“Maddor?”
Brandor took a step back. “Why are you looking at me?”
He pinned an inquisitive stare on Brogan.
“What?” she asked.
“Urian?”
“Yeah?”
Ah, God, please tell me it’s not…
Falcyn swallowed hard as fear gripped him with an icy hand. “Medea?”
“Yes?”
Relief poured through him so fast that he saw stars from it.
Okay, everyone seemed to be the same.
And that was not helpful. He still had no idea what had happened to his child.
If Maddor wasn’t Maddor, and everyone else was who they were supposed to be, what could have happened to his…
His thought trailed off as the one and only answer dawned on him.
Fuck me.
Stunned and more fearful than he’d have ever thought possible, he turned toward the only rational explanation.
Dear gods no…
And yet, there was no other option.
Maddor was the Black Crom.
Demonic laughter echoed around them. “Took you long enough to figure it out, dragon. Thank you for the upgrade.”
16
My son is the Crom.Falcyn cursed himself for the spell that had gone all kinds of wrong.
In all his evil glory, Maddor reared his black horse before them. Pawing in the air, the horse screamed and blew its demonic fire. Maddor uncoiled his whip and cracked it at Falcyn.
Instinctively, he grabbed the bony spines that wrapped around his forearm, biting deep in his flesh, and leaving a bleeding welt. It took everything he had not to snatch his son from the back of the horse and drag him over the ground to beat sense into him.
No one attacked Falcyn with impunity.
No one except his son and grandson. For them alone he would bleed.
Medea saw the bloodlust in Falcyn’s eyes. She fully expected him to jerk the Crom off and beat him down. So when he let go of the whip and stepped back, her jaw went slack.
From what little she knew of her dragon, retreat and mercy weren’t in him.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I was only trying to save him.” Falcyn’s voice was barely audible.
