Page 95 of Dragon’s Rebel

Chapter 42

They both drew their weapons, waiting, moving slowly into the connecting room. Thorne was trying to get Rebel enough clearance to slam the door in her hellhound’s face. Then they’d only have one to deal with.

Or not. More came in from the hallway. Growls and glowing eyes filled the room.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” Rebel murmured.

“Because they’re waiting for my command.”

Thorne gritted his teeth, hearing the familiar and annoying voice of Jean-Claude D’Amboise. The man himself stepped into the room, the hellhounds parting to let him through without taking their eyes off Thorne and Rebel.

D’Amboise turned to Rebel like they were at a cocktail party.

“Miss Smith. How nice to meet you at last. I’m sure you’re going to have many very interesting things to tell me.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m pretty boring, really. Not much conversation.”

He raised his eyebrows. “We’ll see about that.”

Thorne was gauging the distance to the next door. Two more rooms, and they’d be at their emergency exit.

Not that it would do them much good, with the hellhounds and D’Amboise right on their heels. They might just as well try going out the front door. Either way, they’d get torn to shreds.

But he had to try.

Thorne shot a spell at the sorcerer that should have thrown him backwards into the wall, but he brushed it away with a wave of his hand.

“Really, Dragon,” he said. “Is that the best you can do? And all these years you had me convinced you could squash me without even trying. I should have insisted that you come to my parties after all.”

Thorne felt cold fear creeping up inside him. He shouldn’t have been able to counter Thorne’s spell so easily; even with Thorne’s reduced power, Thorne’s magic should have been much stronger than his.

D’Amboise should have been scared, or at least wary. But the fucker just stood there looking down at Thorne, wearing an Armani suit, for fuck’s sake. Thorne guessed that’s what all the supervillains were wearing this season.

Thorne tried another spell, and another. Missiles, lightning, fire. Each one brushed aside like it was nothing. The only thing he gained was moving them further into the room. Closer to an escape D’Amboise didn’t know about. Rebel stuck close to his back, Colt at the ready.

Finally he said, “Now!” They both started shooting, making for the far door. Hellhounds scattered, and for a moment he thought they were going to make it.

Then he heard a whip crack, and a black cord like a tentacle snapped around his waist, burning through his shirt and into his flesh. He could see the smoke rising from his skin, and let out a roar of rage and pain. The cord started pulling him backwards.

Another one wrapped around Rebel. She struggled but didn’t scream, and he didn’t see burning, but she couldn’t get free.

D’Amboise yanked on the cords, and they both landed on their knees. Thorne was fighting the cord, fighting the pain.

Rebel sounded like she was struggling to breathe. “Dammit, D’Amboise, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Why, I’m capturing a dragon,” he said. “And his little thief, too. Do you know how valuable a dragon’s blood is?”

He gave Rebel’s cord another jerk, making her gasp. “And as for you, my little witch, I’ve been looking for you a long time. And I’ve brought someone who wants to meet you.”

He yanked on the cords again. “On your feet.”

He seemed to enjoy yanking them around like marionettes. Thorne tried to resist, but the cord jerked him upward this time, forcing his feet under him. He and Rebel both had to stand, or crushed by the force of the tentacle.

He struggled, using his powers and his brute strength to fight, but it was no use. The more he struggled, the more the cord burned his skin.

This magic was keyed to dragons. And he knew who D’Amboise wanted them to meet.

He dragged them through the connecting door to what once had been a bedroom, with the wreck of a large four-poster bedframe shoved in a corner.