Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Finn stood as close to Jazdon as he could in the dim anteroom, wanting to prolong this one last moment before everything changed. If things went the way he wanted them to, he would soon be fighting Daltor, and it would no doubt be a fight to the death, though that wasn’t what he wanted. If Daltor would just accept a banishment and go far away—maybe to live in one of the counties Finn’s mother once fled to—Denmark or Sweden or just anywhere but here. He had to know he’d gained the throne illegally and surely, he must have been afraid of this moment coming for a long time. Hell, he’d even tried to get people to kill Finn so he could ensure his own safety as king of the Greengiles. By now, Finn had almost lost track of the number of times he’d nearly died since coming to Iceland.

Yet he was still here. Still standing, and he owed a great deal of credit for that to the man beside him. He glanced over at Jazdon who was listening intently to the rise and fall of the voices inside the next room, his handsome head cocked and a look of fierce concentration on his face. When he’d first met Jazdon all those months ago, he never would have believed they’d one day be married—and he would be ready to take the throne of the Greengiles.

Perhaps feeling Finn’s gaze, he glanced back at him quizzically, and then leaned forward to whisper softly in his ear, as he rubbed circles on his lower back. “Are you all right? You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m right here.”

Finn shook his head fondly. “Not worried,” he whispered back, and then shook himself and forced his concentration back on Anola and Daltor in the other room. They were speaking in a language that he shouldn’t have been able to understand, and yet he did. Mostly. That must have been another gift of his new abilities, like being able to shift into a dragon. It came with the territory.

“Your Majesty,” Anola was saying. “For now, Finn doesn’t have any memory of falling off the parapet or of the Parsmitt men who plucked him from the sea. He doesn’t remember my part in it at all. But I’m so worried—what should I do if he starts to remember? You must help me.”

Daltor’s voice came through more muffled than Anola’s. He sounded petulant and whiny.

“Is this why you got me to meet you, old woman? Did you lie to me about having papers to show me?”

“It’s the only way I knew to make sure you’d come, sire. You have to help me—Prince Jazdon will flay me alive if he finds out.”

“Then make sure he doesn’t,” Daltor snapped.

“But how do I do that? Please tell me what to do.”

“Kill him, if you’re so worried about it. Kill them both. Do I have to do the thinking for everyone?”

“But how? How would I manage such a thing?”

“Poison would be good. It’s how I killed my uncle, the old Greengile king. I should have killed his daughter the same way, but I had no idea then the little whore was already carrying someone else’s child.I should have killed her and her little bastard before she had a chance to run.”

Finn could feel the rage building in his chest until he thought he’d explode. Throwing off Jazdon’s restraining hand, he burst through the door to confront Daltor.

“Finn, wait!” he heard Jazdon saying, but it was too late. He was already striding toward the Greengile king, and with each step he took, he could feel his hands forming more and more into green-scaled claws tipped with gold.

Daltor shot a startled glare at him and took a quick step backward to be surrounded by his guards. They surged forward, forming a barrier around him and brandishing their weapons. Suddenly, Jazdon was there beside him, with Vargla and Merlon on the other side, all growling softly and ready for whatever was coming.

“My quarrel is with you, Daltor,” Finn said, and he could hear his voice, deep and resonant, his dragon’s voice, ringing through the hall. “Dismiss these other men and fight me like a man. This is Greengile business and has nothing to do with Parsmitt or Isatolia. Or are you just a sniveling coward who can only use poison to kill your enemies? Or by threatening an old woman to make her push them into the sea? Come out from behind your guards and face me, you coward.”

Finn could see Daltor’s face turning more and more red with rage, as Finn continued to shout and hurl insults at him.

“Should I give Anola a sword so she can fight for you too? While you hide and cringe back there like a dog? Roll over and show me your belly and perhaps I won’t kill you. Maybe I can put you on a leash and let you sit by my throne at my feet while I rule the Greengile.”

Jazdon threw back his head and laughed, and that was the moment Daltor came surging out from behind his guards with his sword raised high over his head. He meant to spring at Finn and give him a killing blow, but Finn sidestepped him easily and danced backward, still laughing at him. He felt a wild surge of power and happiness inside that must be coming from his dragon, who was always up for a fight. Jazdon, Vargla and Merlon spread out at his flanks and the Parsmitt guards formed a ring around the combatants, but not one of them interfered. They all simply stood and watched.

The two faced each other across the floor, each of them partially shifted, their bodies covered in green and gold scales. They were still mostly human but circling each other, snarling savagely, wary and ready for whatever happened next.

“You think I’m afraid of you, human scum?” Daltor’s voice was hard to understand coming from a mouth that was more of a snout now than a human one.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I think you are afraid,” Finn roared back at him. “Did you face my father like this when you came for my mother? If you did, I wonder why he didn’t kill you and mount your carcass on the walls of the Greengile castle?”

Finn heard the others laughing again and reminded himself not to be too cocky. Daltor was, by all accounts, a skillful swordsman, while Finn had only taken a few lessons. His vision dimmed and flickered and went suddenly to black and white—a sign that his dragon needed to come out and play.

“I had your father killed,” Daltor yelled back at Finn. “Just the way I’m about to kill you. He was a common soldier, and you have no legitimate right to my throne!”

“Like you do? You’re nowhere in the direct line! My mother was the Crown Princess and heir apparent of the Greengile, the daughter of the old king. I’m her only direct descendant and that gives me all the rights I need. You can yield to me, or I can kill you here and now and get this over with. I don’t care which one you choose, but your days as the illegitimate king of the Greengile are over.”

Daltor screamed with rage, yanked a dagger from his boot and threw it at Finn with staggering accuracy. It spun end over end, missing him by a fraction of an inch and embedded itself into the wall just behind his head. Finn heard Jazdon gasp as the dagger flew past his head and he glanced over at him. Daltor took advantage of his lapse of attention to slash out at Finn with his claws, making Finn fall on his back, and roll to the side to avoid being ripped apart. He jumped back to his feet, ready to transform, knowing he was running out of time and had to get serious about destroying this man. But the lingering reminders of being human inside him made him want to give Daltor one last chance. It was nearly a fatal mistake.

“Yield or I’ll kill you!” Finn shouted at him and amazingly, Daltor stopped and raised his hands in the air. He lowered his head and sank down on one knee. It was then, as Finn took a hesitant step toward him that he suddenly sprang up, slashing his deadly claws across Finn’s stomach and trying to disembowel him.

The pain was shockingly bad, worse than he ever could have imagined. He was in agony, and he screamed, frantically, hopelessly, knowing he was about to die here in front of the man he loved and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it, because Daltor was already leaping toward him with his claws extended. He instinctively tried to thrust up his arm in an effort to block the savage gold-tipped talons, but it was happening too fast. He felt a gush of hot blood burst from the terrible wound, while venom rushed into him at the same time, making him writhe in agony.

The wounded roar that came from Jazdon literally shook the room. Jazdon leaped on top of Daltor in midair, twisting his body around Daltor’s and using his own powerful claws to take off the king’s head with one slash, while Vargla and Merlon kept themselves busy with the few Parsmitt guards who tried to help Daltor. Most of them were cowering against the wall in the face of Jazdon’s fierce and terrible rage.

Finn was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He felt numb until Jazdon gripped his shoulders and shook him. Hard.

“Don’t you dare! Open your eyes and look at me! You have to shift, Finn! Shift now while there’s still time.”

“I-I don’t think I can…”

“Yes, you can do this! Remember what I told you. Find your center. Take a deep breath and concentrate. Your dragon is right there, waiting to help you heal! Please, baby!”

His voice broke off as Finn’s eyes drifted closed and he tried to concentrate—but on what? He was still confused. What was his center? Was that something he was supposed to know?

Jazdon pulled him desperately into his arms, crushing his body to his and he felt Jaz’s heart thumping almost painfully hard against his chest. Finn pressed his face into his chest, breathing him in once last time…at least he would go to his death knowing he was loved. Fiercely and completely—it was more than he thought he’d ever have. This man, who was the center of his world.

And suddenly it was clear to him what Jazdon had been talking about. This—this was his center. This man in his arms, begging him to shift and heal himself. Jazdon was his fated mate and the love of his life. If he wanted to stay with him, if he wanted them to live a long life together, he had to shift all the way into his dragon. There was no other choice.

He had to embrace the idea of his dragon and try with all his strength. Clutching that idea close to him, it all suddenly became so easy. His dragon heart, the one he’d only been faintly aware of up until now, began beating wildly in his chest, and he felt the burst of power he’d been searching for. His body soared up and suddenly Jazdon was beside him, his beautiful dragon clutching him closely, their limbs intertwining as they wrapped themselves around each other. They burst through the doors to the balcony, the room becoming too small and confined to hold them, and they soared upward into the clear night sky.