Page 2 of Wild Fire

“My thinking is while drakaina would command the highest price, the slavers would have to know and be targeting shifters. If the slavers are shifters themselves, there is the very real possibility they are being backed by those who need money not easily traced to them. The trafficking of shifters, and especially drakaina would take skill, nerve and money.”

“I don’t think the Council would sink to that level of depravity,” asserted Sobek.

Warrick shrugged. “Perhaps not, although you have a far higher opinion of them than I do. But it would be right up the Shadow League’s alley and would give them a funding source not easily traceable and allow them to do whatever it is they’re really up to.”

“I don’t disagree with you, and it would give them another revenue stream, but Falkor is convinced there is someone behind the League pulling the strings.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Sobek nodded. “True. So, in addition to finding Monroe’s two missing drakaina, see what you can find out about who took them and who is ultimately the puppet master.”

Warrick left the following morning, long before Dragonwyk had begun to stir. The primary business of the Phantom Fire was as mercenaries. In order to function, each warrior had numerous identities that were well documented and just lying in wait. Their philosophy was that it was better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission.

Taking on one of their identities as an obscenely wealthy, morally corrupt businessman from Los Angeles, he rented an Alfa Romeo just south of Seattle, checked into a room at one of the best hotels, and proceeded to let it be known in the right circles that he was in the market for a new toy—an exotic, expensive, female toy. No questions asked. It took less than a week before there was a knock on his door.

He opened the door to a lithe blonde who handed him an engraved invitation. Warrick suppressed a smile. He’d been expecting something. His current identity had been under scrutiny for the past two days. The slavers must not have seen anything amiss.

“That’s it?” he purred, seductively. “Have you nothing more for me?”

“The masters have invited you to a special preview of a select offering at the end of the week. If you’re interested, the invitation contains instructions.”

“Will you be among those offered?”

She blushed and barely repressed a shudder. It would seem she too was among their victims, just one given a longer leash. “I serve as the masters wish me to serve.”

He subtly scented the air that surrounded her—human, but terrified. Warrick imagined she had learned of shifters and that the auction offering this week was for shifters, either on the buying or being sold end of the spectrum.

“Tell your masters you served them well, and I will consider their invitation.”

That Friday evening, in accordance with the instructions on the invitation, Warrick was picked up in a stretch limo outside his hotel. The limo drove around in what seemed to be an aimless pattern until it settled and headed toward the waterfront. It pulled into an access alley between two tall warehouse buildings.

The driver hopped out, opening the car door and indicating a door Warrick should use to enter. As he approached the warehouse, the beat of techno-dance music throbbed and seemed to make the entire building pulse. He paused as he entered, allowing his eyes to quickly adjust to the light and his hearing to filter out the din of the music.

He quickly surveyed the room. Little had been done to try and disguise what the warehouse was: a slave market. There might be comfortable chairs for the patrons, but those to be sold or auctioned off were on display—some chained to the walls, some in cages, and some suspended from the rafters so their feet only barely touched the floor.

Warrick sucked in his breath, holding it until he could get a rein on his temper. There must have been twenty or more females—all shifters. Most of the buyers were shifters, as well. A few humans, but the vast majority were shifters. How could they? Hadn’t they all been raised with the fear that if humans found out about their true nature, they would all be enslaved? Had the Shadow League—the boogeymen of legend—made their worst nightmares come true?

He scented the air. There was the faintest whiff of drakaina. He inhaled again, trying to pinpoint their location. Before he could move from the entry, a beefy guard handed him an iron wristband. “To ensure everyone’s safety,” he said.

Not everyone’s, thought Warrick—only those who had created and maintained this perversion. Nodding, he enclosed the iron cuff around his wrist. Easy enough to get off if he needed to.

“All of those on offer tonight have a small pedestal sign, giving their vital information and their auction number. You may touch but cannot mark or in any way damage the merchandise. The old ‘you break it, you buy it’ rule applies,” the guard said with a smile, impressed by what he believed was his own cleverness.

Warrick wanted to ask about drakaina, but as some shifters didn’t believe they existed, he decided it was best to search for them himself. Warrick began to wander through the various displays, noting each female had either a wrist or ankle restraint made of iron. The slavers knew what they were doing.

As he wandered, stopping to speak to other buyers, he noticed a group of humans dressed in a kind of uniform—white pants, white shirts, and a purple vest. Emblazoned on the back of the vest was a silver dragon and the name ‘Servants of the Winged Serpent.’ The dragon was of Chinese design and to Warrick’s mind resembled a snake more than the dragons he knew.

“Who are they?” he asked a man standing in front of a lovely deer shifter whose doe eyes, even in her human form, were captivating.

The man gave a brief snort. “They’re the cult that started all of this. They’re all human, but I suspect their leader is one of us. Probably some kind of snake-shifter with delusions of grandeur. I would say I thought dragons had long ago gone extinct, but rumor is more than one female dragon-shifter might be up for bid tonight.” The man gave a bitter laugh. “I wonder if they can breathe fire in their human form?”

Warrick wanted to snap the man’s neck. “Doubtful, but I’m not sure I’d want to find out.” They couldn’t, but he saw no reason to calm the man’s fears.

Like the other buyers, Warrick wandered through the displays until he came upon the drakaina. Their eyes widened imperceptibly. As discreetly as possible, Warrick crushed the lock on their wrist restraints. “I am Warrick of the Phantom Fire. I will see you set free,” he whispered.

He turned and motioned to one of the attendants. When the man made his way to Warrick’s side, he said, “May I be of assistance, sir?”

“I was told more private examinations might be made in more secure surroundings. I would like to examine these two.”

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