Page 15 of Dragons' Future

CHAPTER 10

Kit

“The third trial is to be the last,” Quinton says matter-of-factly to the two packs now gathered back at the main shelter. As if he and Sethis hadn’t disappeared without telling anyone. As if the splatters of blood on Quinton’s boots and knife are nothing out of the ordinary. “A free for all combat that will last until a single pack and one female remain. The priests are eager for it. Their current crop of competitors is proving more troublesome than expected."

Hauck pulls me against his chest, his arms draped casually around my body. It feels… good. Welcoming. Especially against the tension that crackles in the air.

Tavias’s hand opens and closes at his side, and I can feel him fighting his urge to demand once more what Quinton was thinking when he ran off. Tavias had already asked, and Quinton had given a kind of non answer that made further demands futile.

“Sethis?” Lee asked. “Is he?—”

“He left,” Quinton said dismissively. “You are better off without him for the last trial. He understood that.”

“But -”

“He left and he cannot return.” Quinton’s tone became harsh. “There is nothing more to be said on that front. For the time being, our main focus should be the coming trial. I know a route into the Citadel and propose we bring Kitterny inside immediately. The tattoos on our backs will at least prevent anyone from attacking her outside the arena.”

“Agreed,” Cyril says, forestalling Tavias from once again demanding how exactly Quinton came by the information on passageways. “Concealing her inside would also help keep her true nature a secret longer. Our success relies on a mass reveal of the truth to all Massa’eve elites. Would you happen to know how many priests we have to contend with?”

"Approximately fifty in residence now,” says Quinton. “Here.” Clearing a patch of ground, Quinton sketches out a layout of the citadel, complete with markers for passageways, dormitories and latrines.

Darren and his pack exchange impressed looks. Even Tavais nods to Quinton with more respect than judgment.

“Weapons?” Tavias asks.

“Minimal in terms of steel. They use magic, but it’s different from ours. Rune based. Also, whereas our power comes from within, the priests harness it from an external source. Supposedly some gift from the goddess.”

“I wish the goddess found someone nicer to shower with presents,” Leesandra says under her breath and Quinton actually chuckles.

The discussion continues, the warriors crowding around Quinton’s map and debating strategy. I have little to contribute. Regardless, hours later Tavias has a plan. Everyone hates it—most especially me—but the males all agree that it’s our best chance of staying alive long enough to capture the audience’s attention. We then disperse to get some rest. I can’t sleep though, and each minute of insomnia lasts a year. I hope the rest of Tavias’s strategy works out better.

“I really hate this,” I whisper into Lee’s ear one final time as the moment of departure pounces on us.

“Me too.” She gives me a squeeze. “But you are a dragon, Kit. And we are about to have front row seats to watch all the fae's minds scramble with shock. A few hours with each other’s packs is a small price to pay.”

“You truly don’t mind switching places?” The first part of Tavias’s plan calls for showing the priests exactly what they expect to see—namely my death. So, instead of me, the crown princes of Massa’eve will stride into the citadel with a different human at their side—Leesandra. Given Geoffrey’s attack on her pack, the ruthless narrative fits neatly: I died, and my pack appropriated another female from a weaker set of males, who tucked tail and fled. Or died. No one cares which. And if that’s not ten times fucked up…

She winces. “Mostly not. I mean, I’m not totally convinced that your pack won’t eat me by accident. But provided they don’t, this is going to be epic.”

“They are not going to eat you.” I say, but then we both eye Quinton. “Well, probably not anyway. At least not by accident.”

“Definitely feel better now,” she mutters. Her voice drops even further. “What do you think he did with the priest he questioned? Is there a headless body somewhere now, you think?”

"There is not."

Lee and I both jump at Quinton’s words. Of course he heard us. And of course he lacked the courtesy to pretend otherwise.

"You left him alive?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. This is Quinton we are talking about here. "What if he warns the others?"

“He won’t.” Quinton's face is ice cold as he checks his weapons. "I coagulated the blood in his brain. His body is alive. However little he might wish it to be."

Yes, there he is.

Pushing that disturbing image from my mind, I go to say goodbye to my mates, leaving Lee the privacy to do the same with her pack. Hauck pulls me over to him mid-stride and takes my face into his hands. His breath, a mix of pine and the faintest trace of mint, brushes over my scales. "I’ll see you soon, turnip. Just stay put and don’t do anything I’d do.”

“I won’t.” I promise and let him cradle the back of my head. His fingers tangle in my hair, grounding me to the moment, to him. As he leans forward to kiss me, the scratchy stubble on his cheek scrapes against my skin in stark contrast to the softness of his lips. Once his mouth covers mine though, he takes me with urgency that’s possession and plea all mingled into one. I can taste the bittersweet tang of concern and determination that flows through our lips and bond in equal measure. Just when I think he is letting me go, Hauck slips his free hand to my waist and pulls me closer still.

“Move it along,” Quinton growls. “We’ve barely half a day left.”

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