Okay. I’m not afraid of heights like Silas, but I will admit to about five seconds of crap-my-pants fear before elation takes hold. I do not have words to describe how amazing this feels. We’re gliding through the air, and because of Mateo’s magic, I’m toasty-warm. The moon shines on us, silvery and bright, and everything feels utterly magical.
Rhys circles the castle grounds, and then wings his way toward Cologne. In less than ten minutes, the dark of the K?nigsforst gives way to the bright lights of the city. We’re up high in the sky, but I can’t help wondering if anyone will catch a glimpse of us. I’ve never seen a dragon in Manhattan. If one appears, it’ll probably cause mass panic. Maybe because Bastian’s castle is so close to Cologne, the residents are more used to flying dragons?
I shriek with joy and grip his scales tightly as Rhys dips and dives through the clouds before climbing higher. This is like being on a roller-coaster, and I love it. “If you want to do a barrel roll,” I yell to him, “I won’t tell.”
Unfortunately, he doesn’t take me up on it, though his exhilaration at being in the air is palpable. I lose track of time as we fly. My cheeks hurt from my wide smiles, and my throat is sore from screaming. Flying with Rhys is like the world’s best theme park ride, and I find it impossible to hide my disappointment when the familiar lines of Castle Jaeger come into view.
Rhys gracefully lands on the lawn, and I slide from his back a lot less gracefully. In other words, I land on my butt. I’ve barely gotten my feet under me when I’m lifted in two strong arms.
“How was your first flight, love?” Rhys asks, nuzzling my neck.
“It was okay,” I shrug, attempting to play it cool, though the wide grin on my face belies my words.
“So was that someone else yelling for me to go faster? And what was it… ‘Oh my God, Rhys, this is amazing!’ Was that someone else too?”
“Must’ve been,” I tease, turning in his arms, standing on tiptoe and pressing my lips to his. “Thank you for taking me. It was… amazing. Can we go again?”
Rhys drops a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Anytime you want, love. We’re safe here.”
8
Mateo
Last night, when Casius had voiced his suspicions about what it meant that Aria was part of the Bloodstone, I’d dismissed them as far-fetched.
Then I saw Aria’s blood being absorbed into the gemstone, and I sensed what she did her best to hide from us.
I’ve worn the dragon relic around my neck many, many times. It has never felt hostile. But when Aria’s blood dripped down on it, I’d been shaken by a sense of wrongness. The Bloodstone had felt malevolent, snaking out tendrils around Aria’s pure, clean magic, trying to draw her power into itself.
Derther Roth speculates that Aria is the key to unlock the magic that’s trapped inside the ruby, but though the elderly wolf-shifter is wise, it’s not quite that simple.
The Bloodstone had felt greedy. Hungry. Dangerous. And as to what that means…
I refuse to allow myself to follow that train of thought.
My own magic feels tainted, a lingering effect of what happened in the study. The weight of the curse seems stronger than ever. Is the effect temporary, or has the balance of magic been shifted permanently?
I don’t know.
How are we connected to this? We’ve been chosen as Aria’s mates, but of the five of us, only I have magic. What did Maija Essen see in the future that caused her to manipulate the warps and wefts of fate? What role do we serve?
Everywhere I turn, there are more questions than answers.
It’s late at night, but sleep eludes me. I glance at my phone. It’s one in the morning, and the castle is quiet. I could wake one of the others, but I don’t want to.
What I want to do is forget everything. Forget the weight of the burden I carry as the second-most powerful mage in the world, strong enough to stop everyone but Zyrian. Powerful enough, except when it matters.
A sliver of moonlight shines through my window and illuminates the ring on the table next to my bed. I’d found it last night in the underground chamber. I’d planned on asking Aria if it was the same ring that Maija Essen gave her in her dreams, but I’d forgotten.
Which is strange in itself. It’s not like me to forget something so important.
I pick up the thick golden signet ring and examine the crest. The design is simple. A sword is etched in the center, its hilt carved with a mark that I’ve seen a thousand times. A mark I bear on my right wrist.
The mating mark. A five-pointed star, with a circle running through all five points. Why is it here?
Yet more questions.
With a sigh, I slip the heavy gold band on the ring finger of my right hand. There’s a bar in Cologne near the cathedral that’s open later than strictly permitted by the authorities. Zeus knows I need a drink.
Three hours later, I’m well and truly drunk. There’s a small part of me—a sensible inner voice—that tells me this is impossible. Dragons are not affected by alcohol the same way Norms are, and I shouldn’t be feeling this unsteady, this woozy.
It’s the ring. It’s dampening your magic.
I ignore that voice. So what? I’m allowed to cut loose one night. While there is a blood spell to temporarily remove anxiety and clear the mind, another mage needs to cast it on me, and there’s no dragon I trust enough with what torments me. Beer seems a reasonable substitute.
The barmaid comes by with a tray of K?lsch and sets a glass on my table. “Make that two,” I tell her, looking around the bar. Everyone’s having a good time. All around me, I see people laughing with their friends.
Norms really do live in a blissfully ignorant bubble.
She gives me a saucy grin. “Someone’s having a bad night,” she coos. “Want me to make it better?”
Not even a little. “I’m spoken for.”
“Are you?” She arches her eyebrow, her meaning clear. Why am I in a bar at four in the morning, instead of being in bed with my mate?
Not a thought I want to dwell on.
I don’t reply, and she gets the message. She lifts her shoulders in a shrug and heads to the next table, where two men are giving her admiring looks. One of them says something that makes her laugh as she sets glasses of beer down on their table.
I’m restless again. I drain my two glasses of beer and get to my feet. The room spins around me, and I grab onto the table for support. I tuck a fifty-euro note under the glass closest to me and stagger out. Perhaps some fresh air will do me good.
It’s dark. Quiet. The deepest part of the night has not yet given way to dawn. The sun won’t rise for another two hours. The streetlights provide some faint illumination, but I don’t need it to find my way. Dragons can see perfectly well in the dark.
I make my way to the river, crossing the Rhine on the Hohenzollernbrücke. I’m almost off the bridge when three men appear in front of me. “Gimme your money,” the man in the middle growls. In his hand, he’s holding a knife, the blade six inches long. Painful, but nothing that should cause too much damage. Not to a dragon.
I’m in no mood for a fight. I’m hanging to my temper by a thread, and if it snaps, these men are not going to like the results. “Go away, buddy,” I reply.
“Go away, buddy,” he repeats with a snicker. “That’s an effective threat, isn’t it, mates?”
Some people really do have a death wish. I take a deep breath and let my eyes slit yellow. But it fights me. My magic is sluggish and slow, as thick as a swamp. Even the shift, which is so basic that every dragon can do it from birth, feels like it takes more energy than it ever has.
“Like I said,” I repeat. “Go away, buddy.”
They’ve seen the dragon’s eyes. If they’re magical, they will know what they’re looking at. If they’re Norm, the sight should fill their hearts with fear.
Except that’s not what happens. “Do it,” one of the men shouts, his voice desperate and ragged. “Do it now.”
The man in the middle throws the knife at me. I reach for it, but I’m too slow. Too late. The blade slices into my side, and I fall to my knees as my body is engulfed in agony.