Chapter 10
Zane descended the iron staircase from the roof down to the balcony, joining Tyr. They went in through the disused ballroom, down the grand staircase, and took the brass and velvet-lined elevator to the sub-basement level. It opened into a huge cavern filled with computers, monitors, flashing lights and humming printers.
Tyr had nicknamed it the Batcave—for good reason.
Thorne was hunched in front of his bank of computers, the way he always was, watching the information scrolling down them.
He was a big man—bigger than Zane—but it seemed like the longer he sat here, surrounded by his machines and information streams and seismic data, the smaller he got.
As if the weight of responsibility he carried was so heavy it was literally compressing him. Zane wondered when was the last time Thorne had been outside the lair.
Hell, he wondered when was the last time Thorne had spent a night in his bed, or at least sleeping on his treasure in dragon form.
Guilt stabbed at Zane. He should have kept better track. He should have made Thorne rest.
He should have found the damn Dragonfly Seal.
“Thorne?” he said now, though he knew his brother had heard them come in.
“Give me a second.”
Thorne was following at least three streams of data at once, occasionally tapping a key sequence on one of his keyboards.
Tyr threw himself down in one of the cushy chairs at the conference table. The table was piled with leaning stacks of dusty file folders, half-full coffee cups, and trash from hurried meals. Tyr leaned all the way back, propping his snakeskin boots on the tabletop and knocking a pile of folders to the floor.
He ignored them.
“Fuck,” Thorne muttered under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Zane came up behind him, checking the screens that showed the magical and seismic activity throughout the Portland metro area.
Thorne was staring at the two screens that covered Mount Hood. One showed lists of numbers, the other graphs. There’d been a huge spike in the electromagnetic activity under the mountain, corresponding with a surge of magical energy that had weakened the magic holding the tomb shut by…
“Six percent?” Zane said, unable to believe what the numbers said. “It’s down six percent just in the last hour? That can’t be right.”
Tyr sat up straight in his chair. “No way,” he said. “If that shit keeps up, then Vyrkos is going to be busting out of that tomb by tomorrow night.”
“I know that. I have the math right in front of me,” Thorne snapped. “It’s stabilized now.” He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. Zane started wondering when was the last time Thorne had slept at all. “Please tell me you found the Seal,” Thorne said. “Or at least something that might be it.”
Six percent loss of magical integrity around the tomb. It didn’t sound like much, but considering that, prior to beginning to fail in the last decade it had only lost twelve percent integrity in a thousand years…
It was catastrophic. Zane clenched his teeth in frustration. He should have found a way to get the Dragonfly.
Zane shook his head, even though Thorne had his back to him and couldn’t see. In Thorne’s mind, he said, I’m sorry.
“Shit.” Thorne swung around, facing Zane. “What happened?” He jerked his head at the screen. “Please tell me that spike doesn’t mean you damaged it.”
Zane propped his hips on the edge of one of the half-dozen workstations set out in a huge ‘u’ shape around the room. This one had televisions with news reports coming in from all the major stations—local, national and international.
In case someone got the apocalypse on camera.
He said, “Someone else was there.”
Zane told Thorne and Tyr the story, moving briefly through the part about seeing Blaze in her workroom, and not mentioning the two images she’d conjured from the cards. Especially his. His dreams had always been intensely private; he’d only mentioned them to Thorne once, decades ago. Tyr didn’t know about them at all.
He didn’t know how he was going to explain his feeling of connection to the witch, and this wasn’t the time. Not if Vyrkos’ prison was failing that quickly. He had to focus on the Seal.
He moved quickly on to the events Tyr hadn’t seen—the other burglar, the box, the alarms and the magical tracking dust, and diving out the window. He even admitted to being outed by the cat, although he left out the kiss.
Not important. To them, anyway.
Thorne rubbed his forehead again and sighed. “Damn. So you didn’t even get a look at the Dragonfly.”
Zane shook his head.
Tyr, once again with his feet on the table, said, “I told you we shouldn’t try to steal it. The Prophecy says the Seals have to be given freely—”
Thorne sighed louder. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “By the Three Mates of Destiny.” He made air quotes. “‘The Rogue, the Rebel and the Storm.’ It’s not a prophecy, it’s a fucking love story.”
“It’s not just a story—”
“Come on. Three Draken Guardians meet three female Draken, who mysteriously just happen to have the Three Seals of Vyrkos’ Tomb lying around, and who hand them over because of… what? The Guardians’ pretty faces?”
“I was thinking more that the Guardians are awesome dickmeisters, but I guess the principle’s the same,” Tyr said. His voice had its usual smartass tone, but there was no smile on his face. His eyes were cast down, his mouth stubborn.
Zane sighed, feeling himself sag against the tabletop. He really didn’t want to sit through another argument between his brothers about the Prophecy of the Seals. Tyr believed in it; Thorne didn’t. Zane didn’t know what he believed.
Thorne said, “Even if it wasn’t pure fiction, that story was about the Draken Guardians. Who are all dead, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re Wild Dragons. We’re not in the prophecies. We’re not in the stories. We’re just trying to hold this little corner of the world together with spit and duct tape. There aren’t going to be any destined mates who save the day by conveniently handing us the Seals, and then falling in love with us and whatever other romantic shit the story says.”
“Become the treasures of our hearts, worth more than caves of gold,” Tyr said quietly.
Thorne snorted. “Grow up, Tyr, and get your head out of the fairy-tale books. This,” he waved his hand at the computer screens, “is reality. Two million people consumed by a Draken Lord, unless we do something. Soon.”
Thorne sounded bitter, and for good reason. He’d lost everything when the Guardians died, and was left with nothing but responsibility he wasn’t prepared for. None of them were. But Zane wasn’t so sure about destined mates being only for full-blooded Draken. Because he’d been dreaming about the same woman for a hundred years, and—
His stomach lurched. And tonight, on a quest for the Dragonfly Seal, he’d met her. He’d tried to rob her house, and all hell had broken loose.
“Maybe Tyr’s right,” he said slowly. “Because there we were with the best lead on a Seal we’ve ever had, and we tried to steal it. And of the two hundred things that could have gone wrong tonight, approximately two hundred and ten of them did. So maybe trying to steal it really did bring bad luck.”
Something pinged on one of Thorne’s computers, and he turned to check it. He tapped a couple of keys, muttered another curse, and then turned back around.
“You don’t seriously think things went south because of Tyr’s fairy tale.” His tone was flat and disbelieving.
“Well, what are the odds of two people breaking into the same house at the exact same time?” Zane asked. “Whoever the other burglar was, she wasn’t even after the Seal.”
Thorne frowned. “What was she after?”
Zane tried to move his hand to his pocket, but it felt like it was moving through molasses. Don’t show them, the little voice said. This is all for you. You alone. They’ll try to take me from you…
He shook his head, clearing it. The velvet bag was in his hand, but he couldn’t remember pulling it out of his pocket. Had he heard something? He couldn’t remember.
“She was after this.”
Zane opened the bag and unwrapped the idol. It was the first time he’d gotten a close look at it. It was about four inches high, solid gold and heavy in his hand. He flicked it with his fingernail, and listened to the singing that only a dragon could hear.
Twenty-four carats. Pure gold.
He saw Thorne’s eyebrows go up, and Tyr gave a silent whistle. Nothing was as delicious to dragons as pure gold. Zane wanted to rub his cheek against it like a cat and purr.
Of course he didn’t. That would be embarrassing. Plus, it was still evil. Instead, he turned it over and examined it. The others came over and surrounded him, looking at it with him.
It was an elongated face with an elaborate headdress, reminiscent of some types of African art but… not quite. Mayan? Or maybe a bit of Easter Island.
The face had a small smile, mysterious and somehow alluring. It had an appeal he couldn’t quite put his finger on, even though the proportions of the face weren’t human.
The eyes were rubies, deep red translucent gems that almost glowed under the fluorescent light. To his dragon sight, they looked flawless.
Thorne held out his hand. “May I?”
Zane handed over the idol. Thorne examined it closely, especially the eyes. He was their resident gem expert. He could tell the type and purity of a gemstone just by tasting it, as well as what part of the world it came from—or if it had come from another world entirely.
Thorne brought the idol to his mouth, and Zane instinctively reached out a hand to stop him. Tyr said, “I wouldn’t do that, bro.”
Thorne stopped, the statue inches from his tongue. “Why not?”
“You’re probably going to get a mouthful of evil.” Tyr described the black fog that had reached out for Blaze during her spell.
Thorne gave them a sharp glance. “She’s a dark sorceress?”
Zane shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently.” He still didn’t say anything about the part of the spell Tyr had missed, though. The part with him in it.
Thorne weighed the statue in his hand. “It’s definitely magical. And old.”
Zane would have said ancient. Several thousand years, maybe. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. He couldn’t imagine how valuable it was it human terms. Blaze McKenna dealt in artifacts, but he was surprised she had the capital to acquire anything like this.
Assuming she’d bought it. Hell, for all he knew she could have stolen it, inherited it, killed a village full of people for it.
His mystery sorceress had just become even more mysterious. And a little scary.
And so had his fellow thief. Out of all the expensive baubles in Blaze’s gallery and her vault, this was the one she’d gone after.
She probably knew exactly what it was.
And now Zane wanted to know, too.