The Lost Barinov Dragon, page 1
The Lost Barinov Dragon
Brothers of Ash and Fire - Book 4
Lauren Smith
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
The Bite of Winter
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Smith
Cover Design by The Book Brander
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All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-952063-18-3 (e-book edition)
ISBN: 978-1-952063-19-0 (trade paperback edition)
Prologue
Excerpt from Barrow’s Journal – My Year with Dragons
There are four types of skills that dragons can be born with or develop as they age. The first is the battle dragon, a dragon suited to fight and defend in territorial disputes. The second is the hoarding dragon, who is a guardian for the valuable gemstones and treasures that dragon families collect. The third is the family patriarch or matriarch. This dragon ensures the survival of the line of dragons by arranging matings, overseeing the running of territories, and protecting the interests of all dragons in their family. The last type of dragon is the questing dragon, a dragon so rare that only one in every two or three hundred years is born. This dragon quests for dragon heart stones, the gemstones that possess the ability to hold a dragon’s soul and keep it safe, a mission so sacred that many questing dragons die at the claws of their enemies in their search for these stones.
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Switzerland, 1292 AD
Vasili Barinov dug his claws into the craggy rocks and ice as he scaled the mountainside. Despite the thick protection of his dragon scales, the cold temperature still sent a shudder through him.
Cannot stop . . . The thought pounded inside his head like a steady drum, over and over. He was close. He was certain.
How much farther, my heart? The thought came to him in a steady, clear feminine voice. His mate, Marina, was a little way below him, carefully following the path he forged, placing her clawed feet where his had been.
It’s close, my love, very close, he answered through their mate bond. Not all dragon shifters had such a strong mental connection to their mates, but he and Marina were intensely bonded. They had grown up as children together and had known their whole lives that they were mates. That was even rarer. To find a true mate was not an easy thing; some lived thousands of years and never did.
Vasili’s front left foot slipped, and he snarled, steam huffing from his long snout as he caught himself from falling.
Careful! Marina cautioned him.
He didn’t reply but focused harder on the ascent. Every few steps he would pause, take the cold air deep into his cavernous lungs, and close his eyes. Only then did he hear the hum, the magic of the dragon heart stone. The stones were almost gone from the world now, many destroyed, others lost beyond recovery.
Vasili’s purpose was to find and protect such stones, as well as the dragon souls contained within them. In the event that a human should become a dragon’s mate, the stone could bond the human with a dragon soul inside. Such a thing was crucial for the survival of his race. When a dragon died, its mate would quickly follow. And since human lives were so brief and fragile, the dragon’s life would be cut short.
He had lost one of his sister this way, when her human mate had fought and died in battle. Vasili had vowed never again to let anyone in his family die from the “mate grief” of having a mortal mate.
I sense it too, Vasili, Marina said in excitement.
He huffed and began to climb again. They were almost there. The hum became a murmur of voices. The dragon souls were singing; there was more than one soul inside the stone. Incredible! His heart swelled with pure joy at the thought of such a wonderful discovery.
A cave opening appeared a few feet above, and Vasili pushed his way inside. It was far larger than he had expected. Even in his massive dragon form, there was room for Marina to climb inside behind him.
He changed into his human form just as his mate slid into the cave behind him. They possessed enough dragon magic that they could change between human and dragon form and keep the clothes they wore. Many dragons never mastered such a skill.
Vasili waited for Marina to change, and then he held out his hand to her. The raven-haired beauty beamed in excitement as he pulled her close and kissed her temple. It had been a long and dangerous journey to get here and find the stone, but they had made it. Just beyond them, nestled in the ice, was the large sapphire that had called to him in his dreams: the Heart of Sorrows. As a questing dragon, he had the ability to sense dragon heart stones, gemstones that held dragon souls within them. He’d left his home and his family to find this stone, and now here it was, within reach. It glowed, and an ethereal light made it pulse like a beating blue heart.
“There is more than one, Marina,” he whispered. “More than one soul inside the stone. Can you feel it?”
Her brown eyes widened. “Oh, Vasili . . .” She brushed away tears. “So many lives will be saved with it.”
They walked to the wall of ice, and he placed his human palm on its surface. He summoned his dragon side, and the fire that filled his veins now reached out from his skin, melting the ice directly into steam. Soon he was able to free the stone.
He turned to his beloved mate. “We must hurry, love. Now that we have it, we can fly back to Novgorod.”
Marina kissed his cheek. He nodded and brushed away the remaining ice that still clung to the sapphire before he slipped it into a pouch on his wrist. The straps were designed to stretch with him as his dragon form took over.
“I’ll go first and clear the way in case we were followed.” Marina morphed back into a dark-golden dragon and crawled to the cave entrance. She kept her tail straight and her wings folded as she approached the ledge, then took a breath and leapt into the air.
He watched her take to the sky. His lips curved into a smile, but a moment later, black shapes appeared on the horizon.
Black dragons . . . The Drakors had found them. Too many of them not to be a threat. Fear for his mate’s safety exploded through him as he rushed toward the edge of the cave entrance.
Marina, they’ve found us. Go!
His mate didn’t reply. She shot up into the air, vanishing above the clouds, no doubt attempting to draw them away. She was smaller and faster, and they would assume she had the stone in her possession.
Vasili began to change, but he wasn’t fast enough. He saw his mate’s view in his mind.
Black shapes filled the skies. Several of the enemy dragons burst up above the clouds, barreling toward Marina. She roared, the sound fierce and as loud as an earthquake shaking an entire continent. The walls of the cave vibrated around him, and cracks in the ice formed rapidly.
Wait for me! Do not fight them alone! He shouted the thought to his mate. Marina was a fierce battle dragon, but even she was no match for ten Drakors.
A shadow flashed across the cave entrance just as Vasili slid out and dropped into the air. Dimitri Drakor, the eldest son of the Drakor family’s patriarch, was just above him, careening straight for Marina’s back.
Vasili took flight and rocketed upward. He sank his teeth into Dimitri’s flank, but Dimitri swung his tail toward Vasili. Vasili dodged the blow, but not quite enough. Poisoned spikes raked his side, cutting through his thick hide. He roared in rage, releasing Dimitri as he fought the wave of pain that followed.
Don’t fight them, Marina. Flee! he urged his mate as he cleared more clouds.
His heart shook as he saw his mate fighting off several dragons twice her size. He swooped toward them, claws out, striking at as many as he could, but everything that happened next was a blur straight from his deepest nightmares.
His mate fell from the sky, blood misting the air around her. A black dragon roared in triumph, its teeth stained red with blood. Pain exploded through Vasili as his mate’s agony became his own. He tucked his wings against his body and plunged toward the ground, chasing her falling form, desperate to catch her before she hit the ground.
She crashed against the mountainside and came to a stop on the ledge just below the cave to the dragon heart stone.
Vasili gripped the mountainside, skidding down toward Marina, bloodying his clawed feet as they slipped along jagged rock. When he reached her, her
My heart, he murmured to her. Don’t give up. Try to heal . . . try . . . Marina had a unique ability to heal herself and others. The magic in her blood was strong enough to work miracles. She was the last of her bloodline, and the drakeling children they had planned to have would have held that ability too, but a terrible fear whispered that she was beyond miracles now.
I can’t . . . Vasili . . . too much. Hide the stone . . . Marina’s voice in his head was weak, tired. His wings rippled to flatten against his back. Above them, the other dragons circled, waiting for them to die. The stone tucked against his leg burned hotter than a dragon’s fire as he snuggled closer to Marina, desperate to let her feel him beside her in her last moments. The Heart of Sorrows pulsed, like a heartbeat, beating against his hide and Marina’s. He prayed that her soul would find its way inside the sapphire, to be safe, but he had never performed the transition ritual before and didn’t know what to do.
He let out a keening cry as his true mate’s breath slowed, and then with a soft huff she was gone. His limbs gave out beneath him, and he curled his body around hers, their blood mixing in the snow.
Let me die swiftly, he thought. There was no reason to live without her. The mate grief began to overpower him.
A sudden burning pulsed against his front leg, making him hiss in rage. He shook himself to stop whatever was causing the sensation. The bundled sapphire bounced against his scales. The dragons circling above were slowly descending.
They cannot have it. Vasili nuzzled Marina’s scaled cheek one last time before he tore himself away and climbed back up into the sheltered cave. His blood stained the icy rock floor as he dragged his injured body through the cave. Her death could not be in vain. He had to protect the Heart of Sorrows from the Drakors with his last breath.
He curled up against the farthest wall. His sharp reptilian eyes studied the cave walls and the fissures in the rocks. He knew what he had to do. Vasili took a final look toward the cave entrance, raised his snout, and inhaled the cold air that blew in from the mountain. It smelled of snow and blood . . . his mate’s blood. The one blessing of dying from mate grief was that he would not have to live long in a world without her, would not have to think every day of the future that had been taken from them and the children they would never have. There would be an end, a quiet, dark, cold end to his pain. His only hope was that he would see Marina again on the other side, where the skies were endless and always under their wings.
He threw back his head and roared out all the pain and heartbreak. The mountain trembled around him, and rocks crashed down and sealed up the entrance with him inside. More rocks than any number of dragons could move, if they could even find the entrance.
Cloaked in the cold darkness, he relaxed. Dimitri Drakor and the others could not get to the stone now. He felt the pain of his wounds fade as the mate grief numbed him. At least his younger brother and his mate had three healthy, grown drakelings who could carry on the Barinov line. The Barinovs would continue to defend their land against the Drakors and protect the humans.
My time is ended.
With his last breath, the ice froze his body, and he felt lost. The dragon heart stone’s glow faded, its energy expiring. His last thought was that not all things lost stayed lost.
But he was glad that if he was found, he would be long gone from this mortal realm. To lose his mate, his other half, stole life itself from him. As the mountain’s rumbling finally settled over the fitting tomb that served as his last resting place, the cave was silent, dark, and cold.
Chapter 1
Excerpt from Barrow’s Journal – My Year with Dragons
There is perhaps no greater territorial dispute in all of dragondom than between the Russian Imperial dragons, the Barinov family and the Drakor family. The conflict began so many millennia ago that none seem to remember where it began, and it is unlikely to end. The greatest period of peace began when Grigori Barinov signed the renewal of a treaty I had the honor of witnessing. I believe this will lead to a golden age for dragons, or at least a time without war.
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More than 700 years later – North Carolina
“You must always be safe. Never open the door without me, do you understand?”
The words she’d heard almost all of her life from her mother echoed in Tasha Bellamy’s mind as she removed the lasagna from the oven. The kitchen was quiet; her mother was in her bedroom reading while Tasha checked on their dinner.
“Never open the door without me . . .” Tasha was twenty-one years old now, and she’d had to go to school online her entire life, even college.
Thankfully, she’d been advanced in all of her classes, and at twenty she’d graduated with a bachelor of arts in graphic design. It allowed her to work from home and take care of her mother.
The few times she’d ventured out into the world, usually to get things they couldn’t have delivered to the house, Tasha had looked about her and wondered why it wasn’t safe. What had created such fear in her mother? She didn’t seem mentally unstable; it was just this single unexplainable fear of whatever was outside that door.
All of Tasha’s life, the idea of safety had been a concern for her mother. And because of it, the two of them had lived a quiet life in remote locations or small towns well away from big cities. Once a year—only once—her father would come to see them.
Whenever the doorbell rang, she rushed to open it, despite her mother’s warnings of waiting for her to be there just in case—though she never said in case of what. Tasha didn’t care. She always seemed to know when her father was there; it was as though she could sense his presence, even through the door. So many times she’d dreamed about him, even though she knew he was far away. She would wake convinced that she had been with him while he traveled or sat alone in his office. It was like seeing him through a slightly foggy mirror. They were likely the imaginings of a child, but she hadn’t cared—she’d wanted to feel connected to him, to be a part of the life that he couldn’t share with her and her mother. It made her excitement to see him that much stronger when he finally came to visit.
“Tasha, my little one,” he would say in that deep, rumbling voice, and she would hug him tight, never wanting to let go. Her father was a tall man, with dark hair and fathomless eyes that would have intimidated anyone except for the woman and the child who loved him.
Then, after he kissed her cheeks and hugged her tight, he would seal himself in a room alone with her mother for an hour, their whispers too muffled by the closed door to hear. Tasha would always try to eavesdrop by pressing her ear to the wood. More often than not, her father would open the door and find her standing there. He would arch one dark brow, but he never grew angry with her, never yelled. He simply placed his palm on her head, gently patting her hair, his dark eyes unreadable.
“You will listen to your mother, yes?” he always asked. “Do whatever she says?”
She would nod, and then her father would share dinner with them before leaving them with a briefcase of money and a little present just for Tasha. Small trinkets, stuffed animals, then books, then as she grew older he would leave her jewels. She had half a dozen necklaces of brilliantly colored gemstones. The stones were large and seemed almost too heavy to hang from the delicate chains they had been bound to.
“Cherish them, little one. Promise to protect them. They are very valuable,” her father would say about the gemstones.
“I’ll keep them safe, Dad.” It was important to him, and she knew that whatever it was that kept him away from them, it had to be important. She tried never to get upset that she was growing up without him in her life. That one single day a year was a day she clung to, a day she cherished.
