Waking the Dragon (13 page)

“Lucius never told me this.” Kol had finally found his voice, sounding almost strangled.

“He doesn’t know. I only discovered it recently in an ancestry class when we had to trace our heritage.”

“You’ve not told your own family?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think my father would receive the news very kindly.” Any attachment to the Morgons rubbed my father wrong. I had no desire to remind him that our own ancestors mated and bonded with dragons. “And Jessen and I haven’t had much time alone the past few months.”

Kol frowned, seeming to know I was telling half-truths.

“You know?” Petrus glanced between Kol and I. “That means that you two are distantly related. By marriage of course. Not by blood.”

Kol stiffened.

I sat up straighter. “Um, excuse me? What do you mean exactly?”

“You don’t know the story of how the Moonring clan came to be?”

I shook my head. He ignored Kol’s jaw-clenching silence.

“Ah, well. Diokles Nightwing was a very famous Morgon. He was the one who founded the Obsidian Games several centuries ago. You’ve heard of the Obsidian Games?”

I nodded.

“Good. Well, his wife bore him seven sons. When she was pregnant with the seventh, there was a festival just before the games beneath Mount Obsidian in Singing Wind Wood where all the clans had gathered. While fetching a pail of water, she went into labor at the pool, giving birth right there beneath the full, blue moon, glowing in the glassy pond. It is said she focused so hard on the image of the moon in order to distract herself from the labor pains, that the moon itself imprinted on her unborn child. The son she bore had dark blue wings and blue eyes with the exception of a pale ring circling the inside of his iris. A magical mark given to him by the forest itself. Perhaps that is why this place seems to respond so well to Moonring clan members. Even today.”

I glanced at Kol with Seerie curled in a warm ball on his lap. Again, he avoided eye contact with me, as if he could ignore his heritage, the magical mark in question stamped directly onto his bright eyes.

Petrus mused. “How interesting that your sister and Lucius should find one another. That another Nightwing descendant should find a mate from the Kadenstar line.”

He was right. It was as if fate had bound my sister to her Nightwing mate. Even my brother, who had once despised Morgons—a fault learned from our father—fell in love with Shakara despite his determination not to. In the end, Fate had her way. And I’ve never seen him happier. Did Fate have something similar in store for me?

“It’s time we left.” Kol interrupted my thoughts and stood up, setting Seerie on the sofa. She circled once and curled into a ball again.

“Thank you for your time, Petrus. It was a pleasure meeting you.” I shook his hand.

“By all means. The pleasure was all mine. I’d always hoped to meet one of the famous Cades one of these days. You are welcome to come back if you should ever need.”

“I’d like that,” I said, meaning it, though I doubted I should ever have another occasion.

I glanced around at the rumpled stacks of papers, feathered quills, cluttered shelves of tomes, vials of potions, and pots of spices as I headed for the door. This place was haloed by everything good and whole and warm. I left feeling grateful for having met this eccentric, yet wise, old Morgon.

Once outside, Kol reassembled the harness with quick, sharp movements. A familiar vibration of energy surrounded him—a pulsing irritation emanating from within.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not.” He cinched the belt so tight around me, the air in my lungs whooshed out.

“Really? Because I think you are.”

He spun me around fast, a large hand wrapping my neck, thumb pressing into the hollow between my jaw and neck. His other hand was at my hip, clenching. I braced my hands on his shoulders, caught completely off guard. A look akin to despair marked every line on his face, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He closed his eyes, his thumb brushing along the edge of my jaw.

“Kol,” I whispered, knowing his dragon had him in some sort of desperate hold. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, he opened his eyes—pupils as thick, black slits, and irises glinting bright silver in the dark—full dragon eyes. I hitched in a breath.

“Fate is such a fucking, cruel bitch,” he grated.

His thumb crossed to my chin. He held me close, my breasts pressed against the hard steel of his chest. His otherworldly gaze, full of danger and promise, traced my lips hungrily.

He was
not
about to kiss me.

“Kol.” I gave a soft push against his chest. Immovable.

His thumb slipped down under my chin, sliding a sinuous line along the column of my throat to the hollow where my medal hung. He let his hand, gripping my neck, fall away from my body, seeming to come out of his weird trance.

“I need to fly,” he said to the air, not to me.

After spinning me back around so fast I stumbled, he clipped the rest of the harness on, gripped me around the waist in his iron hold, and rocketed up into the night sky. We climbed higher than before, so hard, so fast, I thought I would be sick. One arm held me tight. I knew enough about Morgons to understand that sometimes they couldn’t control their beast. Sometimes, the dragon controlled the man. For whatever reason, Kol’s beast had dug his claws in, nearly strangling him. I didn’t know why or what fate had to do with anything, but I did know I didn’t want him to suffer. Jessen had once told me that gentle touch soothed her husband when the beast was riding him hard.

I wrapped my arm across Kol’s forearm at my waist, trailing my hand up and down. He stopped our vertical ascent, evening out, and let the wind take us on a smooth ride. His grip loosened, but kept me close all the same.

When we descended into Gladium and landed near my car, he unbuckled and removed the harness in silence. I waited for him to say something, maybe apologize for losing it, but he didn’t. Not a word. Not even a look. As soon as he was free of the harness and of me, he lifted back into the sky, melding with the shadowy night, leaving me in complete and utter confusion. And oddly bereft.

Lorian’s man escorted me to his study. Sorcha was at work at her family’s marketing firm. Vincent took my gray coat and red scarf as he held the door open. Lorian stood by the fire and immediately cut off whatever he was saying to Kol, who faced the window overlooking the west side of the city. The sun had dropped beneath the horizon, painting the buildings an orange-pink hue. Kol’s hands were clasped at his back, his wings pulled tight. He didn’t turn when I entered the room.

“Moira, come on in.”

Lorian met me halfway and led me to the sofa facing the fireplace. The room was decorated in warm mahogany tones except for a black marble desk near the window. Behind which Kol still stood, his back to the room.

“We’ve come to a decision.” Lorian crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wooden mantel. “We’re moving forward with your plan.”

I grinned, despite the impending danger.

“But
only
if you agree to all of our stipulations,” he clarified.

I straightened. “Let me hear them.”

“First, you cannot mention the operation to anyone. Especially your sister.”

“Not a problem.”

“This Friday is a big game with a Vaengar team from Cloven. We’ve deduced that most of the Butchers must be from this province.”

“So you’ve heard from your undercover man, Gaius?”

“No. But before he removed his tracker, he was spending most of his time in and around Cloven. He most probably had to get rid of his comm device and tracker when he went deep undercover, standard procedure to cut all connection to the Morgon Guard. We’re positive he’s now immersed in our target group.”

Lorian stepped over to his desk and lifted a syringe with a long, thick needle. I shivered.

“This is the next requirement. You’ll have to agree to have a techno-tracker embedded under your skin.”

“Won’t a tracker be risky? If your undercover guy had to get rid of his, then they’ll discover it on me, too.”

“Relax.” Hard to do as he walked toward me with that giant needle. “It’s small enough that it won’t be found or scented by the most adept Morgon.”

“I’ve never heard of a tracker this small.”

“That’s because it’s not on the human market,” he said, squatting in front of me. “Quite frankly, it’s not on the Morgon market. It was securely developed by technicians at Nightwing Enterprises for Nightwing security and the Morgon Guard.”

“I see.” I swallowed hard. I hated needles.

“If you’ll remove your boot, I’ll insert it between your toes. We’ve found this is the least conspicuous place. Morgon senses can be extremely acute, so the farther from a Morgon’s nose, the better.”

“Okay,” I said shakily. “But why now? We’re not doing the operation till Friday.”

“I need to track your whereabouts for a few days beforehand to ensure it’s working properly.”

Frowning, I removed my boot and sock, aware of Kol behind me, though he said not a word. The plush carpet made of silky soft red fibers tickled my bare foot. Lorian took my heel in hand, glancing up. “It might be easier if you look away.”

I turned toward the wall of windows and caught a silver-fire reflection. No expression at all from the Iceman, though his presence held me captive despite my will. I gripped the edge of the sofa. I felt a cool cotton swab between my first and second toe, then the sharp pinprick of the needle. Unable to withhold a little cry, I flinched and bit my bottom lip as a warm sting pierced the flesh.

“All done.”

Kol remained in stoic silence behind the desk.

Seeing a small spot of blood, I wiped it away with my finger, feeling nothing under the skin. “How do you get it out if you need a needle to put it in?”

“I’m afraid that process is slightly more uncomfortable.”

“Great.”

I slipped my sock and boot back on, dreading the removal of the damn thing. What kind of monstrous tool would they use to pry my foot open?

Lorian stood to put the needle away and continued with the instructions on our upcoming mission. “We’ll want you to bring a female friend this time, rather than a male escort. We believe it will increase the chance of this Borgus seeing you as an easy target.”

“Hmm. That’s probably a good idea. He vacated fast when Conn sat next to me at the bar.”

“Exactly. Kraven will be your ‘in’ to the party, but he’ll subtly disappear so it’s just the two of you.”

“I’ll bring my friend, Kris, but you have to promise me you’ll watch her like a hawk.” Kris could be unpredictable, and I’d die if something happened to her because of me.

“There’s no need to worry. I’ll be there, as will Kol and a few other men from Nightwing Security and the Morgon Guard, to ensure safety. This leads to the final stipulation.”

Lorian’s eyes shifted to Kol who hadn’t taken his eyes off me for several minutes and still hadn’t spoken a word. Perhaps he was embarrassed about last night or something.

Lorian cleared his throat, striding before me in front of the fireplace. “I’m going to let Kol explain this one to you, but understand that it’s non-negotiable.” A ghost of a smile flitted over Lorian’s face as he crossed the room and left me alone with big, bad Iceman.

The door closed with a definite
snick
. A heavy energy filled the study. I’d felt it often enough to know what it was. Kol’s dragon was in the room with us. He met my gaze, all hard angles and taut muscles, primed for action. “We want to be certain we can track you before the Butchers do you physical harm.” Something was off. His voice resonated too low for his calm composure.

“Yes. I understand,” I said, a primal shiver trembling down my frame. The casual conversation belied the fiery energy sparking in the air. “You told me yourself that you’re the best tracker there is. Plus, I have the techno-tracker embedded.”

“True. But we’re still not sure about their rituals. The victims’ bodies tell us only that the women were raped multiple times—not whether it happens daily upon their imprisonment or as part of the ritual sacrifice. We believe it’s part of the ritual, but we can’t be sure.”

I stood and stretched my palms toward the fire. I let the warmth seep into me, shaking off visions of rape and mutilation, refusing to let my own fears seep into my psyche and affect the job I would have to do. After a moment, I turned my back to the fire.

“So, you have some sort of plan to prevent this, I suppose. In case you’re delayed getting to me.”

Danger seeped from him in a rippling aura, the sunset lighting his silhouette in orange-gold. “There is one way to deter them. At least long enough to give us the time we need to track you with stealth and surround the enemy in whatever lair they take you.”

“That one way is?”

The focus of his gaze, the half-open arch of his wings, the flexed lines of his shoulders warned me that I should run. Fast. Feeling like a doe in the woods, knowing a predator drew closer, I froze for a moment, transfixed by the hunter.

“Morgon men hate the scent of another Morgon man on a woman he wants for himself. And the scent of a strong, dominant Morgon man will make them hesitate to do anything to you.”

He circled the desk, making his way in a deliberate path toward me. A primitive instinct put me on high alert by the way his body moved with slow, steady purpose. Instinctively, I shifted away from the fireplace, putting the sofa between us. My heart spiked to a frantic beat. Fixing on his target—me—he flexed his chest and arms as he stalked closer.

“That strong, dominant Morgon man being you.” I continued moving, mirroring his movements in the opposite direction around the sofa.

“I’m going to mark you”—his voice an icy edge—“and you’re going to let me.”

My boot caught on the tufted red carpet. I stumbled, then caught myself, giving him just enough time to ease around the sofa and corral me backward till I was once again by the fireplace.

He opened his arms, palms up, in a disarming manner, raising my alarm to red alert. “Unless of course you want to call the whole thing off.”