Page 24 of Dragons' Future

Whispering secrets of the tide.

Cyril shook her gently, then pulled her up onto his lap.

She shifted her head to nestle it more comfortably against Cyril’s bare chest, but gave no other sign of awareness. Her singing continued, stronger now. The air stirred with raw magic that was now crackling from her. The air charged, the pressure changing the way weather did before a lightning strike.

Close your eyes, little ember's glow,

Let the winds of dreams softly blow,

To realms beyond, where dragons fly,

Sailing the canvas of the sky.

The walls around them started to tremble. Cyril’s own magic vibrated inside his body as he threw what little power he had into a shield around them. So much power spilling into the air could bring down the walls.

“Kit!” Cyril shook her hard, urging—needing—her to wake up and take control of whatever was happening. “It’s a dream. Open your eyes. It’s all a dream. Please.”

Nothing. Nothing beside more power, more static magic filling the air.

Cyril yanked on the bond.

Ettienne crouched beside them.

A growl escaped Cyril’s chest, warning the king off.

Ignoring him, Ettienne drew a deep breath and quietly lent his own deep voice to Kit’s haunting melody.

Breathe in deep, the night's embrace,

Feel the stars kiss your fiery face,

For in dreams, all dragons are free,

To soar, to dance, to simply be.

Kit’s eyes came open with a gasp as the song ended.

And then she started screaming.

CHAPTER 15

Kit

Ijolt awake to the sound of my own screaming. Panic rushes through me, fear that’s both mine and others’. Images flash before me. My mates in the arena. Geoffrey’s sword aimed at Cyril’s chest. Chaos of bodies shoving and fighting and killing. An avalanche of stones. A flurry of robes and chants. And in the backdrop of it all, there is the music. That haunting, desperate song that pulls painfully at my soul.

“Kit. Kittery. Look at me.”

“Stop! No!” I throw up my hands, trying to ward off… something. Falling stones maybe? My heart beats frantically, echoing off the walls, as if trying to escape the confines of the collapsed corridor. The air is stale and heavy, carrying the dust and debris of the fallen stones, making it hard to breath and scream. “Please!”

“Shut her up.” Another voice orders harshly. “Before she gets us killed.”

Suddenly there is a mouth covering mine, swallowing the sounds. A familiar, wonderful mouth that reminds me of the ocean and fresh seas as it draws me in, anchoring me to the present. Cyril. Alive and here, kissing me with a desperate urgency that echoes deep through our bond, letting me know that the connection is as much for his sake as mine.

Awareness claws me back with brutal honesty. I scent blood and broken stone, and the kind of dust that gets between your scales and irritates the delicate tissues. But I know I am alive. And so is Cyril. I can tell the others are farther away, but I’m certain they are alive as well. That’s a start.

Pulling away from Cyril, I rub the sand from my face and look around. We are in a small room that seems to have been someone’s study before it became our refuge. My attention falls to Ettienne, who is now flipping the pages of one of the books here, and the room immediately feels more like a prison.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear Ettienne’s voice though. Singing with me. Telling the song that it was being heard. Which makes no sense actually, but did at the time. The way things make sense in dreams.

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