He dropped one of his hands and clasped his medallion from beneath his shirt. When he felt only one, he stilled. Frowning, he reached inside his pocket, encountering only the buttery soft glide of leather. His breath became as chilled and frosted as the mist, and dark fury pounded through him. Not only had Grace escaped him, and quite easily, too, but she had also stolen the Ra-Dracus. His hands fisted so tightly his bones threatened to grind to powder.
The woman had to be found. Soon.
With one last glance at the mist, he stole out of the doomed cave and up into the palace. Seven of his warriors were waiting for him in the dining hall.
They stood united, each of their arms crossed, each of their legs braced apart. The stance for war. In the center was Brand. His lips were thinned in displeasure, and his brow was stern. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that didn't quite match the rest of his expression.
"Do you have something to tell us, Darius?" his first in command said.
Darius paused midstep, then he, too, assumed a pre-battle position. His men had never waylaid him like this, and he cursed himself for allowing their game. "No," he said. "I have nothing to tell you."
"Well, I have something to tell you ," Zaeven growled.
Madox placed a warning hand on the young dragon's shoulder. "That tone will get you nothing but a beating."
Zaeven mashed his lips together in silence.
"I do not have time to play your silly game right now."
"Game?" Renard said, exasperated. "You think we're playing a game?"
"What else would you be doing here if not trying to win your wager? I told you to stay inside the practice arena for the rest of the day. That is where I expect you to be." Darius pivoted and strode toward the hallway.
"We know about the woman," Tagart called, stepping forward. A scowl marred the clean lines of his features.
Darius paused abruptly and spun to face them. He schooled his features to reveal only mild curiosity. "Which woman is that?" he asked with false casualness.
"You mean there is more than one?" Zaeven jumped in front of Tagart. His features lost their steely edge.
"Shut up," Brand told the boy. He refocused on Darius. His next words lashed out as sharply as a sword. "I'll ask you again. Do you have anything to tell us?"
"No." Darius's tone was absolute.
Tagart's scowl darkened with a flash of scales. "How is it fair that you are allowed to have a woman here and we are not?"
Brittan leaned against the far wall. He crossed his feet at the ankles and grinned with wry humor. The infuriating man found amusement in every situation. "I say we share the woman like the nice little fire lizards we are."
"There is no woman," Darius announced.
Their protests erupted immediately. "We saw her, Darius."
"Brand touched her."
"We even fought over who would have her first."
Silence. Thick, cold silence.
Very slowly, very evenly, Darius roamed his gaze over every man present. "What do you mean Brand touched her?"
The question elicited different reactions. Brittan chuckled. The younger dragons paled, and Madox and Renard shook their heads. Tagart stormed from the room, muttering, "I've had enough of this."
Brand-the gods curse him-rolled his eyes.
"You're missing the point," Brand said. "For years we have followed your orders and your rules without dispute. You said women were not allowed, and so we have always forgone pleasures of the flesh while residing in the palace. For us to discover that you have a whore hidden in your chambers for your own personal use makes a mockery of your rules."
"She is not a whore," he growled. Instead of offering an explanation, he repeated his previous question. "What did they mean you touched her?"
His friend pushed out an exasperated sigh and threw up his hands. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"
"Did you touch her?"
"She backed into a table, and I helped right her. Now will you concentrate?"
Darius relaxed… until Madox muttered, "Yes, but did you have to 'help' her for so long, Brand?"
With surprise his lips thinned.
With disbelief his jaw tightened.
With fury his nostrils heated with sparks of fire.
Darius recognized the emotions and did not even try to mute them. All three hammered through him, hot and hungry, nearly consuming him. He didn't want any man save himself touching Grace. Ever. He didn't stop to examine the absurdity of his possessiveness. He just knew it was there. He didn't like it, but it was there all the same.
"Did you hurt her?" he demanded.
"No," Brand said, re-crossing his arms over his chest. "Of course not. I'm insulted that you even have to ask."
"You will not touch her again. Not any of you. Do you understand?" His piercing gaze circled the group.
Each man wore his own expression of shock during the ensuing silence. Then, as if a dam had broken, they hurdled rapid-fire questions at him.
"What is she to you? She wore your mark on her neck."
"Where is she?"
"What's her name?"
"How long has she been here?"
"When can we see her again?"
He ground his teem together.
"You have to tell us something," Madox snapped.
Or there will be a revolt , rang in the air unsaid.
Darius tilted his head to the left, felt me bones pop, men tilted his head to the right, felt the bones pop. Control. He needed control. "She only just arrived," he said, offering them a bit of information to pacify them. He liked and respected all of his men. They'd been together for over two hundred years, but right now they were nearly more than his precarious discipline could withstand. "She has already left."
Several moans of disappointment harmonized, from deep baritones, to the crackling timbres of the young.
"Can you bring her back?" Zaeven asked eagerly. "I liked her. I've never seen hair that color before."
"She will not be returning, no." A sharp pang of disappointment caught him off guard. He wanted to see her again-and he would-but he wasn't supposed to desire her here, in his home, lighting the room with her very presence. He wasn't supposed to look forward to their encounter, to sparring with her or touching her. Neither was he supposed to mourn her loss.
It isn't the woman herself he wanted, he assured himself. Merely her ability to regenerate his senses.
"There has to be a way we can bring her back," Zaeven said.
They didn't know that she was a traveler and must die, and he didn't tell them. They had never understood his oath, so how could he explain this most loathsome task of all?
"Brand," he barked. "I need to speak with you privately."
"We aren't finished with this conversation." A muscle ticked in Madox's temple. "You have not yet explained your actions."
"Nor will I. The woman was not my lover and was not here to see to my personal pleasure. That is all you need to know." He pivoted on his heel. "This way, Brand."
Without another word or even a backward glance to ensure his friend followed, Darius strode to his chambers. He sank stiffly onto the outer lounge and jerked his hands behind his head.
How had his life become so chaotic in only a few short hours? His men were near revolt. A woman had bested him-not once but twice. And though he'd had sufficient time, he had failed to do his duty. His hands curled into fists.
Now he had to leave all that he knew and travel to the surface.
He despised chaos, despised change, yet the moment he'd encountered Grace he'd all but welcomed both with open arms.
Brand stepped inside and stopped when he reached the edge of the bathing pool. Darius knew that if he could see colors right now, Brand's eyes would be a deep, dark gold filled with bafflement. "What is going on?" his friend asked. "You are acting so unlike yourself."
"I need your help."
"Then it is yours."