Page 60 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Forty

Taevas had made many hard decisions as Isand. He’d sacrificed. He’d done exactly what was necessary, no matter the cost, to make the world a better place for the people he cared about.

Nothing had ever made him feel quite so much like a monster as when he sent Alashiya away.

Yes, he knew she’d put up a little bit of a fight, but he never thought she’d actually refuse.

But no matter what hurt she felt now, at least she was safe. He could live with anything, so long as Alashiya was out of harm’s way.

Taevas forced himself to tap into the part of him that had been honed in the Great War: the soldier, the general, the killer.

He thought it might be harder to slip back into it, but it was like shrugging on an old, broken-in coat.

He snapped into the role he’d happily left buried under the rubble of the old ’Riik with terrifying ease.

His mind was sharp. The discomfort of his body was unimportant. Nothing mattered besides ending the threat to him and, more importantly, his mate.

It didn’t take long.

He’d only sat in the woods behind the barn for an hour, his mind adrenaline-sharp and full of possibilities, when Alashiya’s wards rippled with warning.

They were designed to disorient and hide rather than block intruders outright.

Now that Sergei knew where the entrance to her property was, he could push through them with relative ease.

The sweet taste of her magic grew cloying, like the over-ripeness of decayed fruit on his tongue, and the world around him seemed to shudder violently long before the distant rumble of an engine reached him.

His jaw clenched, but his fingers remained loose and relaxed on the shotgun.

He had a clear line of sight to the entrance of the property, but he doubted they’d be able to get a vehicle through there.

They’d have to ram it through the undergrowth, which would announce their presence more than they already had.

If they were smart, they’d abandon it and approach on foot.

He was counting on it.

It was unnatural to face down an opponent in his weaker form, but there were some advantages to it.

Stealth was one of them. He was no nymph, of course, but he’d become a little bit more comfortable in the woods in the time he’d spent on Alashiya’s land.

In his smaller form, and especially at night when his skin darkened, he could blend into the trees much easier.

If he stayed downwind, he’d be practically invisible.

Even if Sergei thought Taevas was hiding, he wouldn’t expect him to be stealthy.

Dragons didn’t fight that way. Their surprise attacks came from the sky.

The bulk of their fighting techniques relied on their brute strength more than anything else.

It would be expected that he’d try to get the jump on them as quickly as possible, then attack.

He would, but first he had to even the playing field.

Taevas listened to his own breathing, his mind clear of anything besides razor-sharp focus. There was no breeze. Even the owl that hung out around the barn was still and watchful as it stood on a sagging beam, its golden eyes keen.

It wasn’t a peaceful stillness that settled over the land. It was a malicious sort of quiet. The kind that waits.

A reedy figure bled out of the darkness across the grassy yard.

Taevas didn’t tense. He didn’t hold his breath. The rage he felt when the figure walked up to the front door and tried the knob like he owned it was muted. Locked away for a better time.

It wasn’t too hard to guess that this was most likely Monty, the arrant who’d been to the property before.

The figure had the unmistakable shape of a rifle strapped to his back and despite the lack of sunlight, appeared to wear a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He moved with the slow, loping gait of someone used to sneaking up on the unsuspecting.

Taevas bit the inside of his cheek when Monty shoved his shoulder into the door. The old, crumbling door frame didn’t stand a chance. He disappeared into the darkness of her home, violating the sanctuary she’d guarded for so long.

Watching as his Chosen’s dwelling was breached was a nightmare. Letting it happen was worse.

What if she’d been in there alone?

The memory of watching someone break into her home so easily, so carelessly, would keep him up at night for years to come.

Alashiya’s wards would’ve given her plenty of warning to run, but they weren’t foolproof. The possibilities turned his stomach. Knowing that Monty was there in her sanctuary his finger inch toward the trigger of his ancient gun.

Taevas set his jaw. Acting now would be a death sentence. He had to wait. He had to.

His gaze swept across the yard to the treeline where Monty had emerged from.

Alashiya had counted three men, Sergei, and Monty.

There was always the chance that reinforcements were going to be called, but his gut told him that those men were on their own.

An easy number to handle in his hardier form, certainly, but not impossible on two legs.

He just had to get eyes on all of them. Especially Sergei.

Come on, you son of a bitch.

Another figure slipped from the trees, this time from a little farther away.

Gun in hand, they circled the house before meeting up with Monty, who emerged from the side door.

Another figure carrying a gun walked quickly to meet them at the door.

They said nothing, but Monty made several clear gestures toward the trees.

One of the new men nodded once and backed toward the trees again, his gun raised. He wasn’t gone long. Less than a minute later, Sergei followed him back out into the yard.

The moment the big dragon was free of the greenery, his wings sprang out to mantle around his shoulders. He stalked toward the house a lot less quietly than the humans had. Shrouded in darkness, he appeared less like Jaak and more…

The rattle of cuffs. A starchy pillow under his cheek. Sharp, searing pain in his wings. A huge shadow, blurred and dark, gesturing furiously in his direction.

He’d been sure before, but now there was no doubt in his mind.

Taevas watched the group move back toward Alashiya’s house for a moment longer before he slipped deeper into the forest. He’d spent days learning the almost invisible trails his Chosen had so gently laid over her years walking the land.

It turned out that even the featherlight footsteps of nymphs would eventually leave a path.

He gratefully followed them around the back of the barn.

First, Sergei would want to confirm Taevas had been in the house, then they’d look in the barn — which meant that Taevas didn’t have long to make it to the car.

Just as he thought, they’d left one man to guard the new, mud-flecked SUV. The man stood by the driver’s door, his stance military-straight and gun at the ready. No doubt he was the get-away driver.

Taevas held still in the shadows a few yards away from the guard and tested the air. Without much of a breeze it was difficult to get a good lock on his scent, but there was the faintest hint of ozone in the air.

Witch.

There was no time to wonder who he was or what Sergei was doing with one witch, or perhaps three. That would have to be worked out later.

He weighed his options. Fighting witches was tricky work. On one hand, they were small, weak, and could only protect themselves in one shape. On the other, it was almost impossible to tell what kind of abilities they were hiding by sight and scent alone.

For all Taevas knew, the witch might’ve been nearly powerless.

He could’ve also had the ability to stop Taevas’s heart with a single touch, or rip open the fabric of the universe to drag him back into captivity before there was a chance to struggle.

As he’d learned in the war, there was no one-size-fits-all way to fight a witch, but the best bet would always be surprise. If this plan stood even half a chance of working, then he didn’t have another choice, anyway.

Soundlessly propping the shotgun against a tree trunk, Taevas stooped low to pick up a dusty stone.

Not knowing what his opponent was capable of, Taevas couldn’t risk relying on Alashiya’s wards to shield him from view, so he had to be careful to remain out of sight when he tossed the rock into the trees far to his left.

The guard’s gun came up instantly. He swung to the side and peered into the trees from over the hood of the SUV.

Taevas leapt.

The gun was his first priority. His left hand went for the barrel of the bolt rifle at the same time that he kicked one knee out, sending the guard stumbling. Unable to completely dislodge the guard’s grip, Taevas slammed butt of the rifle into his nose.

Blood splattered the side of the SUV. They grappled for the gun for too long.

A crackle of electricity built around the witch.

The man’s eyes, utterly devoid of feeling, went white with violent power.

Dragons could take a lot, but the kind of voltage a powerful witch packed made even the most dangerous lightning storms look like child’s play.

He’d seen what could happen when the unwary tangled with a witch and had no interest in being cooked alive.

The witch reached for Taevas’s bare shoulder and only just made contact as his head was slammed against the bloody side of the SUV. Bone crunched under Taevas’s grip. When he went limp, he was tossed aside with a grunt.

Their scuffle lasted less than a minute, and the guard had only touched him for a second or two, but damage had been done. Taevas bit back a howl of pain as the skin on his shoulder bubbled. Ripping the gun away from the guard’s hand, he stumbled back and shook his head hard.

There was no time for pain.