Sword of the King (10 page)

He held out a thick envelope and Ken took it, opening it immediately and pulling out the papers inside. As he read the report on the blood work, his blood simultaneously went cold with fear and hot with excitement. "This is bad."

"So it's definitely a steel? I still can't fucking believe those exist."

Ken laughed briefly as Nev growled at the implication he didn't exist. "They exist, but this dragon … this dragon isn't a knight dragon."

"So what the fuck is it, then? There can't be something worse."

"If by worse you mean more powerful, then yeah, there is—but it shouldn't be here in the United States. It should be home in England, safe with Clan Pendragon.

Blaze frowned at him. "I have absolutely no fucking clue what you just said."

Ken sighed. "There is a lot of shit I'm going to have to explain to you, but the short answer is this: if this dragon is what I think it is, and looking at these tests I can't imagine I'm wrong, then it's about twenty times more powerful than Nevada. It also needs a master, and it won't settle for just any master. It needs someone even more unique than that."

"What do you mean? Dragons need people that don't fear them, right? People like that aren't exactly thick on the ground. What the fuck is even more unique?"

"It's more complicated than just not feeling fear," Ken said. "Look—you're used to basically five kinds of dragons: gale, frost, flame, rock, and black. But all of those are just watered down versions of knight dragons. They're all similar enough that the same type of owner can control them. We all have that no fear thing you're talking about. But this dragon …" he jabbed at the paperwork. "This is a hell of a lot more than a knight dragon, and so it needs a hell of a lot more than a master."

"You said it should be with Clan Pendragon. So it needs someone from there?"

"Not necessarily, though Clan Pendragon is where they usually come from. Clans raise, protect, and train the knight dragons, treat them the way they should be treated—like sacred weapons meant to protect those in need. That's why dragons only obey certain people—knights, though now they're called owners, or masters. The original knight dragons were living weapons bestowed upon the Knights of the Round Table. All knight dragons are descended from the very first, which was made from magic."

Blaze blinked at him, stared. "You sound like a bad movie."

Ken let out a sharp laugh. "Tell me about it. It's all true, though. This dragon isn't meant for just any old owner. He's not just a knight dragon—he's a Holy Pendragon, though usually we drop the 'holy' bit. Some clans still call them Excaliburs."

"Excalibur as in King Arthur?"

"Exactly," Ken said. "Arthur was the first one to claim a dragon—it was made for him. The original Excalibur wasn't a sword, it was a dragon. All other dragons come from him. A true Holy Pendragon emerges maybe once a century."

Blaze shook his head. "This is all really fucking crazy."

"You don't have to believe me, and I can't make you," Ken said. "But believe this:  we can't let this dragon get to anyone else. We have to get it back to the clans."

"Well, I already knew letting the syndicates have it was a bad idea," Blaze said. "That's why I was going to figure out what it was and then run like hell." He stroked Erie's hair, smiling faintly when Erie rumbled happily in response. "So whatever you're going on about, that part of the plan doesn't change. I was just going to hang around long enough to understand what I was working with, since it's the definition of stupid not to understand your dragon. Not that he was going to be mine. Even if it was possible to claim two dragons, one is more than enough for me."

Ken laughed. "I actually know someone who has mastered two dragons. Tori, he's one of my dad's brothers. He's considered odd and entirely too ... masterful, even amongst the clans. He's a bossy son of a bitch. Which is sort of what it takes to claim a Holy Pendragon—being a sort of super master, I guess you could say."

"You keep saying clans this and clans that. What the fuck are these clans?"

"I'll explain later," Ken said. "Right now, we need to go."

"I need to call someone first," Blaze said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, frowning as he scrawled through his contact list. Punching a button, he pressed the phone to his ear and waited. After a moment, he hung up. "Voicemail. I'll try again later."

Ken tilted his head inquisitively. "Who are trying to call? Uh, if you don't mind me asking."

Blaze hesitated, looked at his cut palm, and said, "The guy who trained me. He ... he said some of the shit you do. About how fucking your dragon was okay. He used the term 'owner' sometimes, too. I've never heard anyone else use it. He started training me when I was fifteen ... and just as I was finishing up, Rust got rid of him. Never knew why, really. He made me unbeatable, or damn near."

"Too many unbeatable fighters add up to a group capable of overthrowing a boss, I'd imagine," Ken said. Blaze looked as though he'd been punched, as the words sank in.

"I can't believe that never occurred to me. But I was so worried about protecting Erie, I guess I never thought about it."

Ken smiled. "You're a good owner, then, but we already knew that. So tell me more about this group we're going to see. The only syndicate I ever knew was Marlowe. The rest was just a blur of fights for us. We were too busy struggling to stay alive to learn about anything outside the pits."

Blaze sucked in a breath. "Hang on a second. If we're going to do this I need some fucking caffeine." He didn't wait for Ken to reply, just nudged Erie out of the way and left.

Erie stretched, growled softly, and sprawled out on the floor. Nev abandoned Ken's lap to crawl over to him. He nudged Erie, who rumbled and nudged back. Pleasantries exchanged, the dragons lay cuddled together like a pair of cats. Ken laughed softly.

The door opened a couple of minutes later and Blaze set four bottles of soda on the desk. He looked at Ken in silent query and when Ken nodded, brought two over to the bed. Seeing the dragons, he snorted in amusement. "You lizards are ridiculous."

Ken laughed. "So where did you get the name Erie? I thought I heard someone say Eros ..." He trailed off as Blaze went scarlet.

"I was a kid. I thought Eros meant 'red', don't ask me how or why," Blaze said, rubbing his nose and looking sheepish. "I suppose I could have changed it, but it suits him in a weird way. So he's Erie."

"It suits," Ken agreed. He twisted off the cap on his soda and took a long swallow. "Tell me about the syndicates."

Blaze drank his own soda before finally replying, "There are a lot of them, and always a bunch of new ones trying to rise up. But there are a dozen core syndicates, the top dogs that no one ever topples: Green, Morgan, St. George, Rust, Monmouth, Thomas, King, Shalott, Badon, Stone, Cambry, and Fisher. Everyone else is second place or less. In twenty years, no one has toppled those. Marlowe would have made thirteen core syndicates, I think, but obviously it's gone.

"Of those core twelve, three are best known for putting out exceptional dragons:  St. George, Green, and Rust. St. George especially—they say Rafael St. George has a magic touch, but no one can learn anything from him because Leonardo, his brother and the St. George boss, is possessive and about as mean as they come. But we'll probably be working with Rafael when we get there; I can't imagine there's anyone else Leonardo would trust with such a powerful dragon."

Ken nodded. "How are you going to explain me?"

"I don't know yet," Blaze said, chewing on his lower lip. "We'll play that by ear. For now, I'm going to try calling Amr again."

Ken blinked. "Amr. The guy who trained you. Is he Clan?"

Shrugging, Blaze said, "I have no fucking clue. Amr never talked about himself. Like I said, though, he used that term 'owner' sometimes and seemed to know all the same shit you do."

"Probably is Clan then, or at least used to be. My father was, but he and two of his brothers left because they got tired of the clan ... atmosphere. The clans are strict, old-fashioned, and unforgiving."

Blaze made a face. "Sounds marvelous. I'm calling Amr, hold on."

"I'm going to grab a shower, then, if you don't mind."

"Have fun," Blaze said, and took another swig of his soda before hitting the call button on his phone.

Ken left him to it and stood, stretching with a long groan. Looking down at Erie and Nev, he said, "I'm running to our car to get our shit." Nev rumbled at him but didn't to stir, clearly quite content to cuddle with Erie.

Rolling his eyes, Ken went to his car to fetch their bags and hurried back to the room. "I'm getting a shower, you lazy lizard. Try to behave while I'm in there, hmm?"

Nev grunted at him, and Ken smiled, feeling happy and almost relaxed for the first time in forever. He looked at the wound on his hand, the dragons curled up together, Blaze rolling his eye at whatever Amr was saying on the phone, and beamed as he headed into the bathroom.

Rafael groaned as he woke, thoroughly displeased that he was no longer asleep. Sleep never seemed to last long enough. He kept his eyes closed and burrowed in closer to the warmth around him, breathing in the scents of snow and pumpkin.

Something about that seemed off ... but what? Rafael tried to process the thought, but simply couldn't be bothered, going easily when sleep pulled him under again.

The second time he woke was because his alarm bleated at him. Rafael grunted, groaned, and reached for it—only to collide with something hard and warm. He dragged his eyes open and stared at the broad, defined, and extremely fine chest between him and his annoying alarm clock. Reaching out, he gave the well-sculpted abs a judicious pinch. "Conway. Get out of my bed, you bratty dragon."

Growling to show how offended he was by the abuse, Conway rolled out of bed and stood by the nightstand, the very image of petulant. "Raf cold. Warmed."

"What would have happened to you—to us, to Cam—if Leo or one of his men had shown up without warning?"

"I'm the warning," Conway groused.

Rafael snorted, refusing to be amused. "The fact that was a complete sentence only further proves your guilt, brat." He slammed his hand down on the alarm clock, silencing it, then threw back his blankets and climbed out of bed. "Why is it so cold in here? Did the heat go out?" Shivering, he snatched up the sweater he'd thrown on the floor before going to bed, and then went through the house to the thermostat in the living room. "Why did you drop to forty-five, you stupid thing? I set you to sixty-five," Rafael muttered at the thermostat. He turned it back up to sixty-five degrees, then trudged to the kitchen to make coffee.

His phone chimed at him from where he'd left it on the kitchen bar, and Rafael sighed that he already had a voicemail waiting for him. That never boded well. Ignoring it for the moment, he set to work making eggs and bacon for breakfast. Conway sat at the bar and folded his arms across it, then used them as a pillow to doze while he waited for food.

Cam wandered in with a yawn just as Rafael finished cooking, slumping on the counter and grumbling out a good morning.

"Lazy dragons," Rafael said lightly, setting plates in front of them and then wandering over to pour himself a cup of coffee. Leaning over the bar, he finally retrieved his phone and brought up his voicemail.

He swore as he listened, and set the phone on the counter when he was done. Abandoning his coffee, Rafael bolted across the house and down the hall to his bedroom and then the bathroom. Turning the shower on, he stripped off his clothes and hopped in before the water was hot, still swearing loudly.

"Raf?" Conway called from the doorway.

"Our guests got in last night," Rafael told him. "They're going to be here at ten o'clock and my brother is probably going to be in a really rotten fucking mood. Both of you get cleaned up now."

Conway growled and left to see the order carried out. Rafael quickly showered, then walked into his bedroom still dripping wet. In his walk-in closet he used a towel to dry off as he perused his options. He settled on dark jeans and a blue sweater that Leo had given him as a birthday present. He doubted Leo had been the one to pick the sweater out, but he'd be pleased that Rafael was wearing it.

Hopefully between the sweater and the guests, Leo would be slower to act on his violent urges. Not holding out much hope, Rafael finished dressing and returned to the kitchen to get it cleaned up and make a larger pot of coffee. When the kitchen was done, he tidied the rest of the house until he heard cars coming down the long driveway.

He tried to calm his nerves, but failed miserably. A soft, concerned growl drew his attention, and Rafael held out a hand to Conway, tugged him close and allowed himself to lean against his dragon for just a moment. "It's fine, Conway. Don't worry. One way or another, everything will work out."

Conway growled and stole a quick kiss, then Rafael pushed him away and went to the door as he heard the cars stopping in front of the house. "Good morning," he called to Leo, lifting a hand in greeting. His stomach churned when his brother just looked at him coldly. There were three cars total: Leo's Phantom, a Challenger, and a Firebird. Rafael went down the steps to greet them.

"Good morning," he said again, holding out a hand to the man who approached him. He was about Leo's height, a little taller than himself, with messy, dark brown hair that was slightly too long and sharp hazel eyes. Just behind him was a dragon with white-blonde hair. He had an unusually slender, almost delicate build for a dragon, but a dragon's human appearance had no real bearing or reflection on his true form. "I'm Rafael St. George."

The man smiled congenially and shook his hand with enthusiasm. "Name is Ken, this is Nevada—Nev. We're friends of Blaze, came to be some extra muscle since Blaze had a run-in with Triad goons on the way here."

Rafael looked at him in surprise, then turned to Leo. "What is he talking about?"

"There's a leak somewhere, apparently. The other syndicates know we have something special," Leo said, pulling on his cigar, a haze of blue smoke surrounding him. "Coffee?"