“Not the time, Loska,” Marek grits out.
Of course not. The time to talk was a week ago! Now you’ve abandoned a perfectly good mate on the mountainside.
Marek doesn’t have a chance to argue. Extending like a searching net, Marek’s magic catches on a dark, cold presence above.
Loska feels Marek’s thoughts before they form words. He dives sideways, gracefully evading the wraith plummeting towards them.
The wraith takes shape in midair. Dark fog coalesces into scale and bone and tattered wings—a dragon formed of death and shadow. Silver magic races like mercury along its spine. Empty eye sockets flicker as the wraith turns its skull towards them.
Across the continent of Alantha, different nations play the game of aerie according to their own centuries-old traditions. Silaise plays stags against wyrms. Fellrin plays cats against wyrms. Patha plays wolves against wyrms. The entire continent bristles against one nation.
Draskora disregards them all. Even the conflict with Silaise is a secondary concern. The only game that matters is wyrms against wraiths.
Marek grins viciously, and Loska’s bloodlust hums in his mind. White-hot dragonfire lances forward, entwined with lightning.
With a grating shriek, the wraith darts higher. Smoke trails from the edge of one tattered wing. But the wound smoothes over with shadow, and the wraith dives again. Bellowing a gleeful challenge, Loska pivots away from the wraith’s cold fire.
Marek sharpens the sky into his arsenal, spears of lightning piercing from every angle. Power pours through him. Controlling and conserving his strength is the most difficult part. Blasting the wraith until it retreats should be easy.
Except something’s wrong. They clash again and again. The wraith’s form shudders, pieces sloughing off like broken ash. This is usually the part where the wraith would turn around, and Marek would chase it back into the northern fog.
But the wraith keeps driving forward. Not always to attack.
“It’s trying to get past us,” Marek shouts. His words vanish beneath another unnatural shriek, but Loska hears the thoughts beneath.
There’s another problem,Loska says, driving the wraith back with a bellow of fire.Sei is moving away.
“He’s what? How do you know?”
I’ve been able to sense him ever since our magic linked through you. Such nice magic.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
I didn’t want you to throw a tantrum. Like this.Loska pulls up in midair, pausing as the wraith circles in front of them.He’s going south.
Marek doesn’t have to say anything. His worry spikes through the dragonbond. There’s no reason Sei should be moving from where Marek left him.
Marek shouldn’t have left him in the first place.
We can detour to fetch your mate,Loska proposes.Then finish this snack.
“No,” Marek decides in an instant.
Loska’s confusion is understandable. Marek is about to propose something they’ve never done before. Something tremendously reckless.
“Drop me off on that hilltop.” Marek starts loosening the less essential straps around his arms and waist. “I’ll hold the wraith off while you get Sei.”
Surprise rushes through the dragonbond, but affirmation follows.
Loska dives at breakneck speed towards the nearest rocky hilltop. Marek flings himself down against Loska’s neck, arms straining to hold himself in place. The harness bites viciously into his thighs, the leg straps taking more of Marek’s weight than they’re supposed to.
But the harness holds. Loska skids to a landing in a thunderclap of wings, and Marek is already pulling himself from the saddle when Loska comes to a halt. Another crack echoes through the sky. Marek slides down Loska’s side in a graceless dive. He barely rolls away before Loska launches back up.
Dragon and wraith collide in gold and silver flame. Marek’s ears ring with Loska’s delighted roar.
Or maybe the ringing is a side effect of the half-crashed landing.
Staggering to his feet, Marek dazedly regrets not wearing a jacket. His bare arms sting with rockburn and shards of gravel. Sweat and blood trickle through the grime. His shoulder hurts too. Just abrasions and a deep bruise, he’s pretty sure. But even if it’s more serious, it doesn’t fucking matter.
