A gong sounded, loud, high-pitched.
The humans atop the ledge didn't live long enough to hear it. Their scorched bodies withered into ash and floated on the breeze. Darius settled his feet on the jagged crystal. His wings retracted, and he quickly drew on his vest and fastened the straps. When his warriors were properly protected, as well, he met each of their stares one by one and waited for nods of readiness.
He withdrew a long, silver blade with each of his hands and approached the dome seam. Sensing his medallion, the two sides silently parted. He gazed down, but could not see anyone inside, surrounded as they were by a thick fog. He heard the shuffle of their panicked footsteps, however, and the murmur of their fear.
He would have preferred flying into the unknown, but the vest would not allow it.
He jumped.
His men quickly followed suit.
Down, down he fell. When his feet hit the ground, his entire body reverberated with the impact. He grunted and rolled.
Humans screamed and scrambled out of the way. Their shock delayed their reaction, and Darius used that to his advantage. He jolted to his feet, swords raised and struck his first victim. The human gurgled in pain, clutching his chest, then collapsed.
Behind him, his warriors fought valiantly. Breathing fire. Always breathing fire. He didn't pause, but advanced on his next target. A look of sheer terror contorted the young man's features when he realized Darius was coming for him. The man aimed a long black gun at Darius's chest and fired. One bullet after another slammed into Darius, causing only pinpricks of pain. He laughed. Eyes widening, the man dropped his gun and gripped a thick tube that rose from a red canister on his back. White foam sprayed out and over Darius's skin, so cold his blood hardened with ice crystals. His dark laughter increased.
A Guardian of the Mist welcomed cold. Was strengthened by it. He twirled his swords and struck. The man's body spasmed, then sank lifeless at his feet.
The alarm grew louder, screeching in his ears and soon blending with the sound of gunshots. He winced at a sharp sting in his thigh, glanced down, and saw trickles of blood where a bullet had pierced. Never slowing, he rocked forward, using the momentum to slay another enemy.
Having destroyed every human within striking distance, he darted his gaze throughout the room, searching where to fight next. He watched through horror-filled eyes as Madox fell, his body covered in white foam, blood seeping from numerous wounds in his arms and legs.
Darius didn't know if his friend lived or died, and his stomach twisted. With a growl of pure rage, he spewed a stream of fire, catching the last of the humans and igniting them like a bonfire. They did not dodge it fast enough. Their screams echoed from the walls, and the scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils.
The moans soon quieted and smoldering corpses littered the floor. With the battle over, he counted how many of his men still stood. Only three had fallen. He carried Madox outside and lay him on me ground. The others followed, some limping, some relatively unharmed. Renard rushed to his side and examined Madox, then helped remove the bullets.
"He'll live," Renard announced with relief.
Filled with his own relief, Darius gripped the dagger he held and sank the tip into one of the wounds on his leg. He grimaced. The bullets hurt more coming out than they had going in, but he welcomed the pain.
As he continued to work the knife in his other injuries, he realized he and his warriors reigned victorious. Yet… where was the sense of joy and accomplishment he should have had?
"What do we do next?" Renard asked, sitting down beside him.
"I do not know. Their leader, Jason, was not here," he fumed.
"How do you know?"
"The cowardly bastard is-" Darius did not finish his sentence. Something stirred in his soul, something dark, and he knew Grace was in danger. His blood curdled. He ripped off his medallion and held it in his hands. Because he couldn't call on Grace's image, he said, "Show me Jason Graves."
The twin eyes lit with glowing red beams. Jason's image formed in the middle. He was standing in front of Grace-who was chained to a wall. Vampires surrounded the two, eyeing Grace hungrily. She struggled against the chains. "What have you done with my brother?"
"I recaptured him and that dragon whore of his. And if you don't shut your mouth, I'll kill him while you watch. You should not have left the palace, Grace," he said with an evil smile. "Mitch told me how protective Darius is of you. I wonder how much he's willing to give up for you."
"Leave him out of this," she spat, then pressed her lips together. Her face and clothes were dirty and her bottom lip was swollen. Darius's world darkened to one emotion: rage. It was a cold, calculated rage that wanted Jason's blood drenching his hands.
He forced himself to study the rest of the vision, searching for clues as to where Grace was being held. When he saw Layel, king of vampires, he knew-and his fear for Grace grew in intensity.
The vision faded all too quickly.
He squeezed his fingers over the medallion. "Those who are well enough, come with me. We fly to meet the vampires. Now ."
Wings sprouted from his back, ripping away his vest. Every dragon still breathing unfurled his wings, as well. He experienced a moment of pride. These warriors were injured, but they remained faithfully by his side. They would fight-and die if they must.
The vampire stronghold loomed on the horizon.
Black stone gave the large structure a haunted aura, casting shadows in every direction. Even the windows were blackened. No foliage grew here, for no living thing could thrive among the destruction and decay. Drained bodies hung from pikes, acting as a visual warning of the death that waited within, ready to strike.
Grace was inside.
Swallowing back his fear for her, Darius flew to the highest window and motioned for his warriors to do the same. The thin railing provided no ledge to stand upon, so he simply hovered there. A cold sweat covered his skin, and his teeth gnashed together. He was a man who liked to wait and study his enemy before attacking. But he couldn't-wouldn't-wait. Not this time. His warriors watched him, floating on silent wings. He couldn't see through the darkened glass, but could hear voices.
A woman's scream filled his ears. Grace !
He immediately gave the signal. Glass shattered as they propelled inside. Vampires hissed and humans aimed their guns. No longer protected by the vests, the dragons were vulnerable-and they knew it.
Darius pushed, shoved and sliced his way toward Grace. Careful not to burn her with his fire.
When she spied him, she struggled fruitlessly against her chains. "Darius," she called, her voice weak, hollow.
Jason Graves stood beside her, his expression one of shock and rage. Seeing Darius, the coward trained his gun on Grace's temple. Darius did not allow himself to look at his wife's face; he would have crumbled, and he had to stay strong. So it was then that he saw the blood oozing down her neck and onto her shirt.
"We both know I'm going to kill you this day," he told Jason, deceptively serene. "Your actions merely dictate whether you die quickly." His gaze narrowed. "Or whether I make you suffer endlessly."
Jason's hand shook as his gaze darted between Darius and the raging battle. Dragons breathed fire, scorching vampires and humans. Howls and shrieks blended together, creating a symphony of death. Sulfur coated the air.
"Kill me," Jason said, desperate, "and you'll never recover the Book of Ra-Dracus ."
Intent only on saving Grace, Darius stalked toward him.
"One step closer, and I'll kill her. Do you hear me?" he screamed. "I'll kill her!"