Page 96 of Dragon’s Rebel

One room closer to their escape. That was good.

But there was a black-robed, evil-smelling man standing in the room, his eyes glowing red in his ravaged face, flanked by a couple of leather-clad minions with their hellhounds. And since Thorne and Rebel had passed through just a short time earlier, two sets of shackles had been fastened to the wall, glowing with magic.

That was not good.

D’Amboise yanked them to their knees.

“Corwyn,” Thorne said, when he got his breath back. “Lookin’ good. You might want to try a tad more sunscreen, though. For that skin problem.”

The red eyes narrowed. “Speak to me with respect, Draken,” he said.

Did Corwyn still not realize Thorne was a Wild Dragon? Or did he not see the distinction?

And did he know Thorne’s dragon was gone?

“Why should I?” he said. “Last I heard, you served us. Not the other way around.”

“I serve no one!” Corwyn thundered.

That was interesting. “Not even Vyrkos?” he said. “How’s that going to play out when he busts out of his tomb and you aren’t friends anymore?”

“When I have the Seals, Vyrkos will serve me,” Corwyn said. “And all the world shall be mine.”

Thorne saw Rebel’s eyes go wide. So that’s why he wanted the Seals before the Keepers activated them. He thought he could use them to control Vyrkos himself.

Rebel laughed. “Good luck with that,” she said. Corwyn twitched his finger, and an invisible slap hit Rebel in the face, snapping her head to the side.

Thorne growled.

“Respect,” Corwyn said softly. He turned to D’Amboise. “Shackle them.”

D’Amboise used his spell to drag the two of them over to the wall. At a gesture from him, one of the hellhound wranglers came over and searched Thorne roughly, taking his gun, his phone, and his concealed knives. He tried to take off his dragon-scale bracelet, but it clung to his wrist like it was superglued to his body.

Corwyn said impatiently, “Leave it on. The restraints form a magical shield that will nullify any Draken magic. It won’t help him.”

The hellhound forced the shackle over the bracelet. Thorne expected it to be painful, but the bracelet seemed to melt into his skin with no discomfort. As soon as it closed, a shimmering spell bubble sprang up around him.

An extra shield against any magic he might try. Or any escape.

Rebel got the same treatment. They took her Colt, her spare piece, her knives and her phone. The minion also managed to grope her, the bastard, before fastening on her shackles.

Thorne growled again. When he got free—and he would get free—he would kill them all for harming his mate.

D’Amboise smiled thinly, as if he could read Thorne’s mind.

The shackles were three-inch wrist cuffs inscribed with magical runes, attached to the wall with chains just long enough to allow Thorne to eat or drink—assuming they gave him food. The wall plates appeared to be attached to the plaster with more magic.

And then their were the shields.

“Now then,” Corwyn said, folding his arms over his chest. “We will begin.”

He turned to Rebel, looking her up and down. “So this is what Maia’s legacy has come down to.” He shook his head. “I supposed I shouldn’t be shocked—humans always were a puling, pitiful race.”

“What does that say about you?” Rebel asked.

Corwyn shook his head. “I am not of this world,” he said. “I always told the Draken they should be ruling it, not protecting it.”

He turned to Thorne. “And now the last of the Draken Guardians are mating with them. What your once-proud race has come to.”