Page 19 of Dragons' Future

I feel it too, Tavias confirmed mentally. Remind me to thank Kitterny.

Cyril grunted. He didn’t care how the mating bond with a dragon dame was fueling the pack’s magic, only that it was. Whether that would be enough to withstand three packs, even with the losses Geoffrey’s people had taken, was another story. Especially since they were guarding Lee while Geoffrey’s warriors had no worry for their humans, who were safely out of reach.

Lee yelped in pain as a lucky strike finally penetrated the defensive line around her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you sweet thing,” Geoffrey called to her. “I’ll just hurt you. A lot.” He raised his voice toward his fighters. “Cut the girl as you wish, but leave her cunt intact.”

Bastard. Cyril charged at Geoffrey, who’d stepped into this line of assault. Cyril led with his sword, but it was his magic that yanked Geoffrey’s legs out from under him and sent the male flat to his back. Geoffrey tried to scramble up but only got as far as rising onto his forearms before Cyril pressed the tip of his blade to the male’s exposed throat and held it there. The priests were the true enemy and their power relied on turning dragons against each other. If Cyril could turn Geoffrey back, the priests would have no weapon left.

They could end this.

“Call off your packs,” Cyril said, his voice a growl through the exertion. Sweat ran down his back, his hair plastered against his forehead, just as Geoffrey’s was. “Tavias spoke the truth. The priests of Orion are humans. Humans intent on destroying us.”

Geoffrey snarled, magic crackling down his scales.

Cyril threw up a shield, deflecting the attack his cousin sent his way, his sword never wavering. “This is all a farce, Geoffrey. Call off your packs, and you can have the elixir.”

Geoffrey’s brows flickered together. Yes. Cyril had his attention now.

“You can have the elixir,” Cyril repeated. Behind him, the fight raged. He knew he needed to get back, to fight beside his brothers. But he had to try. “We will yield it. Freely. All you must do is stop this and let us address the crowd. Let us tell Massa’eve the truth.”

“You lie.” Geoffrey’s lip curled back, showing his teeth. There was a bead of blood on his throat now, where he’d cut himself against the blade Cyril held there. “You didn’t come here to give up the elixir now.”

Cyril shook his head. “We don’t need it. Not anymore. Our mate is a dragon, Geoffrey. A dame. We do not need the elixir.” He pulled back his sword and reached his hand out to his cousin instead. His heart pounded, his muscles vibrating with the fever of battle. “The dragons' future does not live inside that bottle. It lives with us.”

Silver flashed in too many mirrors a second before Cyril saw the dagger leave Geoffrey’s hand. He spun to the side, a sharp pain catching him along the side of his abdomen before he could clear the blade’s path. That was all the opening Geoffrey needed to scramble to his feet and aim a vicious kick at Cyril’s temple.

“You think it’s just the elixir I’m going to take, cousin?” Geoffrey snarled, pounding Cyril with magic as Cyril stumbled, the world blinking around him. “That’s just something I will take along with the Massa’eve throne. And if it comes with a dame for me to rut, so much the sweeter.”

Geoffrey grabbed the front of Cyril’s shirt, which was the only thing keeping Cyril upright at the moment. “I saw your daddy watching from the stands. Seeing the disappointment he sired make a fool of himself. Tell me, what do you think the true king of Massa’eve is doing now, while Ettienne is busy watching you lot get slaughtered here?”

CHAPTER 12

Kit

Ascream fills my throat as Cyril barely pulls away from Geoffrey’s grip and stumbles back. Beside me, Ettienne curses Cyril heartily for the hesitation, for not killing Geoffrey when he’d had the chance.

The king had thrown a hooded cloak around me and dragged me into the stands, planting me on a bench beside himself and Autumn of all people. Autumn doesn’t acknowledge me though. She just sits with a book open in her lap. I don’t know where Darren’s pack is. Ettienne had them led away under guard. Meanwhile, a battle that was never meant to happen unfolds in the arena below us.

“Why did he hesitate?” Ettienne demands. “What did they say?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stutter back. The bond inside me is alive and roaring but I am as deaf as everyone else when it comes to sound from the arena.

My mates form up together around Lee. Their chests heave, blood running from their wounds, sweat plastering their hair to their faces. They are exhausted and, despite having taken out a third of their opponents, grossly outnumbered. Worse still, whatever happened between Geoffrey and Cyril is making the bond churn, forcing nausea to rise up my throat. Though their weapons are steady, the others must feel it too.

Geoffrey’s entire pack gathers together and rushes at Cyril. He throws up a shield, but goes down to his knees. Blood drips from his nose and pain rips through the mating bond. Sand pelts Quinton’s skin and eyes, stripping skin and flesh where Cyril’s shield fails to protect him. Quinton’s skill and magic doesn’t work at a distance, so that’s how the packs structure their attack. Targeting him with aerial assaults to keep him busy, to make Tavias spread himself thin defending his brother instead of raining lightning. Hauck covers Lee, who is screaming in abject terror. At least I think she is screaming, since only eerie silence rises from the sands. We hear no shouts, no clashes of steel. No words. But we see every bit of the blood.

“This was never the plan,” I breathe. Tavias was to reveal the truth to the crowd, subverting the trial before it started. That was the plan. The reason all of Darren’s pack is on the outside with me instead of fighting in the arena. The reason I’m not fighting in that arena alongside my mates.

But that’s not what happened.

Blood pours down Hauck’s sculpted body from where he’s taken a hit. Terror shoots through my veins. I’d not considered the possibility of my mates never walking off the sand. Not truly. But now, now it's all too real.

“We have to help them," I yell in case Darren’s pack is close enough to hear me. It’s unlikely they can, and even less likely they have the freedom to move. But I don’t care. I’ll go alone if I have to. I lunge toward the arena. I may not be much of a fighter, but the one thing I know in my bones and soul is that my pack is stronger together than apart. Our bond powered up my mates’ magic even with me sitting in the stands. It might do more if I’m in the arena with them.

And even if it doesn’t, I still need to be there. Whether we live or die, we must do it together.

A hand grabs the scruff of my neck, yanking me back. I lose my footing and trip over the hem of my cloak, but manage to pull my dagger even as I’m falling. I plunge it at my assailant.

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