Dragonsworn: A Dark-Hunter Novel (Dark-Hunter Novels) Read online

  It’d worked, and the Sumerian god and Arcadian king had created two races of shapeshifters. Those who held human hearts, called Arcadians—human in their base forms, they could take animal form—and the Katagaria, who had animal hearts and were able to shift into humans.

  The “man” in front of her shook his head slowly to indicate that he fell into neither group. As he said, he was something else entirely.

  Yet he bore the scent of a Katagari warrior. An animal at heart and in base form. She knew the raw, preternatural musk that permeated their breed. It was unlike anything else in the world. And though tinged with something else, it was unmistakable.

  This wasn’t a man she was dealing with, but a creature of immense power.

  “Like you, princess, I’m something much, much older than those half-Greek by-blows.… Deadlier. And unpredictable.”

  “I know you’re not a god.”

  He approached her slowly, and while it wasn’t in her to ever retreat, she found herself stepping back to keep from being overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. By the magnitude of his arcane powers that seemed to grow stronger the longer she was here.

  “Perhaps, love,” he breathed in her ear with that deep, resonant baritone. “But there are things in this world that even the gods fear.”

  And he was definitely one of them. She knew it with every single molecule of her being.

  “Falcyn!”

  Medea blinked at the sharp tone of her brother’s voice.

  The creature in front of her didn’t react to it at all. Other than to give her an odd half smile. He tsked at both her and Urian. “Do you really think to make me heel at your command, lapdog?”

  Tall and muscular, and unperturbed by that insult, Urian narrowed his eyes while he rapidly closed the distance between them. His white-blond hair fell loose around his shoulders, accentuating his sharp features as he kept his attention keenly focused on Falcyn, watching his every twitch. Which also told her how lethal and quick this being was.

  A fearless, powerful beast himself, Urian was only wary around those who were worthy. He dismissed the rest.

  Stepping between them, Urian gave her a bit of breathing room. “I would caution you to remember you’re in a limani.”

  Falcyn snorted. “As if I give two shits for Savitar’s laws.” He raked a bitter stare over Urian. “Or you, for that matter. And even less for your boss. So don’t even think of dragging Acheron’s name into this as protection from my wrath. I dare him to say a single word to me … on any matter.”

  Urian scowled at his words and bravado, given the fact that Acheron was the final Fate of all. To defy him while knowing his real place in the universe was a special level of stupid and bravery that most lacked. “Is there nothing you fear?”

  Falcyn’s gaze went past Urian’s shoulder to something in the crowd.

  “Aye, but sadly she’s not here.”

  Medea jumped at the deep voice that spoke near her ear. Startled, she turned to see another strange man in the crowded bar. One who stood out as much as Falcyn, but for other reasons. His hair was as pale as her own, if not more so, and his eyes a peculiar lavender shade. Yet for all his paleness, his skin wasn’t white as she’d assumed someone’s with albinism would be. Rather, it was a rich caramel like Falcyn’s.

  More than that, his ears held a bit of a point to them. For a moment, given the beauty of his features, she thought he might be fey … Adoni or such. But the way he moved, and given the scent of him, she dismissed the thought.

  No, he was more animal than Adoni.

  Languid and quick. A rare dichotomy that only a natural-born shapeshifter could accomplish. And like Falcyn, the air around him was rife with preternatural powers that danced for his command. This beast was every bit as powerful. Yet in a different way.

  Nor were his powers as dark or sinister. This wasn’t a creature who took pleasure in harm. Indeed, he seemed good-natured.

  Falcyn tsked at him. “Now, Blaise, why would you go and bring Xyn into this? Especially given what a sore topic that is?”

  Blaise let loose a charming grin. “Felt the need to rankle my big brother. Besides, everyone else fears you so. You need me to even you out.” It wasn’t until he stepped forward with his hand raised to feel his way through them that Medea realized Blaise was blind. “And if you’re through scaring the natives, I’ve got something I need to speak to you about.”

  Falcyn sneered. “Rather spend time scaring the natives than listening to your petulant whine.”

  “Ah, now, you’re going to hurt my feelings.”

  “You don’t have any feelings.”

  “Not true. I had a lot of them, until you, Kerrigan, and Illarion shriveled them into oblivion. But I think I managed to salvage one or two. Please, try not to kill those last two off. I might need them one day.”

  Falcyn made a rude noise of dismissal. “Those are called hunger pangs.”

  Laughing, Blaise shook his head. “Hungry for a kind word, you mean.”

  “Well, you won’t be getting it here.” Falcyn gestured toward the stairs as if his brother could see his movements. “So off with you.”

  Blaise sighed heavily. “’Fraid not. Must intrude. Can’t wait.”

  Falcyn made another sound so deep in his throat that it vibrated through Medea’s body.

  Urian pulled her back. “Well, then. We’ll leave you to your argument. Come, big sis. Let’s get out of here before Godzilla and Mothra go at it and we’re caught in the cross fire.”

  “Before who and what?”

  Urian groaned under his breath. “One day we’ve got to do an all-day movie marathon to catch you up on my references.” And with that, he pulled her toward the stairs.

  But Medea couldn’t resist one quick glance back at the stranger whose presence still haunted her. Worse? He continued to watch after her with that penetrating stare like she was a hare he was planning to devour as lunch.

  “What are they?” she asked Urian as he led her upstairs to the less crowded area of the bar.

  “Blaise is a mandrake. Falcyn … hell if I know. He’s one of the dragon breeds, but not a Were-Hunter.”

  “If they’re brothers, he’d be a mandrake, too. Right?”

  Urian hesitated. “I don’t think they’re really related. The dragons have an even more peculiar idea of what constitutes family than we do.”

  She was so perplexed by that. “But if he’s a dragon and he’s not a mandrake or Were-Hunter, how can he be human?” Those were the only two kinds of pureblood dragons who could take human form.

  At least that she knew of, and given the fact she’d walked this earth for more than eleven thousand years, she knew quite a bit about shapeshifters and the preternatural world that had birthed her.

  And them.

  Especially since her father was one. But his dragon form came from the fact that he was a demigod, not a true shapeshifter. Unlike them, he couldn’t hold his form for long, or live in it.

  Urian paused to look from her to the two dragons in the crowd below. “That, Medea, is the question we’ve all asked and no one will answer. All we know is that he’s a bloodthirsty beast who’s best avoided.”

  2

  “So what is your trauma?”

  Blaise snorted derisively at Falcyn’s growled question. “Lack of parental support. Failure to bond. Kerrigan knocking me into one too many walls for lipping off whenever he was in a foul mood, which was pretty much always. Fear of fluffy bunnies, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Fluffy bunnies?” Falcyn wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, but it was so out of place for this audacious, lunatic mandrake that he just felt compelled to hear his explanation, even against all common sense.

  “Ever seen the movie Bambi? Those little bastards are some strange brew. And don’t get me started on Monty Python’s Holy Grail and that hare-y nightmare.” Blaise visibly shook. “It’s to the point I don’t even want to see that stuffed pink thing Nim car
ries.”

  At the mention of the harmless slug demon, Falcyn rolled his eyes so hard back in his skull, it actually burned. “You’re so effing weird.”

  “Oh yeah, ’cause you’re hogging all the normality. Have you ever bothered to look into that abyss, my friend? I promise the pot is calling the kettle twin.”

  “Have you a point to this mission, other than to piss me off and insult me? In which case, mission accomplished, but your life is drawing perilously close to its end as a result.”

  “Wow, that’s some serious hostility you got going there, buddy. Need to chillax.”

  Falcyn arched a brow at the uncharacteristic word. Chillax? “Who have you been around that you’ve picked up this all new vocabulary?”

  Blaise grinned. “Morgen’s new toy. He’s addicted to all sorts of peculiar things.… And not just porn. Which is why I’m here.”

  “What? For porn? Sorry. Not a pimp. Don’t need a pimp. Don’t want a pimp.”

  “Wasn’t planning to act as such. Nor did I know you were into guys.”

  Falcyn grimaced. “Talking to you always gives me a brain tumor. Explain to me how it is that no one’s murdered you to date?”

  “Not from lack of trying on their part, I assure you. Let me revisit the whole Kerrigan slamming me into walls. But I’m just that fast with my reflexes. And lucky for me, you’re an old dragon. Decrepit.”

  “You really want to test that theory?”

  “Not without backup. So to the point of my visit…”

  More agitated than he wanted to be, Falcyn crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for Blaise to finish that sentence. “Have you lost your thought, your mind … or just your nerve?”

  Cocking his head, Blaise narrowed his gaze as if he were listening intently to something. “They’re here.”

  “They?”

  “Morgen’s dogs. That’s what I was trying to tell you. She was given a hole, and while she can’t come through it, her Circle now can.”

  “So? Why should I care? That’s your battle, brother. Not mine.”

  And before Blaise could let out another word, the door behind him opened.

  Falcyn’s gut drew tight at the sight and arrival of Narishka duFey Morgen’s right-hand bitch.

  And the creature Falcyn hated most.

  So much for this being Blaise’s battle alone. Falcyn’s blood flowed thick through his veins as he started for the tiny blond Adoni who’d robbed him of everything he’d ever hoped to love.

  Holding her hand up, she caught him with her powers and tsked. “You know better, dragon. What were you thinking?”

  “How much I want to feast on your entrails, fey-bitch!”

  And still she didn’t flinch. Rather, she shook her head at him. “Now, now, is that any way to speak to the stepmother of your child?”

  Those words only fired his anger more as they awoke a pain so profound inside him that not even all these centuries could quell it. “You mean the murderess of my son, don’t you?”

  Blaise gaped. The birth of his son was something Falcyn had never mentioned to another living creature.

  Other than Max.

  And neither of them spoke of Maddor, as the mere mention of it made him most violent against his brother.

  Narishka only knew because she’d helped her sister conceive and birth his son. And to what purpose? To become a slave for Morgen le Fey—thanks to Max and his interference. Because of his brother’s actions, the mandrakes were nowhere near as powerful a race as they should have been. Hence why they all lived in servitude to the fey whores of Avalon and Camelot.

  Maddor, as their progenitor, had been the first to suffer—shouldering the bulk of Morgen’s blind rage because of Max’s actions. And there had been nothing Falcyn could do to stop her or help his son.

  Nothing.

  Not even on the day they’d finally killed Maddor because of Max’s curse. For that alone, Falcyn still wanted their hearts in his fists. Not a day went by that he didn’t burn in anger over the loss of his child.

  And that was why Falcyn had loved and protected Blaise for all these centuries.

  Because Blaise wasn’t really his brother.

  He was his grandson. One he’d been forbidden to meet until long after Blaise had grown into his own. Which was why Falcyn had kept the knowledge of his birth from Blaise. Nothing save more pain could come from Blaise learning the truth.

  He hadn’t been abandoned by his father. He’d been torn from them and left to die by the Adoni, who were even more cruel.

  And it stung him enough for them both. There was no need in burdening Blaise with a reality he couldn’t change. Come hell itself, Falcyn would die before he allowed anyone to ever again harm Blaise.

  “Bitch, please!” Falcyn used his powers to break her hold and slam her back against the wall hard enough to put a dent in the sheetrock.

  Finally, panic and fear sparked in her eyes as she realized the true extent of his powers and her own weakness in comparison. She fought against his invisible grip. “Kill me and your son dies, too.”

  “My son died a long time ago.”

  Narishka shook her head. “Maddor still lives.”

  Those three unexpected words saved her life. “What do you mean?”

  Grimacing, she glared at Blaise. “Tell him! Maddor still rules over the mandrakes at Camelot.”

  Falcyn felt the blood drain from his cheeks. No … she was lying.

  She had to be.

  “You play with me, Adoni whore, and so help me—”

  “I would never!” Choking, she spat at Blaise. “Tell him, damn you!”

  Blaise licked his lips slowly. His complexion paled as much as Falcyn’s. “Is Maddor really your son?”

  Falcyn couldn’t bear to answer that question. Not while silent tears choked him. “Does he live?” His voice cracked on those words.

  Blaise nodded. “Yeah, he lives. He’s a cold-blooded son of a bitch, though.”

  Like father, like son.

  With a bitter laugh, Falcyn closed the distance between him and Narishka. “She was a whore, actually. Treacherous from her first breath to her last.”

  Narishka lifted her chin with a courage that would be admirable if not for the sheer stupidity of her defiance, given his hatred and blatant disregard for her life. “I told you not to kill my sister.”

  Hissing, he moved to end her so that she could join Igraine in hell.

  “Wait!” she screamed.

  “For what?” The question was out before he could stop it. He didn’t even know why he bothered, since he had no desire to spare her life or to even hear another syllable from her lips that were more used to spilling lies than truth.

  “You have something we need.”

  So what? Was she effing kidding? He couldn’t care less about them or their needs.

  He quirked a brow at that. “I own nothing.”

  “Didn’t say you owned it. You protect it.”

  He scowled even more, as there was nothing left in this life he protected.

  Nothing other than Blaise and Illarion. And he’d never allow her to have either of them.

  “Pardon?”

  A dark, insidious light played in the depths of her eyes. “Let us negotiate, shall we?”

  * * *

  Urian scowled at Medea as they talked inside the small private room in Sanctuary that was reserved for whenever preternatural clientele became rowdy and needed a time-out away from human witnesses who might not react well to the reality of what they shared their world with. Barely more than a closet, their quarters were cramped, but it allowed them to not be overheard by any of the humans outside.

  Or the Were-Hunters, who as a rule had very sensitive hearing.

  And given the fact that his sister had just told him about a mysterious plague that was about to destroy her people, he was glad no one could overhear them.

  “Why are you telling me this? I’m no longer a Daimon.”

  Medea crossed her ar
ms over her chest. “Yeah, but for all you know, this plague could infect you, too. Whatever it is that Apollo unleashed on us is taking an awful toll. I know you hate our father, but—”

  “Stryker’s not my father!” he reminded her coldly.

  “Biologically, true. However, he did raise you as his own. His wife birthed you.”

  “After I was ripped from the stomach of my real mother by that bitch you serve … and shoved into her womb without anyone’s knowledge or consent!” And Medea reminding him of how the gods had screwed him over wasn’t warming him to her cause.

  At all.

  Honestly, he’d had enough of being their bastard stepchild they kicked whenever they became bored.

  “That bitch is also the mother of your current boss and the beloved protector of your real father and mother, don’t forget!”

  Urian hissed at her less-than-subtle reminder about Apollymi’s position in his world. “You have some nerve to come here and ask me to help Stryker or Apollymi, given what they’ve both taken from me.”

  “I know that. Which tells you how desperate I am.” She swallowed hard. “They’re not the only ones who are sick, Uri. Davyn has it, too. He’ll die if you don’t help us.”

  She saw the uncertainty that tormented him as she mentioned the one Daimon he still considered his family. While Urian might be angry at her parents and Apollymi, he would never turn his back on Davyn. Not after all the centuries they’d been more brothers than friends.

  Not after all the intel Davyn had risked his life to bring to Urian.

  The one truth about her brother—he was loyal above everything else.

  Even his own pride and ego.

  And they both loved Davyn and appreciated him for the rare Daimon he was.

  “Please, Urian. I lost my husband and only child because my grandfather—the grandfather of your birth twin—was a bastard. Watched them both be slaughtered in front of my own eyes by the human vermin you protect. For no reason, other than they feared us when we’d done nothing to cause their suspicions. We were innocent and harmless, minding our own business when they attacked us. So don’t think for one minute you own some kind of market share on pain. Because trust me, brother, you’re a novice. You’ve no idea what I went through in my mortal life or this one. I’m sorry for what Stryker did to your Phoebe. I am, but I’ve lost too many to sit back and watch the rest die and not do something to at least try to help them. That’s not who I am.”