Morgan studied the jar, remembering the story. An alchemist in Atlantis had created a substance from a meteor he believed would enhance a male Wizard’s power. Instead, the poison almost wiped out the male population before the poison was secured and destroyed. Caitlin had been among a small group of female Wizards who believed the Oculist stones were never destroyed. But why would their leadership lie about something so dangerous?
She shuddered as a new fear vibrated through her.
Rowan drew her beside him on the sofa, wrapping her in his embrace. “How long have you suspected?” His words were not an accusation.
She welcomed his warmth, his heat, his strength. “Caitlin tried to warn me of an impending danger, but I wouldn’t listen. Even when I witnessed your brother’s symptoms, and then yours, I hoped I was wrong. Healers can minimize the effects of the Oculist stones if caught early enough and if the dose is weak, but even then we do not know the long-term effects. You could still…”
He stroked her hair, silencing her unspoken fears with the touch of his hand. “I have a confession to make. Although we were told that the mines were destroyed, Fire Wizards weren’t convinced. I think it’s our distrusting nature.” He pulled her closer. “They lied to us, and now someone is harvesting the stones and killing Wizards.”
Morgan felt the deep pain and loss raging through him. He had dedicated his life and loyalty to the Talons and the Grey Council, and they betrayed him. She glanced at his profile. His jaw was set, his eyes stone cold. She longed to bring life back into them. “What can we do?”
“The only thing we can. Destroy the Oculist stones before they destroy us.”
Morgan shuddered, knowing he was not talking about just the stones.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Dragon awoke.
Awakened by a near-death experience, the dragon spirit in Stryker stirred. He stretched, listened, and learned. He had been dormant for what seemed centuries. Now, he was awake and knew he was alive. He knew because of the incessant voices buzzing around him. If he was dead, there would be a dark void of nothingness. The curse of being a dragon that did not die in battle was to experience an eternity of loneliness.
He was also aware of his surroundings. He knew he was in the bedroom of a rooftop apartment. He knew he had a strong connection to the Wizard called Stryker. The two were one. Had always been one, since that day when the boy Stryker had saved a dragon’s egg from a predator.
But now it was time for the dragon to take control. He smelled salty air, heard the sound of traffic and the squawk of seagulls as they searched for food. He was starving. Soon, he cautioned. Soon.
He heard voices in the next room. Through the strong connection with his human side, he knew their names were Rowan and Morgan, but little else. They had been carrying on a nonstop conversation. His survival instincts told him they were Wizards and thus his kind’s sworn enemy. A Wizard’s young were not so bad, curious mostly, but fully grown they killed dragons on sight.
He needed peace and seclusion while he adjusted and recaptured more of his memory of both his human side and his dragon side pasts. There was a way to silence Rowan and Morgan, of course, but even as he knew they were Wizards, there existed something inside him cautioning that they meant him no harm. Their concern for him, however, would shift the momenthe recovered. Most likely they would view him as an oddity to study and dissect.
Like so many who did not fit into a preordained set of rules, his kind had been hunted to near-extinction, their ability to adapt and shapeshift their only salvation. Taking human form was just one more of their many skills. This world, this reality, killed what was different or what they did not understand.
He risked opening his eyes, the better to identify his captors and his prison. The bedroom was small, but functional and near a source of food. There was a door to his left and an open window directly in front of him. A large dog sat on his haunches, staring in his direction. Dogs were aware of dragons in whatever form they took and considered them allies. The animal posed no threat. He might even prove useful. Their gazes met, and in that instant, he knew the dog’s name was Wiz. The animal leapt on the bed and settled beside the dragon Stryker’s feet.
“Stryker’s awake,” Morgan said, rushing into his room.
Rowan entered with Morgan and rested his hand protectively on the woman’s shoulder. The tattoo of flames curling around a tree was visible on the back of his hand and marked him as a Fire Wizard.
There was something familiar about the brand. He shoved it into the dark recesses of his memories to consider later as Morgan sat down next to him on the bed and touched his arm. He tensed, but caution warned against the impulse to strike. No one was allowed to touch him without his permission. His weakened condition advised patience. There would be another time, a time of his choosing, to take his revenge for his kind’s centuries of persecution.
She leaned closer. “How are you feeling?”
Rowan reached out and drew her back. The dark glasses he wore could not hide the man’s growing wariness. Had Rowan sensed that a dragon had risen?
The Fire Wizard’s voice was tight and low. “Morgan, let him rest.”
“But Rowan…”
The Fire Wizard silenced her with a gesture of his hand and guided her to the far corner of the room. Their voices dropped to whispers. They needn’t have bothered. Stryker’s heightened sense of hearing heard every beat of their hearts, the tension in their voices, and the words they spoke.
Morgan was the first to speak. “Rowan, what is wrong with you? Stryker is awake. We should be with him. He must be very confused.”
“Something’s not right.”
“You are impossible. Do you realize how close Stryker came to dying in the last twenty-four hours? There were moments when I almost believed he had, and now you’re telling me you think something is wrong with him. Of course something is wrong. He almost died and is in a weakened state while his body heals.”
“Morgan, there’s something different about him I can’t quite place.”
The woman’s voice sounded unsure, as though trying to convince both the Wizard as well as herself. “Of course he is different. He has been at death’s door since you brought him to me. He survived the Oculist poisoning, when those at the restaurant died a horrible death. Give him time.”
