“When’s the transfer?” another asked.
“Before dawn,” the soldier said. “Captain’s got his tail in a twist over it.”
“Why the rush?” another guard asked, scratching his jaw.
“Marshal’s orders. Wants them deeper in Gildershard. Safer from—” He lowered his voice. “Heard an old blood’s been spotted.”
“That’s why the patrols increased,” Koal murmured. “They’re consolidating their prisoners.”
Race went very still, every muscle locking down against the surge of dragon-rage. The rut-fever burned hotter, making the room swim.
“Old blood?” a younger guard scoffed, ale spilling as he slammed his mug down. “They’re all dead.”
“Tell that to the Resistance scout we captured yesterday.” The lieutenant’s mouth curved in a cruel smile as he drained his mug. “Torn apart by dragon claws after. Blood everywhere. Worth it for what we learned.”
The metal mug dented under Race’s fingers, ale splashing across his knuckles. Koal’s warning touch on his arm barely pierced the red haze of fury and animal need.
He sent his thoughts into Koal’s head.I thought Attor kept my return quiet.
“He has,” Koal murmured. “Someone must have seen you.”
My fucking hair?—
Then it hit. Flaeron saw him at the portal basin.
Race dragged his fury deep within him, pushed back from the table with slow, careful movements, every muscle coiled. He rose.
The wind had picked up, rattling the loose shutters. Ash’s storm was gathering strength even as she slept. Perfect. Let them think the weather was their only enemy tonight.
He caught Koal’s eye, nodded once, and slipped out into the bitter winds. His dragon’s savage anticipation merged with his own as thunder rolled overhead, answering some feral chord within him.
In the hours to come, you’ll remember why the old blood was feared. I’ll paint these mountains with yours.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Midnight.D-Day or was it D-Night?
Hmm. Hard to tell when she was about to help start a mountaintop rebellion. Either way, the hour had arrived at Talonhold House.
Ash wiped her clammy palms down her jeans and leaned against the common room’s deep-set window, the cold pane against her spine.
With sleep still heavy in her eyes, she stifled a yawn as she waited. Around the table, the men moved with quiet efficiency, the low rumble of their voices threading through the scrape of floorboards underfoot.
Her gaze settled on Race.
Dressed in a black t-shirt and worn leathers, he appeared untouchable. He leaned over the rough-hewn table, his silver hair tied back, the bones of his face sharpened in concentration.
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he spoke in low tones, tracing their route through the mountains. Stress? Or something else? Either way, if things went sideways, they would lose far more than a fight.
No, dammit.No one was failing those children—or the women.
She exhaled through her teeth and turned to the window. A storm was gathering, and the tug building within her bones kept growing. The dark clouds above churned, letting sporadic shards of moonlight spill over the sleeping town. Even the old house creaked, uneasy under the weight of what lay ahead.
The sound of wings broke the quiet. Two massive shapes cut across the fleeting moon, one scaled in volcanic rust, the other a deep jade, flashing silver before vanishing from sight.
Moments later, the back door opened, and Varkyn filled the threshold, all battle-scarred bulk and authority. Rhaedra followed, predator-grace in human skin, her coppery-red hair gleaming like a spill of blood. Both were dressed; they probably had clothes stashed in Talonhold.
