Sword of the King
Sword of the King
Megan Derr
Dragons are amongst the most feared creatures in the paranormal world, nigh unbeatable and barely controllable. Every year, countless men and women who bear dragon potential are stolen away and turned into beasts, their former lives lost forever. They are drugged to compliance and trained to fight in the notorious Pits for the profit of the crime lords who breed them.
Blaze has been a pit fighter all his life, and it is a life he hates. The only thing that keeps him going is that if he stops, he risks losing the only thing that matters to him: his dragon, Erie. Though pit rules say it's a bad idea to get too close to the dragons, Blaze has never been able to help it. He'll do anything to protect Erie.
Ken and his dragon Nevada were once victims of the pits, stolen from their normal lives and made to fight. Now, they work to bring down the pits they despise, though the battle seems futile. Everyone who has ever tried has wound up dead. Stopping the pit fights once and for all would take a miracle—or a legend.
Sword of the King
By Megan Derr
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Tanni Fan
Cover designed by London Burden
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition April 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 9781620041079
Blood splashed in a red arc across the dark stones of the pit floor as Erie tore open a fresh wound on his opponent. Erie growled and snarled, taunting his opponent, his long tail cutting back and forth through the air and slamming against the pit floor. The spectators closest to the ring were dripping with sweat, more than a few flushed red from the heat that poured off both dragons. Erie’s dark scales had a red-orange sheen, and Blaze knew if he were to touch Erie right then that the heat would blister his hand.
His opponent was a double-black, meaning he was a double-elemental rather than a single like Erie. But even being a combination of flame and gale wasn't enough against Erie's prowess.
Erie feinted right and then lunged left, sinking teeth and claws into his opponent, spilling more blood. The other dragon screamed in rage and pain, but Blaze could already hear the strength was fading from its voice. Victory was close. Blaze looked away from the fight long enough to glance at his boss, who had a seat further up where he could see the action clearly without being affected by it. He was already beginning to smirk in triumph. He gave Blaze the barest nod of approval. Relief poured through him; Erie was not only going to win the match, he'd performed especially well.
Blaze barely bit back a grin as he watched Erie finished the fight with a last blow of his tail to his opponent's face. He clenched his fists in victory as the match was called and Erie declared the victor. Leaving the area where all dragon masters sat during the fights, he walked across the blood-slick floor to Erie. He was panting and his scales gleamed ember-red in the harsh glare of the overhead lights, smeared here and there with dull red splashes of blood. Ignoring the blood, gingerly petting him as his scales cooled, Blaze murmured, "Good, Erie. You were beautiful, amazing. You just keep getting better and better. The boss was definitely looking pleased."
Erie rumbled in happiness and butted against his hip. Blaze petted him for a few more minutes then led Erie back across the ring to where Rust and a cluster of other men stood waiting. At a glance, Blaze would hazard most of them were Bosses from other syndicates. They must be from minor syndicates, though, because he knew all the major Bosses.
"So he's an egg dragon?" asked one. Rust nodded, and looked at Blaze, indicating that Blaze should continue. "Yes, sir. Erie's mother is a turned dragon, but once she was changed she was never allowed to go back to human. His father is a tri-black living up in Brennus' territory. Erie was born in a clutch of twelve. Nine survived to birth. He was the only flame in the clutch. "
Blaze remembered the day well. He'd only been ten years old, but already showed promise of having the focus and discipline it took to be a dragon master. He'd seen Erie and that was it. No one and nothing else mattered but Erie. "He only learned how to turn human five years ago, when he was fifteen."
The man nodded, flicking ash from his cigarette. He had dark hair and eyes, and a mean look around his mouth that Blaze associated with all Boss types. Even Rust, who was better than most, had that same look. It said the money mattered first, second, and last, and everything else was just in the way. "Yes, I can see how different they are from the turned ones. Much more vicious. Primitive. What's his human percentage? He must have some since his mother was human."
"Hard to say," Rust replied, taking over the conversation. "She was sixty percent dragon, just ten percent short of being pure. The father was forty percent dragon. But as Blaze said, Erie only started turning human five years ago and he doesn't like to do it often. Whatever his genetics say, he's all dragon. We only turn him human for transport purposes, and then only when no better option is available."
Blaze kept his eyes on Erie, who rumbled quietly at him. If there were other reasons that Erie turned human, well, that was nobody else's fucking business.
Another of the men grunted; Blaze looked at him, noting the gray pallor to his skin. Fancy suit or not, he was no Boss. Must be a bit of muscle or something. Blaze shared a brief look of amused disgust with Rust. Who brought fresh meat to a pit fight? If he was that squeamish he wouldn't last long; he'd probably faint like a little bitch when he saw his first death match.
Whoever he was, he definitely wasn't master material and in the dragon world only three types of people mattered: dragons, masters, and bosses. Everyone else did grunt work or was window dressing.
"What's the cost difference?" the ashen-faced man asked, trying hard to look unaffected and failing miserably. Everyone was afraid of dragons, except dragon masters. Inspiring fear was just part of what a dragon did, was meant to do. But some people were so afraid of them that they could barely be in the same room. Blaze bet the guy wouldn't last a week before he quit or was terminated. Someone should have done a better job of vetting the poor son of a bitch. "I c-can't imagine it's cheap or easy to raise them from the egg like that."
At Blaze's side, Erie rumbled playfully again; the man only just caught himself from jumping. Blaze smothered a laugh, but only because Rust would be pissed if his guests were embarrassed.
Rust flicked one hand dismissively. "About fifty to seventy five grand more a head at the onset, but they take much better to the training and don't need to be broken first, so in the long term, raising them more than pays for itself. They also do not require the changer drugs as often, which saves a great deal on cost. The only drawback is that they are useless as humans. In a clutch of ten, four on average will never manage the shift even with the changer drugs."
Blaze didn't bother to say that Erie had never needed drugs to shift. Changing had only taken him as long as it had because, for the longest time, Erie had no interest in appearing human. When he'd finally shifted, however, he hadn't needed the changers at all. It made the other pit fighters jealous that Erie didn't need the drugs to shift, and Blaze knew they were just waiting for a chance to kick him while he was down, but it just made him all the prouder of Erie. He was the best dragon in the Rust Syndicate, and Blaze aimed to keep it that way.
If they worked hard and won enough matches, they stood a chance of moving out of the pits. He would give anything—everything—to never have to pit Erie again. Every time Erie went into the pit, Blaze felt like his heart stopped and didn't start again until Erie came back to him. Nobody's luck lasted forever, and if he didn't get Erie out of the pits, eventually there would come a dragon that would end Erie. Death matches were rare and accidental deaths rarer still, but there was always someone willing to pay to see it happen.
The last man, vaguely familiar, was smug, gaudy, and corpulent; he looked at Blaze and Erie like they were something weird on his dinner plate and he was going to let his bodyguards take a bite first. "Can he speak? How was he trained? He's one the most ruthless fighters I've ever seen; even some of our wilder blacks don't have his ... focus. He achieved some impressive temperatures, even for a flame." Blaze finally realized why he looked familiar; the New England accent gave him away. He was the son and heir presumptive of the Shaker Syndicate. A whiny set, but made of money and happy to spend it.
Blaze stroked Erie's scales, irritated. "He can speak, and I started training him damn near the day he hatched. Everyone tries to treat them like they're human; the trick to dragons is to let them be dragons."
"I see," murmured the first man, dropping his finished cigarette to the ground and putting it out with his shoe. He looked directly at Blaze, eyes intent and too sharp. "The dragon isn't the only odd one; you're a bit out of the ordinary yourself. Who trained you?"
The question made Blaze tense, because that wasn't normally the kind of question someone asked. Rust laid a hand on his shoulder, ordering him to keep silent at the same time. "Blaze was trained same as anyone, he's just damned good. Are you done asking questions here, gentlemen? Shall we move this to a dinner table?" He led them away, shooting a look over his shoulder that said Blaze was free to go for the night. "Afterwards, I'll take you to the compound and you can see the nests for yourself, the training grounds, why my dragons kick your ass every single time."
Blaze slumped in relief, then pet Erie one last time before leading him away. Outside, the kid he'd paid to watch his bike leapt off and tried to look innocent. The kid claimed he was fourteen but was probably closer to twelve. He looked the bike over and, seeing that no harm had been done to it, decided it was dumb to get upset about a kid sitting on it—lost in daydreams of winning a no doubt spectacular street race. The prize was probably a dragon; it always had been for Blaze.
He ruffled the kid's head and passed him a twenty. "Thanks."
"No problem! You were fucking badass in there, Master Blaze! Everyone was talking about it! I don't think anyone will ever beat you."
Blaze laughed. "Hopefully not. Now get going before someone notices you and puts you on pit cleaning duty. Trust me when I say you don't want it."
"Yes, Master Blaze." He smiled shyly then bolted off, vanishing into the crowd, probably headed back to the dorm Rust maintained for all the young initiates in the syndicate. Blaze did not miss the dorm days. The second best day of his life was when he'd been handed a key and told it was to his own apartment. The best was the day he'd been approved as a pit fighter and then chosen Erie from the clutch put before him.
Turning to Erie, who stood waiting patiently beside him, Blaze said, "Change, Erie."
Growling, Erie obeyed, the metallic tang of magic filling the air as he shifted to human form. Erie was a stunning human with his dark blonde hair and brilliant yellow eyes, his skin tanned from all the time he spent sunning nude on Blaze's balcony. At a glance Erie seemed completely human. Once he started speaking or when he was around other dragons or syndicate members, however, it became obvious his humanity was only a facade. Even more than most dragons, Erie sucked at being human.
Blaze loved him for it, though he would never admit that aloud. Masters who loved their dragons were executed as a danger, their dragons put down. Blaze would sooner die than let that happen. He tolerated the pits because he had no choice, but he hoped he was close to getting them out.
When Erie finished transforming, Blaze pulled clothes out of one of the saddlebags on his bike. Erie grimaced as he pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt, and growled as Blaze gave him socks and boots. When Blaze gave him a look, he grumbled and put them on.
A few minutes later, they were flying through the city streets, weaving around the light ten o'clock traffic. They made it across town in record time, and Blaze smoothly parked in the complex garage. He pulled off his helmet and stood, bidding Erie follow him with a crook of his fingers.