battle, but he hadn’t realized how torn he would be between keeping Bee safe and destroying the man who had taken her from him.

  “You do not have the power to do more than irritate me,” Asmodeus said in a bored tone. “But if you wish to destroy yourselves, so be it.”

  He turned, obviously about to order the wrath demons to attack them, but instead, a voice spoke out, causing him to stumble.

  “They may not have the power, but I do.”

  Constantine did not need to move to the side to see who spoke.

  “Oh, no,” Bee said in a whisper, taking his hand. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Great. Bael’s here,” Aisling said, looking weary. “That’s just what we need.”

  “Bee, if I asked you to leave, would you do it without arguing?” Constantine asked her.

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head, her fingers warm against his. “No. We’re in this together.”

  He sighed. He had a feeling she’d say that, but at the same time, he was pleased she valued him so highly that she would risk her own safety. He couldn’t allow her to be harmed, of course, but until he made that point clear to her, he’d cherish the knowledge that she was, indeed, his mate, the woman who was born to complete his life. He turned to Drake. “Take the others and leave.”

  Drake hesitated.

  “There is no sense in all of us remaining here to deal with Bael,” Constantine told him.

  “You seem to have forgotten my presence,” Asmodeus said, his irritation clearly getting the better of him, enough that he lost his usually cool demeanor. Constantine knew well it was Bael’s presence that caused this reaction; no doubt Asmodeus, while the titular head of Abaddon, knew he was no match for Bael. “I am the premier prince of Abaddon, and thus, I am the one you should remained focused on, not the former demon lord Bael. As for the other dragons, I have already dismissed them.”

  “Why would you dismiss them when you could destroy them?” Bael asked, shaking his head and tsking in faux dismay as he sauntered forward. “You have ever been weak against dragonkin. I will not make such a mistake when I have retaken my throne.”

  Constantine ignored the outburst, telling Drake in a quiet tone, “Leave, and if we are not successful, then you may handle the situation as you think best.”

  “Really? You have nothing better to do than challenge me for what used to be yours?” Asmodeus said, addressing Bael in what was intended to be a dismissive tone, but Constantine was well aware of the undertone of strain in the demon lord’s voice.

  Bael stopped in front of Asmodeus, little black tendrils of power snapping with every step. Asmodeus’s aura ratcheted up a notch as well, until the air was fairly tingling with static electricity. “Your posturing will not save you. I have more power in my little finger than you will ever possess.”

  Drake clearly didn’t want to leave, but after a look at his mate, he turned and gave his men a sharp order.

&
nbsp; “Another time it might be amusing to encourage your delusions,” Asmodeus told Bael, brushing off a bit of lint from his arm, and donning an expression of boredom, “but I have better things to do than state and restate the obvious facts. Begone before I have you thrown out of Abaddon.”

  With one eye on the arguing demon lords, Kostya sidled over to Constantine. “I will stay if you need me.”

  “That says much about your character,” Constantine acknowledged. “But it is not necessary. Get your mate to safety.”

  He did so without arguing.

  “Do you think I did not know you were behind the overthrow that sent me to the Akasha?” Bael asked Asmodeus. His eyes, in this incarnation a dark blue, now turned solid black. A sense of dread, smothering and sticky, seemed to seep out of him and cover them all. “I knew what you had planned, of course. You played into my plan perfectly.”

  “It was all my plan; I meant for it to happen this way,” Asmodeus said in a high-pitched, mimicking voice before switching back to his normal tone. “You always say that whenever something doesn’t go your way. You may try to save face with others, but it will not work here.”

  Bael snarled an oath in Latin that Constantine knew well. He’d had experience of Bael losing his temper, and needed to clear the room before that happened. “Baltic, you must leave, as well.”

  “Yes, brother,” Bael said, interrupting his bickering to shoot a look of loathing at Baltic. “Take my son with you when you run away. We wouldn’t want you to have to face the shame of having to bow down to your own brother, would we?”

  “Shame?” Baltic uttered a sharp laugh wholly without mirth. “The First Dragon disowned you the moment you embraced the dark power. You were removed from dragonkin and made human. What you do here has no meaning to any of us.”

  Bael’s lip curled. Asmodeus gave a little golf clap and made a shooing gesture toward his rival. “Begone. I have business to conduct.”

  “Baltic,” Constantine said quietly, his eyes on the demon lords. “Leave. This is not your fight.”

  “Nor is it yours.”

  “Unfortunately, it is. He is still my sire, no matter how offensive that fact is.”

  “And I tire of your pretentions,” Bael told Asmodeus, the two demon lords now facing each other. Constantine sensed the two men were about to lock horns, so to speak, and he had no desire to witness it, let alone have others there who could be harmed.

  “Go,” he told Baltic.

  “I see that I shall have to have you cast out of Abaddon a second time,” Asmodeus said, yawning a little. He gestured toward Bael, which caused his wrath demons to move forward in a semicircle.

  Bael’s demons responded likewise.

  Baltic hesitated, but after a searching look at Constantine, he took Ysolde’s arm and escorted her out past them. He paused to say simply, “Remember the lessons we learned at the knee of our wyvern,” before following the others out of the room.

  “Are you sure we should leave?” Ysolde said as Baltic urged her through the door. “I could set up some spells that would help—”

  “Bee…” Constantine spoke without turning his head.

  “No. I’m staying.” Her hand gripped his with a force that drove the ring into his flesh. “We’re in this together.”

  Bael and Asmodeus were now taunting each other with slurs and various oaths.

  Constantine turned to Bee, taking her other hand in his. He looked at her face, the softly flushed cheeks marked with a scattering of freckles, her eyes filled with concern. He looked beyond the obvious, and saw the shining brightness of her soul, the joy that her being seemed to exude in an aura of warmth. The stubbornness he first thought was an irritation was now a sign of her strength, her loyalty, and her dedication to righting wrongs. “If you had been born when I was, you would have been a warrior,” he told her.

  Her eyes widened slightly, and then she flicked a glance over his shoulder to where the demons and demon lords were squaring off. “Okay. Um. Maybe we should talk about the past another time? I think we’re about to have a situation here, and I’m fairly certain that any result will not be good.”

  “No, it won’t,” he agreed. “Which is why I must ask you for your fealty.”

  She frowned and gave a little confused shake of the head. “My fealty? Honestly, Constantine, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be—”

  “Will you honor me and my sept above all overs?” he asked, urgency driving him forward.

  “Your sept?” She gasped a little, her eyes now searching his. “You’re asking me to be your mate? I thought I made it clear—”

  “You are my mate. I see that now. We were wrong in assuming you weren’t. But you must accept me now.”

  “Why?” She was smart enough not to continue to protest, a fact that made him smile a little.

  “Because as a wyvern’s mate, you will be immortal.”

  Her gaze went briefly to the demons. She watched them for a moment, then gave him a brief nod. “All right. So long as we both understand that I’m doing this simply because I don’t particularly want to die right now, and when it’s all over with, we’re going to change back to normal mode.”

  “That can be discussed later,” he agreed, although he had no intention of letting her go now that he knew that life would pale without her.

  “Agreed.” She took a deep breath. “In that case, I accept you as my wyvern, and will honor you and your sept above all others.”

  “As I will cherish and honor you beyond all who exist now, or will ever exist,” he declared, and claimed a quick kiss before pulling one hand up and blowing a little fire over her left wrist.

  “Ow!” She jerked her hand back, her gaze moving between him and the demons, who had now all pulled out swords as Bael and Asmodeus began shouting taunts. She rubbed her wrist, frowning when a tan mark resolved itself. “You branded me?”

  “It is the mark of a wyvern’s mate.” He took a deep breath, the one all-consuming worry now eased. At least now he had given Bee a good chance to survive whatever happened next.

  “It looks like a sheep,” she said, giving it another quick glance.

  He made a noncommittal gesture. “It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment. We shall have to create our own sept, though. What do you think of indigo?”

  “It’s my favorite of all the Roy G Bivs,” she replied.

  “Excellent. We are in agreement. And now, let us deal with—”

  A roar of fury erupted from Bael and, without thinking, Constantine moved in front of Bee to shield her from danger, taking a few steps forward with his sword held at the ready lest any of the demons think of attacking them rather than each other. The demons roared and lunged forward to attack their opposing faction. Asmodeus screamed orders and snatched up a sword from a fallen demon, slashing and hacking his way forward.

  Bael stood still for a moment, but Constantine saw his fingers moving. As a son of the First Dragon, Bael had the ability to use arcane magic, powerful magic.

  “Stand back,” he said over his shoulder to Bee. “Brace yourself for another shock wave.”

  He really should have known his father better, he thought in hindsight a few minutes later. Bael may be many things, but a showman was not one of them, and he would not use a showy spell like an arcane blast when a simpler solution could be managed.

  Bael finished weaving his spell and cast it over the fighting demons before him. It froze them into place, including Asmodeus, who was engaged in taking down two of Bael’s demons. Bael simply walked over to his nemesis, pulled out the crystal that resolved itself into the light sword, and lopped off Asmodeus’s head.

  Following that, he turned toward Constantine and Bee, and gave them a tight smile, his gaze moving beyond them for a moment. “And that is how you take control of Abaddon, should you ever wish to do so. Ah, but you eschewed that path, didn’t you, in favor of ruling a dragon sept. How did that turn out?”

  He heard a
muffled gasp from Bee behind him, but couldn’t turn to reassure her. Right now, Constantine was more concerned with how he could destroy the man who had given him life, the man who had taken from Constantine all that he had ever loved.

  “I cannot let you proceed,” Constantine said simply. He gestured vaguely with his sword to the still-frozen demons, and the pool of blood that drained from the now-lifeless Asmodeus. “What you do here is of no importance to me. If you would content yourself to ruling Abaddon, I would leave you in peace. But we both know you won’t do that. Your hatred for the dragonkin is too strong, is it not?”

  Bael shook his head, dissolving the mage sword back into its crystal form and tucking it away carefully before responding. “Would you not hate being cast out, to have your very nature stripped from you? Would you not wish to seek revenge for those who deprived you of everything that should have been yours?”

  “You chose the dark power rather than your own kin,” Constantine said, his eyes narrowed, his body braced for a sudden attack. “You wished to rule legions of demons rather than form your own sept, as all the other children of the First Dragon did. You chose demons over dragons—no one else. You have no one to blame but yourself if your father saw the depths of your soul and stripped your dragon nature from you.”

  Bael’s eyes closed for a moment while he gave a soft chuckle. “Perhaps there is some truth in that, although really, what does it matter now? I have gained almost everything I need to take my rightful place as the ruler of the Otherworld. Abaddon”—he waved a hand that took in everything in the room—“is now mine. Asmodeus’s ring is mine. The only thing I have left to acquire is being held by an irritating mage who thinks he has the ability to withstand my attacks. He is wrong.”

  “And when you have it all?” Constantine couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate, although he appreciated the irony of doing so in a place that most mortals thought of as hell. “What then?”

  “Then, my son, the dragons will be no more. The First Dragon will see what he hath wrought, and he will weep tears of purest sorrow.”