Page 11

11

WRATH

A s Mikkel shifts up into his furious black mamba of a drake, there is no humanity left in him. He’s so big, he blasts out the stained glass roof of the chapel with his gargantuan wings as he roars, spewing caustic chartreuse poison everywhere, then launches into the skies.

My drakes and I are on it fast, with L?rke. She also received whatever bad news came from their people just now, probably linked to our sudden wild vision of The Chartreuse being raided, but she’s still got her wrath under control.

Mikkel hasn’t, however, as he surges up into the late afternoon skies on wings of devastating midnight, spewing poison everywhere as he roars. There’s no beautiful copper of his higher self in his dragon’s markings right now.

Only violent black and green death.

Mikkel fights us, as we all shift up into our dragons now to contain him. He’s rolling, diving, heaving tremendous swaths of vivid green poison at us as we try to hem him in with Bloodnets, to hammer him with our wings in hard drives of Bloodwind and get him back to the earth .

He’s not having it, as he fights us all now, even his own sister. There’s no humanity left in his eyes as his black aura devours the skies, reaching out like a leviathan of night to poison the rooftops of Chambord, and the grounds, searing all the flowers and trees black. He’s a demon in truth, as he fights to get out of our cordon.

And race through the skies—straight to Copenhagen.

My cousin Rhennic’s Storm Dragon guards are on the situation, fast. We’re not the only ones fighting Mikkel and trying to get him grounded, shifted back to human so we don’t have to kill him before he does too much damage.

He’s reckless and wild, insane with whatever news he and L?rke just got from their people. As even I give my all to battle him, I feel his wildness surge out-of-control inside me and my other drakes.

A Wraith right now, rather than a dragon.

My cousin’s people are hammering drive after drive of lightning at Mikkel, trying to blast him down out of the skies. In a rush of lighting and a boom of thunder, Rhennic himself shifts up now, into the fray.

Watching a Storm Dragon shift is like watching a storm become incarnate; as Rhennic emerges from a roiling cocoon of cloud and mist and lightning, down by the chapel, huge storm-blue wings scrape the sky.

Rhennic roars to the clouds, and sheet lightning of a thousand colors races through the sky; a sonic boom slams the air as his talons flicker with lightning, blossoming all through his scales. Every spine on his back and every serrated plate of his armor rush with storms like lightning in a bottle; the Storm Dragon King is truly terrifying as he bends his tremendous neck.

Then roars—that my mate is ruining his home.

Rhennic is up into the battle, fast. I try to dart in, in front of Mikkel to tell Rhennic I can handle it—but a furious wash of Mikkel’s chartreuse green poison sears over my wing, and I’m falling from the skies.

With a hard wham , I hit the ground, barely able to arrest my momentum with my good wing as the other sears in blistering pain from Mikkel’s acid. I’m out of the fight as L?rke strangely dives to me, shifting down fast and checking to make sure I’m alright as I shift down as well.

Cursing a blue streak as I fear for my Third Drake—now battling the Storm Dragon King in the skies.

Mikkel is fast, but Rhennic is faster. Mikkel is a gargantuan drake for a Blood Dragon—but our people are the smallest of all dragon-kind, and Storm Dragons are the biggest.

Tremendous like a Crystal Dragon, armored to the teeth and with vast swathes of sheet-lightning racing to his command, Rhennic has my Third Bloodmate hemmed in fast, as Mikkel snarls and roars in chartreuse green wrath.

As he’s struck by a blast of lightning now, straight to his head, I know my cousin hit my mate with a blow to stun him, rather than kill. If it was kill, Rhennic would have lanced Mikkel’s heart. As it is, Rhennic’s lightning is powerful enough to ring Mikkel’s bell, and my Third Drake dumps to the earth now as his body shocks hard, wings spasming and useless.

Mikkel’s made of stronger stuff, however; all Blood Dragons are, and it takes more than a single strike of lightning to kill us, as he coils up barbs-out now on the promenade. He’s snarling and heaving hard breaths, shaking his head to clear it from my cousin’s strike.

It doesn’t clear him of his wrath, however, as he stares in vicious hate up at the Storm King now, circling him with a tight retinue in the skies. I see Mikkel judge that this isn’t a fight he can win right now, not with fifty Storm Dragons corralling him in and more arriving by the moment. I feel it as he changes direction.

We aren’t his true enemy anyway and will get ours later for battling him.

Before I can so much as shout a warning up at Rhennic and my mates, Mikkel launches up hard, back into the air. He makes straight for our weakest drake—Bjorn, as he streaks like a barbed dart now, into the fray.

He doesn’t even use his poison; with a hammering thud , Mikkel crashes bodily into Bjorn and slams him out of the way. Then our Third Drake is escaping.

Flying fast for Copenhagen and Danish airspace, where the Storm King has no sway.

Half of Rhennic’s retinue whirl in the skies now to follow Mikkel. Rhennic has already shifted down, though, striding to me and checking the vicious burn on my arm, as L?rke does some healing on me now with her power, easing the pain.

I’m growling through my teeth at how disastrously shitty everything’s suddenly gone. My only solace is that Rhennic gives a short series of roars as his guards make to follow Mikkel.

“ Let him go! ” Rhennic barks, thunderous, as he commands the skies even in human form.

His boom of thunder rolls through blackened skies, darker than midnight now and roiling with storm clouds from his power. His guards know when to leave off; whirling, they rush back, shifting down on the promenade as I see more than a few sporting nasty poison burns from Mikkel, much the same as mine.

But his last thought was true before he took off. We are not his actual enemy, as I feel him streak towards Copenhagen.

To wreak unimaginable havoc on the person who is.

“I have to go.” L?rke makes eye contact with me, quickly finishing up her healing on my arm. It’s nasty and red, but has ceased to blister, as she finally takes her hands away. “Mikkel has gone Wraith into his beast; he’s not coming back unless I help him. I’m the only one who can.”

“What happened?” Strom heaves hard breaths as he joins us, supporting a limping Bjorn. Bjorn has an enormous bruise on his hip from where Mikkel slammed him in the skies, and I’m thankful my First Drake can even walk right now, because it means nothing is broken. Blood Dragons heal fast when we shift, but a broken pelvis is still tricky to heal well.

Stoic, Bjorn sets his jaw against the pain as he and Strom arrive .

“The Chartreuse was raided. What we all saw in that sudden vision… it was true,” L?rke says to our group now, as both Rhennic and Insinio join us. The big Archangel has his gargantuan wings spread wide, and I can tell he was doing some kind of Archangel magic to protect everyone, me, my drakes, and all Rhennic’s people, as a searing glow around him gradually fades and his seven-layer wings descend back to the earth.

“The Jarl of Copenhagen?” I ask, as Strom’s attention sharpens as well.

“Yes.” L?rke’s pale lavender eyes are vicious, grim. “He must have gotten news about our flagship club being weakened by Alfhild Fey’s invasion, then Mikkel’s and my departure to France. It was the perfect time to strike; those were his big brutes we saw in the vision, storming into the club. The club was demolished, and many were captured; those who couldn’t flee into the tunnels in time.”

“And now Mikkel’s gone amok with wrath. Fuck.” Strom curses as he heaves a dark breath. “He’s going for blood. Straight into the lion’s den.”

“He’s a dead man if he goes alone,” L?rke says as her gaze pins mine. “The Jarl of Copenhagen is one of the top three strongest Jarls in all Blood Dragondom. Not only is he himself wickedly powerful, he’s utterly cunning, ruthless, and has a truly enormous army of loyal guards at his command. In his current state, my brother’s not thinking. He’s not even in his right dragon-brain at the moment; he won’t stop to find our allies and secure backup before heading to the palace. He’s going to get himself killed. Unless I stop him.”

“Go,” I say at once. I realize L?rke is asking in her fierce way for my permission right now to go after my Third Drake. Even though he’s her brother, her twin, some bonds trump even those of birth-blood in our culture—and the bonds of a life-mate are just that, as she watches me now.

For my consent.

“Are you fast enough to head him off at the pass?” I ask L?rke now as we lock gazes.

“Yes,” she says as she nods, quick. “If I leave right now, I can catch up to him.”

“Do you have a way to stop him when you do?” I ask quickly, hoping this isn’t a fool’s errand.

“My body-paralyzing magics work well on my twin.” A sad smirk twists her lips. “I can’t use them widely in a battle, however, because they can paralyze everyone around me, not just those I want to be paralyzed.”

“Get him. Bring him down. Bring him back to us.” I reach out now, gripping her hand, though my barely healed arm twinges.

“I can get him… but I don’t know if I can bring him back.” L?rke’s gaze is beyond ravaged as she squeezes my hand, hard. “Rikyava…” She says nothing else, but I see her and Mikkel’s entire history in her eyes as she tries to get me to understand. I do, as I take a deep breath, nodding.

“Get him. Stop him from doing something insane until we can come help.”

“Thank you,” she whispers as I see a shine of tears well in her eyes. But L?rke is made of stronger stuff and always has been. With a short nod, she rises; then shifts up fast into her white and green drakaina and vaults up into the skies after her brother.

“I’ll go with them,” Strom says quickly now as he kneels by me, touching my face. I push up to standing, because I won’t be left on my ass in the presence of drakes, even injured, as Strom stands with me. He grips my hand as he stares hard into my eyes, his grass-green ones full of emotion. “I can help soothe Mikkel; L?rke’s going to need me to bring her brother back from his Wraith. We’ve done it before.”

“Go. Be careful,” I say as I move in, kissing him. We indulge in it for the briefest moment, before Strom sighs hard and pulls away, battle-readiness in his eyes.

He looks between me and Bjorn. “You two need to get to Iceland, stat, and find our Fourth Drake. We’re not going to be able to balance Mikkel’s wrath in our magic until we get Baldur. I hate to think about what it might cost us, if Mikkel makes a run on the Amalienborg Palace in Copenhagen before our bond is strong enough….”

“Sometimes a Bloodwalker and her drakes survive if one of them is killed,” Bjorn says as he nods, “but not often.”

“And two might be, if I have to fight by Mikkel’s side in a run on the Jarl’s palace before we’re ready.” Strom’s green eyes are sober as he looks from Bjorn to me. “Don’t let us get dead, Rikyava. Find Baldur; get us some serious firepower. Then get back to Copenhagen, as quick as you can. I don’t think even L?rke and I can deter Mikkel from what he feels needs to be done. Not for long, at least.”

“Work your wiles; convince him to wait, for all our sakes.” I reach up and seize Strom’s face, kissing him hard. “We’re off to Iceland now, tonight. Just as soon as I can go grab Hekla’s blue scale from my things.”

“Love you,” Strom says tenderly as he cuddles me for just a moment, holding me tight. Then he’s kissing me, setting our foreheads together.

Before he lets go—backing off and shifting up.

Strom’s gone, like a barbed dart of deep maroon and forest green, as he flashes up into the roiling skies. I’m left with Bjorn, my cousin, and Insinio now, as an unsure knot of Storm Guards linger all around, waiting on orders from their King.

Rhennic flicks his fingers for a few to join us now, as he gets an arm under Bjorn and Insinio helps escort me back inside the palace. The chapel took a lot of damage to the stained glass roof but is otherwise intact; only Mikkel’s nasty green poison coats the ground and the stone in swathes here and there.

It gradually soaks in as it blisters and bubbles even the grass to death.

“Do you need a Storm Dragon retinue to escort you to Iceland?” My cousin is all business, but also kindness, as he helps us get back inside, up to our staterooms in the palace.

“No, probably not.” I think it through as we take a few minutes to get our shit together. “No one knows we need to go to Iceland; no one living, at least. The Black Dragon Knights, if they’re tracking us, will expect us to go after Mikkel back to Denmark. It gives us a chance to get to Iceland fast, incognito, and we need to take it.”

“Blood Dragons are faster flyers than Storm Dragons, anyway.” My cousin chuckles, though it’s tight, and his handsome face is grim. “We’d probably just slow you down. I still wish I could help you more in this, Rikyava, but Denmark is restricted airspace for us. I can’t send people there without starting a Storm-Blood war. With the Danish Blood Dragons, at least, even if King Huttr doesn’t support it.”

“It’s not a good time to split the Jarls in their support of our King,” Bjorn growls as he’s finally able to walk on his own without Rhennic’s help, his injured hip healing fast. “They’re already far too split, and King Huttr’s support weakened. Technically, the Jarl of Copenhagen still supports our king. Push him with this, however…”

“And my uncle loses more support than he can afford.” I curse as I walk with Insinio, furious. “The Jarl of Copenhagen might just pull his support from Huttr anyway if Mikkel goes in there all guns blazing and the Jarl finds out he and I are life-mated. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck.”

“What are you going to do if your mate attacks Copenhagen’s Jarl?” Rhennic’s question is astute, as I set my jaw and chew on it for a moment.

But the answer is there for me, just like it would be for all my drakes.

“I’ll back Mikkel the fuck up for everything that Jarl’s done to him, L?rke, and his family.” I know it’s true as a battle-song fills my heart, with Aesa’s Truthstone blazing on my chest. “I just hope L?rke and Strom can talk some fucking sense into him before he hops to it. And that we can get some serious firepower in the mix by bonding Baldur first.”

“What if Baldur Sigguresson is truly a lover, and not a fighter?” Bjorn growls. “What if L?rke is right, and his magic doesn’t lend us anything for fighting?”

“Then I hope it has some kind of fucking surprise for us,” I growl back, feeling worse and worse. “Because if we take on one of the top three most powerful Jarls in our Lineage without our King’s permission, especially if that person is still loyal to my uncle… we’re going to need some serious reasons, and firepower, to back us up.”

It’s all gone from bad to worse, however, as I churn the situation over in my mind. Bjorn and my cousin are right; if I can’t get my Third Drake to stand down, or if L?rke and Strom can’t stop him, we’re opening up a serious shitstorm for our King with his already-tenuous situation among the Jarls.

But Mikkel won’t be swayed from his decision to strike; I feel it deep inside our bond, as his blackest snarl fills my entire chest. Even at a distance, I can feel his utter wrath. Mikkel has been nursing this vendetta for years.

Ever since he was born—as a dragon, not a man.

We make it back to our rooms, faster than fast. In a moment, Bjorn and I have all our things, plus Mikkel’s, Strom’s, and L?rke’s, shoved inside our fly bags, along with all our translated texts and arcane items. In five minutes, we’re up atop one of the palace’s landing-plazas on a high turret, ready to fly. I’m giving hugs goodbye to Insinio and Rhennic, as they step back now, to give us shifting space.

“Go do what you have to; save your mate.” Rhennic is serious as he stares me down from a safe distance. I see what he doesn’t say shining in his storm-purple eyes; that if Layla or one of her drakes ever needed him, he’d be there in a trice, to fuck shit up or die trying, no matter the stakes.

“I will,” I say, nodding to let him know I got the message. Rhennic nods back, and then Insinio is raising his big multi-layer wings, as he gives it to me straight.

“The Intercessoria can’t officially help you with anything pertaining to the Black Dragon,” he says as he watches me with his vivid silver eyes. “But I want you to know that like fuck am I going to leave a good Dragon King out in the cold when we should be helping against something this heinous. Heathren and I will help your uncle however we can, even if we have to go rogue from the Intercessoria to do it. I give you this promise—and I never take promises back. ”

As Insinio pulls the massive longsword out of its sheath across his back now, he plants the point defiantly to the stone of the tower. With a snap, he spreads his huge wings to the fullest; a kind of silver-grey mist sparkles through the air in intricate whorls and Archangelic sigil-patterns.

And I know he’s made some kind of oath to me, something dire.

“Thank you,” I whisper, as I put my hand to my heart. Aesa’s stone whirls in approval at whatever the big Archangel did; with a deep nod, he acknowledges me, then lifts his sword up over his shoulder and slides it away.

There’s suddenly nothing more to be said, as Bjorn shifts up into his big, all-gold drake. As he clamps one of our silver silk fly-bags in his taloned fist, I take a deep breath and grab the other.

I’ve got Hekla’s bright blue scale in my fist as I shift up as well, roaring as I lift crimson and black wings to the skies. With one last nod to my cousin Rhennic and to Insinio, I give them my thanks.

Then we’re off, Bjorn and I flying fast towards Iceland.

And the drake we hope is our salvation there.