Heart of the Dragon (26 page)

She had thought about stealing a medallion, but had changed her mind at the last moment. Waiting here would be hard, but she would do it. For Darius. She would pray and she would plan, because one way or another vampires and Argonauts were going down. Hopefully, her men would not be harmed in the process. If they were…God help the citizens of Atlantis. Guns would be the least of their worries.

D
ARIUS STOOD
in the forest, gazing down at the carnage before him. He’d flown here at lightning speed, only to learn the unit he’d sent to guard Javar’s palace had been bested. They were covered in a white film and blood streamed from bullet wounds. Some were alive. Most were dead. His wings retracted and he dropped his vest. His hands curled into fists. Those humans
must
be stopped.

“Find the survivors,” he called. Then he and the dragon warriors branched off, searching for the living.

He cursed under his breath as moans of pain filled his ears. How many more would die before this ended? Frowning, he strode over to Vorik, who lay prone and still. He knelt down.

Vorik’s eyelids opened slowly and Darius pushed out a breath of relief that his man lived. He withdrew a sharp silver blade from his back scabbard and blew fire on the metal. When it cooled, he dug out the bullets just as Grace had shown him. Vorik grimaced and tried to pull away.

“Tell me of the attack,” he said to distract him.

“Their weapons…” Vorik said, calming. “Strange.”

Renard approached and crouched beside him just as Vorik fainted. “What happened to them?” He touched the white, dusty coating and jerked his hand away. “What is this cold substance that covers their bodies?”

Darius turned stark eyes in his friend’s direction. “I do not know what it is. Don gloves if you must, but do as Grace advised and dig out the bullets.”

The carnage reminded him of the day he’d found his family slaughtered, and as he worked, he had to bite back a groan. Had he not shared his pain with Grace, he might have collapsed from the weight of it now. With shaky hands he continued on to body after body. The dragon’s recuperative blood helped them heal as soon as the small bullets were removed. If only Javar had known this, how many of his warriors could he have saved?

When he finished, Darius gazed down at his blood-soaked hands. He’d had blood on his hands before, and hadn’t reacted. But this affected him. How much more blood would he wear before this day ended? He knew the answer: by the end of the day, blood would flow like a river. He only prayed the blood did not belong to his own forces, but his enemies.

He shoved to his feet, gripping the hilt of his blade. “We must reclaim what belongs to us,” he shouted. “Who will fight with me?”

“I will.” “Me,” rang out. Every warrior standing wanted the chance to avenge the wrongs done.

“May the gods be with us,” he said under his
breath. His wings sprang from his back. He swooped up his vest, gripping the black material and smearing it with blood. Using the strength in his legs, he pushed off the ground. The glide of his wings kept him in the air and moving higher, faster. His army followed behind him. He heard the rustle of their wings, felt the intensity of their determination.

Human guards roamed the top of Javar’s palace. When they spotted Darius, they shouted, aimed and fired. In the air, he dodged the multiple rounds of bullets and spewed his own fire. His warriors did the same, burning the humans and their weapons. Then, one of his warriors grunted and was suddenly falling from the sky. He didn’t see who it was, but continued breathing his fire.

A gong sounded, loud, high-pitched.

The humans atop the ledge didn’t live long enough to hear it. Their scorched bodies withered into ash and floated on the breeze. Darius settled his feet on the jagged crystal. His wings retracted, and he quickly drew on his vest and fastened the straps. When his warriors were properly protected, as well, he met each of their stares one by one and waited for nods of readiness.

He withdrew a long, silver blade with one hand, the gun with the other, and approached the dome seam. Sensing his medallion, the two sides silently parted. He gazed down, but could not see anyone inside, surrounded as they were by a thick fog. He heard the shuffle of their panicked footsteps, however, and the murmur of their fear.

He would have preferred
flying
into the unknown, but the vest would not allow it.

He jumped.

His men quickly followed suit.

Down, down he fell. When his feet hit the ground, his entire body reverberated with the impact. He grunted and rolled.

Humans screamed and scrambled out of the way. Their shock delayed their reaction, and Darius used that to his advantage. He jolted to his feet, sword raised and struck his first victim. The human gurgled in pain, clutching his chest, then collapsed.

Behind him, his warriors fought valiantly. Breathing fire. Always breathing fire. He didn’t pause, but advanced on his next target. A look of sheer terror contorted the young man’s features when he realized Darius was coming for him. The man aimed a long black gun at Darius’s chest and fired. One bullet after another slammed into Darius, causing only pinpricks of pain. He laughed. Eyes widening, the man dropped his gun and gripped a thick tube that rose from a red canister on his back. White foam sprayed out and over Darius’s skin, so cold his blood hardened with ice crystals. His dark laughter increased.

A Guardian of the Mist welcomed cold. Was strengthened by it. He raised his own gun and fired, aiming for the head. The man’s body spasmed, then sank lifeless at his feet.

The alarm grew louder, screeching in his ears and soon blending with the sound of gunshots. He
winced at a sharp sting in his thigh, glanced down, and saw trickles of blood where a bullet had pierced. Never slowing, he rocked forward, using the momentum to slay an enemy with his blade.

Having destroyed every human within striking distance, he darted his gaze throughout the room, searching where to fight next. He watched through horror-filled eyes as Madox fell, his body covered in white foam, blood seeping from numerous wounds in his arms and legs. Darius emptied his gun of bullets, all of them slamming into a human many yards away.

He didn’t know if his friend lived or died, and his stomach twisted. With a growl of pure rage, he raced forward and spewed a stream of fire, catching the last of the humans and igniting them like a bonfire. They did not dodge it fast enough. Their screams echoed from the walls, and the scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He tossed his gun to the ground.

The moans soon quieted and smoldering corpses littered the floor. With the battle over, he counted how many of his men still stood. Only three had fallen. He carried Madox outside and laid him on the ground. The others followed, some limping, some relatively unharmed. Renard rushed to his side and examined Madox, then helped remove the bullets.

“He’ll live,” Renard announced with relief.

Filled with his own relief, Darius gripped the dagger he held and sank the tip into one of the wounds on his leg. He grimaced. The bullets hurt more coming out than they had going in, but he welcomed the pain.

As he continued to work the knife in his other injuries, he realized he and his warriors reigned victorious. Yet…where was the sense of joy and accomplishment he should have had?

“What do we do next?” Renard asked, sitting down beside him.

“I do not know. Their leader, Jason, was not here,” he fumed.

“How do you know?”

“The cowardly bastard is—” Darius did not finish his sentence. Something stirred in his soul, something dark, and he knew Grace was in danger. His blood curdled. He ripped off his medallion and held it in his hands. Because he couldn’t call on Grace’s image, he said, “Show me Jason Graves.”

The twin eyes lit with glowing red beams. Jason’s image formed in the middle. He was standing in front of Grace—who was chained to a wall. Vampires surrounded the two, eyeing Grace hungrily. She struggled against the chains. “What have you done with my brother?”

“I recaptured him and that dragon whore of his. And if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll kill him while you watch,” he said with an evil smile. “Mitch told me how protective Darius is of you. I wonder how much he’s willing to give up for you.”

“Leave him out of this,” she spat, then pressed her lips together. Her face and clothes were dirty and her bottom lip was swollen. Darius’s world darkened to one emotion: rage. It was a cold, calculated rage that wanted Jason’s blood drenching his hands. They
had sneaked into his home and taken her. They would pay.

He forced himself to study the rest of the vision, searching for clues as to where Grace was being held. When he saw Layel, king of vampires, he knew—and his fear for Grace grew in intensity.

The vision faded all too quickly.

He squeezed his fingers over the medallion. “Those who are well enough, come with me. We fly to meet the vampires.
Now.
”

Wings sprouted from his back, ripping away his vest. Every dragon still breathing unfurled his wings, as well. He experienced a moment of pride. These warriors were injured, but they remained faithfully by his side. They would fight—and die if they must.

T
HE VAMPIRE STRONGHOLD
loomed on the horizon.

Black stone gave the large structure a haunted aura, casting shadows in every direction. Even the windows were blackened. No foliage grew here, for no living thing could thrive among the destruction and decay. Drained bodies hung from pikes, acting as a visual warning of the death that waited within, ready to strike.

Grace was inside.

Swallowing back his fear for her, Darius flew to the highest window and motioned for his warriors to do the same. The thin railing provided no ledge to stand upon, so he simply hovered there. A cold sweat covered his skin, and his teeth gnashed together. He was a man who liked to wait and study his enemy
before attacking. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—wait. Not this time. His warriors watched him, floating on silent wings. He couldn’t see through the darkened glass, but could hear voices.

A woman’s scream filled his ears.
Grace!

He immediately gave the signal. Glass shattered as they propelled inside. Vampires hissed and humans aimed their guns. No longer protected by the vests, the dragons were vulnerable—and they knew it.

Darius pushed, shoved and sliced his way toward Grace. Careful not to burn her with his fire.

When she spied him, she struggled fruitlessly against her chains. “Darius,” she called, her voice weak, hollow.

Jason Graves stood beside her, his expression one of shock and rage. Seeing Darius, the coward trained his gun on Grace’s temple. Darius did not allow himself to look at his wife’s face; he would have crumbled, and he had to stay strong. So it was then that he saw the blood oozing down her neck and onto her shirt.

“We both know I’m going to kill you this day,” he told Jason, deceptively serene. “Your actions merely dictate whether you die quickly.” His gaze narrowed. “Or whether I make you suffer endlessly.”

Jason’s hand shook as his gaze darted between Darius and the raging battle. Dragons breathed fire, scorching vampires and humans. Howls and shrieks blended together, creating a symphony of death. Sulfur coated the air.

“Kill me,” Jason said, desperate, “and you’ll never recover the
Book of Ra-Dracus.
”

Intent only on saving Grace, Darius stalked toward him. “I care not for the book.”

“One step closer, and I’ll kill her. Do you hear me?” he screamed. “I’ll kill her!”

Darius stilled completely. Yet…intense fury boiled in his blood, hotter and hotter until finally transforming him into his dragon self. He howled at the suddenness of the change, at the way his body elongated and sharpened. Scales armored his skin. His teeth lengthened and thinned, honed to razor-sharp points. His claws unsheathed. He felt the heat of the change and welcomed it.

Jason’s eyes grew round, filling with undiluted terror. “Oh, my God,” he gasped. He whipped his gun to Darius and squeezed the trigger.

Darius absorbed the impact of each bullet and launched himself at Jason. He twisted in the air, slashing the man’s face with his tail. The bastard screamed, collapsed to the ground, blood seeping from the deep gashes, jewels tumbling from his pockets. Darius reached for him again, but gunfire came at him from a different direction. Another bullet pelted his arm, and he spun, spraying fire at this other enemy. Protecting Grace.

Having regained his breath, Jason scrambled up and stuffed the fallen jewels back into his pockets, the battle forgotten in his greed. Darius swung back to him just as Jason glanced up. Their gazes clashed for one startling second, terror against determination,
before Darius bit his throat. Unsatisfied with that, Darius lashed him with his tail, clawed with his hands and slammed the man into the wall. A sickening crack followed as Jason’s neck snapped, and he collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Jason’s eyes stared transfixed upon a huge blue sapphire, and his fingers gave one last twitch, perhaps reaching for the sparkling diamond that rolled across the floor toward Grace’s boot.

It happened too quickly and wasn’t nearly enough. Not for the harm Jason had done. But Grace whimpered, and he suddenly didn’t care. Vengeance didn’t matter. Justice didn’t matter. Only his wife mattered.

“Grace,” Darius said, Jason already forgotten. His concern overshadowed all else as he rushed to her. His scales receded, revealing smooth skin. His fangs retracted. His wings curled into his back. When he reached his wife, he ripped her bonds from the wall, and she sank into his arms.

“Darius,” she murmured. Her eyes were closed, her face pale.

He laid her gently on the floor and crouched beside her. As if sensing his vulnerable state, the vampire king swept before him, his eyes glowing that eerie blue. His sharp, white teeth were bared, ready to strike. The urge to leap up and attack was there, but Darius resisted. He wouldn’t risk hurting Grace further.

Layel dove for him. Darius hunched over, protecting Grace with his body. He made no other move
toward his opponent. The vampire’s teeth sank into his shoulder, but as quickly as Layel attacked, he withdrew.

“Fight, you coward,” Layel growled. “We end this here and now.”

He glared up at him. “You cannot provoke me. The woman’s life is more important, and I will not risk it. Not even to rid our world of your existence.”