Page 22 of Dragons' Future

Kitterny!

“I have her.” That’s Ettienne’s voice and Ettienne’s scent. An iron grip plucks me from the ground and throws me toward Tavais as the ground beneath us continues to shake violently. An earthquake. Or the priests’ version of it. “Get to the tunnels.”

I’m half dragged, half carried toward an archway at the side of the arena, then tossed through the opening into a darkened passage. The males follow, pushing me farther in. The ground continues shaking, the walls trembling all around us. I scream as stones start falling from the ceiling. Behind me, whole pieces of the wall are cracking. Collapsing.

In the midst of the darkened chaos of explosions and collapsing walls, a phantom ill-timed song starts up quietly in the back of my mind.

In the heart of the ancient skies,

Where stars shimmer and fire flies,

Lay a dragon, wings spread wide,

Whispering secrets of the tide.

“Move, move, move.” Tavias bellows, urging me forward, deeper and deeper. “They are burying the whole arena. Move.”

I do as Tavias orders, his voice filling my existence, the sole lifeline in the mayhem around me. He shouts for me to sprint and I do, barely escaping an avalanche of stone that piles higher and higher in the passage. I don’t stop until I’m in total darkness and realize that Tavias’s voice was never in my ears, but only in my mind. That he’d been covering me from the back.

That he isn’t here along with me.

"Tavias?" I shout. My voice reverberates off the rocks.

Tavias. Tavias. The stone answers.

"Tavias! Cyril! Hauck!" I bellow my mates names.

This time, my answer comes in a shower of stones. And this time, I have nowhere to go.

CHAPTER 14

Cyril

“Kit!” Cyril attacked the debris, throwing off the pieces of stone and gravel that pinned his mate to the floor. He’d been just ahead of her, keeping the tunnels stable the best he could as they tried to outrun the deadly earthquake the priests had unleashed. He’d poured everything he’d had into the shields, but the stones were overwhelming. He’d seen the ceiling above Kit break and reconfigured his remaining magic to shield her from the worst of it, letting the rest of the ceiling collapse around them. But something had gotten through anyway. He’d heard her scream, and then stop screaming, even as he strained to keep that shield in place, a blanket of hardened magic between her and the stones. “Kit.”

Tossing the last of the rocks out of the way, Cyril released his shield and pulled Kit’s limp body against his chest. Her dress was torn and covered with dust, a shard of glass embedded in her side.

“Kitterny.” Cyril pulled out the shard, pressing his hand against the wound. It bled, but not terribly. “Nymph. Can you hear me?”

No response.

Panic gripped every fiber in Cyril’s body. He ran his hands all over his mate, looking for injury, clinging to sanity only because Kit’s chest still rose with breath, her pulse still fluttering in her veins. “Kitterny!”

"Do be quiet." Ettienne snapped from several yards away. Of all beings to be trapped with, of course it would be Cyril’s father. Orion had a morbid sense of humor.

Ettienne’s silhouette shifted and a small ball of magic-made flame sparked to life above his palm. A trick of Ettienne’s that had finally found use. In the dim glow of the mage-light, Cyril could see that the collapse had sealed off the entrance, leaving them in what looked like somebody's study. There was a writing desk, a small bookshelf with several volumes of old text, and an exquisite shrine to the goddess Orion.

Ettienne rubbed his temple. "I can no longer tell whether my headache is from the explosion or your collective stupidity. Bloody stars. That dame of yours may be too stupid to live.”

Cyril’s upper lip pulled up into a snarl. "Do not talk of her that way. Ever.” His hands ran over her again, examining her head in the light of Ettienne’s magic. There was a bruise on her forehead. Probably where she’d gotten knocked out. Damn it. If he’d been stronger… If…

Cyril pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around Kit, then pulled her tighter against him. The feel of her steady heartbeat was a reassurance he desperately needed. “In fact, do not talk of her at all.”

Closing his eyes in concentration, Cyril listened for any hint of Tavias’s mind speech. When nothing came, he dared to call out to the pack. No answer. With the mating bond now connecting them, Cyril was certain he’d know if his brothers had perished, but short of that he had no idea what happened. Only that they’d been behind Kit and were now on the other side of the cave in. Possibly far on the other side, depending on how and where they’d needed to maneuver to stay alive. Either way, they were cut off now. And Cyril’s job, above all, was ensuring that Kit lived. Nothing in the universe mattered when paired beside his mate.

Ettienne located an oil lamp and lit it swiftly, casting the place into a warmer, steadier light. He looked worse for wear, his jacket torn and gray with the same rock dust that covered the rest of them. Several patches of crimson made the material stick to his body, and more blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, weaving a path down one clean shaven cheek.

Despite it all, when Ettienne rocked back on his heels and looked Cyril up and down, it was the same as always. Like he was evaluating an errant child and finding him wanting.

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