Tareek understood the parameters. He suffered from both himself. Which meant naught came easy. Not for him. Nor for Henrik. Trust required effort. Brotherhood was earned, not given without proof, and a broken relationship took time to rebuild. Aye, it might be frustrating, but slow and steady always won the race. The groundwork must be laid—and the foundation set—before the bond of true friendship returned.
“Kazim . . .”
“Bad feeling?”
“Aye.” Unease tightened its grip, making his stomach turn. Releasing the death grip on his hair, Tareek raised his chin. “My temples are throbbing. The infernal buzz won’t go away and—Silfer’s balls. I’m not sure . . . I can’t tell if—”
“Go Tareek. Call forth the dragon and fly for White Temple.”
Boots rooted to the ground, Tareek didn’t move.
Kazim sighed. An instant later, he pushed away from the great oak and, footfalls silent, walked straight toward him. No hesitation. No fear of the dragon. Just straight courage as he strolled within striking distance. Black gaze steady on his, the assassin halted beside him and raised his hand. Tareek tensed, but stayed true, refusing to bolt. Or shy away. He wasn’t a coward. No matter how much he disliked physical contact, he must stay the course. Kazim was now his brother-in-arms, which meant . . .
’Twas time.
He needed to start somewhere. Trust a little further and put himself on the line. A simple touch—no matter how vexing—seemed as good a place as any to begin.
A knowing glint in his eyes, the assassin slapped the back of his shoulder. Skin cracked against leather. The contact made Tareek flinch.
One corner of Kazim’s mouth tipped up. “Do not worry so, fratele. I will see to the horses as planned.”
Tareek released the breath he’d been holding. “Where will you be?”
“West of the holy city.” Another solid slap to his back. The love tap rocked him forward. Tareek widened his stance to keep from losing his balance. Kazim nodded in approval, then pivoted, returning the trust by turning his back on Tareek. Twin sword hilts flashed in the gloom, rising over the Persian’s shoulders as he strode toward the horses. “If there is trouble, Henrik will head for cover. The Limwoods provide the best.”
True enough.
Although, it might prove troublesome. The forest wasn’t exactly hospitable. Getting in never presented a problem. Getting out, however? Well now, that would be tricky. Alive with magic, the trees liked to keep what they found. He should know. As a fledgling, he’d gotten caught inside the Limwoods. Or rather gotten his wings tangled up in it and the thick vines that snaked across the turf without warning.
Tareek gritted his teeth. Wonderful. Just terrific. Another experience he’d rather forget.
Not that he could avoid it. Not with Henrik out there—somewhere—doing his usual thing. The thought made him move as Kazim untethered the horses. Standing too close to the forest’s edge wasn’t advisable. Greater space equaled more wingspan and a better launchpad. Backpedaling into the middle of the dell, Tareek unleashed his magic. Muscle expanded and bone grew. With a hum, he transformed into dragon form, hands and feet turning into talons, bloodred scales flashing in the gloom, spiked tail rattling in warning. Loving the stretch, he unfurled his wings. Black webbing slid into interlocking dragon skin, becoming one as cold air flowed, swirling over the horns atop his head.
Baring his fangs, Tareek snarled at the night sky. The poison-tipped spikes along his spine rippled, sounding like wind chimes. Mmm, mmm good. Music to his ears. Better than—
The horses screamed. Multiple hooves left the ground.
Kazim cursed. Hands wrapped in the long tether, the assassin bore down as the small herd bolted, dragging him across the turf toward the trees. More cursing ensued. Tareek sighed. Well, hell. There they went again. Same story, different night. Finicky beasts. It wasn’t as though he planned to eat them or anything. Scales clicked as he shook his head. A smarter bunch would’ve caught on by now.
Resigned to the chaos, Tareek sent magic rolling on a soothing wave. The horses calmed, settling into a sideway prance.
Kazim threw him a dirty look. “Do you mind? Get your scaly arse out of here before I skewer you like a—”
“At River’s Bend, edge of the Limwoods.”
Still pissed off, Kazim’s gaze narrowed on him. “Meet you there.”
Tareek nodded and leapt skyward. Snow whirled, billowing from his wing as he climbed above the treetops. He heard Kazim curse his name, but he didn’t care. The assassin could handle the wind gust along with a bunch of unruly horses. Henrik wouldn’t survive long without him. How did he know? No clue, except . . .
The unpleasant prickle intensified, raising his radar.
His sonar pinged. Locked into the signal, Tareek cast the cosmic net wide. As it settled over rough terrain, he banked hard, coming down out of the mountains as he gathered information. He growled. Aye. Definitely. No doubt in his mind. Something dangerous was afoot. Something dark and unpredictable. Something that smelled far too familiar.
Dread congealed in the pit of his stomach.
His gaze narrowed on the treetops. Naught yet, but soon. Whatever was out there would show itself soon. He sensed it in the air. Felt it rise upon the wind. Knew trouble when he found it. Fine-tuning his radar, he increased his wing speed and swung wide. More of the unholy stench blew into his face. Tareek bared his fangs on a curse.
Oh so not good. He recognized the smell now.
Alarm thrummed through him. Tareek inhaled again, filtering the sensory burn, wanting to be sure. Silfer be merciful, let him be wrong. Let him be—
Acrid air washed over his scales. An awful taste rushed into his mouth.
Tareek flinched and, wobbling, lost altitude. With a growl, he tucked his wings and flipped in midair. The twist took him up, then over. Muscles stretched. His body screamed. He ignored the discomfort and, gritting his teeth, rotated into another body-torqueing spin.
Better. Less volatile. Much more even.
A necessary thing. Losing control wouldn’t help matters. But even as his brain relayed the message, his body rebelled, kicking his heartbeat up a notch. Boom-boom-thump. Bang-bang-throb. Tareek shook his head. The sound of catastrophic failure if he didn’t control it. And fast. Necessity dictated the path. He must push aside the past—forget what the terrible smell signaled—and calm down.
Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get the ball rolling.
Or stay steady enough to warn the others.
Centering himself, Tareek reached out with his mind. Magic writhed around him. His eyes started to glow, washing out in front of him, painting black treetops bright-green. The cosmic cable unwound, bridging the distance to find a connection. Static slithered through the void. The mental hook grabbed hold. A snick echoed inside his head and . . .
The bond snapped into place. One moment fell into the next, then—
“You all right?” The deep voice slammed into his head, cracking through mind-speak like a battering ram. Tareek winced, but went with it anyway. ’Twas forever the same. Quick on the trigger, Garren linked in fast and always talked first. “What is going on?”
“Naught good.”
“Shit.” His commander paused. Meaning coalesced in the silence, thumping the inside of his skull. Tareek didn’t say a thing. Words weren’t necessary. Not while Garren cherry-picked the problem off the front of his brain. “It’s back.”
“Aye.”
“How bad?”
“Bad. More lethal. Stronger than before,” Tareek said, feeling his commander’s unease rise along with his own. “The stench of black magic is thickening.”