“We will.” Attor turned from the window. “But the sire’s orders were clear. You stay protected.”
Right. If anything happened to her, Race would leave everything behind, not help them.
Sighing, Ash cracked each knuckle. “I still don’t understand why a lone human is suddenly every dragon’s prize?”
Attor’s brows drew tight. “Most would’ve only seen you as different. Vulnerable. But Flaeron, he scented more. He knows you are gifted.”
All because she couldn’t control her damn powers!
“But I thought humans came into your world before?” she murmured. “Race said a few had.”
Koal folded his arms over his wide chest. “Aye. Millennia ago, a rift-storm tore the veil between our worlds. A handful of traders and their wives spilled through. The men fought in the wars, but the women…well, they were taken as pleasure mates or pets…”
Her stomach churning, Ash shifted in the armchair, tucking her chilly feet beneath her. “So, they were forced to stay?”
“Kept,” Attor corrected, his jaw tight, conveying his disgust. He prowled to the dining table across from her. “Some as curiosities, and others as bed warmers, a few as breeding stock. Your kind became a status token—rare, delicate, and, to the wrong court, expendable.”
Ash shivered and stared out through the smoky window, where the faint blue light continued to pulse. A memory surfaced—something Attor had said when they first entered Duskscale.
“What did you mean when you said they also captured a female in heat?”
His expression grew grim. He dragged out a chair and sat. “With so many younglings stolen and others dying, the females won’t risk bearing children. But Malcarion made it law—breed, or be taken. If they refuse, they’re forced to rut with his soldiers.”
Her breath snagged. “Oh, that vile bastard?—”
The front door blew inward.
Ash leapt up, her heart jamming in her throat. Koal lunged in front of her, shoving her behind his enormous frame.
Race stalked in, his silver hair windblown, crimson eyes blazing. Blood seeped from a gash across his ribs, soaking his shirt. His gaze locked on her then shifted to Koal.
Koal hastily stepped aside and lifted his hands. “Didn’t touch her.”
Race’s growl vibrated the air. “And it’s the only reason you still breathe.”
Ash dashed to him before all hell let loose and clutched his arm. His muscles, like forged steel, twitched beneath her fingers. “You’re bleeding? What happened?”
“I’m fine. The bastard expected me to follow him like some dumb prey. I am a fucking Guardian, my senses never sleep, damn assholes.” He patted her arm and crossed to the table. “I already sensed the other fucker on the rooftop and ripped out his throat. Then hunted down the window-peeping bastard and gutted him. Both are now charred carrion.”
He slammed two crested rings onto the table, the metal still smoking. “Why make it easy to identify the bastards?”
Ash’s attention darted from the rings to the blood drenching his shredded shirt.
“We’ve got maybe a few hours before they realize their scouts are done for.” His voice was pure ice. “We need to leave at first light.”
Despite their precarious situation, her anxiety grew at his horrific wounds—wounds he seemed to ignore completely.
“I’ll get a healer.” Attor started for the door.
“No.” Race waved him off.
“Damn it, Race.” She hurried to his side again. “Let Attor bring the healer.”
His gaze softened a fraction. Then he lifted his shirt, revealing long talon gashes already knitting, the bleeding slowing.
Christ.The man would give her a heart attack.
“We have more pressing matters,” he said, letting the fabric drop. “Both spies wore Flaeron’s crest.”
