Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(137)

That’s when Var yelled out.

“In front of us!”

Elina faced forward in time to see a dragon land directly ahead of them, the ground shaking beneath the horse’s hooves.

“Give us the Abomination, female,” he ordered as Elina’s horse reared up and backward. “And I’ll let you live.”

“I give you nothing.”

“Then you both die.”

“Do not let go of me, little Var,” she warned him.

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“I—”

Elina’s words were cut off by dragon’s blood splattering across her face and body. She looked up and saw a dragon-sized sword that had been shoved through the dragon’s chest.

When the dragon slumped forward, dead, the sword was yanked out and the body dropped.

At first, Elina saw nothing but trees swaying in the cold winter wind, but then, born out of nothing, it seemed . . . like a chameleon lizard who’d camouflaged himself against a rock . . . the golden dragon, Gwenvael, appeared.

Var sat up straight in the saddle. “Dad!”

Gwenvael, golden in the sunlight, smiled down at his son. “Thank the gods,” he said on a relieved sigh. “I was afraid I’d have to spend my long life listening to your mother complain about how wrong I was to let you go to your uncle Bram’s.”

The boy laughed, but Elina could hear the tears he was trying to hold back. “And she would have, too. But what are you doing here?”

The dragon rolled his eyes, clearly embarrassed. “What can I say? I lied to your mother.”

“Shocking,” the boy muttered drily.

“I told her I wouldn’t be checking on you while you were at Bram’s but . . . well . . .” He shrugged, helpless. “You’re too important to me to just let you go off on your own. There, I said it. But if you repeat it, I’ll flatly deny I care about anyone that much, especially my own son.”

“Take your boy, dragon,” Elina said, helping Var dismount from the horse. “Bring him back to his mother.”

“Come with us, Elina,” Var pleaded.

“I cannot. I have to go to my sister.”

“The Cadwaladrs are flying to Bram’s as we speak,” Gwenvael explained. “I’m sure—”

“No, beautiful golden one—”

“Why, thank you, Elina.”

“Dad! ”

“—but I must get my sister and you must take this boy back to his mother. I would hate to see what she will do to world if he is no longer in it.”

Gwenvael picked his son up with his tail and placed the boy on his back. “Thank you for protecting him, Elina.”

Elina nodded at his words, turned her horse, and headed back to Bram’s castle.

Celyn saw the battle from above and dove in. He uncurled his fists, making sure his talons were out.

He tackled one of the last remaining dragons, a Gold who was making a wild swing at Brannie’s back.

Ramming his claws into the dragon’s side, Celyn dug them in deep, then moved them up and down, back and forth, rending valuable organs in the process.

The Gold screamed out in pain, his flames decimating nearby trees.

Celyn yanked his claws from the Gold’s body and quickly gripped his head. He turned it one way, then the other, breaking the neck.

He dropped the body and stood. Brannie had gotten some dragon’s axe and was chopping away. Someone must have pissed her off.

“I think he’s dead enough, sister.”

At Celyn’s words, Brannie spun around with an angry snarl, the axe raised, her tail taking down a tree in the process.

Blood and brains covered her from head to claw. Her black eyes were wild—the Cadwaladr bloodlust having taken over.

“We have to go,” he told his sister.

“Go?”

“We have to help Da.”

“What makes you think we’re done here?”

Celyn looked over the dragon pieces scattered around his sister. But when he looked up, Brannie was pointing her blood-covered axe at him.

He turned and saw ten dragons standing behind him, their weapons drawn.

“Well then,” Celyn said on a sigh, “let’s get this over with.”

Then he and Brannie charged forward—and killed everything in their way.

Kachka dismounted from her horse and pulled her sword. “Stay behind me, Bram the Merciful,” she ordered him.

“I think you need to get behind me now, Kachka Shestakova.”

Kachka felt heat on her back and turned to see her horse galloping off and Bram in his dragon form.

His scales were silver, like his hair. And he was large. But, sadly, not as large as the protective unit that had been sent along with these Dragon Elders.

“Run, Kachka.”

“I am Daughter of Steppes. I will not run. I will not yield.”

“Then you will die,” one of the dragons said, laughing.

“Not before you, imperialist scaled scum!” She glanced back at the Southland dragon standing behind her. “No offense to you, Bram the Merciful.”

“None taken, considering the circumstances.”

“Kill them both,” the enemy dragon ordered.

“Wait!” Bram called out, stepping around Kachka.