Chapter Eleven
Sullivan crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, anger flowing through him. He couldn’t believe his brother would stoop so low. He ground his teeth, his blood boiling in his veins. He threw the paper to the ground and then grabbed Attar, quickly breathing life into him. “Do you know where he took her?” The little dragon shook his head in dismay. He had been disenchanted before being able to discover Weston’s plans.
“Very well,” Sullivan said. “Go back to the shop and make sure no one steals anything.” The dragon nodded, jumping down and scampering away, making sure none of the humans saw him as he slipped into the neighboring store.
With his mind buzzing, Sullivan grabbed Cynthia’s wand, shoving it into his pocket, before he rushed out of the store, and closed the door, making his way to the stairs. He knew this building had to have roof access somewhere. Finally, he found the door he was looking for and pushed it open, even as an alarm started to blare, warning people to evacuate the building as quickly as they could.
Once he was on the roof, Sullivan felt a cold drizzle caress the side of his face. The sky was bleak and dark, much like his mood. All he could think about was Cynthia. Was she okay? What was Weston planning to do with her? He clenched his fists and looked out at the horizon, half-expecting to see a dragon flying off into the distance, but there was nothing of the sort. He would just have to find Cynthia the old-fashioned way.
Closing his eyes, he channeled every bit of energy he had in his body. His heart started to hammer, growing large, his skin growing scales and his body shapeshifting. In a blur of limbs and scales, Sullivan started to change until the building beneath him groaned with the effort of supporting a ten-ton dragon.
Sullivan opened his eyes, now red as wine, and roared powerfully, the anguish he felt in his heart echoing throughout. He spread his massive wings and stretched out his long neck, his iridescent black scales shining even with the lack of sunlight. His talons dug into the concrete, destroying it with ease. His tail whipped back and forth, the spikes at its end making cracks on the mall’s rooftop.
Suddenly, he soared into the air, quickly disguised by the thick mass of clouds. A few humans huddled outside the mall, waiting for the alarm to subside blinked in surprise, wondering if they had just imagined the giant black serpent that had jumped off the roof. Murmurs flowed through the crowd, as they tried to find an explanation for the impossible.
Sullivan, in the meantime, had already covered quite some distance. His large, leathery wings propelled him forward, each flap like a tiny sonic boom that made him faster than any other airborne creature. His mind was focused on Cynthia, picturing her smiling face and beautiful hazel eyes. The sound of her laughter filled his ears, easing some of the tension that had settled deep within his bones.
His large nostrils flared as he suddenly caught the scent of her. His heart skipped a beat, knowing she was still alive. His wings doubled their speed, turning him into a black blur that shot through the sky like a lightning bolt.
He flew across the Earth, soaring past America, the Atlantic, Portugal, Spain, The Mediterranean Sea, and eventually Albania. Sullivan was approaching the Black Sea at this point, the Bulgarian coast now in sight. Of course, Weston would bring her here, thinking Sullivan would never dare to venture into the land of the Ispolin, a formidable race of one-eyed giants who had been at war with the dragons for as long as history could remember.
Sullivan hovered as close as possible to the clouds, trying to keep himself hidden, but the day was bright and the sky was blue here, making his presence terribly obvious. Still, he kept following his brother’s tracks, determined to find his mate no matter the cost. Eventually, he reached the Balkan Mountains. The peaks soared high overhead, the largest one, deemed Old Mountain, disappearing into a thick cloud surrounding its peak. Sullivan continued forward, slowing his pace, circling around it. Down below, he could see the Ispolin working in the valleys, carrying large trees into the heart of the mountain, climbing the rough terrain with ease.
No doubt Weston had brought her here, thinking the giants would scare him off. Sullivan, however, would not give up that easily. He patiently waited, observing the one-eyed race. Eventually, they showed him exactly what he had been looking for. There was a giant boulder about three-quarters of the way up the mountain that a group of Ispolin worked to dislodge, exposing a cave hidden behind it.
Without hesitation, Sullivan shot forward, dashing into the entrance. The angry giants brandished their clubs in his direction, but he was much too fast for them, navigating his way through the maze-like tunnels until he emerged in a large, cavernous opening. He landed, seeing it was empty. His large, clawed feet dug into the soft dirt underfoot. He sniffed the thick, moldy air. She was here!
The scales on his spine lifted defensively as he circled around, searching for Cynthia. Suddenly, he noticed Weston standing there, a deep grin on his face. “I see you’ve come all this way just to save some pathetic little witch,” Weston hissed in his direction. Sullivan didn’t have time for small talk. He lunged forward, determined to trap his brother underfoot.
Weston however, quickly disappeared in a puff of black smoke, reappearing on his brother’s neck. “Now that wasn’t very smart of you, Sullivan. If you kill me, how are you ever going to find out where I have hidden your precious little mate?” Weston whispered in his ear. Angrily, Sullivan tried to buck him off.
“Where is she?” His deep, gravelly voice echoed through the room, sending tremors through the cave.
“Do you really expect me to simply tell you?” Weston asked, jumping down and standing in front of him, a proud smirk on his face.
“What do you want from me? If you want the throne so much, just take it. I don’t need it,” Sullivan answered, baring his sharp teeth. “Just tell me where she is,” he demanded, venom hanging on his every word as his head got closer to his brother, his large red eyes flaming with fury.
“See, you say that, but how do I know you’re telling the truth?” Weston asked calmly. “You could just as easily take her and claim the throne the moment we get back home. No, something more fitting is in order…” he continued, his voice measured.
“Get on with it before I rip out your throat!” Sullivan bellowed.
“You’ve been in exile for how long now? Forty years? Forty long years of being unable to turn into a full-fledged dragon without risking the council coming to get you. In fact, they might be after you right now. Maybe I should just let them capture you and put you on trial, but that wouldn’t be very fun, now would it?” Weston grinned. “No, I’d much rather do the job myself.” As Weston finished his statement, he started to shapeshift, his body becoming a blur.
Soon enough, a large dragon, the color of the earth, filled the remaining space in the cave. The Ispolin had finally made it inside at this point, but they stood back in shock, seeing the two dragons pitted against each other.
Their growls echoed through the cave, small rubble falling from the ceiling as they circled each other. Sullivan was slightly larger than his brother, but he knew he was at a terrible disadvantage. He hadn’t been in a proper fight in forty years. His skills were rusty, but he couldn’t let that stop him from saving Cynthia. She was depending on him.
“You should just give up now and let death come painlessly,” Weston urged, his voice now taking a metallic tone.
“Never.” With this, Sullivan shot forward, tumbling into his brother. They rolled into a giant ball of flesh and scales. He snapped at Weston, biting a chunk out of his side, but Weston dug his talons deep into Sullivan’s side in retaliation. Luckily, Sullivan’s hide had always been much thicker than Weston’s and he barely flinched, taking his brother’s neck into his powerful jaws, throwing him against the wall.
The Ispolin cowered away, covering their heads as pieces of the roof started to crumble, falling dangerously close to them. Not wanting to be trapped within the caves, they rushed out, leaving the dragons to kill each other.
Sullivan crouched down, his eyes set to kill. He pounced suddenly, but Weston rolled away, his wings clipping Sullivan’s legs and forcing him to the ground with a loud thud. Sullivan roared in anguish, feeling his brother’s teeth around his neck, closing his airway and making it hard to breathe. He struggled, feeling his energy failing him. Was this how it was going to end?
No! With a newfound rush of adrenaline, Sullivan managed to buck Weston off him, slamming him into the ceiling. A large piece tumbled to the ground, trapping Weston’s tail underneath. His howl of pain was heard miles away. Sullivan felt no pity, however, as he grappled with his brother, pinning him to the wall. “Where is she?” he demanded. “Tell me or I kill you right here.”
But Weston just rammed forward, his head bashing into Sullivan’s who stumbled backward, stars forming before his eyes. He tried to regain his balance but felt too dizzy. His vision was blurry, making it hard to focus on his brother. Weston snickered, thinking he had gained the upper hand. Sullivan closed his eyes, thinking he had to fight this battle another way. He couldn’t beat Weston using brute force alone.
That’s when it dawned on him. He smirked and looked up, blinking a few times to clear his vision. He made a quick calculation in his head.
“What are you doing?” Weston asked, still trapped in place, the large rock pinning his tail to the ground. “Have you given up?”
Suddenly, Sullivan lashed his barbed tail at the ceiling, as hard as he could. The cave rumbled and dust began falling out of the cracks. There was an ominous creaking noise and suddenly, large chunks of the roof collapsed right on top of Weston. Whimpers could be heard from under the rubble as Weston struggled to stay alive, slowly being crushed.
Knowing he was victorious, Sullivan turned back into a man. “Cynthia!” he called out, hoping she could hear him and make some sort of noise. There was no answer, silence settling in the cave. He strained his hearing for any sort of clue, but there was still nothing.
Suddenly, he felt a buzzing sensation in his pocket. He furrowed his brows in confusion, reaching inside and taking Cynthia’s wand into his hand. The gnarled pencil floated out of his palm, hovering into the air, twitching slightly like the needle of a compass. It pointed at a discolored part of the wall.
Sullivan walked to it quickly, laying his hand on the rock, but it wasn’t solid. It was wet and malleable instead. He rammed his fist through, forming a hole. He dug through the wet mud, seeing a light on the other side. The wand quickly flew past his ear.
A few feet ahead, Cynthia was lying on a sort of a stone altar, the long slab of rock acting as a bed. Her hair was wrapped around her head like a halo and her eyes were closed. Her cheeks were hollow, her hands neatly folded over her chest. She didn’t move an inch. Her skin held the color of death. Sullivan stared in horror at his mate, fearing the worst. Was he too late?