Page 2 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

Lord Neran keeps me there all night and part of the morning. Then he insists I stay for a late breakfast, as well as one last “drink” from his cock. Shortly before noon, I’m put into a carriage with my bag and a pouch of gold coins—enough to pay the rent we owe and get us through the next two months with careful planning.

I must hide the gold from the other adults in the house, or it will be spent on rum, sweets, and foolish wagers. My sister has discovered most of my hiding spots and looted them on her husband’s behalf, so I’ll have to devise a new one. In such cramped quarters, there’s little privacy and very few spots I can trust the coins to stay safe.

Rain drums on the carriage roof as I sit motionless on the seat, staring at nothing. I feel like the ghost of myself, like someone has pried open my chest, rooted around inside, scraped me hollow, then stitched me clumsily back together. My vagina, my ass, and my throat are sore, and my head aches because I drank myself into a warm stupor last night to make everything easier.

After a while I recover enough to count out what I’ll need for food. I tuck those coins into the pocket of my dress and place the pouch with the remaining money in my bag.

The street on which I live is a dark ravine between towering tenement buildings, where the sun barely shines and the stench never dissipates. Even the rain can’t quite wash away the reek of shit and mold that rises to greet me as I stumble out of the carriage. I hold my bag close to my chest, shielding it from the rain and from prying eyes.

Maybe my nephew Lark can suggest a hiding place for the coins. At age ten, he’s more devious than his younger sister. He curries his grandmother’s favor as a means of obtaining more food, which he then passes to Miri in secret. I know he has stash spots of his own. And since he’s more loyal to me than to any of the other adults in the household, I can rely on him to keep secrets.

I duck into the building, which smells like the street, except in a more damp and concentrated form. I hate these hallways—cracked yellow plaster embroidered with black mold, footworn floorboards, water-stained ceilings.

My fingers feel weak and useless, and I struggle getting my key into the lock. When I finally manage to unlock the door and enter, I’m greeted by snores from the two men draped on the shabby couches in the living area. They must have drunk themselves to sleep again. I have no idea where they got the money for the rum. They might have had Lark steal it for them. Wouldn’t be the first time. The boy is stealthy and light-fingered.

The children are nowhere to be seen, but Ethalie is sitting at the kitchen table. She glances up from mending one of Loram’s shirts. “Where were you?” she says curtly. “Miri asked for you at bedtime last night.”

“I took an extra job.” I reach into my pocket and take out the food money. “You and Lark should go to the market and get some food. Use the list I wrote out the other day. No sweets, no alcohol, and remember to bargain. Don’t take the first price they give you. Keep the bread dry.”

Ethalie stares at the gold. “What kind of extra job?”

“Dancing.”

For a second I think she’ll question me further, but I should know better. She never asks how I am or what I’m feeling. She doesn’t want to know.

Ethalie sets her mending aside and goes into the second bedroom to fetch Lark. He’s tousled, sleepy, wearing his usual scowl. It hurts me that he’s perpetually angry at such a young age. But he’s sharp for his years, and I can trust him to haggle effectively and to make sure his mother only buys what we need.

My sister collects the list and the canvas shopping bags and they leave, coins in hand. With the shopping under way, my next priority is the rent.

The landlady lives on the topmost floor of the building, where there are fewer pests, less moisture, and milder smells. She and her partner cultivate a thriving rooftop garden, complete with a greenhouse. We can’t afford their produce—it’s of such high quality that only the nobles can purchase it. Lark used to make a little side money delivering produce orders to the kitchens of the nobility, until our landlady realized he was pilfering some of the goods. She agreed not to go to the authorities about it, but she raised our rent to offset the cost of the theft.

At this point, we’re so far behind that we have until sunset to pay, or the landlady will have the city watch throw us out into the street. I should go pay her now, but I can’t shake the sensation of Lord Neran’s greasy fingers, hairy belly, and sloppy mouth all over my body. I need to wash him off before I do anything else.

I walk through the second bedroom, glancing at the bulk of Ethalie’s mother-in-law beneath the covers. Miri is sitting on the trundle bed, playing with a stained rag doll. I give her a quick hug, but neither of us speak because if her grandmother is awakened abruptly, she’ll make life miserable for everyone around her.

Heading into the bathroom, I wash my face and arms at the sink with a sliver of soap and cold water. Lord Neran didn’t offer to let me bathe at his house. He said he wanted me to leave smelling like him.

At the memory of those words and the look on his face, I drop to my knees beside the wooden toilet and vomit, pinning my hair to my shoulder so it won’t be soiled. But after wiping my mouth, I catch a whiff of an odor I learned all too well last night. When I pull my hair under my nose, I realize with hideous shock that it smells like Lord Neran’s body odor… and his cum.

I shouldn’t try to wash it now. With hair this long, it takes forever, and I don’t have the time. But I can’t exist with this odor on me. I need to be rid of it. Rid of him.

A warm bath is a luxury I shouldn’t permit myself, even if by some miracle the hot water is working today. We’ll be charged extra for the water usage. But I have enough money to cover the bill, and for my own sanity, I need this.

I grip the lever of the spigot and wrench it to the left, watching the water spit jerkily into the copper tub. When I test it with my fingers, it’s not hot, but at least it’s lukewarm. I shove the plug into the drain and wait for the tub to fill.

The bathroom door creaks open. “Why are you taking a bath, Auntie Jess?” says Miri. “It’s not bath day. Are you very dirty?”

I look into her wide, innocent eyes. “Yes, love. I’m dirty, and I’m tired.”

She nods sagely. “You deserve a nice bath. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” She slips out, closing the door behind her.

This household doesn’t deserve that child. She’s too pure and too sweet for a place like this, for a fucking world like this. No matter what it takes, I will protect her.

I fill the tub with just enough warm water for me to wash my hair. Afterward I wring it out and braid it tightly before putting on my favorite blue dress. I’ve had to keep a few pieces of finery around in case I need to attend a palace event. This dress has a stain, so it’s not acceptable for court, but it’s lovely and comfortable.

The landlady doesn’t like it when I show up in my dance costume or in shabby clothing, so hopefully this dress will please her. I plan to ask her to reduce our rent for the remainder of the year. Surely we’ve paid the penalty for Lark’s theft by now. Besides which, the war should be driving rent down as those who can afford to leave the city flee to distant villages where they feel safer.

Shortly after I finish dressing, Lark and Ethalie return. The men are beginning to stir and demand a hot meal.

“Cook it yourself,” I mutter, knowing my words won’t do any good. Ethalie will always give in and cook for them.

“What are you doing home at this hour?” Bryon squints at me. “Shouldn’t you be stretching and preening in some fancy palace lounge?”

Loram snorts a laugh. “Wish I could get paid a nice fat salary for flouncing around the palace in my underwear.”

Both of them guffaw loudly. Loram’s mother shuffles into the room, and when she discovers what they’re laughing about, she joins in the mockery at my expense.

I could remind them who pays for literally everything they use or enjoy, but it would only feed their self-pitying narrative in which I’m the rich bitch who gets paid a fortune for doing nothing and therefore should provide for everyone else.

Instead I ignore them and give Ethalie strict instructions for how the food is to be doled out over the next week. Then there’s lunch to be made, mending to finish, and chores to be done. When I finally glance at the clock, I’m shocked to find that it’s mid-afternoon already.

“Shit,” I exclaim. “I need to go pay the rent, or the landlady will throw us out tonight.”

Bryon snorts. “That windbag is always threatening. Never follows through.”

“She will this time.”

“So you got paid?” Loram’s eyes flick to my bag, which sits against the wall. I haven’t let it out of my sight since I got home.

The atmosphere in the room changes instantly. I can feel the tension in their bodies, the hunger in their gazes.

“I could use some of that coin,” Bryon says, rising.

I snatch up the bag and sling it across my body, clutching it with one hand. “I’m paying the rent.” I kiss Miri’s head swiftly and turn to my nephew. “Lark, teach your sister some addition and subtraction while I’m gone.”

Lark nods, his perpetual frown easing slightly. I’ve taught him all the mathematics I know, which isn’t much since I barely had any schooling myself. Still, he’s gifted with numbers. If he cultivates that aptitude, he’ll be able to earn a good living one day.

I hurry out of the apartment before Loram or Bryon can make up their minds to physically stop me and take the money. Anxious that they might follow me, I mount the narrow stairs faster than usual, climbing to the highest floor—eight flights in all.

My ankle is throbbing by the time I reach the top. I limp down the hallway, sweat cloaking the back of my neck and slicking the valley between my breasts.

When I reach the landlady’s apartment, the door is ajar, splintered along the edge where the broken lock hangs.

I hesitate, instantly wary. The only light filters through the grimy panes of a window at the end of the hallway.

Break-ins aren’t unusual in this part of the city. The landlady and her partner live on the top floor for that very reason—to put more distance between themselves and any potential burglars. But in these difficult times, thieves have become bolder.

There’s no sound or movement from inside the apartment, so I creep cautiously forward and push the door wider.

Something halts the door’s progress, and I lean the upper half of my body through the opening. The obstacle is my landlady’s body, lying on the floor in a lake of blood. The back of her head has been smashed in, and brain matter speckles the floorboards. Not far away, her partner is staring fixedly at the ceiling, a deep gash across their throat.

Not just a robbery, then. A double murder.

People have been getting increasingly desperate throughout Elekstan, and in this neighborhood, our desperation is the raw, brutal kind, wavering on the ragged edge of civilization. It would take only the slightest nudge for us to topple into anarchy. Maybe we’ve reached that point already.

There’s nothing I can do for either of these people. Perhaps I should scream and call for help, but that would bring the authorities’ attention to me and my family. There are more of us living in our tiny apartment than there should be, and Lark is somewhat known in the neighborhood for his skills as a budding pickpocket. Besides which, I was just fired from the palace troupe, and with the back rent I owe, suspicion for the murders might fall on me if I’m the one at the scene when the bodies are found.

I retreat into the hallway, easing the door shut so the invasion won’t be immediately apparent to anyone walking by. I hesitate only a second before hurrying toward the stairs again. But instead of going back down, I go up.

With the landlady and her partner dead, their rooftop garden is unprotected. This early in the spring, there won’t be much available in the open garden, but our winters are mild here, so there should be a few things growing. And the greenhouse probably contains a veritable treasure trove of plump, ripe produce. The children could use the fruits and vegetables. My own mouth waters at the mere thought of them.

I have space in my bag. I could fill it with produce and get back to my apartment before anyone realizes what has happened.

It’s callous and cruel of me, I suppose. Apathetic. But my first priority is always the people who depend on me, especially my sister and her children. They have no one else.

With the landlady dead, the very roof over our heads is more uncertain than ever. I have no idea who will take over the building, whether they will raise our rates, whether they will even allow us to stay. Maybe Vohrain will invade the city before a decision can be made. Maybe this place will descend into greater violence and chaos than ever before. If so, it would be wise to hoard as much food as possible.

Strength of purpose fuels me despite the pain in my ankle. I open the door to the roof and limp out into the partial sunshine.

Gold beams slant through the deep grayish-blue of the clouds. The light glints off the smoky glass of the greenhouse and illuminates rows of well-tended garden beds, full of rich earth and green sprouts.

There’s an upright wooden slab near me, slanted toward the afternoon sun, with shallow troughs containing herbs. I grab handfuls of them, stuffing the leaves into my bag.

As my fingers close around a clump of chives, a low droning sound begins in the distance, growing in pitch and volume until it’s a piercing wail.

The dragon alarm.

So this is it, then. Dragons have been sighted on the horizon, and they’re coming to destroy us. I need to grab what I can and get off this roof before they arrive.

I spot a bed of spring onions and head for those next. Then I pull radishes, not caring that they’re tiny. In the adjacent bed there are new peas on the vine, recently transplanted from indoors to the open air, I suspect. Quickly I pluck the pods, ripe or not.

The dragon alarm has faded now, its duty done, but that only means the danger is closer. I pause in my frantic harvesting, looking out over the tops of the city buildings, shading my eyes against the rays of the sun.

The familiar shapes of the war balloons float above the city. They were supposed to be a countermeasure against the dragons, but from the gossip I’ve heard in the palace, they have proven spectacularly ineffective as well as being ridiculously expensive.

Toward the north, I spot black winged shapes, and my stomach drops with a dreadful thrill. At this distance, the dragons could be a harmless flock of birds—except birds don’t have such immense wings, such long necks, and such ferocious magic.

I’ve seen the survivors of this war crouched on street corners or huddled in alleys, begging for food. I’ve seen their twisted scars, their ruined bodies, their haunted eyes. Some were blinded by frost-fire, some were seared by flames hotter than a blacksmith’s furnace, and others had whole limbs torn away by void magic.

Those monsters are headed straight for us now, which means the Vohrainian army isn’t far behind. My family will have heard the alarm. I should go back to them. My sister is good at comforting her children and telling them everything will be alright. I’m good at letting them know what to expect and how I will deal with specific problems. The best antidote to fear is a solid plan.

Something creaks behind me, and I whirl around to see three men emerging from the greenhouse at the center of the rooftop garden. They’re carrying bulging canvas sacks, probably stuffed with food. They all look fairly healthy, which means they should be with the other soldiers fighting against Vohrain rather than here on the rooftop, stealing produce.

They’re deserters. Desperate men. Thieves—possibly even murderers. And I don’t like the way they’re looking at me.

“What’s in that satchel?” one of them yells.

My grip tightens around my bag, but I don’t answer him.

The man sets down his burden and walks toward me. “See here, love… everything on this rooftop belongs to us. We’ve laid claim to it.”

It’s practically an admission of murder. “None of it is yours,” I say, sidling toward the stairway door.

A second man lays down his loot and darts down one of the garden paths, cutting me off from my escape route. The third one approaches too, all three of them working to corner me.

“Give us what you have there,” says the first man.

“It’s only a little,” I reply. “My family needs it.”

He chuckles. “We’re not asking, love.”

He lunges for me and I dodge away, fleeing between the garden beds toward the side of the greenhouse. There’s a hoe propped there. If I can reach it, I can use it as a weapon.

But my ankle has had enough. It gives out with a stab of pain so excruciating that I cry out as I fall.

The ruffian grabs me by the shoulders. I scream and claw for the hoe, but I come up short. He drags me to my feet and slams me against the wall of the greenhouse, pinning both my wrists.

“Look at this little bird.” He leers down at my blue dress. “All prettied up for us. This is the best day we’ve had in a while, eh, lads?”

I twist and jerk against him, trying to get my knee into his crotch, but he’s pinning me too tightly with his body. His hot, rank breath floods my face and I turn my head, wincing.

“Pretty lady doesn’t like a man’s stink, eh?” he says hoarsely.

“Leave me alone,” I bite out. “The dragons are coming. You should run.”

“The dragons are coming, the world is ending,” he mocks my tone. “You think I don’t fucking know that? We left our posts at the wall, love. We’re sick of following orders into ruin and death. We’re going to have one last fucking meal from this fancy garden, and we’re going to get blistered drunk. And damn me if I go down without feeling a tight pussy around my cock one last time. Hold her for me, boys. We’ll take turns.”

His companions move in, crushing me against the wall. I thrash, kick, and bite while he backs up and begins undoing his belt.

I’m strong in my own way, but I’m a dancer, not a warrior, and these men are galvanized by lust and brutality. I’m immobilized within seconds, imprisoned by iron hands. They’re holding me off the ground, against the wall with my thighs pinned open, and with a sinking horror I realize they’re far too good at this. They’ve done it before.

I don’t beg for them to stop. I already know they won’t. Hearing my pleas would probably delight rather than dissuade them.

A shadow passes overhead, then another. The first man pauses in the act of unbuttoning his pants. “Fucking dragons.”

“Should we take this inside, Gandon?” asks one of the men holding me.

“The dragons will attack the war balloons and the troops along the wall first,” says Gandon. “We have a few minutes.” His dark eyes fix on mine, a lecherous malice in them. “Just enough time.”

Cock in hand, he moves forward, and I scream, more out of defiance than hope of rescue. I try to bite the forearm of the man on my left, but he shifts out of my range.

A sharp wind shears across the garden, rippling over the plants, and a giant dark shape blots out half the sky before landing with thunderous impact. A slender black dragon has perched on the edge of the rooftop, wings arched, his sinuous spiked neck rising high above us. He tilts his horned head and blinks immense amber eyes.

His stare invades my mind like a burst of lighting, like a rush of whispering shadows. I can’t explain the shock of it—the sense of instant, primal connection. It’s invasive, breathtaking.

There’s anger in his eyes, and intelligence, and above all a grief so profound it could swallow an army. But it’s the curiosity that surprises me—the keen interest, the fascination.

The men gripping my body haven’t released me yet. Maybe they’re paralyzed with terror. But their leader yells, “If I’m going to die, I’ll do it with my cock in a cunt,” and shoves up the skirt of my dress.

The dragon’s brow ridges contract slightly, confusion in his gaze.

“Don’t just sit there,” I scream at him. “Do something! Help me!”

With an answering growl, the dragon snakes forward and takes Gandon’s head neatly between his jaws. With a graceful swish of his long neck, he flings the man away, and Gandon’s body careens off the roof, his cock still protruding from his pants.

The other two men bellow in shock and drop me, racing in opposite directions through the garden. The black dragon opens his jaws and launches an orb of black energy encased in flickers of purple lightning. His eyes change color when he does it, flashing purple for a second.

The orb hits one of the fleeing men. It sucks him in, implodes on itself, and disappears.

Void magic. This beast has fucking void magic.

The dragon sends a second orb at the third man, and he too is swallowed instantly.

I crumple against the greenhouse wall, gripping my bag. My limbs feel washed out, completely drained of strength.

The dragon lowers his head and prowls toward me with that same heated fascination in his eyes. He lifts one foreleg, extends a curved claw, and with the very tip, touches the red braid over my shoulder.

“What do you want?” I gasp.

His long, cloven tongue emerges, tracing his scaly lips. “You.”