Page 8 of Killian
There, Dravyn had learned to love growing things. It had brought him joy. It became his passion. Dravyn had hardly any contact with people and had grown wary of dragonkind. With rich daydreams of gorgeous plants in his head, he’d found happiness, though it was incomplete. Loneliness had eaten at him, but his plants came to his rescue. He could talk to them. They would not judge, admonish, or hurt him.
A quick stroll through the rather small flower garden of Castle Draconis convinced him he may be losing his mind. Something had him craning his head upward, and moments later, a man with a gold circlet of leaves atop his head appeared out of thin air. With his prick hard in his hose, Dravyn breathed in the rich smell of dirt as he stood in the presence of his mate.
The man was not a dragon. His name was Killian. What was he? His senses detected him as a ruler. What business did Dravyn have being connected to one of Fate’s chosen? Genuine fear settled into Dravyn’s heart as Killian asked for his trust,then somehow made the ground beneath his feet disappear twice.
To Dravyn’s horror, he discovered himself in a room full of strangers with the crowned bodies of two men a few feet away. Were those the former dragon Emperors? What was going on? Who were all these people? Both dragon and man were appalled. Gone was the initial thrill of meeting the other half of his soul, and in its place was a spreading terror.
“Who in the name of Fate is this man?” demanded a man in a hideous crown. Like Boian, his eyes were mean. None of them were dragons, though some sense told him the tallest of the bunch was some kind of shifter. His blue gaze lacked the scales of a dragon though. Until a few minutes ago, Dravyn had believed dragon shifters were unique in their ability to shift into beasts. And magick? That was the stuff of fairy tales. Had his mind snapped from the events of the past few days? Was his sanity already too far gone to be saved?
“This is Dravyn,” Killian said. His chest puffed with pride. “He is my mate.”
“Oh, Killian,” a tiny blond woman in a silver-and-gold crown exclaimed. The voluminous folds of her heavy cloak nearly swallowed her up, but there was kindness on her pretty face as she rushed up to Dravyn’s mate and took one of his hands in hers. “What grand tidings I wish to give you both. Fate truly intended for us to visit the dragon castle today. I feared all was lost for a moment, but we were not led astray. By what name are you called?”
“Dravyn,” he muttered to the wooden floorboards.
“I am Saura.”
Dravyn jumped as a thick door swung open and a man barely taller than Saura rushed in. Like her, his hair was golden and full of ringlets. They were clearly related.
“How did you fare?” the man demanded. His deep blue gaze reminded Dravyn of Brogan’s beast in color and was full of youth, innocence, and mischief.
“The dragon leaders are dead,” someone snarled. Dravyn glanced under his lashes and stared at a man wearing a crown with an otherworldly dark smoke gently rising from it. Like the others, he wore a thick cloak. The lush fabric was jet black and decorated in macabre skulls.
“Dead?” the newcomer asked in shock.
“Fetch your father and brother,” Saura ordered. “Decisions must be made. I would have the current and future leaders of the Coven of Warlocks take part in what we decide here today.”
“While we wait, may I introduce you to everyone?” Killian asked, taking a cautious step toward Dravyn. Wondering if he would ever return to his family, Dravyn nodded. What other choice did he have? He and his dragon were curious about their mate, but their fear was far greater than anything else. It was imperative that he find a way home as soon as possible, no matter how handsome Dravyn had initially found Killian in the garden. Although his green-brown eyes were alluring, the attraction was lost in Dravyn’s fright.
“Saura is Grand Summoner of the Coven of Warlocks. Her mate, Grand Warlock T’Eirick, is being fetched by the eldest of her twins, Dra’Kaedan. His brother is called Dre’Kariston. As the twins were born with the mark of Fate, T’Eirick and Saura will cede their titles to their children when they deem them ready for the mantle of ruling,” Killian explained as Saura smiled and nodded.
“At my side is Arch Lich Chander Daray. Chosen at birth by Fate, Chander rules the Order of Necromancia. They have the power to return life to the dead. The tall blond near him is Jarl Kolsten Eldrvalkyria. Like you, he is a shifter. A phoenix. A birdof pure flame. Next, we have Magus Superus Jurdann, the leader of the mages. They master four elements.”
Killian waved toward the scowling man in the ugly crown. “Finally, we have Arch Wizard Egidius of Giles. His people are alchemists.”
“And you? What do your people do?” Dravyn dared to ask.
“He is Killian the Dwyer,” the Arch Lich replied. “The Dwyers lead the Circle of Druids. They nurture the land and can grow anything from nothing.”
“Mostly, I am a gardener,” Killian added.
That was the first thing Killian had said that had not caused fear to grow in Dravyn’s heart. Someone with a love of plants would understand Dravyn’s need to find solace in dirt and leaves. But what did nature think of being manipulated by the magick of a sorcerer?
“I’m a gardener too,” Dravyn whispered and received a bright smile from Killian.
Dra’Kaedan returned with two dark-haired men. They stood a few inches taller than Dra’Kaedan, but the warlocks did not share the height of dragons. None of the sorcerers in the room were as tall as Dravyn.
“What have you done?” Grand Warlock T’Eirick asked curiously as he approached the dead men laid out on a round table. It was the closest Dravyn had ever been to his former rulers, and he could allow no one—not even the man chosen for him by Fate—to do anything untoward to the former rulers of the dragons.
“They murdered them,” Saura explained. “Humans somehow found their way into a castle with thick walls and teeming with dragons.”
“Dishonorable,” snarled her son, Dre’Kariston.
“They blame a cursed dragon,” Arch Wizard Egidius remarked. “Which makes them fools.”
Dravyn refused to volunteer that he served the man Imperial Duke Bernal had called cursed in the dead of night. He did not know these people or their intentions. All he could hope was to make it out of the room before his body was added to the table where his former Emperors were resting.
“They should be resurrected,” Arch Lich Chander stated emphatically, beginning to pace. “We can give them an army.”
