Page 54 of The Rook

Tempest thrust out her arm, pulling off her glove to reveal the spot on her wrist where the dragon shifter had kissed her, hoping the beast could smell the other dragon on her skin. Then she pulled down her hood and pointed to where he’d taken a lock of her hair. Not the best form of communication, but it would do. Hopefully. Shifters were all about scent, surely the dragon would scent its brethren upon her.

The beast didn’t blink or move or acknowledge in any way that it had understood her.

Perhaps not all dragons can change shape.

Fear tried to creep forward, but she battled it back. She’d be no one’s dinner tonight. Abruptly, the dragon screeched and then whirled, flying away. Sweet poison. Her temper flared.

“Thanks for nothing, you oversized snake!” she screamed, collecting her bag and preparing to climb back down to her room. “Maybe we’ll all get some bloody sleep if you’d shut up!”

“That’s a pretty powerful curse to throw at a dragon,” a cultured, powerful voice murmured. She flinched, both daggers in her hands, as she turned to face the newcomer.

And there he was—the dragon she’d met weeks ago.

“Have you decided to take me up on my offer, lovely?” he asked. His voice did not shiver in the cold, nor did his body, though his chest and arms were bare to the inhospitable weather.

Tempest shook her head. “I am here for something else.”

“Oh?” A flash of interest crossed his reptilian eyes. “And what would that be, exactly?”

“I need to get to the Dark Court in the mountains. I imagine a dragon as powerful as yourself knows exactly where that is,” she simpered. Honeyed words went a long way with males in general.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, lass,” he replied, sounding put-out. “I am not some common beast of burden.”

“I never said I considered you as such,” she soothed, before pulling out a huge sapphire pendant from the box King Destin had gifted her. She proffered it to him. “You said you like treasures.”

A slow, greedy grin crossed the man’s face. “That I do, girlwith the lovely hair. Very well. I shall take you to the Dark Court. Have you ever flown before?”

Tempest’s lips quirked into a smile. “I can’t say I have.”

“Then prepare yourself for a thrilling ride.” He drew closer, a wicked grin on his face. “Be careful. I’m told that once you get a taste for dragons, it’s hard to give up.”

She placed the necklace in his hand and cocked her head. “I’m sure I will be just fine.”

“We shall see,” he murmured.

TWENTY-THREE

Tempest

“Oh, sweet Dotae!” Tempest cursed as the dragon swerved to miss a razor-sharp edge of a jutting shelf of rock. She clung to his neck with desperate, freezing hands. Every inch of Tempest’s body was numb. One wrong move, and she’d fall to her death.

The dragon roared merrily. “We are almost there, lovely! You have done well so far. It’s thrilling, is it not?”

“If you call almost dying half a dozen times thrilling, then yes!” Tempest screamed, burying her face against his smooth, emerald scales. Her hair whipped behind her in the wind, snapping and twisting with every turn the dragon took; it would take hours to untangle the knots it had surely gained.

Her hair should have been the last thing on her mind. It was funny how the mind latched onto inconsequential things when in a life or death situation.

It’ll be a miracle if you make it to the Dark Court alive.

“Do you not risk dying every time you fight for your king… or Jester?” the dragon asked, throwing a sly look back at Tempest when she thrust up her face in shock. “Oh, come now,” he chastised, in his hissing dragon voice. “Did you take me to be ignorant, Tempest of the Madrid line? I know exactly who andwhatyou are.”

Tempest did not reply. She had been foolish to assume the dragon shifter would not have found out who she was; the mere fact that she had periwinkle hair and had been heading into the mountains several weeks ago with two shifters was telling enough. Not to mention, she wasn’t fond of getting any more snow plastered to her teeth.

She slid forward as the beast tilted downward, beginning the descent. Tempest clung tighter to him and focused on taking one breath at a time. Her body jerked as they touched ground. Lifting her head, she squinted through the storm, just making out a smooth stone platform that jutted out from the side of the mountain.

“Careful getting off,” the dragon said.

She slid to the ground, her legs jarring as she landed—they were barely able to take the weight after the daredevil journey. Tempest lifted her head and eyed what looked to be balconies built into alcoves to protect them from the weather. Many of them were lit with lanterns, torches, and strings of lights, which fluttered and blinked in the snow.

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