Chapter Eighteen
Silas stepped out of his rental SUV and slammed the door closed. When he turned in a slow circle, his combat boots crunched over loose chunks of lava. He wrinkled his nose at the pervasive scent of sulfur. Entire sections of coastline were steaming — even glowing — where lava emerged from underground and hit the sea. Fire and water, battling it out.
There was no one in sight, only a cluster of vehicles parked at the edge of the road. They were high-end rental vehicles, and all were well beyond the Road Closed sign half engulfed in lava. No tourist would come out this way, and locals didn’t either. So what was going on?
He sniffed then frowned.
Drax.
He scanned the ridgeline ahead. He couldn’t see his nemesis, but Drax was out there, all right. Silas could sense it.
The breeze shifted slightly, and his step faltered. Moira was there too.
Outwardly, he was perfectly still. His breath measured, his arms relaxed at his sides. But inside…
Damn it. He was a mess.
Tearing himself from Cassandra’s side had been the hardest thing he had ever forced himself to do. Which was ridiculous. He’d headed into enemy fire against impossible odds in his army days — the kind of artillery fire that could mow down not just humans, but quick-healing shifters too. He’d faced countless deadly shifters in his time. At a young age, he’d dug his father’s grave, fighting tears the whole time. He’d even watched Moira — the woman he thought he loved — leave him for his archnemesis.
But none of that was as hard to face as the simple act of slipping out of bed, gathering his clothes, and stepping out the guesthouse door. He might as well have stuck daggers in different corners of his heart as he went.
Mate, his dragon mourned. Need my mate.
Yes, he needed Cassandra. He loved her, desperately. But that was exactly why he’d had to leave — to protect her. To finish off Drax or die trying.
But if we die… his dragon started.
He stared into the distance. The only reward in dying would be knowing that Cassandra had a chance of survival. He’d seen the threat in Drax’s eyes the previous night. His archenemy had sensed what Cassandra meant to him, and those evil eyes had lit up with glee at the prospect of stealing yet another treasure from Silas. The most precious treasure of all. His mate.
My true mate, his dragon breathed.
He nodded. My true mate.
Years ago, he’d believed Moira was his mate, but looking back, it was all so clear. He’d had to talk himself into loving Moira — the woman his parents had betrothed him to. Bit by bit, he’d come to inhabit the fiction he’d created. That Moira loved him and he loved her. That together, they could lead the dragon world into a new era of peace and prosperity.
He kicked the ground, then gazed out over the crashing waves.
Cassandra was the opposite in every way. He’d had to talk himself out of loving her. From day one, it had been a battle to resist her. A battle he had no hope of winning, because Cassandra was his destined mate. And as any of his brothers-in-arms would say now that they were happily mated, You don’t fuck with that.
For a second, he was transported back to Koa Point in the morning. The palms had swayed quietly overhead. Waves whispered over the sand. Cassandra’s chest rose and fell within his embrace.
Peace. Goodness. Tranquility. He’d had it all for one night.
Then he opened his eyes, and the image vanished, replaced by this desolate landscape. A deep breath brought him a lungful of rotten-egg smell, and he remembered where he was. The Big Island of Hawaii, where he would face Drax in a final battle to decide it all.
What were his chances? Less than fifty-fifty, at best.
Drax was older, wiser. A tick slower, perhaps, but more experienced, especially when it came to the art of devious warfare. Drax had risen to power by outmaneuvering, outthinking, and outsmarting every dragon who’d dared stand between him and utter domination of the shifter world. Most importantly, Drax had no honor code. That alone tipped the odds from fifty-fifty to…
Silas couldn’t come up with a number. How did one quantify courage? Determination? The fury and frustration born of a lifetime of always being one step behind Drax?
If only he’d been born a few decades earlier. Drax had only won the upper hand through crafty maneuvering back when Silas was too young to defy him. Drax had capitalized on each victory, entrenching himself in an ever more secure position while stripping Silas of every advantage he could.
If we had been born earlier, we might have missed Cassandra, his dragon pointed out.
That made him smile, at least briefly. A bittersweet smile, because he’d always hoped to have his mate for more than one night. He wanted a lifetime of slow mornings and languid afternoons. A lifetime of joyous years that ticked by at a My, where did the time go? pace. Years filled with love and laughter. Maybe even kids.
He took a deep breath. That might not be his destiny, but at least he’d won a night with his mate. No one could take that from him.
Not even death.
He looked up at the ridgeline. If it was just Drax out there, Silas had a chance of success. But who knew? Drax had to have sensed the inexorable pull that had drawn Silas here, steering him to an exact place and time that was foggy to him until the moment he’d arrived. Drax would have known to be wary of such things. Even if he couldn’t resist the mysterious pull, he might have been suspicious enough to bring backup forces with him.
And if he had, Silas’s chances were essentially nil.
Not that he’d been foolish enough to leave Koa Point without a backup plan. This was his chance at defeating Drax one-on-one. But if he failed…
He flexed his fingers, feeling the push of dragon claws inside.
Failure isn’t an option, his dragon growled.
Silas didn’t comment. Pep-up slogans like that were all well and good, but in the end, they didn’t decide battles. Neither did destiny; all she did was arrange chess pieces on the board and sit back to watch the game unfold. It all came down to preparation, split-second decisions, and sheer firepower.
So, yes. He might fail. Every good commander considered the possibility. That was why he had left detailed instructions for Kai in the form of an urgent message scheduled to ping in his cousin’s inbox very soon. Too late for Kai to interfere with the fight on the Big Island, but enough time to prepare the shifters of Koa Point for the worst. Drax was capable of anything — like sending part of his private army on a surprise attack on Koa Point to obliterate the only other thing that Silas cared about.
His gut tightened. Koa Point meant everything to him. The place and the people. It was home, and they were family. A family Cassandra could easily be part of, if she agreed. So Drax was likely to strike there, even if it was just to gloat over Silas in the afterlife.
Then he corrected himself. Drax was sure to strike Koa Point because he was desperate for the Spirit Stones.
So Kai would be ready. Whether that meant rallying everyone to fight or hastily packing their most treasured belongings and fleeing would be a decision for Kai as the new leader of their band. Kai would find some way to build a new life for everyone.
No one wants a new life or a new place, his dragon complained. Everyone likes what they have.
They did now that they had found their mates. But they would have no choice if Drax won this fight.
Silas rolled his shoulders and forced himself to focus. The big picture was important in the planning stages, but on the battlefield, everything came down to the there and then.
His eyes roved over the harsh landscape. The there was up beyond that ridge. He could feel it as surely as he could feel the mysterious, almost magnetic force that had guided him to this remote place. The then was soon — very soon. The sun was sliding toward the western horizon, ready to turn the islands over to night.
So let’s go, his dragon huffed. Let’s get this started.
He shook his head. Soon didn’t mean instantly. The ticking countdown in his head told him that. The strange thing was, he sensed two countdowns. One stemmed from the force that had drawn him to this final confrontation with Drax. The other ticked at a slightly slower pace as if trying to slow the first clock down, whispering, Just a little longer.
A little longer to what? he wanted to shout.
That message came from a foggy section of his mind that refused to reveal anything. It just tugged on him, slowing him down.
You need to buy time. Stretch every second out.
Buy time for what? The longer he waited, the more time Drax had to mobilize his army of mercenaries.
Somehow, though, Silas couldn’t ignore that call, just as he hadn’t been able to ignore the lure of his true mate. So he stood still as a statue for another five minutes, letting the wind whip his clothes as he went through his usual pre-battle routine. Clearing his mind, compartment by compartment. Piquing his senses, concentrating his power. His skin itched as dragon scales fought to emerge.
Just a little longer… Stretch every second out…
His dragon huffed and puffed, growing angrier by the second. Which was good, because an angry dragon was a powerful one. As long as his human mind played commander, his dragon could be his battering ram.
It’s time, that first clock hissed. The one he didn’t trust. Get moving.
That clock was armed with an irresistible force that pushed his legs into action. So he walked up the path to the ridgeline — but slowly. Cooperating yet subtly resisting at the same time.
Good. Just a little longer, said the clock that lay closer to his heart.
He picked his way over the uneven field of lava. Pahoehoe lava — the smooth kind that looked like waves frozen in time. Long, black ripples of it that looped this way and that, one section rolling over another. Once upon a time, that had been molten lava, glowing red hot.
Just like my eyes, his dragon hissed, ready to fight.
A steam vent hissed to his right, reminding him that molten lava still crept along underground. The sun inched lower, tinting the sky red and orange. Silas picked his way over a circuitous route, banking fractions of a second for whatever it was that seemed so important.
A raven cawed, and the sound echoed across the empty landscape.
Hurry up already, the pushy timepiece ordered.
He headed for a saddle in the ridgeline where he would have the clearest view of whatever lay ahead. Though, by now, he knew. He covered the remaining distance, stopped, and spoke casually.
“Drax.”
Drax stepped into sight and sneered. “My dear young cousin.”
Silas glared. Drax was a master of reinforcing their inequalities. They faced each other, nostrils flaring, fingers twitching, barely moving while their dragons readied themselves inside.
Kill him, Silas’s dragon roared so loudly, he barely heard the whisper in his mind.
Buy time. You need more time.
“Finally, you’re here,” Drax continued, baiting him.
Finally, I get my chance to fight you one-on-one, Silas’s dragon growled.
He looked around, searching for whatever tricks Drax had planned.
Drax snorted. “You didn’t think I would come alone, did you?”
Silas had hoped Drax would come alone, but no, he hadn’t counted on it. The question was how many bodyguards Drax had brought along.
“Why would I think you would fight honorably?” Silas spat.
Drax laughed. “Your father was always one for honor, tradition, and principle. A pity it killed him in the end.”
“You killed him,” Silas said, careful to keep his voice even. “Just like you killed Filimore.”
Drax shrugged. “They had to go.”
Silas’s face blazed with heat, but he didn’t say a word.
“My time, on the other hand, has come,” Drax said. “Or should I say, our time?” He motioned to his left.
Silas followed the gesture then took a deep breath. “Moira.”
Of course, she had come. She made her usual grand entrance, stepping out from behind a lava outcrop. Her arms moved slightly, making her red dress seem to float. Silas snorted, remembering how she used to practice that in front of a mirror. God, what had he ever seen in her?
The irony hit him. Everyone had warned him of witches’ spells, but it was a dragon who had cast her spell over him back then. A spell that had shattered, leaving his heart in shards. In his mind, he saw a thousand splintered Moiras, all wearing the same crocodile smile.
“Silas. Darling,” she cooed.
The first time he had met Moira a long, long time ago, he’d cringed at that nails-over-a-chalkboard voice. But duty was duty, and his parents were convinced Moira was a good match. So he’d trained himself to endure the sound. In fact, he’d even convinced himself he liked it. But now?
He winced.
“So good to see you again,” Moira went on.
He kept his mouth firmly sealed. Let Moira put on her show. Every second that ticked by was a second in his favor, even if he couldn’t put his finger on why that might be.
Moira was smiling, but he knew she would reveal her fangs if push came to shove. She wasn’t one to engage in all-out aerial duels the way Tessa was learning to do, but she would shift to dragon form and clip him with carefully aimed bursts of fire to support Drax. Anything to be on the winning side.
Well, he’d be ready for that. He’d fight Drax but keep one eye on Moira.
Bet your ass, I will, his dragon murmured, borrowing a line from Cassandra.
Then something fluttered behind Moira, and his hopes sank. There, on a craggy ridge, stood six hunched shapes. Dragons. A quarter of a mile away, watching closely.
Drax grinned, looking at his mercenaries. His aces, so to speak. They might not join the battle immediately, but if Drax faltered, they would swoop in. Of course, they would back away at the bitter end, allowing Drax to pretend the ultimate victory was all his work.
It turned Silas’s stomach, but what could he do? He would fight to the death, and fight honorably.
“You know how it is.” Drax grinned. “You plan a nice little getaway for two, but you end up bringing the whole entourage.”
No, Silas didn’t know how that was.
Silas stood as still as the statue that would probably never be cast for him. Honor went unrewarded sometimes. Principle was a dull companion. Traditions had a way of fading into nothingness.
Not that he wanted a statue. All he wanted was his mate.
A steam vent blasted a plume of heated air to his right. Silas steeled himself, ready to let his inner dragon out. But footsteps hurried up behind him, making him spin.
Mate! My mate! his dragon cried at the sight of Cassandra stomping up with determined strides.
Silas could have cried too — really cried. The only reason he’d torn himself away from his mate that morning was to keep her safe. Instead, he’d managed to draw her straight into the line of fire.
“Cassandra,” he whispered.
She was unarmed, except for anger and whatever self-defense moves a New York bartender was bound to know. Which made her virtually defenseless against dragons.
The inner clock that had been urging him to slow down suddenly pinged as if the cavalry had just arrived and everything could proceed. What the hell was that all about? The situation had grown worse, not better.
Cassandra strode right up to him, glaring everyone down. Her brown hair tossed. Her eyes blazed.
She’d make a great dragon, his inner beast sighed.
That, she would, he agreed.
She stomped right up beside him, channeling brassy New York vibes as if someone had stolen the taxi she’d hailed or made her miss her subway or any of those other serious Manhattan crimes.
The next best thing to a real dragon. His dragon smiled.
Silas grinned too, but only briefly. Next best wasn’t good enough, not when the enemy was Drax.
“Hi,” Cassandra murmured a little breathlessly.
Her eyes had a certain gleam, and Silas wondered what the hell she could possibly have up her sleeve.
“Hi,” he managed, wishing he had time to say much more.