Page 3 of Davoren (Dragon Master Daddies #1)

The passage narrowed further, volcanic walls rising like the throat of some ancient beast. Shadows pooled in crevices despite the afternoon sun.

Perfect killing ground. I found myself calculating angles, distances, escape routes—a useless exercise with the restraints binding my wrists, but old habits died hard.

"Tell me about your home," I said to distract us both. "What will you miss most?"

She launched into descriptions of market days and festival dances, her sister's new baby, the way morning fog rolled off the river. Normal things. Free things.

"Do you think—" Mira started.

The world exploded in sound. Not near us—further up the pass. The rumble of falling rock, the crash of tons of volcanic stone cascading down ancient slopes. Avalanche.

Everyone froze. Guards half-drawing swords. Horses snorting and stamping. My hand tightening on the glass shard until I felt it bite through fabric into flesh.

Silence descended like a shroud.

The kind of silence that came before screaming.

I peered through the gap in the curtains, saw a guard riding beside us on his mount.

"Natural slide," he called out. "Happens sometimes. The heat—"

An arrow sprouted from his throat, cutting off whatever reassurance he'd meant to offer. He toppled from his horse with a wet gurgle that seemed impossibly loud in the stillness.

Then the crossing came to life, and death came to the crossing.

Arrows punched through silk like it wasn’t there, their razor heads gleaming with reflected firelight as the supply wagon erupted in flames behind us.

The delicate curtains offered no more protection than cobwebs against the barrage.

I grabbed Mira and pulled her down as a shaft whistled through the space where her head had been.

Outside, chaos painted itself in blood and screaming. Guards bellowed orders that no one could follow. Horses shrieked and reared, adding their panic to the maelstrom. The acrid stench of burning supplies mixed with the iron tang of spilled blood and the ever-present sulfur of the Wastes.

"Stay down!" I pressed Mira flat against the floor, feeling splinters dig into my palms. Another volley of arrows turned our elegant prison into a sieve.

Through the holes, I glimpsed fragments of nightmare—a guard clutching his throat as crimson spilled between his fingers, a bandit vaulting from horseback with practiced ease, the supply wagon collapsing in a shower of sparks.

The caravan door exploded inward. A bandit filled the opening, wild-eyed and eager, his blade still dripping from whatever horror he'd just committed.

His clothes hung off him like rags on a scarecrow, torn and dirty from a life spent in the unforgiving wilderness.

Scars crisscrossed his exposed skin, telling tales of battles won and lost, of survival at any cost. His eyes burned with a feral intensity, darting around the interior of the caravan, searching for valuables, searching for victims.

That gaze locked onto my pearl necklace, my golden bangles, all the wealth I wore like armor.

"Well, well. The prize herself." His reach was greedy, fingers grasping for gems that could feed a family for a year.

The volcanic glass bit deep into my palm as I slashed upward.

It wasn’t a strong blow—my shackles made sure of that—but it was unexpected.

The edge, sharper than any civilized blade, opened his reaching hand from palm to wrist. He reeled back with a howl that was more surprise than pain—men like him never expected the merchandise to bite back.

I kicked out with both feet. The impact sent him tumbling backward through the door, but the violent motion did something unexpected. The decorative chain linking my wrists—that wedding jewelry—snapped like spun sugar under the strain.

Poor craftsmanship disguised as ornate metalwork. My father had paid for appearance, not quality. For once, his corner-cutting saved me.

"My lady!" Mira clutched at my skirts as crossbow bolts shattered the wooden panels above us. Each impact sent splinters raining down like deadly snow.

I hauled her behind the overturned dowry chest, the only cover that might stop a bolt. Outside, the battle was turning. I could hear it in the way guards' voices grew fewer, their commands more desperate. We were outnumbered, overwhelmed, and about to be overrun.

Through the chaos, I spotted it—a gap where guards had been pulled from their positions to defend the burning wagon. The bandits hadn't noticed yet, too focused on the wealth spilling from split strongboxes. But it wouldn't last.

"Mira." I gripped her shoulders, feeling her tremble. "I need you to listen."

"Don't leave me!" She already knew what I was thinking. Smart girl.

"I'm going," I couldn’t lie. “You can come with me, but I’m heading into danger. I could die the moment I leave this wagon.”

There was sheer panic on her face.

“I don’t know if I can, my lady.”

"Then hide here. Play dead if they search. If I can, I’ll bring guards from Ashfall, I swear it."

Tears streaked through the dust on her cheeks. We both knew the truth—that whatever help I might send would come too late. But she nodded anyway.

“Are you sure, you don’t want to come with me?”

“I’m sure, my lady. I—I can’t.”

I kissed her forehead, tasting salt and sulfur and goodbye. "Stay quiet. Stay hidden. Stay alive."

Then I was moving. Through the torn curtain, under the belly of a screaming horse, rolling through puddles of—best not to think about it. The world narrowed to the next heartbeat, the next footfall, the next breath that wasn't my last.

My silk slippers lasted exactly three strides on the volcanic ground. The first step shredded fabric. The second drew blood. By the third, I was running barefoot on razors, each footfall painting red flowers on black glass.

Behind me, someone shouted—they'd spotted movement.

An arrow sang past my ear, close enough that I felt the fletching kiss my cheek.

I didn't look back. Looking back was death.

There was only forward, only the next step, only the cluster of volcanic formations that promised cover if I could reach them before—

Another arrow sparked off the rocks as I dove between two massive volcanic spires.

The impact drove glass shards deeper into my palms, but I was through, scrambling deeper into the maze of stone.

My dress caught and tore, leaving silk flags to mark my passage.

My feet left bloody prints that even a blind tracker could follow.

But I was alive. Free. The chains still circled my wrists, but nothing connected them. Behind me, the sounds of slaughter continued, punctuated by the crash and crack of the burning wagons.

I pressed deeper into the rocks, seeking shadows and silence.

My breath came in ragged gasps that echoed off stone walls.

Every surface was sharp, unforgiving, designed by nature to punish the unwary.

Blood ran freely from a dozen cuts, and my feet had gone from agony to a strange numbness that probably meant worse damage than I wanted to contemplate.

A crevice opened between two leaning stones, barely wide enough for my body.

I squeezed through, chains scraping and catching, until I found myself in a deeper darkness that promised either sanctuary or trap.

No time to be choosy. The shouts were getting closer, and I could hear the bandit leader barking orders about finding "the Solmar woman. "

I pressed deeper into the shadowy crevice, volcanic rock scraping against my spine as I fought to control my ragged breathing.

Each inhale brought the taste of ancient stone and my own blood.

My feet had gone past pain into a strange floating sensation that definitely meant damage I didn't want to examine.

The chains dragged against rough stone with every movement, a metallic whisper that seemed impossibly loud in the confined space.

Beyond my hiding spot, the sounds of pursuit grew fainter.

Either the bandits had given up or they'd found easier prey among the caravan's wreckage.

I didn't want to think about which. Didn't want to picture Mira's terrified face or wonder if my promise of rescue had been the last lie she'd ever hear.

The crevice extended deeper than I'd first thought.

What had seemed like a simple gap between rocks opened into a hollow space, a natural cave carved by centuries of wind and the occasional lava flow.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized the furthest shadows held a different quality—not empty, but occupied.

Waiting.

Two pairs of golden eyes materialized in the gloom, each the size of gold coins and glowing with their own inner fire. My breath caught. The eyes blinked in unison, and then the shrieks began.

High-pitched and piercing, the sound drilled into my skull like nails into soft wood. Drake hatchlings. Each one the size of a large dog, their scales still soft with youth, their cries designed by nature to summon protection. To summon parents.

"Shh, please, shh." I tried to make my voice soothing despite the terror climbing my throat. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm hiding too, see? We're both—"

The shrieks intensified. One hatchling spread wings that caught what little light filtered through the rocks, revealing membrane so thin I could see the delicate tracery of blood vessels beneath.

Beautiful and terrible and absolutely going to get me killed when whatever parent they were calling arrived.

The ground trembled. Not the distant rumble of avalanche or the sharp shock of impact, but something deeper.

Something that resonated through the volcanic stone and into my bones.

The hatchlings' cries shifted from alarm to welcome, a sound that was almost purring if purrs could be made of smoke and sparks.

Then the cave entrance exploded in a shower of flame and shadow.