Not cave.His dragon paced restlessly beneath his skin, feeling the same ennui he did.A drink.
Who, you?Race snorted, dismissing his sword. It dissolved into black mist, inking back onto his biceps.I don’t see how? Unless I do the honors.
His dragon chuffed.From the village.
“Manhattan?” Race drawled.
The Himalayas,his beast growled.
Race stilled as the pretty-eyed female slipped into his thoughts, but he shut her out.You want to go back to that dust-laden hole?
Yesss.
Why?
At the quiet in his mind, Race knew that stubborn silence. His alter ego sensed something but refused to divulge.
“If this is about Koal again, I swear I’m going to find a way to kick my own dragon’s ass,” he muttered.
A portal later, he stepped out into the forest as dawn painted the snow in shades of pink and gold.
The village looked exactly as he’d left it. Dusty, half-asleep, and probably full of drama he didn’t need?—
A terrified scream tore through the air.
Fuck! Now what?
“What the hell century are you goat-licking twats living in?” Ash spat, yanking at her wrists bound to the pole behind her. Even her ankles were tied to the damn post. “The Middle Ages died eons ago, you addlepated morons!”
The bunch of self-appointed executioners didn’t even look up, just scrambled around, adding more wood and kindling to start up the bloody pyre they’d already built for her.
Several yawning villagers stumbled out of their houses to witness the macabre spectacle.
Gut-deep horror twisted her insides. Unlike the tourist-friendly side of the valley, these people were set in their primitive ways and likely burned widows on their husbands’ funeral pyres!
Ash yanked at the ropes. She couldn’t even summon her power as her agitation grew. She needed lightning. But all she got were prickles—tiny sparks that flared and died, searing her fingertips instead of the ropes.
Christ! She was in so much trouble.
“Help!”she yelled, thrashing against her bindings.
The kindling beneath her crackled and popped. Smoke coiled upward, acrid and thick. Panic clawed at her chest. She pulled harder, but the ropes only bit deeper into her skin.
“Witch die. Curse gone. Nice rain come,” one of the scrawny bastards muttered, popping a paan leaf into his red-stained gob.
“Sod off!” Ash squeezed her eyes shut, forcing every ounce of will into the new powers tingling under her skin.
A jolt raced through her body, brief as a heartbeat before one rope snapped.
Smoke thickened, choking her. Her lungs burned. Flames climbed higher, licking through the stacked wood, and her heart hammered against her ribs. She tugged with her free hand, desperate to break the last tie. A faint prickle of power surged again.
Come on, come on. Ash coughed, yanking harder. The rope loosened a bit. She was going to blitz these bastards once free.
A rush of wind swept past. Someone grabbed her?—
The rope snapped, and she was wrenched from the flames.
Ash slumped against something hard and shut her watering eyes, her stomach heaving. Another softer whoosh of air, and she was on solid ground again.
