Plight of the Dragon (8 page)

Marcus raised a brow and waited for her to continue.
 

“When you were tossed into Purgatory, you were done so without provocation. You had done no wrong.” Marcus’s gaze narrowed. Leila’s eyes widened, and she began to talk faster. “Everyone knows your father was guilty of horrible things. Nasty, vicious, atrocious things.”

“Enough about him.”

“But you were clueless. A young boy too full of himself to notice what was going on in his own family.”

Marcus growled.
 

“Do you think your men would think less of you if they knew the truth?”

Marcus grabbed Leila around the neck, tossing her flat against the seat. “What’s your point?”
 

Leila wheezed, and her voice came out strained. “I know you hold Bolsvck responsible. Davies, too. But Bolsvck, like you, was just another pawn in a larger game. I know the name of the man who actually tossed you into that Hell. The man who helped Davies orchestrate the undermining plot.”

Marcus released his grip, sat back, and regarded her. “How do you know this man?”

“My mother told me.” She smiled, and it reached into her witchly dark eyes.

“Your mother knows a Grim?” He folded his arms across his chest.

“She does, indeed. Or, she did. He came to her once, took pity upon her and granted her more time.” Leila nibbled on her little finger. “Some might say he took a special kind of liking to her. He told her things. Your story was among the things he told her.”

“Tell me who this man is.” Marcus leaned forward, his voice fully demanding.

“I’ll do better. I’ll take you to him.” Her eyes fluttered to the car floor and back. “But tell me first, how did you get out of Purgatory?”

Marcus groaned, leaned into the door, and dropped his head. “That was a low point in my life. The year in Purgatory was equal to a thousand Hells beat into my soul. On the 367th day, I stumbled across the devil. I made a deal.” He flashed a look that was bitter and blithe and bleak, all in one. “You know how that turned out. Traded my dragon half.”

Leila pursed her lips. “You met the devil?”

“Not the actual devil. Don’t be so gullible.”

She shrugged. “It could happen. You were in Hell’s waiting room.”

Marcus huffed, rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe Bolsvck was a pawn. He’s too smart for that.”

“And too selfish? You think he purposely stole the crown from you?” She smirked, and Marcus frowned. “It was your family who took the rule from his a generation ago. He is the rightful king. And yet, he still refuses to officially claim the crown. Don’t you find that odd?”

Marcus’s jaw seized and lava surged up his esophagus. Clenching his hands into fists, he fought the urge to strike down right there in the car. And yet, he needed to hear, and to know. “It doesn’t stop him from leading them!”

She grinned and her dark eyes gleamed. “It’s a popularity thing, my lord. The dragons refuse to listen to anyone else. Except for the fraction, of course.” She licked her lips.

“The fraction?”

“The rebels.” She tapped a finger on the window’s edge. “Davies was the one. He led the rebellion against your father. It’s because of him your parents are dead, and he played a huge role in sending you to Purgatory.” Leila shifted in her seat, moved her back against the far door. She blinked and flashed a bedroom-eyes gaze at him. “Would your men think less of you if they knew?”

“Knew what?” Marcus’s fingers dug into the leather seat.
 

“How clueless you really are.” The side of her cheek lifted in a deadly grin. “In all your years of planning to take
back the throne, did you ever wonder why Bolsvck never claimed his birthly right? And yet, all the clans follow him willingly. Or…” She paused, thoughtful. “Did you ever stop to wonder how Davies was disgraced enough to land him where he is now? No longer a dragon, but neither a man?”

Marcus’s spine shot tent-pole straight. He stared at Leila with blood-boiling intensity.

“I see I’ve hit a sore subject.” Her hands pressed against the door, pushing her up to appear taller. “Things are going to get interesting.” Her face darkened, contorting into something else. Something monstrously magnificent.
 

And then the door behind her flew open, and Marcus’s lunge to stop her was too late. She was already vanishing from the car in a shadowy, black fog.

8

SUITORS

Kyra

“Why?” Kyra stared
after Sebastian, her thoughts and emotions an obliterated devastation zone. The cracks and pops of the fireworks overhead were like bullet fire to her heart. “Why is he walking away, after all we’ve been through?” Her voice was weak, feeble, and she hated it.
 

Talia stared at the crowd, her face drained of color. “We should get going.”

Kyra grabbed her by the arm. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” Talia said, her eyes growing wide.

“Don’t lie to me. I can see it all over you.” Kyra released her. “You’re as pale and as stiff as a corpse. Something’s going on.”

“Kyra, everyone here is trying to help you—”

“Don’t try to placate me. Spit it out, before I’m forced to torture it out of you.” Kyra planted her feet, jammed her fists onto her hips, and seared Talia with her stare.

Talia opened her mouth and said…nothing. She glanced to the spot in the crowd where Sebastian had disappeared, then back at Kyra. Her indecision couldn’t have been more evident.

“There you are!”

Kyra turned to see Drakhögg and Ryhuu striding toward her. Great. More dragon dung to deal with. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse. “What are you doing here?” she asked them. “You were supposed to wait.”

“We got tired of waiting for you to return and grace us with your beauty, so we decided to sniff you out,” Ryhuu said, with what Kyra assumed was meant to be a charming smile. Really not.

She rolled her eyes. “Sniff? Seriously? Gross.”
 

“Sniffing was necessary,” Drakhögg said. “We were beginning to think this crazy carnival didn’t want us to find you. It kept changing, setting us on a different course. Insane place, this Mystic’s Carnival. But hey, we’re finally here because of this.” He pointed to his nose. “You used your sniffer all the time…when you were complete,” he added with a hint of arrogance. “Do you remember now?”

“I remember why I don’t like you, so you can stop trying.” She threw her hip out to the side.
 

“I do love when you play hard to get,” Drakhögg said, placing his arm around her waist.

She shoved him away. “Try impossible. It’s never going to happen, Drakhögg, so give it up.” She started walking away. Talia didn’t follow. Kyra wanted to say something to her, but not here, not in front of these morons. With her memories back in place, her disgust for Drakhögg had soared out of sight. The scum-sucker would do anything to get into her father’s good graces and a place of power—including her half-sister Keahi, the sneering redhead who’d walked into the carnival at Drakhögg’s side earlier.

Ryhuu snagged her hand, stopping her attempt to escape. “You made the right choice. Your mother will be proud.”

“Think again, Ryhuu,” she said. “I haven’t chosen you.” She peeled his hand away. “I’m choosing
me
. You both lose.” She pointed to both guys, then turned her back on them and walked away.
 

For the way she felt, her heart had to be withered and dead, sucked of life by her exquisite Reaper.
He left me
. How could she go through life feeling this way? The answer was, she couldn’t. She would never be happy with Drakhögg or Ryhuu. Never be happy making a choice between the Water Clan and the Fire Clan. The only right choice for her was Sebastian. She would find out what was going on between them. And if he wouldn’t have her, then maybe remaining a Moorigad would destroy her and put an end to her misery.
 

She thought about what Drakhögg had said about the carnival morphing and sending them on different paths when they were trying to find her. Maybe Mystic’s agreed with her. Maybe the carnival didn’t think she belonged with either dragon clan. Her walk turned into a march, a purpose and destination finally pulling at her.
 

“Where are you going?” Ryhuu called from behind.

“To set the record straight.”

She heard the shuffle of feet and knew the morons had fallen in behind her. That was fine. They needed to hear what she had to say, too. All the dragons did, so they would leave her the damn
dragolion
alone
.

“The people seem to truly enjoy the fireworks show,” Drakhögg said. Kyra tossed him a sideways shut-up glance. “How do you think they would react if a bunch of dragons took to the sky, adding their fire and ice?”

Ryhuu made an odd sound, making it clear he did not approve of the idea.

Kyra’s stride faltered, her jaw clenched and fingers twitched. She turned on Drakhögg, feeling a sense of rage and fury burning around her like Hell’s fire. “Are you a complete moron?” His brows raised, and he glowered at her. Kyra marched up to him and swung her arm in an arc, pointing to all the people in the crowd, and spoke softly. “Most of these people believe dragons are a myth. You’ve done such a fine job at keeping to your own and staying out of sight that people have forgotten history and rewritten it as folklore. Would you mess that up now over something so foolhardy?”

Drakhögg stood tall and shook his head. “Of course not.”

“You sure?” She prodded him in the chest. “Because your very presence here threatens the lie you’ve all created.”
 

He twisted his lips tightly together and said nothing.
 

Her heart warmed at seeing him put in his place. Now that her memories had returned she couldn’t help but see Drakhögg as a young Marcus in the making. It took considerable willpower not to go all dragon-attack on him. “Now shut it. I prefer to walk in silence.” She eyed Ryhuu to make sure he understood that also meant him. Satisfied and with a triumphant smile firmly in place, she began her advance on the enemy—her parents.
 

A five-minute walk along the midway meant five minutes to think about the many things Marcus had done to her. Five minutes to count the number of pieces she would tear from his body for each and every wrong. At the end of those five minutes Kyra stood before her parents, Ryhuu and Drakhögg flanking her sides. Mystic’s had provided her with a clear path to her desired destination. No side ventures or detours this time. She must be doing the right thing. The celebration had ended in a big bang, a cannonball to the heart, leaving the sounds of celebration to be swallowed by the murmurs of dragons.

Each of her parents had managed to amass a miniature army in her absence, their numbers having grown from four or five each to something around forty or fifty total. Kyra couldn’t be sure, but it was enough dragons to chill her body temperature even more. Rubbing her arms, she wished for a coat made of hot coals. Then remembered her extremely human body probably couldn’t handle such abuse.
 

Mystic’s Magical Market, usually rife with laughter and whimsical fun, was now oppressed with clan tensions. Sebastian’s concerns flew to the front of her mind. He’d been right; this was no place for dragons. Not with Mystic’s Jubilee in full swing and the strain of Kyra and her Moorigad status pulling and pushing the two sides. She had to make them leave.

Kyra stared at her mother, a silent game of superiority playing between them. Bolsvck pushed through the crowd, making his way to the front, to his daughter. At a quick glance, Kyra guessed his clan had grown to include far more than just Fire Dragons. She saw representatives of all types gathered around him. Much must have happened since she’d left her father’s clan. Last she knew, only the Bronze and the Black consorted with the Fire.
Curious.
 

Bolsvck broke through the mass of supporters around him, his face beaming. He clasped his hands together. “You have your confidence back. Magnificent. You remember, then?”

Kyra’s stare shifted from Queen Shui to her father. “I do. And you can all go now. I know why I left and why I’m here. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“You can’t dismiss us that easily, dear,” Queen Shui said.

“Quite right,” Bolsvck said. “You’ve risked yourself for far too long, little dragon.”

“There is nothing little about me!” Kyra leaned in, raising her voice.

“The point is,” Queen Shui continued for Bolsvck, “you are in danger of losing yourself to the Moorigad curse.”

“Moorigad curse,” Kyra mumbled and rolled her eyes. “When’s the last time you heard of a dragon falling to the curse?”

“None are so careless as to let it happen,” her mother said. “They choose. They protect themselves.”

“You must let us help you, Kyra.” Bolsvck stepped forward with his hand outstretched.
 

Kyra shook her head. “The idea of a dragon going mad and then dying to an internal battle of traits is ridiculous. I don’t believe it. Anguis the Angry was probably an isolated incident, not a curse. You’ve just never given any other dragons a chance to prove otherwise. And if the curse is true,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision.” Kyra turned and shoved Ryhuu and Drakhögg away. “Take these ridiculous suitors out of my sight, and all of you, leave the carnival before someone gets hurt.”