How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (Dragon Kin #6)(130)

“Kill her, Vincent,” another zealot ordered. “Show her what real power is.”

The dragon raised his fist, chanted something, and Izzy watched a ball of power shoot from the center of his claw and ram right into her.

Éibhear punched through the last bit of stone and metal and into the chamber beneath. As he crashed through, he saw what could only be Izzy flipping across the stone floor.

Changing course, he raced toward her, but he heard Vateria scream and remembered what he needed to do.

He wanted to go to Izzy. He wanted to rescue her. Take her out of here. But something, he didn’t know what, something told him that would be the exact wrong thing to do. He knew it with every fiber of his being. So he changed course again, spinning around in midair to face Vateria and . . . and whatever had hold of her.

Good gods . . . are those tentacles?

Éibhear shook off his disgust, lifted his hammer, and raced toward the enemy Iron that needed his help.

Brannie, having heard the fighting, screaming, and roaring nearly a mile away, charged into the chamber once she reached it, her sword and shield at the ready. As she did, she saw two things at the same time. First, she saw Izzy fly by her, heading into the far wall. Then she saw Éibhear crash through the ceiling and rush toward Izzy.

But then her cousin stopped. He stopped and instead of going for Izzy, the woman she was sure he loved, he turned and faced Vateria and . . . and whatever that was that had hold of the bitch.

Brannie had no idea what was going on, but she’d be damned if she’d let Izzy die because her cousin didn’t have his gods-damn priorities straight.

“In here!” she called out to the humans following her. “Hurry!” They could help with all this. She’d help with . . . with . . .

“Izzy?”

Izzy was no longer flying but walking with purpose back across the floor toward what Brannie was guessing were the zealots Iz had told her about. And even though those zealots didn’t have eyes, one of them still cocked his head like he could see. Like he was looking right at Izzy.

“You?” the zealot said in a raspy whisper. “You still live. How is that possible?”

“Kill her, Vincent! Kill her now!”

The zealot lifted both claws and unleashed a flash of powerful Magick that even Brannie with her non-Magickal existence could easily see.

And that Magick rammed right into Izzy, but this time, she didn’t fly anywhere. She just stopped, shook her head, cracked her neck, and moved forward.

“Combine our powers!” Another zealot screamed. “Now!”

“No! Use something else. Kill her!”

While they were busy arguing, debating, Izzy kept moving forward. She swiped up a dragon’s short sword that lay on the floor. One of the soldier dragons ran at her, but she dodged his weapon and him, then dragged the blade she held against his back leg, severing the tendon. The dragon dropped to the ground with a scream and Izzy kept going.

Someone else threw more Magick at her. And this time Izzy didn’t even pause. Instead, she suddenly sped forward and right at the first zealot. When he saw her, he panicked and swiped at her with his claw. Izzy caught hold of it and went with it when the zealot’s arm swung up. Iz pulled back the dragon sword she held and rammed it forward, slamming it into the side of the zealot’s neck, bypassing his hard scale and tearing open a main artery. Izzy flipped her body up onto the zealot’s head, yanked out the blade, and charged across, leaping to the dragon beside him, seconds before the first zealot crashed to the ground, dead before his head hit the floor.

“Oh, that’s right,” Brannie said, laughing a little. “Iz doesn’t need my help.”

But, she realized, looking down at the humans Izzy was descended from, who threw themselves into the battle with a gusto any Cadwaladr would appreciate, Izzy’s kin did need her help. And with great pride, she gave it.

Using the hammer he was beginning to appreciate more and more, Éibhear battered at the tentacles that had hold of Vateria.

“Éibhear!” he heard Aidan bellow.

“Get Vateria!” he ordered. “Pull her out!”

A tentacle slapped across his snout, acid from it leeching past scale and into flesh. Snarling—because he knew that would scar—Éibhear battered the tentacle away.

“Éibhear! Axe!”

Éibhear lifted his claw and caught the axe Uther threw at him. He brought it down, cutting off three tentacles at once, but another three slithered out from . . . well, he didn’t want to think about where they slithered from.

“We’ve got Vateria!” Caswyn yelled.

“Get her out of here! Now!”

Knowing Caswyn would take care of Vateria, Éibhear moved forward. He needed to cut off something more important than a tentacle. But before he could get close enough to anything important, tentacles slipped around his throat and arms, pulling him away. Holding him tight while what he assumed was a really vile-looking tongue slithered out from what he was guessing was a mouth, across the floor, and headed right for him.

Éibhear struggled against the tentacles. But as soon as he yanked one forearm or leg free, another tentacle caught hold again, holding him in place. The tongue neared him, slithering across the floor, blood, slime, and shit spreading from it as it did.

Gods, the smell alone made him want to vomit.