Descended from Dragons: an Urban Fantasy (Moonlight Dragon Book 1) (11 page)

I looked back at him. I was worried by what I saw. He was visibly on the edge of his control, shaking like a junkie in need of a fix. I figured it was a matter of minutes before he lost the fight to the demon inside him that was being energized by the nearby ritual.

"You have to go. They'll catch us unless I slow them down."

"You're going to stand up against all of them?"

I gave him a dry smile. "Me and my little friend."

He opened his mouth to argue but then thought better of it. He gave a brisk, unhappy nod.

A thought occurred to me. "Christian, do you own this place?"

He was blistered and sunburned, but he still managed to look endearing as he puzzled over my question. "I do. So what?"

"You've got insurance?" I flashed him a slanted, desperate smile.

His eyes widened. "I've got plenty."

"Okay, go, then. Hurry, before Vale's demon gets out."

But this time it was Melanie who held them up, her expression stony. She knew what I was risking, which was more than just a face-off against these cultists.

"Anne, they'll know for sure if you do this."

I nodded firmly. "Hopefully if the Oddsmakers are as powerful and all-knowing as everyone says they are they'll understand why."

She snorted. "And if they don't?"

Then I was heading for the Guantanamo of magick.

"It doesn't matter, Melly. We're in big trouble now and we don't have a choice. So please go!"

She scowled and I loved her for it, but I was glad that she eventually conceded the point. Sometimes situations just sucked, and this was one of them. As she and a struggling Vale dragged Christian to the side gate, I told myself not to think about the consequences of my upcoming actions and just do them.

I reached into that rumbling core inside me where Lucky slept and woke him up. He roared to life, flush with a generous helping of energy. I needed big and bad and I needed it yesterday. Lucky obliged, posing above my head like a golden god of, well, Chinese dragons. He would have looked awesome sitting on the roof of a noodle house.

But he was mine and I wanted to put some major fear into these demon summoning bozos so they'd leave us alone. I envisioned fire like bolts of orange and yellow silk streaming through the air. Lucky obligingly blasted flames at the house. They flowed over the covered patio and roof and coiled and boiled against the glass doors, heating them until they began to warp and melt.

The green glow inside the living room blinked out, but I didn't know if that was because Mr. Tattoo and his pals had succeeded in summoning a demon or because I'd distracted them and threw off their mojo. Just in case, I had Lucky blast the house with fire again, creating a shimmering bubble around it.

As the air grew superheated, I rubbed my arms anxiously, experiencing again that sensation of scales erupting across my skin as my ancestral blood began to sing. I coughed, trying to expel the burning sensation that was building in my lungs.

My body wanted to breathe fire just as Lucky was doing. It wanted to lift into the air and burn down the front of the house while he took care of the back. Our fire would meet in the middle and it would swirl together into a mad tornado of flames that would feel so good but not as good as if I opened my mouth and bit into the roof while my claws dug up—

No, no, no.
 

I had to remain in control. I couldn't give in to the fantasy of letting my wings burst free, or of roaring so that every house in the neighborhood shook on their foundations and all the predators in the desert became aware that a true predator was in town and they quailed in fear of my dragon and what I could do, oh, what I could do if I could just let out the fire and burn it all—

"Stop," I whispered, horrified by my manic thoughts.

I shook out the rising tension in my shoulders, alarmed by how close I was to my dragon nature. It would be madness to succumb to the urge, even all the way out here in the boonies. But my nature was knocking. It was right there, poised to take over and wreak havoc.

Lucky belched more fire. The patio cover blackened and the outer walls spidered before crumbling to the ground in smoking piles of plaster. The sliding doors cracked and collapsed inward, sending the robed figures scurrying to the other side of the room.

Lucky was gaining his head. I was definitely right behind him. The skin around my eyes felt hot, like the orbs were glowing with otherworldly fire. My hands by my sides were curled into such rigid claws that I wasn't sure I'd be able to straighten my fingers out again later. Would there be a later? It was high time to rein my dragon in before we both built up too much momentum and razed this entire neighborhood to the ground.

As soon as I made that decision and mentally braced myself for the pain of pulling Lucky back in, I was punched in the chest by magick.

It hurtled me backwards through the air like I was a stuntwoman in a movie. I smashed into the water in the pool with a loud
smack!
and immediately began to sink.

Saltwater poured into my mouth. I choked, regained the sense to spit it out. My solar plexus felt crushed. I couldn't draw enough air to inflate my lungs. I floundered in the water, trying desperately to keep my head above the surface. I was a decent enough swimmer, but losing the ability to breathe affected the coordination in my entire body.

I breathed in more saltwater. Gagged. Choked it up. My head slipped beneath the surface again. Stayed there longer.

I was going to die. I knew the truth of it in my heart.

And I was afraid.

Occasionally during difficult nights I'd prayed for a reunion with my parents. Especially now, with Uncle James having apparently abandoned me, I fell into pits of self-pity and wondered what was the point of going on if I was going to do it alone.

Now, on the verge of death, I understood the point of going on: I had friends who loved me. I wanted to grow old with them. I wanted to spoil their children. And I was pissed that some guy with ugly tattoos was going to get the better of me. It wasn't fair. I didn't deserve this.

No way was I letting it happen.

I called for my dragon, the part of myself that one day could very well destroy me. Lucky dove into the pool with a massive splash and slid beneath me. My feet found slippery purchase on his back. I willed him to rise. Like a gymnast on a balance beam, I teetered on Lucky in the rocking water until my head broke the surface and I could take a huge breath of air.

Someone slapped me across the face.

"Oops! Sorry!"

It was Melanie, my wonderful, blue-haired best friend, backlit by flames. She leaned farther over the edge of the pool. "Grab my hand, Anne!"

Lucky pushed up. Melanie heaved. Thanks to their combined efforts I managed to flop over the edge of the pool and then roll onto the concrete, where I promptly hacked up a lung.

"We have to go, Anne!"

Melanie, as small as she was, found her own inner monkey strength and hauled me to my feet even though all I wanted to do was lay there and try to breathe something other than water. But I understood her urgency. Christian's house was an inferno and worse, two figures stood at the other side of the fire, gazing out at us through the smoke and flames.

One of them was Mr. Tattoo and he was grinning, which told me that it was his magick that had punched me into the pool. He was no ordinary occultist, if such a thing existed. He was a magickal being and he was strong. Freak-me-out strong.

Beside him, the second robed figure had lowered their hood. It was a woman with light red hair.

Bingo. The nebulous connection my brain had been trying to make when I saw Christian again snapped into place. This was the same woman who'd purchased the werewolf bed from Moonlight and who had chided me for using magick with Mr. Big Shot Gambler. Judging by the color of her hair, she was Diana, Christian's mother.

It all made such stupid sense now. It was she who'd seen the gargoyle statue in my shop. Likely she'd followed her son and witnessed him selling it to me.

That still left questions unanswered—such as why Christian had had possession of the statue in the first place. And why did his mother want it back and why was she trying to help summon a demon in Christian's living room?

But those answers could wait. Melanie and I needed to boogie.

"The boys are a mess," Melanie said, breathing hard as she helped me hobble out of the backyard.

Sparks and flames lit the sky above our heads. No neighbors came out to investigate the conflagration, though. Diana did one thing right by driving them all away.

"Christian still needs to rehydrate—he's all wrinkly!—and Vale is losing the fight with his demon. Oh, my god, Anne, I hope they both don't die!"

"It'll be okay," I said, because I was a vision to inspire confidence at that moment.

When we got to Melanie's car, the guys were slumped together in the backseat. I opened the back door and said, "Hos before bros, guys. Christian, move to the passenger seat. If that demon takes over Vale, you'll want me back here to deal with it."

I wasn't bragging; Christian was a water fey. What could he do when faced with a demon? Slap it with his fish tail? Fortunately, he didn't argue and quickly changed seats, allowing me to slide in beside Vale. He didn't look good. He was pale and was pressing both fists to his forehead, like Bruce Banner holding off the Hulk.

"Sorry about the wet kids in the back," I said with a weak smile to Melanie.

She gunned it out of the driveway. "At least neither of you is a wolf shifter. I can't stand the smell of wet dog. So gross!"

Christian twisted around in his seat and watched through the back window for anyone following us. He grimaced slightly when he saw the black funnel of smoke rising from his house.

"You weren't kidding about the insurance, were you?"

"My dragon likes to go big." I coughed more pool water from my chest. "I saw your mom back there."

Christian went pale beneath his awful sunburn. "Was she alright?"

I'd expected him to have a different reaction, such as anger or surprise that she was helping those creeps.

"Why was she helping them summon a demon?" I demanded.

A pained look crossed his face. "She never wanted to. Especially not twice."

My eyes widened. "She summoned the demon that's in Vale?"

"Not alone, but yeah, she helped them do it."

He looked to Vale, who hadn't moved since we'd left the house. He remained hunched and miserable-looking. Christian's expression of guilt couldn't have been faked as he looked at his suffering friend.

"We're new to Las Vegas," he began, "and my mom has been feeling isolated. It was my fault, in the end. I suggested she find a new coven here. I thought it would make her feel better."

"That's not unusual," I said. "Witches are social. They like to get together and have spell casting parties."

Not like sorcerers, who were super suspicious of each other. I'd even come up with my own admittedly lame joke: what do you call a gathering of sorcerers?

By his first name.

"Well, you're right," Christian went on, "except the coven began to change. There were a lot of men in the group, but I knew they weren't warlocks. When I asked my mom about it she brushed it off, said they were groupies. She didn't want to hear anything bad about the group because she really liked its leader."

He thumbed absently at a blister on his chin. "She asked me if the coven could hold a gathering in my place while I was out. They liked my home because of how far from the city it is, and because of the banishment spell my mom won't admit she put on the neighborhood. I said yes. I didn't see anything wrong with it. What a mistake."

He closed his eyes and shuddered, as if recalling a bad memory. "I lost track of the days and I ended up being home when they arrived. I was in the middle of downloading some movies in my bedroom. They didn't know that I was home and I figured as long as I remained quiet and out of sight they'd never know. I had no idea they were going to do a ritual. Neither did my mom.

"When she realized they'd called forth a demon she summoned shadows to distract everyone while she tried to banish the demon to the closest object she could find. That's the easiest way to control a demon and refuse it entry to our world. You put it in something you can destroy. In this case it was supposed to be the mirror behind the front door."

Christian looked bleakly at his friend. "But Vale walked into the house like he always does, without knocking. Maybe nothing would have happened had it been anyone else, but with him being a gargoyle and having three forms—something went really wrong. My mom sent the demon into him instead of the mirror." He swallowed. "He was knocked into his statue form and had no idea what had happened."

"I know now," Vale gritted out, lowering his fists to his thighs. The dark circles around his eyes made him look like he'd been punched. I didn't know if he was still wet from the pool or because he was streaming sweat. "Keep going."

"The occultists were in chaos," Christian went on, flinching at his friend's appearance. "I heard them screaming, so I came out to find out what was going on. They didn't realize at first what my mom had done; they thought they'd screwed up and the demon was loose. While they were shouting each other down, my mom confessed to me what she'd done. I knew right away that I had to hide Vale from them. I didn't know who to turn to until I remembered what we were talking about last week. About Anne and her family."