Kingdom of Fire and Fae, page 7
When she pulled out the green vials, recognition of the portal magic he had seen before registered. He swiped them from her hands with a swift motion, transforming from the devastated younger brother into the protector he had always been. The vials were cold and fragile in his grip, reminding him of the danger they represented.
“You cannot go in your current condition.” His voice was firm, yet laced with concern. He climbed to his feet on shaky limbs, every muscle protesting the movement. He nodded toward her wrists, the bindings chafing against her skin. “At least let me get those off, and then we can arm up before we go on another suicide mission.”
“I need to get him out of there.” Her voice shook as she climbed to her feet, the strain of the situation evident in every syllable.
“And we will, but you need some patching up before we go.” His voice was rough, each word scraping his throat now that his own adrenaline had faded. He worked a forceful swallow down his throat and flinched at the pain.
Nero squawked, his voice a piercing cry that echoed in the quiet room. Now that they were both on their feet, the griffin strode up to Lanae, his movements graceful despite his size. He nuzzled her gently, his feathers soft against her skin, before brushing a wing against Caelum. The touch was comforting, almost like a warm embrace, before Nero wrapped Lanae completely in his wings.
Caelum’s throat tingled, and he reached up, scraping his fingers over the spot where his father had gripped him. The prickle of pain was fading, the magic of Nero’s touch soothing the ache. He swallowed, this time without discomfort. “Thanks, Nero.” His voice was filled with gratitude as he ran his hand over the griffin’s head.
Nero unfurled from Lanae, tucking his wings neatly against his body before leaving the two of them to stare at each other’s unblemished skin. The transformation was almost miraculous, their injuries healed by the griffin’s magic.
“I love that griffin.” Caelum forced a smile, the expression stretching the muscles of his face in an unfamiliar way after all the stress and pain. He nodded for Lanae to follow him to the kitchen, the promise of a momentary respite giving them both a flicker of hope.
A ROAR OF ANGER had Draven freezing in place. The stone walls, coarse against his back, protected him from being found, but that didn’t stop his heart from drumming a staccato beat in his chest.
“She escaped. Find her!”
A wisp of a smile found his lips as he backtracked up the rickety stairs to the last offshoot. He could almost smell her—her familiar lavender scent—as he slid down another secret passage. The damp, musty air clung to his skin, chilling him.
Thundering footsteps shook the walls, causing dust to rain down, and then silence enveloped him.
He shuffled a few feet, the faint lavender scent guiding him like a beacon. The passage narrowed, and he had to hunch over, the stone brushing against his shoulders.
A thud echoed in the hallway, followed by a metallic clang.
“God damned griffin.” The angry mutter echoed as if the person was right beyond where Draven stood. He pressed closer to the wall and the vibrations of the voice.
A door creaked open. “Fuck.” The curse rippled the surrounding air, sharp and raw. “Are there any left?”
“No, sir. She broke them all.”
“I’m going to hunt her down and torture her until her last damned breath.” A beat passed. “Start making more.”
“But sir...”
A choked sound reverberated through the wall, a strangled gasp.
“You. Start making more of the portal potion.”
“Yes, sir.” The door slammed shut with a resounding thud.
Draven stayed still and held his breath until the footsteps faded into obscurity. Portal potion. He nearly laughed, the sound muffled by the stone surrounding him. His wife had destroyed their ability to move freely from realm to realm. A grin stretched his lips. Her lavender perfume still wafted in the air.
Draven searched for a larger area in the secret passageway that would give him the space to conjure a portal. The narrow, damp corridor was lined with jagged stones that scraped his arms as he moved. He turned a corner and halted, his eyes widening. The dead end before him was the perfect space, a small alcove with just enough room.
He tilted his head to listen. The only sound was the faint brush of footsteps echoing in the distance. The musty scent of mildew clung to the air.
As quietly as possible, he uttered the draconian spell, his voice a hushed whisper that reverberated off the walls. A smile spread across his lips as the gateway opened, shimmering with a soft, iridescent light that revealed the comforting sight of his home. He crossed the threshold, and the portal snapped closed behind him with a soft hiss.
In an instant, a cold, sharp blade pressed against his chest, stopping him in his tracks. The cold, steely scent of the sword mingled with the familiar aroma of lavender.
He lifted his hands at Lanae’s narrowed gaze, her eyes filled with suspicion. Her nostrils flared, drawing in a deep breath.
“Lanae, it’s me.”
“I will not be fooled by your trickery again,” she replied, her voice as sharp as the sword she held.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ally in the Shadows
DID THE BASTARD REALLY think she’d fall for this ruse? She growled, a low, guttural sound, and pushed the tip of her blade through his leathers, smiling when he hissed. The cold steel met resistance, sending a shudder up her arm.
“Um. Lanae?” Caelum stepped into the room, the clinking sound of his lock-pick kit breaking the tension.
“It’s the fucking shapeshifter son of that Firetwill asshole,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom.
The man’s green eyes, so much like Draven’s, searched Caelum out in a silent plea for help, a flicker of fear evident in their depths.
“Are you sure that’s him?” Caelum’s voice held a wariness that made her itch to finish this dick off.
“He liked to screw with my head and use that form when he used his fists.” She nodded toward the redheaded giant in their living room, her expression hardening.
“Nero!” Caelum called, his voice firm and commanding.
Lanae swore she saw a fleeting look of relief pass over the shapeshifter’s face. It was a far cry from the horror he had displayed when Nero emerged from the bedroom, lightning crackling at his feather tips.
When Nero bolted across the room and nuzzled against Draven, Lanae gasped, her lungs robbed of breath. “You even fooled Nero.”
“How did you know the image wasn’t me?” Draven’s hands remained in the air in surrender, his voice steady.
“I’m not disclosing that to you.” Her voice trembled with uncertainty.
His lips tilted into a smile. “There was no electric tingle when we touched. Which was the same way I knew it wasn’t you here in our home earlier.”
She blinked, his words short-circuiting her brain. Then her gaze dropped to where she pierced his leathers and probably his chest with her sword. If she pushed hard enough, she’d spear his heart. She pulled the blade out, the sound of tearing leather echoing in the room, but she stood her ground. “On your knees.”
He dropped slowly to his knees with his palms still facing her, the movement deliberate. He slid one hand behind his head and reached out to her with his other hand. “See for yourself.”
“It’s a trick.” Her insecurity flared, and her heart jumped.
The image of Draven closed his eyes, his breath steady. “Caelum, hold a knife to my throat to make sure I don’t move.”
Caelum put the lock-pick kit on the table and crossed to Draven, unsheathing the knife on Draven’s hip. He held it against the soft flesh of Draven’s throat and nodded for Lanae to confirm this was indeed her husband. “If it isn’t him, I’ll gladly spill his blood.”
Fear almost kept Lanae in place, but that small ember of hope ultimately had her moving forward. She lowered the sword and separated her hands as far as the chain would allow before she wiped her free hand against his.
That blessed tingling spark zinged through her, igniting heat in her chest. She dropped the sword.
The metal clattered on the floor. Caelum moved the blade from Draven’s neck and stepped away, busying himself with the lock-pick set.
Lanae threw her arms around Draven’s head, slamming into his body with the full force of her relief. Her tears dampened his shoulder as she released a sob.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him so every point on her body was in contact with his. The tender heat from his embrace enveloped her, his heartbeat steady and reassuring against her chest. The tingle of contact chased the fear and doubt from her mind, sending a gentle warmth through her veins. She sagged against him; her legs could no longer support her weight.
“I could have killed you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and guilt.
He kissed her temple; the gentle press of his lips soothed her frayed nerves. “It’s only a flesh wound. I’ll heal.” His breath tickled her skin, carrying a hint of the familiar scent that always calmed her.
She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. The rough texture of his leather tunic brushed beneath her fingers. The essence of smoke and herbs clung to him, a comforting reminder of home. His arms tightened around her, his hand gently stroking her back in slow, soothing circles.
The room was silent except for their breathing, the tension slowly ebbing away with each shared heartbeat. The rhythm of each steady rise and fall of his chest lulled her into a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in days.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said against his skin.
“You’ll never lose me,” he replied softly, his words a promise that resonated deep within her.
She nodded, her tears soaking into his tunic, but she didn’t care. She was home, in his arms, and nothing else mattered.
DRAVEN MET CAELUM’S GAZE. His eyes filled with a silent plea of appreciation, hoping his gratitude would be understood without words. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across Caelum’s face, highlighting the concern in his eyes.
Caelum’s cleared throat rasped in the quiet room. “We need to get those cuffs off.” He rattled the set in his hands, the clinking of metal echoing sharply.
Lanae sniffled, her breath hitching as she released her hold around Draven’s neck. The warmth of her body left him, replaced by a sudden chill.
Draven glanced at the iron cuffs, the cold, unforgiving metal pressing into her wrists. A burn ring, raw and angry, marred her skin underneath, the sight igniting a protective anger within him.
He grabbed her hands, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against her cold, clammy skin as smoke rolled from his nostrils. The bitter fumes of burning filled the air. “What exactly did that bastard do to you?” he growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. Iron didn’t affect dragons the way it burned the fae. To him, it was only cold metal.
With a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, he slid his index finger between her wrist and the iron shackle, the metal biting into her flesh. Focusing his fire to a point on the tip of his pad, the heat intensified. The iron glowed a vivid red just before his finger burst through. He sliced through the metal in seconds and tore it away from her tender skin. The stench of scorched iron lingered in the air.
He repeated the process with the second cuff, his actions swift and precise, then crossed to the kitchen. The iron cuffs clattered into a bucket of soapy water with a sharp hiss, steam rising as the water boiled on contact, cooling the searing metal.
Lanae followed, her wrists raw and bloody from the damn iron, the scent of copper mingling with the lingering smoke.
Draven took a drag of a breath, his aura shimmering with residual heat, then turned to meet her gaze. His eyes, a stormy green, softened as they locked onto hers. “You never answered,” he murmured, concern threading through his voice.
“You distracted me with your fire.” Her lips tilted into a wry smile, her voice a soft whisper. “They did nothing beyond what Nero healed. Just bruises and cuts.”
“I should have razed that castle while I had the chance.” He locked his gaze with hers. “But I needed to see that you were okay before I rendered it and everyone inside to dust.”
CAELUM WIPED THE SWEAT and grime from his face, his brow furrowing as he leaned heavily against the doorway. “Maybe you should have,” he muttered, his voice thick with regret and exhaustion.
Both Lanae and Draven turned to look at him, their eyes locking onto his disheveled figure. The air in the tense room charged with unspoken fears and unhealed wounds.
“Look, I was just as uncomfortable leaving that castle standing when we left three years ago,” Caelum continued, his voice a low, angry growl. “And now that all those people are reanimated and under another Firetwill’s rule, I’m not discounting the opportunity to turn it to ashes.”
Lanae’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Those people are not responsible for their actions.” Her hands trembled despite the evenness of her voice.
“Just like Dad?” Caelum’s anger flared, his face contorting with pain and bitterness. “If we unleash Draven from our moral binds, Mom and Dad will be free.” He pointed toward the bedroom, where the relentless banging on the door echoed through the hall.
“And we will be no better than the tyrant we are trying to stop.”
Lanae’s quick volley back ruffled his nerves, her sharp words cutting through the haze of his fury.
Caelum’s jaw clenched, the muscles twitching in frustration. Iron and sweat clung to the air, circulating with his recent near-death experience at his father’s hands. His heart was a drumbeat of conflicted emotions. He looked at Lanae, her resolve unbroken despite the haunted look in her eyes.
Draven looked beyond him toward the dimly lit hallway, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the brightly painted walls. “Your parents reanimated?” His voice held a mix of disbelief and concern.
“Yes,” Caelum replied, his tone laden with bitterness. “And my father tried to kill me. If Lanae hadn’t come back when she did, I would be dead.” His words dripped with the acrid bite of betrayal, the memory still raw and painful.
Draven crossed to the heavy wooden bedroom door, his footsteps nearly silent under the babel of bangs. He let out a frustrated roar, a primal sound that reverberated through the space and silenced the relentless pounding. The door shook under his fury, the vibrations resonating through the entire house.
Caelum raised an eyebrow, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features. He had only heard that type of roar from Draven once before—when Xoltan had bound them in the castle, demanding that Lanae provide humiliating favors in front of them. The memory sent a tingle down his back, the echoes of their captor’s cruel laughter still fresh in his mind.
When the dragon turned back, his eyes, glowing like molten gold, swept over Caelum, visually inspecting him for any signs of injury. A burning wood scent hovered in the stillness, a signal of his brother-in-law’s fiery temper.
Caelum’s shoulders tensed under the scrutiny. His recent ordeal played havoc in the weary burn of his muscles. “Nero healed me, too.”
“Good,” Draven grunted, his voice a low, rumbling growl. But the aggravation remained carved in his features, like cracks in a stone facade.
LANAE WAS JUST AS mystified by Draven’s outburst as her brother, her thoughts swirling with confusion and unease. But Nero’s approach sidetracked her from them. The griffin closed the distance with a graceful glide, his wings rustling softly as they moved through the air. He gently brushed her wrists with his soft, downy wings, the feathers cool against her skin. The iron burns faded, albeit slower than her bruises and cuts. The tingle of healing took hold, a maddening itch spreading across her skin, and she had to fist her hands to keep from scratching.
“I need some air,” Caelum said and left her alone with Draven and her now silent parents.
Draven sauntered back into the living room, his movements heavy with exhaustion. He unclasped his leather armor, the worn straps creaking as they were released, revealing a growing bloody spot on his shirt where her sword had pierced. The faint whiff of blood reached Lanae, tightening her muscles with alarm. She rushed to his side, her heart spasming in a frenzy in her chest. When she reached for his shirt, his hand shot out and grabbed hers, his grip firm but gentle.
“I am all right.” His dragon eyes met hers. They gleamed with an inner fire before he blinked, the transformation complete, and his eyes shifted back to the emerald irises that made her knees weak.
“You are bleeding. At least let me clean the wound I caused.” Her voice dripped with concern.
“Fine.” He stripped his shirt, revealing a deep gouge seeping blood. His muscle-bound chest and tight abs would have made her smile had it not been for the severity of the injury. The coppery scent of blood filled the air, sharp and metallic.
“Fucking hell,” she muttered and turned to Nero. “Please fix that cut.” She pointed at Draven.
Nero strolled over to Draven, his feathers rustling softly as he moved. He brushed his wing over Draven’s chest, the cool touch of his feathers smearing blood on his pristine wings. The griffin’s magical healing touch worked, but the process was slow and agonizing.
Draven shifted in the seat, his muscles tensing and his face contorting in pain. He grit his teeth, the pressure building in his jaw. “I swear the itch is sometimes worse than the injury,” he growled, his voice strained.
Lanae snorted a laugh, the sound tinged with relief, and left him to deal with the stitching of skin. She grabbed a few wet rags to clean off the blood, the cool water soothing her own raw nerves.
As she returned to Draven’s side, she couldn’t help but question the outburst. “Draven, what was all that at my parents’ door about? It’s not like you.”
Draven’s eyes flickered with unease as memories clawed at his mind. “My worst nightmares, Lanae. Every night, I see what could have happened and when you went missing, I thought the worst.”
