Isis, of the Crocodile House, will become the new dynasty to rule as the puppet leader under my control, when I capture Lanlin.
It was Isis’ plan. Only, she wanted Lanlin to be killed.
She offered to have her son do it. She has offered it repeatedly.
That fanged fucker, Lan, has no idea how many times I have saved his life.
“Fly eternally with the Shadow Gods.” I rest my hand on the dragon skull. I close my eyes for a moment. “Rest well now. Your King thanks you for your service to the Draca Kingdom.”
It doesn’t seem enough.
It’s too fucking little.
Dracanians have been left here without the honor of funeral or shrine.
I bare my fangs, rumbling a growl.
I will erect a shrine in Bael for all these unknown dead. I will pray for the abandoned dead on all sides to find peace.
I shudder, remembering the giant boulder that I saw at the entrance.
What must it feel like to be walled up here?
Are you okay?Freya’s panicked voice demands.
I’m fine.It’s hard to sound calm, when so many spirits around me clamor for peace.Why?
I don’t know, maybe because your growl sounds like you’re about to burn someone to ash?Daire sounds calmer but still worried.Or maybe because the feeling through the bond is like you’re…weeping?
I bristle, pushing myself to my feet. I brush the sand off my knees, which only leads to my claws ripping my breeches worse.
I’m losing control.
I growl again, stalking back to the light that is bleeding through the entrance.
I try to speak to reassure my consorts again, but my thoughts are too jumbled.
I blink.
What’s happening?
Shit, I’m truly going into rut.
My curved, golden horns grow longer. Sparks ignite like dancing fireworks along their length.
I shiver, struggling to hold onto my last control.
When I hear a noise like falling rocks and scrambling from the cliff face, I lean against the cave entrance.
I cross my arms, watching as Daire drags himself over the side clumsily like a bedraggled dove with broken wings.
My lips quirk.
So much for his typical elegance.
He is breathing hard, struggling to catch his breath. He is dressed in a plain but pretty linen robe. His disheveled curls cover his face.
“Bloody hell, next time I am choosing where we meet for our date,” he rasps.
