Page 1 of Dragon Unhinged

Chapter

One

DECLAN

The jolt of electricity slams into my side. My teeth rattle and my dragon wants to rip through the asshole holding the other end of the shock stick.

Of course, he knows exactly what he’s doing, riling up the dragon clawing at my seams, building up rage I can’t vent with these damned charmed cuffs on my wrists. The iridescent black, seamless, metal cuffs are the bane of my existence. Their power pulsing into my body, keeping my dragon from me.

My dragon is trapped inside me. And I’m trapped inside this cage or the arena where I’m forced to fight whatever supernatural creature these psychotic humans kidnapped and caged for their entertainment.

If I’m lucky, my opponent won’t put up much of a fight. If I’m not, I’m going to have to kill someone who’s still got as much will to live as I do.

Either way, I’m going to end up with blood on my talons before the night is through.

I stare off into the black tunnel in front of me, trying to push the guard, Brian, I think, out of my mind, trying not to raise tohis bait. I’m in a holding cage and in a couple of minutes I’ll be escorted down essentially a cattle shoot into an arena.

The only other option is to let go of who I am, the warrior I’ve wielded my body into, and accept that I’m going to die a prisoner, without my family, without a mate, without my fucking life intact. Survival has made me a murderer and the longer I’m here the more I’m sure I’m never going to escape.

I bare my teeth and snarl at another jab from the suped-up cattle prod that probably carries enough voltage to power a small town, but my fierceness is washed away with a grimace, gritting my teeth through the pain zapping through my entire body.

“Does this hurt, dragon scum? I thought you were immortal and powerful.” Brian glares at me, as if he knows how much I want to rip his arms clean off his body and beat him with them. “I know you’d love to kill me, but you’ll never get the chance. Keep that rage for the fight.” His tone is mocking and smarmy.

He’s wrong. I will get the chance someday to wipe that fucking smirk right off his stupid face until there’s nothing left but a red smear.

When I’m not getting electrocuted or ripping out the throat of another shifter, fae, or vampire my captors throw at me, I try to connect, try to hold onto what little control I have over my scaled beast.

I’m falling victim to the Craze, but I know it’s more than just that. I know this rage, this insanity settling into my skull, is more than the Craze, more than just a need for a mate to soothe me, to share my life, to make me as happy as my brothers have been. It’s like I’m being torn from my dragon altogether.

My dragon is aching, roaring out for freedom, the chance to stretch our wings, to fly, to only have to fight, to kill, when an enemy threatens the clan. Before I was captured, the last time I battled was the night Tristian and the Opals attacked our clan and killed our parents.

For the first time since Syrena sent me and my brothers out into the world, following our heartstones, I ache to be home, to be safe, to be protected from the humans of this world. Not only can I not connect with my dragon, but I can’t connect to my family.

“All right, dragon puke, it’s time to go.” Brian uses the fucking prod to usher me down a narrow hall. With each jolt, I hit my head on the low rocky ceiling even as I hunch. It’s hardly enough to keep me from occasionally scraping my scalp along some rough stone above me, and it does nothing to keep me from stumbling on the uneven ground beneath me.

At six foot seven, I’m tall, even among dragons, and if it weren’t so debasing to be a prisoner, I could almost understand the humans’ draw to keep a beast like mine caged. When I am truly in fighting form, there are few creatures, few men, who can take me or my dragon down. Before I ended up here, I almost enjoyed the thrill of human fighting clubs, boxing matches. Watching such vulnerable creatures fight with all their might is a fascinating sight.

Now, though, my stomach churns at the thought of what I’m about to do, and it’s almost enough to give in, to let whoever my opponent is take my life, so that I can be free of these damned shackles, free of the monotony, and the empty days, and nightmare-filled nights.

Finally, the cave-like hallway opens up into a large cement arena. It is modernized for spectator comfort and fashioned with antiquated stone walls like we’re at the Coliseum or in Jabba the Hut’s dungeon. I smell my opponent before he comes into view, but I can’t get a lock on what kind of shifter I’m up against tonight. It smells as if he’s being kept in conditions not unlike my own, a constant heightened sense of fear, coupled with a lack of any sort of comforts to make us actually feel like men. Then there’s the stench of rot like his body isn’t healing, but decaying.

It wouldn’t surprise me if our captors prefer us this way—nearly feral, animalistic, and as far from human as they can make us, without letting our beasts out. This one smells like death, like he’s on his last leg. Did his captors bring him here for me to put him out of his misery?

Brian pushes me into the arena, and then slams the door behind me, waiting for the tell-tale click of the locks before he gestures for me to hold out my wrists.

There’s still two gates between my opponent and me. In my new cage, the bars are so heavily spelled, it makes my stomach clench and my body ache to just put my hands through the openings.

The pitiful excuse of a man takes more time than he needs to just to release the bands from my wrists. He knows how little time I get away from these fucking things, so he takes his time, delighting in my discomfort. His eyes are nearly black in this dark light, but they just reflect his soul, with the emotionless glee he takes in making me suffer.

I know I’m not the only shifter owned by Orran Shirakita, but I do seem to be his favorite toy to torture. The wounds from my last battle haven’t fully healed, thanks to my magical bindings. But if I don’t play along, if I don’t fight whoever waits for me, and put on a good show for his fucking friends, they’ll do worse than just leaving me bloody and bruised.

As much as I crave release from this torment, I’m also not ready to surrender, not ready to bow out like a coward. Not yet anyway.

For punishment and termination, they’ll bring out one of the women given Dragon’s Breath, and I’ll burn. I’ve seen enough to know I don’t want to die that way. Death by fire for a dragon is a defeat I can’t even begin to comprehend. Things haven’t gotten bad enough for the desire to burn.

Finally, the cuffs release, and I yank my arms back into the cell, rubbing at them as if I could wash away the magic or the bruises from their death grip on my wrists.

If only it were that easy.

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