Fire Rising (Dark Kings) (28 page)

He gave no one time to say anything as he transformed and then lowered his head for Ian to climb on the back of his neck. As soon as Ian was situated, Tristan took to the sky.

One by one, Rhys, Con, and Laith shifted. Rhys carried Phelan while Laith carried Charon. Con took the lead, sending a message through their link that they were headed to Ireland and to be on the lookout for more Dark.

Tristan didn’t have to tell Con to hurry. They all flew as if the edge of the cosmos was nipping at their tails. All Tristan could think of was Sammi and what a fool he’d been to walk away after their night of passion.

She stirred a riot of feelings—not to mention memories. As turbulent and alarming as that was, he hungered for her in a way he knew—deep down in his very soul—that he had never felt for a woman before.

He didn’t know why he had become a Dragon King, and it no longer mattered. He was a King.

Yet he had also been a Warrior. No longer could he try and deny that. Fighting alongside Ian had proven that when he knew, instinctively, what Ian would do before he did it. They had fought the Dark as if they did it every day.

That kind of familiarity and awareness didn’t just happen. That came from a lifetime of knowing someone.

Tristan didn’t know how a relationship with Ian would work, or if it even could. But he owed it to the both of them to try. Just as he would try everything in his considerable power to free Sammi.

He thought of her smile and her sharp wit. She had stood on her own for years. It made her tough, tough enough to survive weeks on the run from the Mob.

Or really Ulrik.

That was a hard pill to swallow. Ulrik had been playing him from the very beginning. The fact Tristan had gone to him was like acid burning his stomach.

It no longer mattered about Ulrik’s past and what had been done. It was the present and his actions. Ulrik had to be stopped. Maybe Con was right in wanting to kill him.

Tristan could see the edge of Ireland with his dragon vision. They were close. He hoped Sammi knew he would come for her, that he wouldn’t leave her with the Dark.

He flew faster, Ireland coming closer and closer. Tristan could almost feel Sammi.

Suddenly there was a loud buzzing in his head like white noise. Tristan roared as pain exploded in his head. He tried to remain in flight, but he could feel himself tilting. And then Ian slipped off.

Tristan attempted to find his brother, but he kept reaching for thin air. The static grew louder, the pain unbearable. Any moment he expected his brain to explode.

And through it all he heard laughter. Ulrik’s laughter.

It was only belatedly that Tristan realized he was no longer flying—but falling.

*   *   *

Con dove down for Ian the moment Rhys bellowed through their link. With Ian in hand, Con could only watch as Tristan plummeted to the water.

“What the hell!” Phelan shouted from Rhys’s back.

Con looked down to find Ian searching the water for his brother. The fact Tristan had sunk quickly was worrisome. Dragons were some of the best swimmers. Many dragons had lived in the water.

“
Stay steady,
” he told Rhys and Laith.

Ian looked up at him. “Where is Tristan? Why are you no’ going to get him?”

In order to respond Con would have to return to his human form. Instead, he set Ian atop Laith’s back and tucked his wings as he dove for the water.

He hit the water as fast as a torpedo, slicing through it like a hot knife through butter. Con spotted Tristan’s amber scales. He was floating downward, unconscious.

It took little effort to reach Tristan, but pulling him out was another matter. Something had ahold of him, something magical.

Con used his tail as well as all four limbs, and it took all of his considerable strength to yank Tristan from whatever had taken him. As soon as Tristan was free, Con swam them to the surface. The moment they broke the surface he took flight, not wanting to wait around to see what else might try and take Tristan.

Rhys and Laith moved to either side of Con. Anger simmered and seethed. How dare Ulrik attack one of the Kings? It was him that Ulrik was after. His old friend was about to get his wish too.

As soon as this latest issue with the Dark was resolved and Sammi recovered, Con would do what he should have done all those millennia ago.

He was going to kill Ulrik.

Con made sure to hide his rage as they reached the shores of Ireland. He set Tristan down upon the sand and landed beside him. Rhys and Laith were quick to do the same.

Ian had jumped off Laith and was running to Tristan before Con could shift into human form. The only King who remained a dragon was Tristan, and the fact he hadn’t stirred caused worry to swirl in Con’s gut.

“What happened?” Rhys demanded.

Con looked over Tristan. “It’s no coincidence that magic was used just as we were reaching Ireland.”

“Had Tristan been alone…” Ian couldn’t finish, and he didn’t need to. Everyone knew exactly what he left unspoken.

Phelan growled low in his throat. “This is shite.”

“At least we know who to blame. Ulrik,” Rhys stated.

Con rubbed his jaw as he considered their options. “The longer Tristan remains unconscious, the longer the Dark have Sammi.”

“He’ll never forgive himself,” Charon said.

That’s exactly what Ulrik wanted. Con didn’t bother to tell the others that. Ulrik was his problem to correct. It had been their friendship that stayed his hand the last time.

For so many centuries he’d lived with the regret that Ulrik was not a Dragon King in the truest sense of the word.

Now Con lived with the regret that he hadn’t killed him and saved everyone this trouble.

Con moved to stand at Tristan’s head and put his hands atop the huge dragon head. His magic had always been strong, and it had only gotten stronger when he became King of Kings.

It was going to take that magic to wake Tristan.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Cork, Ireland

Kiril was on his second glass of passable Irish whisky. But he longed for a bottle of Dreagan.

Just as he longed to return to the land.

He had no idea how long he would be in Ireland spying on the Dark Ones. He was in the
an Doras
pub. It would make things easier if he came every night, but it would also make them suspicious.

So Kiril made sure to visit two other pubs as well. Just to keep the arses on their toes.

He swirled the liquid in his glass as he reclined in the booth. The pub was busy, busier than usual actually. There was an undercurrent of excitement through the building. What it was he hadn’t discovered yet.

Kiril picked up a conversation behind him. He kept his gaze on his glass, but all his attention was on the two Dark males talking.

“Did you hear?”

There was a grunt and then the thud as a glass was set down heavily on the table. “They had a Dragon King once before.”

The first laughed, the sound grating on Kiril’s nerves. His voice was higher pitched and annoying. “Taraeth is stronger than you think.”

“He had his arm cut off by a human,” the second man said gruffly.

“Ah, but this time he’ll keep the King.”

Gruff grunted again. “I’ll believe it when he has him.”

“Taraeth has set a trap for him.” The laughter became higher pitched. “The war has begun. We’ll have this realm to ourselves in no time.”

“You look like you could use a refill,” came a voice next to Kiril.

He jerked his gaze up and into the red eyes of a Dark Fae. Some tried to conceal their eyes while others didn’t bother. He gave a nod to the Dark who set down the glass of whisky and slid into the bench opposite him. “Appreciate it.”

The Dark smiled. “I’ve seen you in here a few times. The name is Farrell.”

“Kiril,” he answered. So they had noticed him. Would they know he was a Dragon King, however?

“What do you think of our pub?” Farrell asked.

Kiril brought his drink to his lips and drank. He returned the glass to the table before he said, “I find it interesting.”

“That’s not an Irish accent I hear. Tell me you aren’t a Scot.”

He smiled though it was tight. “Hate to disappoint.”

Farrell laughed and leaned back as he got comfortable. “We have a few Scots come in now and again. You, we can handle. It’s the damn Brits that get under our Irish skin.”

Kiril joined in the laughter, but he was on full alert. If they expected to nab a King, could they be referring to him? He was going to have to be extra vigilant if he expected to leave the pub that night.

Farrell continued to talk, taking control of the conversation as he spoke of Ireland, Cork, and the benefits of being Irish.

Kiril was nodding at something Farrell said when he felt Con push against his mind. He opened the link between them while keeping eye contact with Farrell as he spoke of their famous crystal.

“The Dark have taken Sammi. We were on our way to Cork when magic was used to bring Tristan down.”

“I’ve bought several pieces of Waterford crystal,” Kiril said to Farrell.
“Where are you now?”

“In Ireland. Rhys and Laith are with us. Phelan, Charon, and Ian also tagged along.”

Warriors and Kings. There really was a shit storm coming.
“Is it true? Has the war begun?”

“Aye. Watch yourself, Kiril. They’ll target anyone they think is a King.”

The link severed, Kiril drained the rest of his whisky and reached for the glass Farrell had brought. “Tell me, Farrell, what’s with the red eyes?”

“They’re special contacts. The women go crazy for them,” the Dark answered as he leaned on the table.

Kiril might look like he was listening raptly, but in fact he was surveying the pub looking for any threats coming his way. The Kings might need him, so he wanted to get back to his house soon.

But not yet.

“I’ll be in Cork for a while on an extended holiday,” Kiril said.

Farrell smiled widely. “We’ll have to be sure to meet up again.”

Just what Kiril wanted. He might finally have an in with the Dark.

*   *   *

Tristan came awake as if he’d been slapped. When he opened his eyes and found Con standing over him, he knew that’s exactly what had happened.

“About damn time,” Rhys said brusquely.

Tristan sat up and found himself nude on a beach. He looked up and met Ian’s worried gaze. “What happened?”

“You doona remember?” Phelan asked.

He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, which was sore. “I remember a strange sound in my head that was excruciating.”

“You fell,” Laith said. “Into the water. Con had to pull you out.”

Tristan didn’t know why everyone was upset. So he had fallen. It wasn’t the best thing that could happen, but it wasn’t as if he could’ve died.

“Something had you,” Con said.

That was enough to cause him to frown. “Had me?”

Con nodded solemnly. “It was magic.”

“How long have I been out?” Tristan asked as he gained his feet.

Charon kicked at the sand. “A few minutes.”

Everyone attempted to act normal, but Tristan got the distinct impression that there had been something major going on with him. He turned to Ian, who he knew would tell him the truth. “What really happened?”

“You fell,” Ian said and glanced at the water. “Con had to go in and get you, and just like he said, there was magic used. It was anchoring you to the bottom of the sea. Con got you out and on the beach, but you wouldna wake.”

Tristan rubbed his neck again. It was a dull ache, one that made him feel as if he’d been clubbed in the back of the head. “And?” he urged.

“It took Con’s magic to break the hold over you so you could wake.”

Con’s magic. That meant that whatever magic was used on him had been particularly strong. His gaze swung to Con. “Thank you.”

“They intend to have you one way or another,” Con said. “Let’s no’ give them what they want.”

Laith slapped Tristan on the back. “Agreed. Now, can we get our naked asses back into dragon form and find these sons of bitches?”

“I’m all for kicking some Dark Fae ass,” Rhys said. “The sooner, the better.”

Phelan smiled and nodded. “Oh, aye. Let’s get moving.”

Tristan looked out at the water. The mental link was used only by dragons, but even then, he could decide whether to listen to whoever was trying to talk to him.

Whoever had gotten into his head had done it without his authority. He didn’t like the vulnerability … or the weakness. He could be a detriment to the others.

“Nay,” Ian said as he came to stand beside him.

Tristan glanced at his twin. “What?”

“You willna be a disadvantage in battle. You know what was done to you, and you willna let it happen again.”

“You sound awfully sure of me.”

Ian smiled. “I am. I know you as no one else does. You will triumph just as you always have.”

“Then let’s go.”

With a mere thought, Tristan was once again in dragon form, his mind completely closed off. After the Warriors were settled on the backs of the Dragon Kings, the company took to the skies, toward Cork.

Toward the Dark.

*   *   *

Sammi should’ve known she wouldn’t be left alone. Just as Balladyn had said, Taraeth, the king of the Dark, stood before her.

He thought by towering over her he could show her how weak she was. Sammi chose to remain seated on the ground. The Dark fed off of her strength.

Besides, they wouldn’t suspect her of anything if she appeared weak and helpless.

She watched Taraeth rub his shoulder where his arm had been cut off. Sammi sent up a silent shout of joy to Denae for managing to pull that off.

Taraeth wore black leather pants and a red and black Affliction tee that had a skull on the front. By all accounts, he was just an average guy who kept his hair long and had red contacts.

Only, she knew the truth of how deep the evil resided inside him.

“I like your fear,” Taraeth said as his red gaze raked over her. “That means you know of us.”

Sammi gave a slow nod and looked at the ground. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Balladyn on her left and some other Fae to her right.