Sword of the King (16 page)

Blaze shook his head. "Crazy shit, man. I met a demon once; that was more than enough magic for me. Amr said whoever put the spells on those bullets is a mean piece of work and probably has uglier tricks we don't want to see."

"Great," Ken muttered. "I need a beer."

"Sit," Blaze said, waving a hand at the couch. "You look like death warmed over, and having been in that position myself more than a few times, I can fetch you a beer. There's leftover lasagna, too."

Ken's stomach growled just thinking about food. Blaze laughed and vanished into the kitchen. More than willing to be waited on, Ken wandered over to the couch and sat down. He glanced at the TV, but had no idea what was going on. The show that looked like it was supposed to be amusing, but TV shows were as strange to him as the normals who watched them. Growing up, most of his time was spent working with Nev and studying, then later helping Rick and his brothers with various clan assignments and duties. Whenever he'd actually watched TV, it was largely because he'd run out of everything else to do.

His stomach growled again as Blaze returned with a plate full of food and two beers. He set up a TV tray in front of Ken and set everything on it. Taking one of the beers, he settled back down in his spot on the couch. They watched in silence as Nev wandered into room in dragon form, rubbed against Ken in greeting, then lay down with Erie in a gigantic dragon pile.

"So did I miss anything interesting?" Ken asked as he began to eat, and fuck, if he had to stay to make Nev happy then at least he'd have good food to eat.

Blaze shook his head. "Not really. Raf called his brother to tell him what happened. I won't be surprised if Leo shows up tomorrow to remind us that he's scarier or something. Raf and Amr went outside a little while ago. I have no idea why, though it definitely seemed like it was a private party."

Ken didn't miss the thin line of tension underscoring the carefully disinterested tone. It made him want to punch Amr all over again. "Sorry, man. Never any accounting for taste."

"Whatever," Blaze said. "I have Erie, I shouldn't be thinking about someone else."

The words made Ken pause, fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down and took a swallow of beer. "Everything Amr taught you, and he didn't bother to pass on that it's not the same thing at all?"

Blaze frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Dragons don't care what humans you fuck," Ken said. "Shit, in the clans, people marry all the time and ... well, there's lots of sharing, let me put it that way."

To his complete astonishment, Blaze turned bright red. "Uh—"

Ken burst out laughing, then immediately groaned in pain. "Stop making me laugh."

"Stop being an ass," Blaze retorted, fighting a smile. "You clan people are some kinky motherfuckers."

"Yeah, cause I can tell your mind never went there," Ken replied, shoving at him.

Blaze kicked his ankle. "Shut the fuck up."

"You started this conversation, jackass. Do you need a birds and bees talk, cause I don't think we've been friends long enough for that."  Friends. He was probably making a big assumption with that word, but it wasn't like he could take it back.

"Ugh," Blaze said, and kicked him again. "You even fucking try it, asshole, and this friendship ends now."

Ken picked up his beer and drained it to hide the emotions that struck him. Slamming the empty bottle down on his tray, he said, "Get me another beer and I promise to talk about the weather instead."

Blaze rolled his eyes, but stood up and went to get more beer.

Rafael stared at the scenery without really seeing it, lost in his own head.

Dragons didn't mingle much with the rest of the paranormal world, mostly because everybody was either terrified of them or disgusted by the pits. Rafael found it a bit depressing that people would rather tolerate goblins than dragons, but there was precious little he could do about it.

So magic wasn't something he'd ever seen much of, past the odd little tricks that he occasionally saw people cast in his coffee shop. Those small spells weren't enough to brace him for the way Amr easily summoned fire to burn the bodies of the men who had attacked them. Just the bodies burned, which was the most impressive part. Even the ground on which they lay did not bear a single scorch mark; not a single blade of grass was so much as singed.

Rafael wanted to ask him a million questions, but figured it could wait for a more appropriate time given they'd already been outside three hours, and that after the fight in the woods, saving Ken and getting him back to the house, and then getting everyone fed and settled.

There were fifteen bodies in all:  ten men and five dragons. Rafael felt a deep pang of sadness for the dragons, and quietly said a prayer for them. The men could rot, for all he cared. On top of every other problem they'd caused, he had to put up with his brother in the morning. For that irritation alone Rafael half wished the men were still alive when Amr set them on fire.

But it was troubling that the first group of men, who had tried to kill Blaze when he was still near Rust territory, had numbered only six and the latest group had very nearly tripled that. It meant they were well informed, and that whoever was leaking the information was also well informed.

"That's the last one," Amr said, pulling Rafael from his thoughts. He looked exhausted. His thick, dark hair stood on end where he'd raked a hand through it a dozen times, and his clothes were stained with grass, dirt, and blood.

"Thank you," Rafael said. "I appreciate all your help today, especially given your hostile reception and the fact you have absolutely no real reason to be here.

Amr shrugged. "I have plenty of reason to be here. Whatever they say about us Mordred, we always have and always will put the dragons first, same as the rest of the clans. As to my hostile reception, well, it's not as though I behaved any better. Given that I am nearly forty, my behavior was even more inexcusable than his. I have not lost my temper that quickly in more years than I care to count."

Rafael laughed. "My early impression of Ken is that his temper is contagious."

"Indeed," Amr said, staring gloomily at the house. "I think someone that strong will always affect those around him, even if he's holding still and saying nothing."

"I can't imagine how else he would have survived," Rafael said quietly, thinking of everything that Blaze had told them after Ken had stormed off.

He remembered the fall of the Marlowe Syndicate sixteen years ago, and the wild stories that had flown around about how it had happened—the stories of a mere child controlling a mythical dragon and winning every single fight thrown at them. Rafael remembered he'd dismissed the rumors like so many others, because the tales were too wild to take seriously. But mostly, he hadn't paid as much attention as he normally would have because he'd just met a very powerful distraction.

Sixteen years ago was when he'd first met Marianne at one of the many charity functions St. George hosted as Leo's date. A couple of years later she'd become Leo's wife. She'd been beautiful, which Leo liked. She'd also been rich and well-connected, which Leo loved. And she'd been in a bad situation where Leo was the least of all evils, which Leo had fucking adored.

No matter how many years passed, Rafael would always remember the way she smelled like sunshine and lilacs, the way she'd tasted like crème brûlée when he'd stolen a kiss in the coatroom that first night. Her skin had been the softest thing he'd ever felt, and for all that she was sweet and self-contained, she wasn't even remotely shy. Rafael had fallen hard and fast, and it was the greatest wonder to him that she fell with him. He'd only been eighteen, but had already felt much older. Marianne had been twenty.

They'd met several times over the years at that hotel where they'd first met. Occasionally they'd met other places, but mostly they kept to that hotel because the staff would lie for them, even to Leo. Stupid, so stupid, to succumb to temptation time and again, but Marianne was ... well, Marianne. The only one who equaled her was Conway, whom he'd met three years after meeting Marianne. With Marianne on his arm and Conway at his side, Rafael's life had been as close to perfect as it was possible to get. He'd always known it wouldn't last, of course. How could it? Men like him didn't get that kind of life for long, if they were lucky enough to get it at all.

Rafael wished to god he could forget the fear on her face whenever she looked at Leo and he wasn't watching her, all the years they were married. He wished he'd ignored her wishes and just taken her away somewhere. But for both of them, the dragons had always come first. Rafael really wished he could forget the expression of terror frozen on her face when he had found her behind that same hotel eleven years later with a bullet in her forehead. It hadn't been long past her thirty-first birthday.

He'd always wondered what had finally tipped Leo off to his wife's affair, and how Marianne had kept it from Leo that Rafael was her lover. At the back of his mind, he constantly dreaded that Leo would finally figure it out. The first one Leo would go after was Conway. Just thinking about it made Rafael feel sick.

Every now and then, he wondered if Leo did know, because he'd always been abusive but the violence hadn't started until after Marianne's death. Five years since Marianne had died, and sometimes it felt like only days had passed. Other times, decades.

Rafael dragged himself out of unhappy memories when he realized Amr was looking at him curiously. "I barely remember it, unfortunately. I heard the stories, but dismissed them as wild exaggeration. No one would actually be stupid enough to throw a couple of kids into the pits. It blew me away when I heard that Marlowe himself was dead, and his entire syndicate wiped right alongside him. It infuriates me to think they were fourteen when they were pitted. Can you imagine?"

Amr scrubbed at his face. "No, I really can't. I'm glad someone destroyed Marlowe over it. Christ, he's the one who threatened and punched me, so how did I wind up the bad guy?"

"I think it was the part where you said nobody wanted him, more or less," Rafael said, teasing, but with gentle reprimand.

"Yeah," Amr said. "It was a shitty thing to say anyway, but I can see where it would have been ten times worse to Ken. Come on, let's go inside. There's nothing more we can do out here."

Rafael didn't move, just pushed his hands into the pocket of his jeans and said, "So tell me about all this Mordred nonsense. Tell me everything about the clans, now, while there's no one else around to punch you."

Amr laughed. "Fair enough. Has Ken told you anything about the clans, yet?"

"Not really, just a few bits and pieces that don't make a lot of sense to me. Blaze said he was waiting until you got here, since they didn't know if you were Clan or not and might need the explanation yourself."

"Alright, then," Amr said, and moved to sit on the steps of the patio, folding his arms across his legs. "Ken explained some of it, about the clans, but I'll start with the legend that rose from it all. Everybody knows King Arthur and his sword Excalibur. What most don't know is that the sword was actually a dragon made from magic. It looked much like Nev, but it was larger, had gold scales, and was incredibly powerful—nigh unbeatable. Arthur named it Excalibur, but people also came to call it the Holy Pendragon.

"The secret of Excalibur's making was lost when the woman who created him, The Lady of the Lake, was killed. But Merlin was able, with the help of Morgana, to create a handful of lesser dragons that were smaller and the color of steel. Those became the original knight dragons of Arthur's inner circle, the Knights of the Round Table. Over the years, knights and dragons alike increased in numbers, and divided into clans that are now scattered across the world.

"When Arthur died, the clans fractured. They were torn further apart by betrayal, misunderstanding, and finally decided to withdraw from the rest of the world. The Clans believe that 'there will come a day where the Knights of the Round Table will be needed once more, and return to the world to rule as they once did'.

"There was one clan that did not agree with that dogma, who felt the knights and their dragons should not seal themselves away, but should change with the world. It was this clan, and its leader, who learned how to give dragons the ability to look human. It was he who shared the secret of their shifting with others, thinking to help. But the other clans only saw their actions as a betrayal, and they were cursed by Prince Avalon himself never to again master dragons. The mark of that curse is their blackened eyes. That clan was, is, Clan Mordred." He smiled faintly. "As I'm sure you guessed."

Rafael shook his head. "So all this craziness is just a bunch of cult feuding?"

Amr threw his head back and laughed. "Do not let any of the clans hear you call them that, you'll be in trouble right alongside Mordred. It's no place to be, trust me." His laughter faded into a soft smile. "Ken struck a nerve himself when he dug in that bit about never having dragons. Mordred was the son of Arthur, the equal of Prince Avalon. Clan Mordred should be equal in status and power to Clan Pendragon. But since we're exiled, and cursed, all we can do is practice magic." He shrugged. "Still, I think we made the right choice, even if that choice has led to the pits."

"Speaking of the pits and the clans, how did Cam wind up in the United States if he's that important? Ken said he should be back in England."

"Yes, with the Clan Pendragon. That clan does like to hoard all the shiny things, up to and including their precious leader. I do not think Prince Avalon has left the Clan lands in at least three hundred years. We would have to ask Ken, he probably knows what happened."

Rafael sighed. "So I guess the smart thing would be to contact this Clan Pendragon and return Cam?"

Amr made a face. "Honestly, I'm surprised Ken hasn't already called Clan Cross."

"I thought you said he wasn't actually part of Clan Cross."

"He can't be if he's nearly thirty, but doesn't have the survivor mark on the back of his hand," Amr replied, and touched the back of his own hand. "Cross is cursed with illness; about three percent of their clan, I believe, dies every year. Those that survive receive a tattoo. It's a saying among the clans that Cross is united by the pain of surviving. You can always trust the clans to be melodramatic." He snorted in amused derision. "Ken bears the name, unless he's lying about that too, but doesn't bear the mark. That means someone in Cross adopted him, but the Clan doesn't acknowledge him and refuses to claim and knight him."