Donna Grant - Fire Rising

No one had frightened her as he had, and she loathed him for it. The hate and fear mixed inside her until it was a ball of writhing, twisting angst.

“Defiant.” There was a small, sardonic smile on his face. “Odd since most mortals fall over themselves to be with us. What makes you different?”

“I know what you are.”

“So do they,” he retorted. “Taraeth will be in to see you soon. I’d suggest if you don’t want to be stripped and have every Dark have his way with you that you continue to hold that sharp tongue of yours.”

Sammi swallowed, hating that it was loud even to her ears. She despised bullies, and that’s exactly what Balladyn and the Dark were. Tyrants, tormentors. Intimidators.

He smiled knowingly. “You humans are so pathetic, letting every emotion you feel be shown to the world. Why do you think we chose you to take as ours?”

“We have a choice too. We can say no.”

“You can try. It’s not very successful.”

“Denae did it.” Sammi bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling when she saw her words had hit a sore spot.

He took a step closer, leaning over her so that she had to tilt her head up to look at him with his red eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you want to live, don’t mention that name to Taraeth.”

The warning came in a low, dangerous voice that sent coils of fear, numbing her body once again.

She waited until he straightened and turned away before she said, “You’ve made a mistake in riling the Kings.”

“It’s time they had their scales ruffled. They’ve ruled this realm for far too long.”

And then he was gone, leaving Sammi in the room with nothing but her thoughts. She looked around feeling like a lab rat on display.

All four walls were stone, but she had the distinct impression that she was being watched, as if one wall was nothing more than a mirror that she couldn’t detect.

“Bastards,” she whispered.

Tristan clenched his teeth as Con shouted for him to wait. He glared, feeling every second that went by and he wasn’t on his way to get Sammi was a second they could be touching her, marking her as one of the Dark’s.

Con’s gaze was on the group of Warriors. “You’ve painted a big target on yourselves by helping us tonight.”

“So?” Phelan said with a shrug. “I’m no’ going to let them keep Rhi. She helped me. I’ll be there for her.”

Con let out a long breath. “Phelan, you’re part Fae. The Dark willna think much about you interfering, but the same can no’ be said for other Warriors.”

“I welcome the target if it means helping Tristan,” Ian said.

Tristan, however, knew what Con was getting at. “Con’s right. Perhaps you all should return to your women. There is no telling what the Dark will do.”

Charon barked with laughter. “Then they doona know our Druids.”

“The Druids and Fae never battled,” Rhys said thoughtfully. “Who knows what could happen? The Druids are strong.”

“No’ as strong as the Dark,” Banan said.

Laith shrugged. “They’ll hold their own is my guess.”

“We should warn everyone,” Phelan said as he looked from Charon to Ian.

Tristan could barely stand still as the three took the time to place calls to their wives. He was wound tight, and he would need to calm down or risk Sammi’s life.

“Banan, return to the manor,” Con said. “You’ll want to be with Jane, and the more Kings that remain on Dreagan the better.”

Banan’s lips compressed tightly. “I’d rather be going to Ireland, but the thought of Jane in the Dark’s hands is enough to keep me here.”

Tristan shared a look with Banan as an unspoken promise passed between them. When the Warriors had finished their calls, Tristan walked out into the open so he wouldn’t hit anyone when he shifted.

He gave no one time to say anything as he transformed and then lowered his head for Ian to climb on the back of his neck. As soon as Ian was situated, Tristan took to the sky.

One by one, Rhys, Con, and Laith shifted. Rhys carried Phelan while Laith carried Charon. Con took the lead, sending a message through their link that they were headed to Ireland and to be on the lookout for more Dark.

Tristan didn’t have to tell Con to hurry. They all flew as if the edge of the cosmos was nipping at their tails. All Tristan could think of was Sammi and what a fool he’d been to walk away after their night of passion.

She stirred a riot of feelings—not to mention memories. As turbulent and alarming as that was, he hungered for her in a way he knew—deep down in his very soul—that he had never felt for a woman before.

He didn’t know why he had become a Dragon King, and it no longer mattered. He was a King.

Yet he had also been a Warrior. No longer could he try and deny that. Fighting alongside Ian had proven that when he knew, instinctively, what Ian would do before he did it. They had fought the Dark as if they did it every day.

That kind of familiarity and awareness didn’t just happen. That came from a lifetime of knowing someone.

Tristan didn’t know how a relationship with Ian would work, or if it even could. But he owed it to the both of them to try. Just as he would try everything in his considerable power to free Sammi.

He thought of her smile and her sharp wit. She had stood on her own for years. It made her tough, tough enough to survive weeks on the run from the Mob.

Or really Ulrik.

That was a hard pill to swallow. Ulrik had been playing him from the very beginning. The fact Tristan had gone to him was like acid burning his stomach.

It no longer mattered about Ulrik’s past and what had been done. It was the present and his actions. Ulrik had to be stopped. Maybe Con was right in wanting to kill him.

Tristan could see the edge of Ireland with his dragon vision. They were close. He hoped Sammi knew he would come for her, that he wouldn’t leave her with the Dark.

He flew faster, Ireland coming closer and closer. Tristan could almost feel Sammi.

Suddenly there was a loud buzzing in his head like white noise. Tristan roared as pain exploded in his head. He tried to remain in flight, but he could feel himself tilting. And then Ian slipped off.

Tristan attempted to find his brother, but he kept reaching for thin air. The static grew louder, the pain unbearable. Any moment he expected his brain to explode.

And through it all he heard laughter. Ulrik’s laughter.

It was only belatedly that Tristan realized he was no longer flying—but falling.

Con dove down for Ian the moment Rhys bellowed through their link. With Ian in hand, Con could only watch as Tristan plummeted to the water.

“What the hell!” Phelan shouted from Rhys’s back.

Con looked down to find Ian searching the water for his brother. The fact Tristan had sunk quickly was worrisome. Dragons were some of the best swimmers. Many dragons had lived in the water.

“ Stay steady, ” he told Rhys and Laith.

Ian looked up at him. “Where is Tristan? Why are you no’ going to get him?”

In order to respond Con would have to return to his human form. Instead, he set Ian atop Laith’s back and tucked his wings as he dove for the water.

He hit the water as fast as a torpedo, slicing through it like a hot knife through butter. Con spotted Tristan’s amber scales. He was floating downward, unconscious.

It took little effort to reach Tristan, but pulling him out was another matter. Something had ahold of him, something magical.

Con used his tail as well as all four limbs, and it took all of his considerable strength to yank Tristan from whatever had taken him. As soon as Tristan was free, Con swam them to the surface. The moment they broke the surface he took flight, not wanting to wait around to see what else might try and take Tristan.