Chapter 10

A week after Arana had been attacked, Iorrae, the dragon-witch from Iovis, reached Andromeda 13. She couldn’t have reached them so quickly if she hadn’t teleported here. The moment she got the message from Qizet, she prepared to leave.

Qizet was an old friend of Iorrae, and she had helped her many times before. And in return, Iorrae had helped Qizet whenever she needed it.

And Iorrae couldn’t believe it when Qizet told her about Arana. It was the revelation that shocked her. Qizet had done a DNA test on Arana’s blood, and it matched with Iorrae’s. There was no doubt that Arana was Iorrae’s daughter. The daughter she thought had died in the war all those years back.

Arana was just a baby when her father took her away from Iovis. He said he would take her to a safe place. Long after, when the war on Iovis was over, Iorrae had tried looking for Arana and her father. But even with her magic, she couldn’t find them because Arana’s father had hidden her true identity with dark magic – to protect her.

Now, years later, as she walked down the hallway toward the sickbay of this remote space station, her heart raced, and she wondered how her daughter would react. A tall and graceful woman with silver-white hair and ridges on her forehead that went all the way back on her head, she was a true Drakonaar.

Arathor saw the tall woman with silver-white hair and sapphire blue eyes enter the enclosure. Qizet followed behind. She gave one look at him and snarled, knowing at once that he was a fire-breather. And then, ignoring him, she moved toward the bed where Arana lay.

Arathor saw the resemblance was uncanny. It was her eyes... Arana had her eyes. Dr. Qizet had filled in on him the other day, showing him the DNA report. So, her biological mother was still alive. And she clearly despised the Slayzaryn.

Iorrae fought back tears when she saw her daughter weak and helpless. She took her hand in her own. And in that instant, she could see everything... everything Arana had been through all those years at the castle.

Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed at her only daughter. She had grown up to be a beautiful woman, and her red hair was a striking sight. She prepared a potion for her with exotic herbs and her own blood. She kept whispering incantations as she poured a few drops of the potion in Arana’s mouth. She waited patiently for the potion and magic to work.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” Iorrae told flatly to Arathor.

It was late and they were in the deserted lobby of the sick bay and Arana was still unconscious.

“Why?” Arathor said, tilting his head as he looked at the ice dragon-witch. She stood there in her gray robes and hair swept up in a bun that made her look regal. She was a graceful woman, he had to admit.

“I can take care of things from here,” she said coldly. “Qizet said you’ve been here a while. It’s time you should go.”

“Iorrae, I am not going to abandon Arana like this,” he said clenching his fists. The woman was testing his patience. “I owe her my life and...” he faltered.

“And?” she asked him, raising a perfectly arched brow.

“And she is my mate,” he said finally.

“Have you claimed her?” she asked in a low, cautious voice.

“Not yet,” he said quietly as he rose and walked to pour himself a drink.

“Why not?” she asked relentlessly, although she knew.

With his back to her, he took a swig and was quiet for a while. “I love her... I don’t want her to lose her magic.”

“Does she know if you claim her, she could lose her powers?”

He turned toward her and he shook his head.

“You stay away from my daughter, Arathor,” she said in a low, cold voice. “She can never be your mate, and she deserves to know the truth.”

Arathor’s jaw clenched as his blood boiled at her words. “She is my mate, Iorrae. I know it,” He looked her in the eye then. “And where were you all those years when she was at the mercy of her brother? And where were you when he was burning her alive?”

“For years, I have searched for her. She had been hidden by some dark forces. I thought she was dead...” she snarled as her pupils turned to slits, her dragon baring its teeth.

Arathor sighed as a headache returned. She was right. Arana deserved to know the truth. “I guess I was afraid of losing her,” he said as he drained his glass.

“This demon that attacked her, it was Lorcan’s doing,” she explained.

“That bastard. I couldn’t save her – again,” he said remorsefully.

Iorrae could see he was deeply in love. His eyes betrayed the turmoil of emotions he so easily masked.

“I am here to protect her now, but you should leave,” declared Iorrae. “We’ll see if she wants to be with you after she knows the truth.”

Arathor quietly glowered at her. He set his glass down and walked out, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He went into the enclosure Arana was in. She looked as if she were sleeping. He went toward her side and bending down he planted a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ll come back for you...”

Arathor knew Iorrae was a powerful witch and she could take care of Arana. And meanwhile, he had to deal with Lorcan. He went back to his chambers, packed his things, and took a ship back to Tirron.

***

Arathor stood before Lorcan and studied him. He wore the chevalier’s armor. The red cloak with the steel shoulder plate only covered his arm and shoulder and left his chest bare. In full human form, he wore the now useless collar.

“You have failed, Arathor,” Lorcan seethed.

He took off the collar and threw it on the marble floor. “I am no longer your slave,” Arathor declared as two guards positioned themselves behind him with their swords drawn.

Lorcan glanced at the collar, unmoved, and then back at him. “And yet, you are stupid enough to come back,” he said with a smirk pasted on his face. “Where is my sister?” he sat on the throne, dark eyes glinting with something evil.

“Somewhere safe,” he said calmly. “Far away from you and your demons.”

Lorcan laughed. “She has you under her spell. What are you now? Her little puppet?” he said scathingly.

“No, I’m her mate,” he said. “And oh, your old demon is dead. She killed him.”

The laughter disappeared from Lorcan’s face, replaced by pure revulsion as if he had tasted something bitter. “Arrest him! Tomorrow, I’ll execute him myself.”

The guards moved, and without warning, Arathor drew his sword, the Silver Shadow, and swung it around. He was so fast that both the men fell on their knees and then to the floor, blood gushing forth from their slit throats.

He didn’t miss another second. And sheathing his Silver Shadow, he dropped it to the floor and took off his armor. Fire engulfed him, as he shifted and transformed into a huge dragon.

The rest of the guards huddled together and moved away, fear evident in their eyes.

Arathor swung his tail around and swept them away. They fell far away at the end of the hall. He glimpsed Lorcan, who was holding a spear at him, ready to throw.

“This is for Arana,” he said wasting not another second as Lorcan threw the spear at him. He missed and it flew past him. Arathor breathed in and out, as a big ball of fire exploded out of his mouth and burning the king in front of him. Lorcan screamed as fire consumed him. And it was over. The throne room was filled with smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. He heard screams of the men in the hall as they scurried away in fear like rodents.

The empty throne was left with only ashes as Arathor, still in full dragon form, climbed up the huge window behind the throne and flew outside.

He flew around, circling the Death-Pit, and found it deserted. He circled it twice and then breathed fire, burning all the bleachers, the cage of the golden death, the makeshift throne and everything else. He landed in the center and saw the guards running away. He placed a large talon in front of the exit stopping a few of them.

“Release the prisoners... all of them. Your king is dead,” he said, as they shook in fear at his rumbling and thunderous voice, and hurried down into the dungeons.

Arathor flapped his giant wings and rose above from the smoke and flames and flew back to an open field. He shifted back to human form and pulled on pants and some dark robes which he had hidden under the tree. He tapped in commands on the band at his wrist as white particles appeared around him and he disappeared. Once he materialized inside the spaceship that was stationed above the atmosphere, he revved up the engines and set the course toward Andromeda 13. He sat back in his command seat with only one thing on his mind... Arana.