Page 92 of Ash

But if what he’d seen in the dream was real, Ash didn’t have much time. Something was very wrong with his golden Dragon. There was a mortal edge to what Tyrez had sensed.

No.Tyrez had to stop it. He’d promised Ash he’d find him.

That was what he was going to do.

Three strides, and he flung himself off the ledge, embracing the change as he fell, spreading wings that rapidly expanded to catch a wind far tamer than what he’d experienced in the dream.

Was that world as real as Ash? Had he seen where Rindek was holding his Oracle?

It wasn’t a realm Tyrez was familiar with, and he had traveled many. Perhaps Jacques, or Cara, had an idea of its identity.

But first, he’d visit the Examiner’s representative. She’d had a few hours to work on the slave boss. Maybe she had something he could use to track Ash.

The guards nodded to him as he landed on the ledge. Tyrez shifted back to two legs as he strode down the halls. He walked forward while his body writhed, the shoulders and hips reorienting for bipedal motion. It took focus and raw talent to ensure movement through the change. After years of practice, Tyrez moved from four walking legs to two without conscious thought. But every guard he passed watched him with raised brows.

The Examiner’s Reader was an older woman. She sat, with a pencil and notepad, just outside the cage that held the slave boss. Every so often, she scribbled something down.

To the casual observer, it appeared as though nothing important was going on. The slaver huddled against the wall, with eyes closed and sweat beading his brow. The Reader had her own eyes squeezed shut, her breathing was ragged.

Razir sat on the narrow bench along the wall.

“She’s been at it for hours,” his brother stated. “Bastard’s resistance is impressive.”

“What are you doing here?” Tyrez asked. “Thought you were sleeping—you said you had the evening shift.”

His brother shrugged. “Yep. Put a guard on duty here. But I had to switch shifts with him.”

When Razir paused, Tyrez prompted, “Why?”

Razir grimaced. “Aranta showed up at my quarters.”

Tyrez’s brows rose. “What did she want?”

Razir snorted. “Me. She wants to come for me at sunset, rather than sunrise.”

Tyrez stared at him. Mating flights were most commonly held at sunrise, but sunset was the second choice and some Dragonas preferred it. But for Aranta to wish to mate Razir at sunset, when she’d already mated Tyrez at sunrise—she must have little faith in their mating. Or she was so upset she wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

Razir watched the play of emotions across his brother’s face. “Yeah. How am I going to achieve forty-thousand plus on no sleep and half a bucket of chicken?”

Tyrez appreciated his brother’s attempt at humor. It was a deeply embarrassing situation. But since his revelation about Ash, he was no longer quite so confused about what had happened.

He wasn’t ready to tell his brother about it, though. Razir wasn’t likely to believe him. With the scarcity of soulbonds—and with Tyrez never having actually met Ash—even Tyrez had serious doubts.

“Look, I’m here,” he said. “Why don’t you see if you can get some sleep before tonight?”

Razir stood. “Yeah, bro. That would help.”

Moments after his brother left, the slaver uttered a low groan and began to gasp.

Tyrez shivered. There were few things he truly feared, but the Examiner’s Readers were on the list, and for good reason. They were capable of extracting information from a person’s thoughts, whether or not they were willing to part with it. Quite often, if the subject resisted, they ended up with significant brain damage.

But the slaver had been given a choice, and he’d refused to offer anything on his own.

If the contortions his face now went through were any sign, he still was. This wasn’t loyalty to his superiors, this was terror. Whomever the man was afraid of, the threat ran deep.

Tyrez took a seat on the bench so recently vacated by his brother, and settled in for the wait, his mind drifting along corridors dominated by a golden-scaled Dragon.

For the Reader, it was grueling work. Even breaks to relieve herself disrupted her careful sifting of the memories. She lost ground every time.

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