“Yes,like you’re supposed to, because we are the professionals here, not you. At what point is it going to sink in?” Tove snaps. “You could have been sprinting into a trap for all you know, running off like that. To say nothing of the fact that we’re not exactly in friendly territory, and you lack the vital fucking protections needed to survive any of the life-threatening things that could have happened to you here,” she adds, berating me like I’m some mischievous child.
I shrug, not even a little sorry. “That smell you thought was Chastain was the Tainted. They’re the ones who took me, who attacked your Wing in Lairwood. They were here. They were watching. The Horde doesn’t even know they exist. What the fuck was I supposed to do, just stand there?”
The sparks of annoyance in Tove’s brown eyes alight into a full-blown inferno of indignation. “If this is the kind of reckless shit you pull, no wonder you got yourself caught by blood brokers. Are you trying to get taken again? Hoping to add a few more scars to your extensive collection?”
Every ounce of humor drops from my face. “Watch it, Seeder. You have no clue who you’re fucking with,” I warn.
“Why don’t you show me then, Syphon.”
“Tove!” Ogdan barks in clear warning. “Stand down.”
Tove rounds on him. “She needs to be taught a lesson before she gets one of us killed. I don’t give a fuck who she is; she doesn’t get to put us in harm’s way like our lives mean nothing.”
“I saidstand down,” Ogdan bellows, and every drake in the alley freezes.
Tove’s face goes blank. After a moment, she steps away from me and adopts a stiff position with her hands behind her back, her feet shoulder width apart, and her stare empty and fixed on the redheaded Burner in black scale armor who just issued a direct order.
I wondered what the chain of command was within the Wing. They’ve been good at keeping it under wraps until now. Ogdan turns to me, body stiff with tension, jaw clenched tight with fury.
“Dragoness, if it’s quite alright with you, I suggest we head back to the keep.”
I study the Burner, no hint of the amiable, teasing drake I’ve encountered up until now. My attention jumps to a dead-eyed Tove and then to Farrow, who looks equally as pissed.
“Sir, yes, sir,” I grumble indignantly, pushing past the other two guards and following Ogdan back to Nixy’s.
No one says a word as we pile into the waiting lirocar and promptly take off. I watch Wyvern Den quickly fall away, wondering what happened to the owl shifter and the other Arcs that were with him in the vehicle that was following us this morning. I don’t ask anyone for answers, not willing to breach the silent line that was drawn in the sand between me and the drakes back in the alley.
Tove’s words ring loud in my mind. She’s a bitch, but she’s not completely wrong. My mistakes did cost me my freedom and Ren her life. But it wasn’t my instincts or rush to action that put me or my Flight in harm’s way; it was trust that fucked me over, and now I’m paying the price. The drakes can think whatever they want to think about me, but it’s obvious that their impressions are being filtered through a lens of condescending misjudgment. I don’t know what kind of females they’re used to dealing with, but none of the ones I know need a whole contingency of guards to keep them safe.
The Horde wants me to fit in a tidy little box that they can show off and pass around for their own benefit. They’ve forgotten who the Syphons are, what we’re capable of. But that’s okay—even without my dragon, I’ll be happy to remind them.
I’m a fucking Tenebrae after all.
Chapter 22
THE LIROCAR LEAVES THE AIRWAY sooner than it should, and I look around to find that we’ve turned toward Thrasher Keep instead of continuing on to King’s Keep. I stifle any reaction to the unexpected detour, keeping the look on my face bored and my body language relaxed.
A multitude of reasons for this deviation flicker through my mind, but thoughts of the warren of dungeons under this keep rush to the forefront of my speculations. Maybe I’m being put in the naughty corner for pissing off Aeson’s Wing.
I get the impression that the drakes expect me to ask what’s going on, so of course I double down on my stubbornness and decide to just roll with the punches. At least the elevators won’t sneak up on me this time.
The proportions of Thrasher Keep are nothing short of astounding. The stronghold is the largest of the four keeps, and the intimidating rust red towers look like they could be their own city. Everything about it is designed to discourage threats and intimidate visitors. It screamsyou’ll have to go through me to get to the others, and you’ll never go through me.
The lirocar doesn’t angle toward the ground level of the keep like I expect. It floats to the largest tower on the west end and sets down on what looks like a private dock. No one from the keep comes out to greet us, but another airboat drops next to ours, and Herm, Sondar, and Karis climb out.
Cautiously I follow Ogdan and the others inside, careful to keep my eyes on my escorts and not get distracted by the marvels around me. Keeps are big for a reason—communal spaces have to be cavernous enough to house hordes of revealed dragons—but nothing truly prepares you for the scope and grandeur of it all until you’re walking through it.
Our steady steps echo off the wide walls and lofty ceilings, making our small party of eight sound like an army of hundreds. I don’t see another soul outside of my party of sullen protectors, but I try not to be bothered by that as we traverse what feels like a miles-long hallway. Finally, two monumental doors appear in the distance, but I don’t know if I feel better or worse with the destination now in sight.
The dark wood doors slowly open as we draw closer, but of course the massive frames of the guards in front of me block my line of sight. I’m also still pretending to be too cool to ask or to lean around the big drakes to try to get a peek of where we’re headed.
I hear his voice before I see him. It instantly hooks me low in my gut and tries to tug me closer. Goose bumps sweep up my arms and across my shoulders at the sound of his rich timbre and the undercurrent of undeniable authority in it. I try to banish the reaction as quickly as it comes, but then the commander has to go and laugh, and it sends the butterflies in my stomach into a full-blown tizzy.
The Wing members in front of me finally drift apart and move to the edges of the large room. And there he is, Aeson Noctis, in all of his annoying glory. I was hoping my memories of him were exaggerated by my exhaustion and the fact that I’d just escaped a traumatizing ordeal, but nope, he’s just as impressive and pretty as I remember, maybe even more so.
Fucker.
He rises from where he was sitting at a long table, and his bright blue eyes turn to find me. Several other drakes stand as I stride into the room, but my mutinous mind has no interest in them—it wants all of my focus on my make-believe mate.
