Page 39 of Dragons' Future

With a thunderous roar that shook the ground, Kit unfurled her wings with such force of muscle and primal magic that the very air in the chamber shuddered from it. The blast shook the walls like parchment, tearing the roof from the chamber’s tall dome.

Stars. It was going to fall. The whole place was about to fall on their heads.

The magic from Kit’s transformation hit Cyril in the chest and vibrated through the bond, stunning him with the sudden surge of power. Of raw, uncontrolled magic. The wyrmwood bands flared to counter the power, but even they were not strong enough to stand against the tsunami that Kit had unleashed into the bond. Not with the antidote flowing through Cyril’s veins. An antidote that had not worked on its own, but together with the power boost, had now given Cyril some access to his magic.

Emric shouted in terror.

Cyril drew Kit’s power into his veins, summoning all the centuries of training and control into this one vital moment. He could not move his hands, but a magic shield erupted from him nonetheless, summoned by Cyril’s will and mind alone. He threw a shield up with his mind. At once, a hard dome of shimmering magic formed around them, protecting his mate, hatchling, and eggs from the rain of falling debris.

Emric froze.

Kit’s dragon swung her massive head toward the priest.

“You can’t—” Emeric started to shout. He never finished the declaration.

Kit’s dragon opened her jaws, lined with rows of sharp teeth, and closed with crushing finality around the priest’s arm.

There was a wet sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone, before Emric’s arm, still clutching the whip, was severed and swallowed.

The priest howled, his concentration destroyed along with his arm. Cyril’s wyrmwood manacles released his arms from the air.

Cyril flexed his fingers, feeling a tingling sensation as if waking from a long slumber and wrapped his hand around the first manacle. Gripping the wyrmwood sent a surge of agony through him. But he could fight through the pain. With his father’s antidote and Kit’s power, he would. The wood creaked. Flexed.

Then the once untouchable bracelet frayed under the strain, the wood groaning until small cracks appeared all along its surface. Cyril's muscles bulged under the effort, veins standing out against his skin. The first band shattered. The pieces of enchanted wood clattered to the stone floor, their magic extinguished as Cyril’s full power and control flowed back into him. The second bracelet was off in a moment .

Cyril roared with the full power of his returned magic.

Kit’s dragon turned about. She was smaller than Cyril’s dragon would be, but the tips of her wings still brushed against the chamber walls, causing small cracks to spiderweb across the stone.

On the floor, Emric was attempting to draw something with his left hand, using his own blood as ink.

Reaching him in one stride, Cyril unsheathed Emric’s own dagger and severed his remaining wrist. “No more claws for you, Priest,” Cyril snarled.

Emric whimpered.

Up above in the suddenly open sky, a pack of three orange scaled dragons burst through the clouds and circled toward the open chamber. Darren’s pack.

“Ready to go, nymph?” Cyril turned to his mate, extending an open palm.

The iridescent dragon blinked her large eyes in recognition that was primal, but not fully aware. She was Kit, yet not just Kit. She was a dragon of legend, a rebirth of ancient magic and raw strength. Power crackled along her scales.

“We should—” Cyril did not get to finish his sentence. Kit’s dragon scooped the hatchling and eggs up into her talons and launched herself into the skies.

CHAPTER 23

Kit

The warm darkness cocooning me smells of my mate and fresh grass. With disorienting slowness, I become aware that I’m kneeling on soft, moist earth. My whole body—which feels like my normal body once more—aches. The hatchling I’m clutching whimpers softly.

Beside me, Cyril pants heavily, his massive body expanding with each gulping breath. He too is on the ground, but in his dragon form, one of his wings spread wide to shelter me, the hatchling, and the four eggs vibrating beside us.

I loosen my hold on the hatchling to frantically run my hands over the shells of the other eggs. Intact. Thank the stars. The darkness shifts, letting in a few stray bits of light that play over Cyril’s blue scales. Reaching up, I poke Cyril’s wing with my finger.

The wing flinches and retracks, letting in a flood of sunlight. A heartbeat later, there is a bright flash of light, and Cyril's fae form replaces his dragon's. He looks, well, like he’s been running for miles after being tortured. Exhaustion lines every dip of his gorgeous blood stricken face, and he sways slightly on his feet despite his steel sharp gaze, which examines me with piercing intensity.

"You’ve… shifted… back.” He leans down, braces both palms on his thighs as he gulps for air. “Are we… staying… this time?”

"Are we staying where?” I echo in confusion. “Here?”

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