Chapter Fifteen

The stench and sting of Taranis’ magic ate at Asher’s senses. Solveig roared, trying to reign fire on their attackers, growing more furious as his every attempt was met with a mystical web dowsing and draining the magic of both man and Dragon. Where before he would’ve let himself fall to his death, the Guardsman instead channeled every ounce of muscle, power and enchantment he had into contacting his mate.

Over and over his calls rebounded back on him until he finally crashed onto the rocks in human form, the briny salt water stinging his wounds as the waves crashed over his broken and bleeding body. Struggling to remain conscious, his lungs filling with his own life’s essence, the sounds of men’s laughter overhead, pushed Asher to call to Solveig, “Go to Willa. Save our mate.”

Snarls of refusal, followed by the heat of the Dragon King’s fire whipped through Asher’s body, as the ancient beast fought against the black magic of one of their own. Sharp…chemical…grotesque…the fetid odor of rotten fruit mixed with the aquatic scent of the sea making the Guardsman’s eyes water and bile rise in his throat.

Heels striking rock drew closer and closer until the long, stretched darkness covered his face and torso just before the worn leather toes of black military boots stopped next to his head. Letting his eyes roll upward, his vision blurry and fading, blood bubbled out of his mouth, spilling over his lips and down his cheeks as he tried to groan.

Kneeling on the rocks, the tall, hooded figure, reached out his gloved hand, stroking Asher’s matted hair. “We could’ve ruled the world, deartháir daor. Could’ve had it all. If only you’d done as you were asked.”

Taranis’ mocking tone grated on Asher’s every nerve. How dare that bastard attempt to turn the tables. Using their familiar connection, speaking directly into his brother’s mind, Asher spat, “Liar. Selfish, rotten, lying bastard.” Coughing, more of his life’s essence spilling from his mouth, the effort it took draining what was left of his life, the Guardsman had to ask, “Why? Why did you betray us?”

Fingers still toying with his wet hair, Taranis sighed, “It is simple. I really can’t believe I have to explain it to you.” Leaning over, his gaze deep, dark and empty, his brother ran the tip of his index finger down Asher’s face. “You refused to share your Berserker with me.”

Unable to believe his ears, floating between consciousness and death, the Guardsman sputtered, “I-It was not-t mine t-to sh…sh…share.”

Sniggering sarcastically as he grabbed Asher’s chin, pulling his face so close his squalid breath bit the Guardsman’s bruised and beaten face, Taranis seethed, “You are a liar, Brother. It is you who betrayed me to the Goddess Morrigan, took the Blessing that should have been mine and left me behind.”

Bouncing on the rocks, the crunch of bone and gory squish of ripping muscle echoed through what was left of Asher’s consciousness as Taranis jammed his head into the rocks and jumped to his feet. Circling Asher’s dying body like buzzards to roadkill, his brother stopped to the side, looked out at the rising tide and sighed, “Soon, the sea will claim your body, and I shall claim your magic and your mate.”

Pure indignation and refusal to allow anyone, especially the brother who’d betrayed him to touch even a single hair on his Willa’s head, Asher used the last fiery blast of his magic and that of his Dragon’s and struggled until he was sitting upright. Glaring at Taranis, he threatened as he promised, “Leave. Willa. Alone.”

Tremors racked his body as he fought to stay upright, refusing to go down without a fight. Holding on by the thinnest, unraveling thread of life as the last of his blood, strength and consciousness drained from his body, Asher refused to cringe as he watched Taranis raise his boot, aim it at Asher’s chest and with an evil grin curling his thin, bloodless lips, chuckled, “Goodbye, Brother. Wish I could say I would miss you.”

Thankfully unable to feel pain, hardly able to feel at all, Asher’s body went completely limp as he flew through the air, splashing into the water and languidly floating towards the bottom of the sea. Visions of Willa, her smile, her laughter, the way she fell into his touch, the feel of her body against his, and most of all, the way she made him feel like he could do absolutely anything filled his heart and mind. He’d promised to protect, promised to be by her side, and the first sign of danger had fallen short and left her to the evil designs of Taranis.

Memories of a happier time, when both he and his brother were young and carefree, his parents were still alive, and life held such promise joined with the film-like flow of images through what was left of Asher’s spirit. How could they look so much alike, have been together from the moment of their conception, yet be so different?

The happy turned to sadness which led to sorrow and then torrents of fury. Something deep inside him, at the bottom of his soul, strong, fierce, and unrelenting in its desire for retribution, broke free of Taranis’ oily, black magic.

The power of his Dragon mixed with the Ancient magic of Willa’s heritage as a veil of fire dropped over Asher’s eyes, turning the waters of the sea the crimson of blood. Sights, sounds, bursts of light, flashes of his mate and grotesque phantasmagorias of the men he recognized from Willa’s memories joined the chaotic torrent of maniacal rage feeding his merciless requisite to rid the world of the bastards who dared to lay hands on his mate. Throwing back his head, silver flames flew from his lips and tore through the water announcing the arrival of his Warrior Dragon.

Seizures shook his body. From boiling to freezing and back again, over and over the blood returned to his body, closing his wounds, repairing the torn muscles and severed tendons, restoring his strength and nourishing his wrath. Icy madness, no longer a detriment, but now the very spark of his evolution, reinforced every fiber of his being. Tightening and stretching, wringing and writhing, his every cell, muscle, bone and joint bent to the will of the Warrior, transforming the Dragon King into the nine-foot-tall, dense, indestructible form of his Berserker Dragon.

Ancient magic, the métier of the Sea, the supremacy of Morrigan and the command of Dragon kin beat against his body, compelling the enormous, elongated muscles he’d used for flying into his chest, biceps, across his back and through his quads. The ocean floor beneath his feet quivered as he dug the long claws jutting from his toes deep into the sand to remain upright.

A firestorm, like flaming shards of silver, sliced through the flesh and bone of his back. The tips of his wings curled inward, turning toward his waist, pushing through the thick layer of scales, forcing their way into his body as if he were made of a wet paper bag.

Bone shattered, and muscles tore until he no longer possessed wings at all, but instead possessed weapons akin to enormous, oversized buzz saw blades protruding from his sides, the long, vituperative finger-claws reaching out from the razor-sharp edges. Rolling his shoulder, the feel of those deadly armaments moving them up and down and forward and back forced an evil grin to the end of his shortened snout.

His foresight ignited, showing him apparitions of his twin writhing in pain, froth foaming from his mouth as the acidic poison of the Berserker’s finger claws, poison to which there was no antidote, devoured the traitor from the inside out amidst the gore and pieces of what was left of his cohorts littering the ground around him.

The talons at the ends of his fingers doubled in size and girth, their hooked tips tingling with the need to rip through anything and anyone who stood between him and his mate. Letting the Berserker take control, Asher bent his knees, focused the churning power within him and in one mighty lunge cut through the water, broke through the surface and landed on the rocky jetty just as Willa’s tormented scream obliterated the silence of the night.