Page 2 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)

I

Four years later—Eastern border of Gaul

JULIAN

Standing atop the hill, I looked down on the bloodstained field and charred bodies still smoking after the battle. Little remained of the Celtic horde, which was no surprise against a Roman legion. Though this particular clan of Celts had resisted defeat quite a few times before. I was glad their king had died on the field so that I wasn’t forced to bring him back to appease my uncle. He so enjoyed a gory public execution. The thought turned my innards to roiling acid.

The cohort of deathriders circled above—giant winged shadows in the moonlit night sky, their fires still burning the perimeter so the Celts had no escape route. Pillars of smoke billowed upward and wafted on the wind. The deathriders would remain vigilant and on guard until I sent a messenger into the skies to let them know they could return to our base camp.

Cries erupted from the Celtic encampment in the woods where my men were now rounding up survivors for the slave market.

My most trusted tribune, Trajan, marched up the hill still in half-skin, wearing only a baldric across his chest for his gladius as was our tradition in battle for officers—the noble-born.

Triple his normal size in human form, Trajan’s dark blue-scaled skin appeared black under the cover of night. His arms bulged with muscle, hands tipped with finger-long black claws. Midnight leathery wings jutted from his back. He met my gaze with pale blue reptilian eyes, his snout jutting too far to be human, jagged teeth lining his wide dragon mouth, his thick tail lashing.

“All secure, Legatus.”

His speech was more understandable than most in half-skin. Some men couldn’t even speak at all, the dragon too willful and dominant. Powerful dragons could speak clearly in half-skin, even if his or her voice sounded rough and guttural.

He stood next to me, looking below.

As commander of this invasion, I’d remained in human form, fully clothed in regalia fitting my station. Generals no longer needed to shift into half-skin and get bloody on the battlefield. We’d earned our right to keep our hands and uniforms clean. It was a sign of power when you ordered commands for battle without ever letting your dragon loose.

But each soldier knew that I could shift in a blink and take their head off if they stepped out of line. Our beasts gave us dominance over every battlefield, but when released, they were also predatory, single-minded monsters. If the officers didn’t know without a doubt that their general was the most dominant beast among them, then their dragons would never submit to his command.

I’d earned my right to stand on this hill and command from afar—no matter who my uncle was. Every soldier in my legions knew it.

“No bands of Celts beyond the fire line?” I asked.

“None.”

The Celts were vicious and cunning. They often held back a band of warriors to catch Romans unaware with archers and spear-wielders who’d tipped their arrows with poison. This particular region of Celts had bested my predecessor, Legatus Bastius, three times. Allegedly, they had some sort of sorceress who aided somehow, but that was still a mystery.

My uncle, the emperor, finally invited Legatus Bastius to dinner at his palace in Rome after his third defeat. They’d grown up together. Bastius was nervous nonetheless. My heightened dragon senses detected the sweat he reeked and his increased heart rate as Bastius took his seat on a cushioned chaise across from me for our meal.

He was told the emperor would discuss strategy for his next invasion. Instead, my uncle fed him a grand feast, let him fuck one of his slaves during dinner, and laughed over their old conquests in Germania. Right as Bastius was regaling us with a story of one of his bloodier kills, my uncle staked him to the wall with his own gladius through the throat, then gutted and beheaded him.

When he was done, Bastius’s beheaded carcass bleeding on his marble floor, Uncle Igniculus stalked across the deadly silent room, still full of his party guests. He stopped and stood in front of me in half-skin, speckled in his former friend’s blood.

“Congratulations, nephew.” He’d pressed his bloody palm flat to my chest, yellow eyes glittering with his dragon. “Or should I say, Legatus Julianus Ignis Dakkia .” He always liked to emphasize the names we shared in common .

That’s how I received my promotion. That’s why I was standing here now, ensuring this Celtic tribe didn’t escape yet again.

“Be sure to get their king’s head. Uncle will want it for his Wall of Victory.”

“It will be done,” agreed Trajan.

A female shout echoed from the distant encampment, followed by growling and laughter, drawing my attention.

Though I couldn’t admit it to anyone but Trajan, I didn’t want senseless murder taking place under my command. Bastius had been a sloppy general, letting his soldiers become undisciplined with his lack of leadership. I wouldn’t have my men murdering women and children for fun when the battle was over. I’d heard about how they’d raped and pillaged and destroyed an entire village in Thrace before burning it to the ground.

Since I’d inherited this defiant rabble, I’d been forced to harshly discipline a number of soldiers. Some had nearly died from my punishments. But strength was power and the only way to control them was through brutal force.

A woman’s scream echoed up to us again.

“They aren’t killing the prisoners, are they? I want a large haul for the market.”

“Not killing, Legatus,” answered Trajan. “They found the Celtic witch. Just having a little fun with her.”

I cut a hard look to him. He recognized I wanted a full explanation without me even asking. We’d been friends before I’d become his superior, and he knew me better than any other.

“The sorceress who’s been helping the Celts defeat us so many times before. They cornered her. Going to take turns with her before they hand her over to the mangones .”

“In half-skin?” I demanded to know.

“Only Silvanus is in half-skin.”

Ire flamed at the thought of the savagery these men had bestowed on too many already. It would not happen under my command .

“There will be nothing left to give the slave master when he’s done.” Marching forward, I commanded, “Follow me.”

My dragon pulsed a hard beat behind my breast, burning to cut loose and show Silvanus and his lackeys what terror truly felt like, the kind of terror they were bestowing on the witch below. I didn’t care if she mystically aided the Celts. This was vengeance because a woman bruised their egos.

I knew how brutal Silvanus could be without any cause at all. They’d kill her for sure if they violated her in half-skin. Above all else, he was defying my orders. And that could not be tolerated.

Officers towering above me in half-skin, along with human soldiers—common-born Romans—turned as I crossed the battlefield. They stepped back, clenched their right fists, and struck them over their hearts in salute and submission, eyes straight as I passed. The reek of burning bodies filled the air, the smell of victory.

Trajan trailed a step behind me and to my left as was proper of a general’s second. The raucous laughter lilted closer as I stepped into the line of trees. The mangones loaded his newly acquired property into carrying nets—women, children, and the few men who survived the battle. Though there were also female warriors among the Celtic men. They’d catch the finest price at market.

A feminine cry reached me through the trees.

“Fucking whore!” growled Silvanus in his garbled half-skin speech.

More laughter.

“She got you good that time,” said one of his comrades. Sounded like Zeno.

I stepped into a small clearing where three tents burned off to the left, lighting the scene. Silvanus towered above everyone, rippling with gray scales over his bulging form.

Perhaps his fate as one of the Griseo line, his dissatisfaction as the lowest caste of dragon, propelled his cruelty. As if he could pound and fight his way up the ladder of nobility. Seeing this display only verified that the fates had it right. He belonged beneath the rest of us. Not because of his birth, but because of his own brutality.

He gripped his cock and stroked it, stalking closer to the disheveled woman holding a dagger where she crouched in front of a wide tree, the trunk shielding her back.

Zeno and two others watched with feverish glee. They were now in human form, naked and hard, the adrenaline of battle pumping their bodies into a frenzy. Violating a helpless woman with their large, formidable bodies as men wouldn’t harm her nearly as much as Silvanus planned to. She might survive the men, but not a dragon in half-skin.

Silvanus stepped closer. “You’ve never had the likes of me, witch.”

The woman tensed, readying to defend herself. The knife cut on his thigh proved her a warrior. Or at the very least, a woman ready to die fighting rather than submit to the monster coming for her.

I could smell his blood. Or maybe it was hers. Her dark hair was wild and mussed, covering most of her face, her handspun tunic soiled and torn at the neck. She hadn’t seen me, her head turned toward the predator stalking closer.

None of them had seen me where I stood in the shadows. It wasn’t until Trajan stepped forward, partially into the light, taking his place at my side, that Zeno’s gaze found us. Then the other two looked my way.

My entire focus was on Silvanus terrifying this Celtic witch. Whatever her offenses, they were mine to judge and punish. Not his.

“I’m gonna stuff you till you bleed,” growled Silvanus.

“No. You will not.”

Immediate silence fell following my curt reply. Others outside our circle froze where they were and watched the scene. Good. Let them all watch and see.

Silvanus stiffened in place, his muscles bunching. The three others stood to attention, saluting me with fists over hearts that raced faster when I took three long, even steps into the firelight. Silvanus swiveled, still holding his cockstand with vulgar display .

“Legatus,” he drawled in greeting, not saluting me, his maddened eyes full of the beast, little sign of the man.

For a long moment, all I heard was the crackling fire of the tents and the birdlike, fluttering pulse of the woman cowering behind Silvanus. Finally, I spoke.

“What was my command regarding the prisoners?”

He held my gaze defiantly. He seemed to be calculating if he could attack and kill me before I shifted. I narrowed my gaze, willing him to try.

He grunted and let go of his cock, which bobbed perversely between his legs. “She isn’t a regular prisoner, Legatus,” he said with mock obedience. “She’s the fucking witch who helped the Celts.”

I waited and said nothing, the snapping fires and stillness stretching the tension.

“ What was my command regarding the prisoners?” I repeated, letting my dragon dip into my voice.

Silvanus huffed, opening his wings in a dominant display before replying, “You commanded that all prisoners were to be handed over to the slave trader.”

“And?” I prompted in an icy tone.

“Unspoiled,” he added begrudgingly.

“That is correct.” I lifted my voice for all to hear. “As I have informed you all before, you have had your fun under Bastius. It is not your fault that you were misguided by your former, undisciplined general. He was weak. Because of his failures, his head rots on the Wall of Traitors.”

The number of skulls on pikes along the Wall of Traitors was double that along the Wall of Victory. Every soldier here knew it.

“If you think that I would let you become the ignoble degenerates that you were under Bastius, you are soundly mistaken.”

I paused, letting my words sink in as I turned my gaze back to Silvanus .

“We are not barbarians. We do not spoil and mar the property of Emperor Igniculus. Every prisoner you beat, every woman you rape and damage, brings less coin at the slave market. Less coin in the emperor’s coffer. And less coin in reward that you will receive as victors of the battlefield.”

Silvanus flexed his muscles and stretched his wings, readying for his punishment. I’d considered killing him in front of his lackeys and my men. But decided a good beating in half-skin should do the trick. Bearing him back to Rome in chains in one of his soldier brother’s nets would be the perfect humiliation before putting him on trial. Public execution or lashing would be best to prove my point and send the message that my orders were to be obeyed to the letter.

“Trajan.”

“Yes, Legatus.”

“Shackle Silvanus.”

The woman, who’d remained in a crouch the entire time, finally stood from behind Silvanus and stepped away. Her chin lifted, she swiped a lock of bedraggled hair away from her face with the hand not holding her dagger. Then her gaze caught mine.

Jade-green eyes as clear as glass struck me straight to the heart with a piercing sting.

“Firebird,” I whispered in utter shock, remembering the young girl I’d spoken to in a meadow under the moonlight, long ago. The one Fortuna had singled out as special. But not only Fortuna. My dragon as well.

Suddenly, my dragon recognized her and roared to the surface. Pain lanced through my flesh and seared through my veins, pushing me out with savage force. His fury that she was nearly another victim of Silvanus’s blazed through my blood.

“Son of Dis,” I growled, knowing I couldn’t fight him.

With earth-shattering violence and terrible swiftness, my bones broke and realigned, wings sprouted beneath my skin, fire burned in my belly. The beast rose out of me so fast my thoughts splintered and…

Treasure.

Slicing into the world, I roar. The gray half man shakes with fear. As he should. He is no dragon. Nor man. He is a vile creature who planned to defile my treasure. He must bleed. He must die.

I open my jaws and snap him in two where he stands, then fling his carcass into the trees. His blood wets my tongue. So sweet. So just.

My female. Her skin is splattered with the blood of the enemy. Pleasure throbs up my throat as I gaze upon her. She stands. A fierce treasure, I have. She wants me to take her away.

Opening my wings, I wrap her in my talons, lift into the sky, and carry her toward my lair. Where she belongs.