A Destiny of Dragons (Tales From Verania #2)(79)

I gasped and closed my hand into a fist on the floor, the cracked stone scraping against my knuckles.

I felt the lightning leave my heart as quickly as it’d come, blood rushing in my ears, vision swimming.

It was quiet in the aftermath.

I raised my head slowly.

Myrin, in his Wan suit, smiled at me.

“Soon,” he said. “I’ll see you real soon.”

And then he snapped his head viciously to the right. There was the wet crack of bone.

Wan the Dark Hunter slumped against the wall, legs skittering on the floor.

It only lasted a few seconds. It felt like hours.

And then it stopped.

Wan’s eyes were open and glassy.

His chest did not rise.

“Motherfucker,” Gary yelled. “That godsdamned dirty fighting ass bitch. He called me a horse! He’s dead! He’s so fucking dead, he don’t even know how dead he is!”

“So dead,” Tiggy agreed. “Punch him in his brain.”

Randall groaned as he pulled himself up off the floor.

Morgan sat on his knees looking down at his hands.

I stood, regretting when Ryan’s arm fell away from me.

“You okay?” I asked as I turned toward him. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, no visible signs of injury, though he groaned when he reached down to pick his sword up from the floor.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Though I could have done without the whole up-close-and-personal-with-the-lightning thing.”

“Would you say it was… shockingly close?”

“Oh my gods. Did you just—”

“We don’t have time for your jokes,” I said dismissively. “We have plans to make. Gary! Tiggy! Stop lazing about. Get up and get moving!”

“Fuck you, Sam,” Gary said. “I have been traumatized, okay? You don’t even know what I’ve been through. I am emotional, and I would like a cup of hot chocolate and to have someone rub my hooves and tell me I’m pretty.”

“We don’t have time for that now,” I said, heading toward the door, knowing the others would follow. “We’ve got work to do.”

“You’re pretty,” Tiggy told Gary.

“Thank you, kitten. It’s high time someone recognizes that.”

“Sam,” Randall said, his voice a whipcrack of warning.

I stopped but didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything. I felt Morgan’s gaze on me, and as much as I wanted to go to him, to have him make everything better, to take all of this away, I couldn’t. I didn’t know what I was feeling toward him right then, but it wasn’t anything charitable.

“Sam,” he said quietly. “What are you going to do?”

When I spoke, my voice was strong, more so than I expected it to be. “I’ve got a douchebag monologuing villain whose ass I need to kick, a kingdom to save, and a godsdamned destiny of dragons to face. You can sure as shit bet I’m going to do everything I have to.”

I didn’t look back as I left the interrogation room. Tiggy, Gary, and Ryan followed me without hesitation.

Randall and Morgan did not.





II: The Desert Dragon





Chapter 12: The Will of the Gods


THE SUN blazed above as the shadows of five travelers stretched along the worn path between mountainous red sand dunes that rose around them. The wind was fierce and unforgiving, blowing particles of sand that would scrape against any exposed skin. The land was desolate, no plant life able to withstand the extreme conditions. It was— “Holy fuck,” Gary groaned loudly. “It’s hot as motherfucking balls.”

That was more succinct than my internal narration. Because it was as hot as motherfucking balls. And when one is as hot as motherfucking balls, one tends to be uncomfortable and grouchy. “You didn’t need to come along,” I reminded him. “In fact, I told you that you didn’t. You insisted. I believe the wording you used was Sam, don’t be a dippy cunt. Of course I’m coming with you. You need me.”

“Why was your voice all high and whiny?” Gary asked. “I don’t sound anything like that.”

“Some,” Tiggy said, trudging forward, leaving large footprints in the sand behind him. He was barefoot, and I’d thought the sand would be too hot for his feet, but it hadn’t bothered him at all, the lucky bastard. I wished I could be a half-giant.

“Some?” Gary asked. “Tiggy, say it isn’t so.”

“Okay,” Tiggy said. “But I don’t lie.”

“Insolence,” Gary said. “You should carry me.”

“Your tummy sweats,” Tiggy said with a grimace. “That’s gross.”

“You’re gross,” Gary muttered.

“Sam,” Kevin rumbled above us, wings spread to try and block the worst of the sand and wind. “Would you please tell Gary that his stomach does sweat, and while I don’t find it disgusting, some other people might, and therefore he shouldn’t try forcing others to do what he wants?”

“I’m not going to do—”

“And Sam,” Gary said. “Would you please tell Kevin that not everyone wants to hear him talk with his mouth and his words, and therefore he should shut up?”