“Really?” Fury suddenly sat up with interest as he and Reginald both blinked, exchanging a deeply knowing glance.
“Do you know him?” Layla asked, leaning forward and taking another drink of her margarita before she noticed what she was doing and put it aside.
“Only in Siren lore.” Reginald cut in now as he lifted a golden eyebrow at Layla. “The Dragon of Seven Winters was a Russian Ice Dragon who lived over three thousand years ago. He waged an incredible war against the Arctic Sirens and the North Sea Sirens for seven consecutive years. His power was so great, he created an unnatural winter that lasted the entire time, decimating our clans. Our Sirens had to call in clans from around the globe to battle him. He was a terribly powerful foe with unpredictable magic that seemed to come from every Dragon Lineage at once. Our records do not mention him as a Bind, but he was a brutal, graceful, persuasive conqueror, Layla. He conquered all of the clans that are now the Russian and Siberian Ice Dragons, the Mongolian Storm Dragons, most of the Scandinavian Blood Dragons, and was trying to expand his empire into the North Sea. When after seven winters of battle… he suddenly disappeared and his empire fell apart.”
“King Ruslan Aristov, that’s who you’re talking about.” Rhennic’s violet eyes were astounded as he stared at the Sirens. “King Ruslan is remembered by the Storm Dragons as a beautiful and scary foe. Not only did he conquer the Mongolian Storm Dragons, some of the strongest in the world, but he was tearing into the European Storm Dragons also, right before he disappeared. He was waging a war against all of what is now Russia, Mongolia, Scandinavia, and Eastern Europe, through his immensely powerful Royal Dragon Generals. Shit. It makes sense that he would have been a crazy strong Royal Dragon Bind.”
“King Ruslan was probably wielding Binds to his top commanders, and their power-sharing created magics that were impossible to counter in battle.” Adrian chimed in thoughtfully. “Perhaps he went into hiding when Hunter came after him – to recruit Ruslan for his world-domination agenda.”
“I can believe it.” Rhennic glanced at Adrian. “King Ruslan was nearly there on his own.”
“When he suddenly vanished.” Fury spoke again, deeply thoughtful now. “Hunter has no need of weak Binds, but he ruthlessly pursues the ones who are strong. It would make sense that King Ruslan was one of those he sought the most determinedly, driving the man to give up everything and go into deep hiding when he found he couldn’t fight Hunter.”
“Hunter never mentioned whether my father was still living.” Layla mused, sipping her margarita again, amazed to hear her father’s history though something dark churned inside her to learn he’d been some kind of terrible warlord. Deep inside her veins, her drakaina gave a slow roil, and Layla frowned further, uneasy about it.
“Well, King Ruslan obviously made it through three thousand years of hiding if he mated with Mimi,” Dusk spoke with a pointed glance at Layla. “If he made it that long, I’m willing to bet he’s made it another thirty years, Layla. Dragons with skills like that don’t get killed off easily. Unless he died of old age… I’d wager he’s still around. And Hunter was close enough on his trail at one point to know King Ruslan was your father.”
“Which means Layla’s actually a mixed-blood Dragon – both a Desert Dragon and an Ice Dragon.” Adrian spoke thoughtfully as he swirled his bourbon, though he blinked at the implications. “Fire and ice… hot desert passion and calculating ice-cold wrath. God, it makes so much sense. Why didn’t I see it before?”
“Because she’s never manifested Ice Dragon abilities, Adrian.” Dusk glanced to Adrian. “Only hot Desert Dragon rage and passion – plus abilities from us, the Dragons she’s Bound.”
“But she’s had Ice Dragon attributes from the very beginning, which many of you have overlooked.” Reginald spoke pointedly, gesturing to Layla with his martini. “Consider the far more icy aspects in her personality. One: the ability to hold information effortlessly in her mind with Mensa levels of intelligence and practically a photographic memory. Two: the ability to stuff her rage down under a layer of calculating calm until it builds to an overwhelming degree, at which point she snaps like a Desert Dragon. And three: thefinal strike –which is distinctly present in every Ice Dragon I’ve ever met.”
“Hey, I’m sitting right here.” Layla grumped, though she had to admit the discussion was fascinating, even though it was the last thing she wanted to be doing on vacation. “So if my father’s out there, he might understand how to help me clear my conflict enough to get my drakaina back. So how do we find him?”
All around the table, everyone fell silent. Pensive frowns devoured her men, and Layla realized none of them had any idea how to find her father. With a hard sigh, she realized her father was little more than a storybook legend now, even among the most long-lived creatures in the Twilight Realm.
Taking a deep drink of her margarita, she downed it and reached for another.
“Come on,” Layla grumped sullenly as the silence stretched, “somebody’sgot to know something about my father, other than Hunter. I mean, a Dragon can’t disappear that effectively all over the planet, can he? My mother’s tryst with him was only thirty years ago. Wouldn’t some of her associates in Paris remember that time?”
“Perhaps, though it is unlikely they ever met your father.” Reginald spoke as he swirled his martini, then glanced to Adrian. “But we could use our resources to learn more about the Dragon of Seven Winters. I do believe we have some very long-lived assets in the Intercessoria who might recall him. Heathren Merkami and Insinio Brandfort may have deep dossiers on King Ruslan – and perhaps some contemporary information on him. If we shared what we’ve learned about Layla’s parentage with them, and Hunter’s interest in the Dragon of Seven Winters… they might share what they know with us.”
“A reasonable assumption.” Adrian spoke, though he frowned with distaste at dealing with the Intercessoria’s Fallen Ephilohim Archangel duo again, who had incarcerated him on numerous occasions.
“I think we should call them.” Dusk spoke up, downing his latest margarita, though he was very flushed now across his high cheeks. “Even though most of us are still more or less on the Intercessoria watch list, Heathren and Insinio have been very willing to put all that aside in order to bring Hunter down.”
“But how helpful have they truly been in locating someone who doesn’t want to be found?” Rhennic growled now, his violet eyes flashing in the hot day. “We gave them Leni and Fury’s tech after Deep Harbor, but they’ve not had any blips on the radar yet, in either the human world or the Twilight Realm. They can’t track Hunter unless he comes to Layla. If her father is using a similar power to vanish like Hunter, how can we be sure the Intercessoria have anything on him at all in the past three thousand years?”
“Fuck. What if they don’t knowanythingabout my father?” Layla sighed, settling back with her drink as she scowled. Feeling increasingly peeved at the conversation, she knew she was far more drunk than she should have gotten, though she kept sipping.
“I still believe the Fallen Ephilohim are our most efficient lead,” Reginald eyed Layla and her drink with a slight frown now as he spoke. “Though there may be other Binds out there, Layla’s father is the only one with the power in his veins that Layla has. We need to find him, so he can help Layla heal her inner conflict and get her drakaina back.”
The conversation was going ‘round and ‘round, and as Layla sat back in her chair, she suddenly realized she’d been sipping her margarita constantly, stewing over the whole damn thing. She felt too hot as the palm trees shifted in the muggy afternoon breeze, rays of sunshine blistering as they found her skin. The whole business just suddenly irritated the shit out of her, to be talking all this over while they were supposed to be on a frivolous vacation.
Heaving a vicious sigh, she downed the rest of her margarita in one fell swoop. Conversation halted as her men turned to look at her, Reginald with a lifted eyebrow. Sitting up in her rattan chair, Layla slammed her empty margarita glass to the table a little harder than she’d intended, her head pounding from the hot day and all the booze.
“Enough.” She spoke sharply even though it slurred, staring them down as a wash of heat surged through her like the first waves of drunken heatstroke. “You can all sit here and continue discussing this as long as you like – I’m going to the pool. I just got done dealing with all this shit for the past week, and this is supposed to be a vacation.”
“Layla, are you alrigh—” But Rhennic couldn’t even finish as Layla suddenly pushed up from her seat to a rather wobbly standing.
“No. I need a fucking break! Ever since I came to the Twilight Realm, my ass has been hounded by Hunter and battle, death and intrigue! For the first time in weeks – months – I started to feel normal again today after all my work with Rake. And now, we’re diving right back into all the bullshit. I can’t… I just…!”
Rubbing her hands over her face, Layla suddenly knew what she needed. Her body was too hot from the Caribbean summer day, her head spinning from too much booze. Downing a glass of water, she ripped off her sunhat and threw it down in her rattan chair, then kicked off her sandals and shucked her silk maxi-dress over her head. Wearing just her zebra-print bikini, she strode around the table without looking at a single one of her men. Moving straight across the wide wooden deck to the pool’s deep end, she took a breath.
And dove right in.
It was bliss. The water closing around her was cool and silent as it touched every part of her; and suddenly Layla was shocked back to that quiet place she’d found all week with Rake. Staying underwater rather than surfacing, the coolness of the water’s flow rushed in her ears and over her skin as she finally relaxed, weightless. As she came into that blissful sensation, Layla saw the stars of the cosmos behind her eyelids and felt them all around her in the pool – the same eternally loving place she’d found in her meditations. It was so quiet, she just wanted to stay there forever; without passion, without emotion.
