Chapter Eighteen
“Down,” Cal grunted as a trio of dragons hurtled at him.
Joey hit the dirt, and Cal lay over him, covering them both with a cloak. In the darkness of that cover, he strained for every sound. The air whistled as three huge dragons raced by, roaring and spurting fire in long, deadly flames. Then came the whipping sound of tails and the heavy beat of wings, signaling that the dragons had flown past, having failed to locate their prey.
Cal counted three of Joey’s shallow breaths, then threw the cloak back and grabbed for the trigger of his ballista.
“Stay down,” he muttered.
Joey, thank goodness, did as he was told. He clutched the cloak, looking at it with huge, innocent eyes.
My dad gave this to you? Joey had asked moments earlier, looking on in horror when Cal sliced it in two.
Cal swung the ballista, following the dragons with the tip of the spear as the past rushed through his mind. Not only had Barnaby given him that fireproof cloak — one of many items from his huge, glittering treasure hoard — he’d trusted Cal with secrets too. Like where a dragon’s most vulnerable point lay.
Oh, you mean here? Cal had grunted in reply, grabbing a silver sword and swinging it directly against Barnaby’s chest.
Yes, right there, Barnaby had replied without blinking an eye.
The stare-off that ensued was as epic a battle of wills as any physical fight Cal had ever been in. He couldn’t believe Barnaby’s nerve. Was the dragon really trusting him — a lone wolf with every reason to despise the man who’d stolen his mate — not to plunge that sword deep and go for the kill?
Yes. Yes, I am trusting you, Barnaby’s eyes had said.
In the end, Cal had no choice but to lower his weapon and give in. There would be no honor in killing Barnaby and no happy end for himself and Cynthia. All Cal could do was accept the cloak along with Barnaby’s challenge to do the right thing.
He followed the dragons’ movements with steely eyes, forcing himself to focus. All the threads spun by fate were coming together after twelve long, lonely years. Him. Cynthia. Barnaby.
“Kravik,” Cal added, muttering under his breath.
That bastard was responsible for so much evil in the world — evil that Kravik was intent on spreading over a new continent after being shunned by the shifter establishment in Europe. Cal had already hated the dragon, but now, he hated Kravik more for forcing him to slice his most prized possession — the cloak — in half.
“Bastard,” he grunted.
The evil dragon couldn’t have heard him, but he might have sensed the challenge in Cal’s words, because he spun around for another pass, flanked by his henchmen. The trio swooped over the bowl etched into the mountainside, keeping low to the ground. The perfect target for a ballista, really, except for one thing.
Cal cursed as the dragon on the left nosed ahead of Kravik, blocking a clear shot. Still, he yanked on the trigger, letting the spear fly.
It was amazing, how much force could be generated with a few levers and some torsion springs. The hardwood spear ripped through the air and then through the dragon’s scales. The beast screamed and lurched, slamming into his master.
Cal would have loved to watch as that dragon crashed to his death against the ground, while the other two tumbled through the air, wondering what had hit them. Instead, he grabbed Joey and ran, deliberately making a bush sway. Then he dove behind a rock and covered himself and Joey with both pieces of the cloak just in time.
Whoosh! A burst of fire incinerated the bush, and a dragon screamed in fury. Heat buffeted them, but Cal held on to the cloak, keeping one arm curled around Joey. Crackles filled the air as vegetation burned, and it was hard to breathe. But as long as he and Joey remained covered, they were safe.
Cal strained for the heavier crack of burning wood, but there was none. Which meant the dragons hadn’t noticed the launcher under its camouflage net.
Three…two…one…
He counted down, then peeked at Joey.
“You remember what I told you, partner?”
Joey nodded quickly.
Cal checked to make sure the dragons hadn’t spotted them yet. Then he turned back to Joey, making sure his face conveyed total confidence even if he felt anything but.
“Ready, kid?”
“Ready.” Joey’s voice trembled, but his nod was firm. Damn, had Cynthia raised a good kid.
Cal checked the sky one more time, then thrust the cloak at Joey. “Okay. Go.”
Joey paused one last time. “You promise you won’t go far?”
Cal nodded. “I promise. We’re partners, right? Now, go!”
He pushed Joey toward a hiding place higher up the slope, then sprinted toward his cache of spears. The smaller piece of cloak flapped in his hands, but that was fine with him. Anything to draw attention away from Joey.
It worked, and both dragons trained their beady eyes on Cal. One released that throaty roar dragons used when locking on to a target. The air swirled, then rushed ahead of the advancing dragons. Cal waited for the last possible second before diving and covering himself with the cloak.
He braced himself just in time for the flames to hit — something he’d learned the hard way. The heat of dragon fire was one danger; the sheer force of it was another, akin to being hit by a massive wave. So he tucked his chin and hung on to the scrap of cloak his life depended on.
A moment later, the punching force swept away, and Cal rolled to his feet. Within a few steps, he’d reached his cache, grabbed a spear, and turned.
“Over here, you bastard,” he yelled.
When both dragons whirled and came at him, he had to fight hard to stay cool. Sooner or later, the dragons would figure out what his cloak did and tear it away from him. The trick would be killing them first.
He was still weighing up whether to throw his spear or duck under the cloak when Kravik broke off his attack with a long, upward curve. With a sharp clack, he ordered the other dragon to follow, and a few thumping heartbeats later, Cal found himself staring down both dragons. They curled their wings and lashed their tails, hovering while they glared.
“Well, well. You again,” Kravik called in the low, scratchy voice dragons used to communicate aloud — a voice laced with a rich European accent of some kind.
Cal relaxed his spear ever so slightly and shouted back, “Funny, I was going to say the same thing. Wherever I smell a sneaky coward, I find you.”
“How interesting.” Kravik jerked his long, scaled neck, ordering the other dragon to stand back.
Cal took a deep breath. He’d crossed paths with Kravik several times — all part of the dragon-slaying mission Barnaby had inspired him to set out on. Kravik hadn’t had anything to do with the attack Barnaby had died in, but the newcomer had started to associate with the evil dragons who had nearly killed Cynthia and Joey that day. Cal had held them off long enough for Cynthia to escape, killing two. When he’d set off to hunt the rest down afterward, he’d found Kravik increasingly involved in their dirty deals. Twice, he’d had an outside chance of killing the bastard, but the dragon had always managed to slip away, leaving Cal with the lesser satisfaction of eliminating Kravik’s hired hands. But he’d never actually faced the dragon one-on-one.
Now, we do, his inner wolf growled.
He stretched to his full height and waited.
“Interesting, indeed,” Kravik mused. “You must be that tiresome dragon slayer I keep hearing about.”
Cal knew the stab of pride he felt at that comment was ridiculous, but hey.
Kravik sniffed the air, and a moment later, his eyes flashed.
“Dragon slayer. Wolf shifter. Interesting, indeed.”
Cal gripped his spear tighter, eyeing the spot on Kravik’s chest where the scales met, forming a notch. He’d show the guy interesting, all right.
He shouted back, using the spear to emphasize each point. “And you would be Kravik. Bastard. General lowlife. It figures you and Moira would hook up.”
Kravik laughed. “Hook up? Moira is a useful…ally, you might say. But I have far better taste, believe me.”
Something in the dragon’s cackle made Cal tense. What exactly did that mean?
Behind Kravik, the second dragon swept back and forth, waiting for the signal to attack.
“You new-world shifters are so ignorant,” Kravik sighed. “My blood is far too noble to be mixed with the likes of Moira LeGrange. Her cousin, on the other hand…”
Cal’s blood ran cold. Kravik wasn’t just power hungry. He was after Cynthia, too.
His disgust must have shown, because Kravik burst into deep dragon laughter. “Do you really think I’d travel thousands of miles, putting up with Ms. LeGrange, simply to attain a new property?” He flicked a wing toward the plantation. Then he broke into a grin. “Unless you mean property of a different kind, such as the lovely Ms. Baird. Or should I say, my future bride?”
Cal’s hand shook. No way. No one was taking Cynthia away from him again.
“She will never be yours.”
Kravik snorted. “Of course she shall be. The woman has royal blood. She’s one of the last of her kind, as am I. We’re a match made in heaven.”
Teeth bared, legs braced, Cal shouted back. “She will never have you.”
Kravik laughed. “She won’t have the choice, you fool. As if it’s any business of a lowly wolf like you…”
Cal bristled. Yes, it was his business. And damn, did he hate dragons.
Most dragons, his wolf corrected.
Well, Cynthia was an exception. She’d been special right from the start, seeing past the rougher edges to the real him. Open-minded and adventurous, she was everything most dragons weren’t.
Of course she is, his wolf hummed. She’s mine.
Tensing his arm muscles, he sighted down the length of his spear. But Kravik, the bastard, was just out of range. If only he could get to the ballista…
Kravik’s eyes wandered back to the plantation. “And, as for that boy of hers…”
Cal stood perfectly still.
Kravik’s gaze swung back. “Ah, now I’ve placed you. You’re that mercenary Barnaby hired.”
Cal glared. “The only mercenaries here are the ones you’ve hired.”
The black dragon leaned closer and whipped his tail. “Is that so? Well, poor Cynthia. Won’t she feel betrayed when she discovers you killed her son?”
Cal’s jaw hung open. What the hell? He would never harm Joey.
Kravik stirred the air with his talons, deep in thought. “Yes, yes. I can picture it now. What a sad tale Ms. Baird will have to endure. Imagine, the jealous wolf from her past, stalking her all these years…”
Stalking? Cal’s cheeks burned.
“Pretending to love her…”
Not pretending, his wolf hissed. Never.
Cal’s mind spun. How did Kravik know about him protecting Cynthia from the shadows for so long? His eyes darted to the horizon, and he cursed. Moira. Of course.
Kravik, meanwhile, went on conjuring up a vision that seemed to amuse him.
“Let’s see… You regained her trust, only to betray her in the most heartless way.” He sliced the air with a talon, making it all too easy to image Joey there.
No, Cal wanted to shout. Never.
“Killing her sole offspring.” Kravik sighed. “Yes, a sad story indeed. One that might even compel Ms. Baird to find a shoulder to cry on. You know, once everything she ever loved is gone. Her son. Her friends. The man she thought she loved.”
Cal jabbed the spear toward Kravik. “She loves me. Always has, always will.”
Kravik shrugged. “Regardless, she shall be mine. The sole inheritor of the entire Baird legacy, under my control. Her royal blood, ready to mix with mine.”
Cal shook with rage. He’d always pictured protecting Cynthia against enemy dragons, but Kravik’s plan went a step further, and it made him sick.
Fucking dragons. They think they can take anything they want, his wolf snarled.
“Ah, I believe she’s coming now,” Kravik murmured at a shadow on the horizon.
Cal shook his head as his entire plan threatened to dissolve before his eyes. He needed to keep Kravik close to be able to kill the bastard. If the dragon flew off now…
A rustling sound came from the left, and he couldn’t help but glance over. The moment he did, he swore. God, no.
Joey, he hissed into the boy’s mind. No. Get down. Hide.
But Joey went right on cranking back the ballista’s firing mechanism, making the wood frame groan under the pressure. Kravik didn’t notice, but when the spear notched into place with a sharp click—
The dragon whirled, and his nostrils flared. “Well, well.”
Joey went right on cranking, so intent that his tongue showed between his lips. The sight ought to have warmed Cal’s heart, but all he wanted to do was scream. No, Joey. No…
Kravik’s eyes narrowed, and he gestured the second dragon to his side. Together, they nosed forward, eyeing Cal. He couldn’t hear them communicate, but he could see it in Kravik’s eyes.
Kill the wolf first. We’ll get the boy on the second pass.
Cal swung one foot back to brace himself for their onslaught. But the rock underfoot gave way, and he slipped. That left him with no choice but to drop the spear and duck under the cloak.
Half a second later, flames buffeted the cloak with the force of a fire hose. It was all he could do to hold on as both dragons pounded him with flames. When he gasped for air, his lungs burned. Just when he thought he couldn’t hold out a moment longer, the pressure lifted as the dragons swept past.
Cal jumped to his feet, swaying through a haze of pain. His skin wasn’t burned, but his body was battered.
Spear, he told himself. Spear.
Spear hardly described the charred stick left behind in the dragons’ wake, so he stepped toward his cache for another, one aching step at a time.
A high-pitched voice tapped urgently at the edge of his mind. Hurry.
That was Joey. It had to be. Cal mustered the strength to get his joints working again. He grabbed a new spear and whirled around. Kravik and the second dragon were looping back. The arc of their turn was graceful, even unrushed. But the moment they faced Cal, their wings swung faster, and their ivory fangs flashed. Four points of red hurtled through the night, marking two pairs of ruthless dragon eyes.
Cal stood his ground, widening his stance. This was it. And hell, the chances were slim. Even if he killed one dragon, the other was likely to get him, and that would be that. But the effort might buy enough time for the others to rush back and protect Joey.
Cal found himself smiling at nothing in particular. It was funny, how a man’s goals could change. Twelve years ago, he’d wanted to kill Barnaby. Then he’d shifted over to protecting Cynthia. And yes, he’d even entertained himself with the vague hope of winning her back one day. But now, all he really cared about was Joey. The boy was Cynthia’s treasure. Her future. Her everything.
The breeze toyed with Cal’s hair in the lull before the dragon’s onslaught, and something in him shifted. The pent-up anger and jealousy dulled, leaving…
He frowned. What was that feeling, exactly?
Then it hit him. Fate was smiling on him for the first time. A sensation so unfamiliar, he didn’t know how to respond.
Focus, his wolf hissed. For the kid’s sake, focus.
He raised the spear, calculating quickly. Somehow, he had to take out one dragon, avoid the second, and get his hands on another spear.
A creak sounded, drawing his attention to the ballista and the little boy with wide, hopeful eyes.
Ready, sir, a squeaky voice sounded in his mind.
Cal had no choice but to nod, hoping against hope. Hell, maybe the kid could actually spear one of the dragons. And if Cal got the other one… Well, hell. Maybe there was a breath of hope, after all.
“Right here,” Cal muttered, turning back to Kravik. “Over here.”
The dragon’s eyes glowed an even brighter shade of red. Yeah, well. Cal’s eyes were glowing too. He could tell from the heat.
“Right here,” he whispered, tunneling his vision down to Kravik, who opened his jaws wide. A reddish-orange point glowed in his throat, indicating he was about to spit fire.
Cal counted microseconds that dragged as slowly as hours. Displaced air rushed ahead of the dragon, pressing Cal’s shirt against his skin. He braced his back leg and gripped the spear tightly.
Die, Kravik’s wide jaws said just as Cal’s inner countdown hit zero. Die.
“No, you die,” Cal grunted. With a heave, he threw the spear.
The force made him stumble, then look up. Death had to be watching closely, because everything moved into super-slow motion. His spear flew at Kravik, straight and true. At the same time, a thin line of fire extended from the dragon’s mouth. Something whistled from the right, but all Cal had eyes for were the spear and the fire, rushing along parallel paths — the spear flying at the dragon’s chest while the fire rushed toward Cal’s head.
No, wait. The fire was aimed at where his head had been before he’d stumbled, so Kravik had to tilt his chin, redirecting his attack. Too late to incinerate the spear in midair…but not too late to kill Cal?
Cal rolled aside, praying for a miracle. But even if he evaded Kravik’s fire, the chances of him grabbing a new spear in time to kill the second dragon were slim. It was flying beside Kravik, ready to finish Cal off.
But suddenly, the second dragon screamed and lurched to one side
Joey! Cal’s wolf cheered, spotting the spear stuck deep in the beast’s ribs.
The boy had done it! He’d struck the second dragon, making it veer into Kravik. The flame extending from Kravik’s mouth broke off as he twisted in anger, distracted just long enough for—
Kravik screamed in agony as Cal’s spear buried itself in the dark scales of his chest, and his eyes glittered with pain. An instant later, the second dragon crashed into him, and they both tumbled to the ground.
Cal’s heart leaped in hope. They’d done it — he and Joey had done it!
Except for one thing. Kravik was mortally wounded, but now, both dragons were plunging directly at Cal. He yelped and dove to the right, but it was too late.
Pain ripped through his body, and his vision flashed as a force like nothing he’d ever experienced crashed into him like a hurtling train. The world went sideways, and everything became a blur of colliding bodies, flying dirt, and solid rock.
Then everything went still — very still, and the only sound was that of his labored breathing. Cal found himself on his back, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes. A mighty weight was squeezing the life out of him, and no matter how he kicked or clawed, he couldn’t get free. The body of the second dragon was crushing him.
If he’d had the lung power, he would have yelled at fate. Jesus. Couldn’t it give a guy a break? Both dragons were dead, judging by the hush that set in. But, damn. Cal figured he didn’t have long himself.
He tried again, pushing with all his might. But the dragon was huge, and the body refused to budge. Cal dropped his head back to the ground and closed his eyes.
He thought he’d been ready to die. But now that he was actually on death’s doorstep…it hurt. Not so much in the body, but in the heart.
Cynthia, his wolf cried.
He’d never touch her…hold her…kiss her ever again. He’d never get his second chance.
Of course, he should have predicted it would end this way. Yet again, he was so close yet so far from the only prize he’d ever coveted. Cynthia.
Well, if nothing else, he’d die her hero. At least there was that, right?
Still, the bitterness remained. He would have loved to swing one more punch at fate. Just one, once.
“Cynthia,” he whispered as a slideshow played in his mind.
He saw her eyes smiling at him while they danced. Her hair whipping in the wind as he raced the Triumph over a country road. Her fingers, intertwined with his.
Someone tugged at his shoulders and whispered. “Cal?”
That was Joey, and Cal summoned enough energy to look up. The kid was leaning against the dead dragon, pushing with all his might, but the earth slipped away under his feet.
“Heya, Joey,” Cal whispered when the boy dropped to his knees, spent. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Joey insisted.
Cal wasn’t ready to have his heart broken another time, so he pushed the achy feeling away.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he said, though his voice was more of a gasp.
But, shit. The kid was crying, and he couldn’t bear that.
“Shh,” he tried.
But Joey just wouldn’t listen. Still crying, he stood and stumbled away. “I’ll get Dell.”
Cal reached out to stop him, but the boy was too far.
“Joey!” he called. There was no telling how many of Moira’s shifters might be prowling around out there.
Joey’s footsteps crunched over the landscape, then faded into the distance. Cal listened, totally on edge. But everything was quiet, and when he closed his eyes, peace gradually filled in all the achy places in his body and soul.
The ground beneath him was cold, and the dragon’s leathery body ought to have made his skin crawl. But the more he thought of Cynthia, the less any of that mattered. Something told him Joey would be okay, so Cal kept his thoughts on Cynthia and savored every memory. Their dance in the Lucky Devil. The calm he’d felt when he’d held her. Her happy sigh after they’d made love…
How long he lay there, he had no clue, but it seemed like hours. Night seemed to fade, along with the stars. Or maybe that was his vision, giving up like his lungs.
“Cal…” someone called.
He smiled faintly. It was funny how the mind worked. Now he was imagining Cynthia there.
Hands pressed on his shoulders, and he opened his eyes.
“Cynthia…” His lips curled. It really was her, looking as beautiful as ever, if a little distraught. Behind her, the first rays of dawn were coloring the sky, pushing the night away.
“Oh, Cal,” she whispered.
He smiled. For all the pain, for all the wasted years, for all the regrets — it was good to see her. To be her hero at last.
“Cal,” she cried, touching his shoulders.
He closed his eyes, reaching out to her with his mind when he couldn’t find the strength to speak.
It’s okay. You’re okay. That’s all that matters.
She didn’t seem to get that, but he didn’t have the energy to explain. Why try to scratch out a few words when he could concentrate on the warmth of her hands and that amazing rose-and-willow scent? Why move when he had such nice visions dancing through his head?
Slowly, his senses started tuning out, and Cynthia’s voice grew faint. He didn’t have the strength to fight death any longer, but that was okay. With every fading breath, Cal resigned himself to lie quietly in her arms and slowly, comfortably, drift away.