Page 50 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

I nodded, scanning the darkness. "The trail is fresh. We'll find her."

Then, we leaped, our warriors flanked out behind us.

The air punched the breath from my lungs, a brutal, exhilarating shock. I felt Hawk gasp, her hands instinctively tightening on the forearm I banded across her middle. Then, as my wings caught the powerful thermal updrafts, biting into the air, her grip eased fractionally. It was not fear. It was anticipation. Even now, danger snapping at our heels, the sheer act of flight thrilled her. Stubborn female.

Beneath us, the world transformed into a nightmare landscape painted in blacks and smoldering reds by the twin setting suns. Rivers of lava pulsed like the planet’s arteries, cutting glowing paths across the dark plains. And far ahead, the Crystal Mountains loomed, radiating menace—Ignarath lands.

We flew low and fast, skimming the tortured earth, eyes scanning, senses straining. The wind brought only the taste of sulfur and cold stone, no human scent, no sign. Hope began to bleed away, replaced by a cold certainty.

Then—a flicker. Near the eastern tunnel mouth, close to the jagged edge of our territory. Movement, unnatural against the static backdrop of rock. I banked sharply, the maneuver shearing wind, feeling Hawk tense as she spotted it simultaneously.

"There," her voice was tight, strained against the rush of air. "By that spire."

My eyes narrowed, piercing the gloom. Figures huddled in the deep shadows cast by the massive rock formation. Not Ignarath; their movements lacked the predatory fluidity. And the robes … robes the color of sickly sulfur blooms. Yellow.

A cold fist clenched in my gut. Temple acolytes. Karyseth’s insidious flock.

"Zarvash," I called, the wind snatching at the name. He was already altering course, the strategist’s mind processing the scene as swiftly as mine.

We descended in a tightening spiral, landing carefully, the impact of our talons muffled by dust. I kept Hawk bound to me, my protective instincts screaming, refusing to release her into this unknown.

The scene resolved. Three humans sprawled on the black ground, limp, vulnerable. Kira. The rescued one, Reika. Another I didn't recognize, possibly the doctor Rachel. And surrounding them, six acolytes, their yellow robes unnervingly bright in the dying light. No obvious weapons, but their hands … their hands shimmered faintly with the unsettling energy of their so-called Sacred Flame. Temple magic. Disciplines I neither trusted nor understood.

"What in the hells?" Hawk breathed against my back, her body rigid.

"Let me down," she demanded, her voice low, urgent, vibrating against my scales. "Khorlar. Release the harness. Now."

"No," I growled, my grip tightening reflexively. "We assess first. This smells wrong."

"Those are my people!" she hissed, beginning to struggle, straining against the harness. "Damn it, Khorlar, let me?—"

A flicker of movement high above. On the ridge line overlooking the spire. Dark shapes detaching themselves from the rock face, wings unfolding against the blood-streaked sky. Silhouettes sharp with menace. Crimson streaks marking their wings.

Ignarath.

"A trap." The word ripped from my throat, cold dread mixing with boiling rage. I shoved Hawk behind my legs as I unlatched the harness with brutal speed. "Zarvash!"

The bronze warrior was already reacting, thrusting Vega towards us as his blade sang free of its sheath. "Six," he snapped, eyes tracking the descent. "Airborne. Coming in hot."

The acolytes looked up, their expressions shifting from grim purpose to something akin to … satisfaction? Then surprise, as they registered us. One, a female marked with silver scales, stepped forward.

"The Temple claims these trespassers," her voice rang out, surprisingly carrying over the rising wind. "By Sacred Flame and Karyseth's will."

"Like hell they do," Hawk spat, her own blade appearing in her hand. It looked tiny, inadequate in this place of monstrous power, but she wielded it like an extension of her own fierce spirit.

"Stone Fist," the acolyte continued, pointedly ignoring Hawk. "This is Temple business. Return to Scalvaris. These outsiders broke our laws."

My wings flared wide, a silent, deadly promise. "They are under my protection." The words were edged with ice.

The acolyte’s face hardened. "The Council wavers. The Temple stands firm. Stand aside or face the consequences?—"

Her words were devoured by a piercing screech that tore through the air—the unmistakable hunting cry of Ignarath warriors committing to attack. They plummeted from the ridge, six hurtling shapes of death, wings angled for a killing dive.

No more words. No more posturing.

There was only the howl of the wind and the promise of bloodshed.

"Protect them!" I roared at Hawk, shoving her towards the fallen humans. My eyes locked with Zarvash’s. "With me!"

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