“No,” Maddugh said.

The human’s face flickered, going dark before it smoothed into a slick smile. Maddugh regarded him with distaste he didn’t bother to disguise. He needn’t bother hiding his disdain. The mines were his—the mountain was his. If he chose to flame the human where it stood, that choice, too, was his.

“Lord, I don’t think you fully comprehend the magnitude of the opportunity being presented,” Gaston said.

How had he made the mistake of hiring a fool? The man had seemed intelligent, competent even, when Maddugh approved his appointment as head foreman over the mine. Six foremen kept each other busy enough with their machinations, infighting and black market coal dealing to leave little time to conspire against him. It amused Maddugh that his own employees didn’t think he knew they siphoned the fuel and sold it as illegal currency. Insects. Of course, he knew. But once his son had reported back that collapsing the black market in coal would leave several families, including single mothers with children, in dire straits, Maddugh had decided to let it be. There were more important things than profit, or whether his humans thought he was the fool. It didn’t matter what they thought, really—he could choose to eat any one of them and there would be nothing they could do about it.

“I understand,” Lord Maddugh said, cutting off the droning about new investors to the West, and the rebuilding of Denver, of San Francisco, the magnificent opportunity to provide fuel for budding Domes. “I just don’t care. You may not increase production. You will not over mine the tunnels. You’re nearly at forty percent, your casualty allotment for the year.”

“Surely a two-hundred percent increase in ROI warrants the additional casualties,” Gaston’s aide protested. A short, fat man who squeaked when Gaston swatted him upside the head.

“Forgive the interruption, Lord Maddugh.”

He wasn’t inclined to do so. “I don’t think there’s anything left here to discuss. You are dismissed.”

Gaston bowed. Maddugh stared at the top of his slicked, shiny hair, wondering why rich human men liked to adorn themselves with animal fat. His waistcoat was finely made for someone supposed to be supervising one of the filthiest jobs in the Outlands. Maddugh didn’t fool himself to thinking the man had bathed and dressed and perfumed himself in honor of the dragon Lord.

“May I leave these documents with you?” Gaston asked, beginning to place his sheaf of papers on Maddugh’s desk.

“No.”

The man paused, then bowed again, jaw tight. Maddugh grinned at him, waited until they had turned and almost reached the door.

“Gaston?”

He paused, hand on the knob. “Yes, Lord?”

“The next time you bring a human who isn’t house trained in my presence, I will eat him.”

His second son stepped out of a shadowed corner once Gaston left. Blind, deaf, dumb human—the man hadn’t even realized a second predator was in the room, watching.

“He’s the one behind the trouble,” Amnan said, watching the door with slightly narrowed eyes.

Maddugh sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin. “You’re speculating.”

“Yes.”

But it wasn’t heedless speculation. Maddugh had sent Amnan to spy on the mines several weeks ago, after yet another report of minor mishaps reached Maddugh’s ears. He paid workers to report to whom they thought was an outside interest watching Lord Maddugh—but it was Maddugh himself watching. He wasn’t fool enough to blindly trust the humans he had in place to run the daily operations of the mine.

“His goal?” Maddugh asked.

“His goal is what he says it is—to increase profits.” Amnan paused, head tilting. “Men I didn’t recognize were in his office the other day. Not merchants or miners.”

Maddugh smiled, choosing amusement over anger. Anger was dangerous—on the best of days he managed to restrain himself, maintain a jovial, light hearted exterior because it put his people at ease. But he was restless, bored… alone. He wanted flight and fire—an enemy to crunch and chomp.

“Then perhaps he has made promises he must now keep.”

Amnan nodded, approached the balcony doors and pushed them open. “I’ll follow and keep watch.”

Maddugh watched as his son shifted, sapphire scales glittering in the sun before Amnan rose into the air and shimmered, disappearing.

* * *

Amnan waited until dawn and then shifted to his two-legged form and dressed quickly, a little impatient at the necessity of doing so. But the humans were queer regarding nudity—especially the men. The women didn’t seem to mind so much. Hrutha was a sloppy dresser—mainly due to his innate laziness—but Amnan began to understand why.

He strode up the wagon wide gravel path, ignoring startled glances when he emerged from the forest. Startled glances, and slightly angry glances. Expressions even a month ago, a worker wouldn’t dare give one of Maddugh’s sons. They didn’t reveal themselves often, but in the past when they did, the humans had always behaved with appropriate fear. And having witnessed three unknown men enter Gaston’s office, he wanted to see what the foreman would do when directly confronted. If the human was on dishonest business, he would ‘forget’ to give Amnan the names of the visitors.

The office was little more than a shack, but when he entered, he immediately noted the velvet covered chairs and polished wood desk. A side cabinet with a selection of beverages and art on the walls. He wasn’t certain if the plush interior amused or offended him; Gaston had dressed his office to look like a Lord’s.

The foreman rose from his desk. “This is unexpected.”

Amnan’s brow rose. And the greeting was impudent. He surveyed the faces of the three men sitting on the opposite side of Gaston. All well dressed, well fed and slightly spoiled looking.

One frowned. “Who is this, Gaston? We were assured that-“

Gaston looked at the man and smiled. “May I introduce the second son of Lord Maddugh? Lord Amnan. A pleasure. Had I known of your intent to visit-“

“Do we pay you to entertain guests during working hours?” Amnan asked. “Not a criticism—a question.”

“These are business associates, here to discuss-“

“I’ve never seen them, and I don’t care who they are,” Amnan said, voice soft. “They are unknown to my father—get them off our land.”

With that he stepped backwards out of the shack, shut the door, and shifted to dragon form, ignoring the shouts and startled movements as humans rushed to get out of his way. Lifting off, he camouflaged and circled once, using the wind of his takeoff to conceal that of his landing at the back of the shack, and snapped his wings closed. And listened.

“If the Lord won’t relent, maybe we should ask the second son,” a human said. “Second sons are always looking for an opportunity to rise.”

“These are Dwyrkin,” Gaston replied, curt. “They don’t think that way.”

“Do we proceed with the contingency?”

“Be quiet,” Gaston snapped.

“We’re investing-“

Gaston cursed, a string of foul words that caused Amnan to snort.

“What was that sound?” a human asked.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Gentlemen, I need to get back to work. I have a job I’m paid to do, after all. We can discuss matters later. I’ll have my assistant bring your horses.”

It was then Amnan was certain of two things. One, Gaston suspected he was listening. And two—they were up to something. He watched with interest as Gaston left his office, saddled a horse, and made his way up the mountain towards the castle. Damage control?

Interesting.

* * *

She waited until dawn the night after talking to Hatcher to tell the girls she was headed up the mountain to see the dragon Lord. She’d returned home from town too late to go right away and had spent a restless evening watching Cinvarra, waiting for the first crack of light to appear. Serephone wanted to come with her.

“No,” Kailigh said curtly. “Persia isn’t as good a shot as I am—and she can’t handle a knife at all. She needs you here in case there’s trouble. I’ll run—you girls might need Horse if there’s an emergency.”

When she got back and Cinvarra was healed, Kailigh would see to that gap in Persia’s training. She’d gotten lax over the years—all her girls could shoot passably well, and Serephone was scary with a hunting knife, but they’d grown so accustomed to relying on their reputations to keep predators at bay, that their actual skills were rusty. Kailigh never should have allowed her daughters to remain in town once word came that flesh traffickers were on the way. Her girls were exactly the kind of meat they were looking for—young, beautiful, exotic and virginal. Ish. There was a time or two Persia hadn’t met her mother’s eyes under pointed questioning. But no one had turned up pregnant or infected, so Kai supposed it was all good.

All three of them were raven haired, Cinvarra with her wild curls and bright lavender eyes and the older twins with bone straight hair to their thighs. Serephone's eyes were the color of good aged whiskey and glowed amber in her anger, Persia’s blacker than night except for a thin ring of forest green around the pupil—eerie and memorable. Taller than most human women, and stronger than most human men, they were fast and deadly when riled. And even at seventeen, Cinvarra could hold her own—but she was soft natured. Quiet in speech and shy in manner. Kailigh didn’t have any idea where she’d gotten it from, but she knew the hesitance had nearly cost her baby her life. Cin never should have let Ruthus get a shot in.

Kai could only assume that when he realized he couldn’t capture Cinvarra the usual way, he’d decided to disable his prey with a shot to her thigh. She gritted her teeth, anger spurring her steps. The trek up the mountain was a good one—it would take nearly an hour even at her speed.

Kailigh knew when she was getting closer to the small city the dragon shifters made their home. Hewn into the side of the mountain, only a few humans were ever allowed in at a time, and only on business. The Dwyrkin were never big on tourism. The lack of paved roads leading to their land made that abundantly clear. Outside of the official closed road used for the Lord’s mine and merchants with goods, anyone else had to approach as best they could.

With the urgency of her daughter’s faint breathing in her mind, Kailigh continued at a fast, even jog. She wondered if they would let her keep her weapons, and prepared herself for the likelihood she’d be disarmed when approaching the Lord. If they didn’t disarm her first, they were stupid. The few times she’d glimpsed the Dwyrkin before ducking out of sight hadn’t given her the impression they were stupid.

Built into the side of the mountain, they protected their one exposed side with a wall made of stone. One gate in and out. Kailigh approached, slowing her pace and making sure her hands were loose at her side. The gate itself was made of the glossy, impenetrable wood they exported—for a Lord’s ransom.

A guard appeared from behind a human sized door. No rifle, but a long-bladed stick at his side. Long brown hair and stony expression. Tall, which was typical of the Dwyrkin, and broad shouldered. Dressed in a close fitted dark shirt and trousers, low heeled boots.

“State your business,” he said, giving her the impression that if she didn’t, her business would be stated for her—probably in a jail cell.

“I’d like an audience with Lord Maddugh,” she said. “It’s a matter of life and death.” And she had enough gold notes in her knapsack to make it worth his while. She didn't hold out hope that he’d accept money as his payment, and she wasn’t quite bold enough to offer him his own coal, but… hope never hurt as long as one was realistic.