Dragon Storm (Dawn of the Dragon Queen Book 2) (9 page)

S
afina treaded water, trying not to panic as the black abyss beneath them threatened to swallow her whole. She kept her head above each rising wave while Gabriel took a moment to rest. Night had fallen, and the consistent use of elemental magic had drained him. Safina worried his breaks were becoming too frequent while the waters were becoming more turbulent. She’d already discarded her boots and belongings, wearing nothing but a thin white gown. Now she was contemplating using Gabriel’s blade to cut her thick hair, fearing the weight of it would pull her under.

They made a sad pair, the dragon royal who could not fly, and the earth speaker who could not summon a wave long enough to carry them home. Though she dared not voice her thoughts aloud, she feared they would both perish in the open sea. The thought tightened her throat and made her heart weep with overwhelming sorrow.

After five centuries of gloom, she had only just found love. And Gabriel had finally begun to walk after spending most of his short life bound to a chair. Would fate be so unkind as to take their lives from them now? But Safina knew the world was indeed cruel. Why else would her mother have fallen in love with the one man fated to be her enemy?

Safina thought of the last time she’d seen her mother, of how she’d told the dragon queen she hated her. Though Safina was angry with her mother for severing their bond, she couldn’t help but regret her hurtful words. She knew her mother loved her and had to believe she hadn’t meant to break from Safina, too. She wondered if her mother knew their bond was broken, or did she think Safina had flown out of reach? Would her mother come looking for her, or was she angry with her for vanishing with Gabriel? If Safina drowned, would her mother know her daughter’s fate? Would she lock herself in a cocoon and mourn for another five hundred years?

Safina looked over at her mate. Though she could no longer harness her dragon senses to see clearly in the dark, the moon was particularly bright, and she could tell his face was sunburnt, his eyes were weary, and his skin practically hung off his face. She did not know how he’d be able to continue, but she closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Almighty Mother he would have the strength to go on. Safina was not ready to leave this mortal world behind.

A man’s cry flashed in her mind, and she saw arms and legs thrashing in a bed.
Safina! I must save her!

Her eyes shot open, and her heartbeat quickened.

My father. I just saw my father.

It dawned on her he must have seen she was lost at sea. How were they connected, what had happened to him, and did he, a dragonslayer, truly want to save her?

She didn’t understand how she was now able to see him so clearly. There were times when she’d felt the bond before, though not as strong. She remembered as a child feeling that pinprick on the back of her nape whenever he was near. It always happened before she and Mother were forced to flee their village. She had suspected it was Mother’s nerves which had brought on the feeling, but now she recognized it for what it was. The bond she had shared with her mother, she also shared with her father. Safina wondered why the severance of souls had separated her from the dragon queen, but her bond with the dragonslayer remained intact. Just one more reason why fate was indeed cruel.

* * *

Duncan awoke from a groggy slumber, his senses assailed by the heavy smells of perfume, opium, and sex. Despite the throbbing in his head and the burning pain in his gut, he managed to sit up against the metal bedrail and survey his surroundings. The small, dark room was awash in red velvet, from the drapes to the blankets. The armoire was practically bursting at the seams with various laces and silks protruding from a door that hung crooked on loose hinges. The vanity overflowed with perfumes and makeup. Raucous laughter and piano music filtered into the room from somewhere below. Clearly he was in a brothel, but the prostitute to whom this room belonged was not to be seen. He vaguely remembered the woman he’d saved from the doctor and wondered if it was she who had brought him here.

A bead of sweat ran down Duncan’s brow. He feebly wiped his flushed skin. The room felt hotter than an oven. The stifling Galveston heat was unrelenting, even indoors. Duncan shifted, trying to reach a jug of water that sat on the table beside him. He winced when a piercing pain shot up his torso. Then he remembered Dr. Straw’s blade.

Bastard.

Had Duncan been struck two days ago, he would have healed in an instant and meted out justice to his attacker. But Duncan was no longer immortal, and though he tried not to dwell on the reason why, he couldn’t help but fear Fiona was dead.

Closing his eyes, he let out a slow breath of air and tried to summon the bond. Again he was met with nothing. It was as if Fiona had disappeared. And then he saw a flash of red hair drifting in a current and Safina’s frightened, tired eyes. His daughter still lived! But Duncan feared she wouldn’t last long if he didn’t reach her soon.

He hauled himself out of bed and then howled when he felt the tear in his gut. He fell back on the mattress as agony tore through him, making him feel like a slab of meat on the butcher block.

A door opened and skirts rustled.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Duncan looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. It was the woman he’d saved in the alley. Though her face paint was no longer smeared, her eyes were still worn and weary. She smoothed a hand over his brow. “You’re still feverish.”

“What happened?” he rasped, stunned at the feeble sound of his voice.

“You don’t remember?” She sat beside him, settling a hand on his arm.

Her skin was cool, too cool. He had thought the Texas heat was to blame, but his fever hadn’t broken.

“Forgive me.” He squinted as her image blurred for a moment. “My memory’s a bit foggy.”

“You were stabbed saving my life.” She wiped his brow with a wet cloth.

“Was I?” He moaned his delight as water trickled down his neck and back, soaking the sheets beneath him. He didn’t mind. He was hot, and the water felt refreshing. Surely the fever should have subsided by now.

“I’m Bess, by the way,” she said as she smoothed the cloth across his cheeks and neck. “What’s your name?”

“Duncan,” he mumbled. “Duncan MacQuoid.”

He sank against a pillow as Bess drizzled water across his brow. She lifted the sheets, pulling back the bandage on his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath as she ran a finger across his wound. He looked at the angry red swelling across his abdomen, sewn shut with crude black stitches. The doctor had indeed gutted him good. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it occurred to him that there was infection, and he wouldn’t survive another day in such a state.

“I’m sorry, Duncan.” Her hands shook as she replaced the bandage. “I never was much good with a needle, but I couldn’t exactly call the doctor when he was the one who stabbed you.”

She turned from him, busying herself opening a decanter that sat on the armoire. Though Duncan’s vision was blurring, he saw the moisture in her eyes.

So was this to be his fate? After five hundred years of searching for his mate and child, he would die in the bed of a prostitute, never to see Fiona again? Never to tell her how sorry he was and how much he loved her? And what of Safina? She needed him and he’d failed her. For so long he’d wished for the reprieve of death, but in dying, fate would only prolong his torment.

“Here. Madam says you are to drink this.” Bess forced a spoon into his mouth.

He swallowed before he had time to protest, nearly retching on the pungent liquid. “That’s disgusting.”

“Sorry, but you have a fever.” Her voice quavered. “Madam says it will help you get better.”

Duncan coughed, choking on the taste and something else. Was that blood? “Do you have any water?”

“Yes.” She pressed a glass into his hand.

He drank the entire glass in a few swallows, relishing the feel of the cool water as it soothed his parched throat.

Duncan leaned back with a groan as the throbbing in his gut intensified. “My wound didn’t heal.”

“It takes weeks for a wound like yours to heal.” She spoke to him as if he was a child while she pried the empty glass from his hand.

He should have been irritated by her tone, but he was too tired. Why hadn’t his wound healed? “How can this be?”

“Don’t you worry none,” she said in that same condescending voice. “When my madam found out you saved me from that worthless cuss, she said you could stay as long as it took to get you well. I gotta go back to work. You rest up, and I’ll check back on you soon.”

Rest? No. He couldn’t rest. He wasn’t sure, but he thought someone needed him. “Where are my clothes?” he mumbled.

“They’re being laundered.” Her voice sounded hollow now, as if she was speaking to him in a dream. “You’ll get them tomorrow, I reckon.”

Tomorrow? No, someone needed him now. He was almost sure of it. Then he remembered the red hair, the frightened eyes, the endless ocean.

“Safina!” he cried. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.” He kicked the covers trapping his legs, but he couldn’t free himself. Even as his heartbeat slowed, his mind reeled. There was no time to rest. He had to save Safina. “I need to find my daughter before it’s too late.” He feebly kicked the covers again.

“You have a child?” Bess gasped. “Was she waiting for you when you saved me?”

“No, she was with her mother.” Duncan thrashed again, freeing himself at last, but then pain tore through him, making him feel as if he were being sliced open from the inside.

He cried out, hunching over until the pain subsided to a dull throb.

“I’m sorry, but you’re no good to her now,” Bess chided as she trapped him beneath the sheets again. “Your fever hasn’t broken, and I didn’t spend all night nursing you so you could throw away your life. You just lie down and get some rest. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But I must,” he begged. “Safina needs me.” He would have jumped from the bed and forced his way out the door, but his eyelids were so heavy, he could scarcely keep them open. “Why am I so tired?”

Bess stood, smoothing a hand down her skirt. “It’s the soothing syrup.”

He struggled to look up at her. His eyelids were weighted with a thousand stones. “The what?”

The lines between her brow pinched together. “Madam told me to give it to you if your fever hadn’t broken. You need to rest.”

“I don’t need rest, dammit.” He pounded the bed with a feeble fist. “I need to find Safina.” Much to Duncan’s dismay, his eyes shut of their own accord, though he tried hard to keep them open. It was no use. He surrendered with a groan as the blackness finally consumed him.

C
ome outside, Josef.

Josef sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his gaze drawn to the rattling window.

Josssefff
, the wind whistled.

He slowly rose on shaky legs, his callouses aching when bare feet met the hard floor. What did the wind want? The elements never woke him when he was sleeping.

He moved across the floor as fast as his old bones would carry him. When he unlatched the window, it flew out of his grip. Josef raised his hands, commanding the wind to shift and stopping the glass from shattering against the side of the house.

“What do you want?” Josef called.

A ssstorm is coming.

“A storm? What storm?”

A great fury. Many will perishhh.

Josef’s mouth went dry. “How many?” he rasped.

Thousssands.

He ran a tongue over his cracked lips, summoning the courage to speak. When the wind foretold the future, it always came to pass. “Thousands? That is no ordinary storm.”

Wind, rain, and flooding. The island shhhall be submerged,
the wind whistled.
Hurricane.

Josef’s limbs iced over with fear. A hurricane was coming to Galveston? “When?” he asked timidly, cringing as he awaited the wind’s response.

Tomorrow nexxxt.

“Tomorrow next!” Josef cried out. “Oh, heaven help the people of Galveston.”

* * *

Josef sat at Mrs. Jenkens’s kitchen table, his hand shaking as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips. He took a tentative sip of the hot liquid, grimacing as he swallowed sugary syrup.

Mrs. Jenkens nervously fidgeted with her napkin. “Are you sure, Josef?”

He tried not to slosh the steaming liquid as he lowered his cup to the saucer. “Sí. I am sure. I am never wrong about such things.”

Her brows rose as she looked out the kitchen window, squinting at the horizon. “When will it hit?”

“Saturday.”

She gasped, splaying a hand across her chest. “That only gives me one day to prepare. How bad will it be?”

Josef heaved a weary sigh. “All of Galveston will be underwater.”

“All of Galveston?” She arched back, clucking her tongue. “Surely, you exaggerate.”

His shoulders fell. “I wish I was.”

Mrs. Jenkens waved her hands wildly in the air. “And what will happen to my house?”

“It will be no more.” Josef looked around the room with a heavy heart. He’d spent many afternoons chatting with Mrs. Jenkens in her kitchen. Though she was prone to gossip, she was one of the few people on the island who didn’t treat him like he was loco. She’d always taken his advice to heart, and she thanked him with homemade jams and pies. He felt bad for her, but not as bad as he felt for the rest of the city, for he knew none of them would heed his warnings.

“Where am I to go?” She nearly toppled the chair as she pushed away from the table. “What am I to do?”

Her panicked outburst sent a shiver down his spine, but it would do no good to let her see his fear. “You can come to my home and wait out the storm. My grandsons will help you bring your things.”

“And your house will be safer?” she screeched. “You said the whole island will be under water.”

Josef tapped his fingers on the counter as he thoughtfully eyed Mrs. Jenkens. “You forget I am an earth speaker. The elements will spare my house. I will make sure of it.”

She rolled her head with an exaggerated movement. “Surely I cannot fit all my furniture in your house.”