Chapter 30

Hauck

"Blight's tits." Hauck stared out from between the barred door of the cell as Cyril and Kitterny strode down the tunnel toward him, a guard stumbling forward in front of the pair. What at first looked like a blade hovering at the guard's throat had clarified into… water. A vice of it, clamping over the guard's windpipe in a deathly threat. "Since when can Cyril do that?"

"Behind you," Quinton shouted.

Cyril and Kit twisted, both their hands rising just as two more guards spilled into the tunnel behind them. Fire erupted from Kit's palm in a torrent of dragon fire. The flame filled the entire stone tunnel, incinerating everything in its path. When it settled, there were two charred bodies on the stone floor and a scent of sulfur and burned flesh.

"Blight's tits indeed," Quinton muttered.

Cyril shoved his hostage forward. "Open the cell."

The male, who Hauck recognized as one of the guards who'd questioned him earlier, snarled in protest. Cyril made a motion with his hand. At once, water rose from his drenched clothes and streamed into the guard's open mouth. Into his nose. The guard's body convulsed, his eyes wide with terror. He was drowning on dry land. He grabbed for his neck, then for his keys, his hands shaking as he sorted through a large ring.

Cyril released his hold on the water. The guard fell to his knees, gasping for air. He was so engrossed in staying alive, that he didn't even mark Cyril striding up to him from behind and snapping his neck.

Kit snatched the key from the dead guard's hand before the body hit the ground.

Wet hair and soaked clothes hugged every curve of her frame. Despite the flame that she apparently commanded now, she looked ice cold, with a bluish tinge to her lips and a fine shiver that made her teeth chatter as she fitted the key into the opening. Like Cyril, she had too many weapons strapped to her body, most of which were too big for her to wield. And then there were her eyes. Large and perceptive with iridescent flecks shimmering in the dimness of the underground.

She was the most beautiful creature Hauck had ever laid eyes on. Tavias had at least been able to mindspeak with their mate, and Quinton was used to brooding alone, but Hauck… Well, he'd liked being cut off from Kit even less than he liked being locked up in a dungeon. And he really didn't like being locked up.

The cell door opened. Hauck swept Kit off her feet. "Hello, turnip."

She lifted her face to him, her scales shifting, her eyes so bright they seemed to light his very soul. She was Kit. His Kit. But she was more now. And the dragon inside Hauck roared for the dragon in her. His own power flared, and the tiny resilient vines that had burrowed into the centuries old stone stirred in the walls.

"Hauck!" Tavias barked. "Clamp it down."

Hauck clamped down on his vibrating power, stronger than anything he felt before, but taking his attention off Kitterny—no, that was beyond what anyone could ask. His hands slid under her ass, hoisting her highter on his waist. She was here. In his arms. Against his chest. "I love you," he whispered against her wet skin. "Stars, turnip. I love you."

She scraped her teeth over her lip. Did she have any idea what that did to him? Drawing a lungful of air, he spread his warm inhale over the line of scales at Kit's temple.

Kit gasped. Not from the cold.

Hauck grinned.

Quinton hit him upside the head. "Run now, rut later."

"I can rut now and later," Hauck protested as Tavias pulled Kit to the ground.

"You are powered up," Tavias said, unstrapping and distributing the weapons Kit carried while Quinton took up a defensive position in the corridor. "You both are. You didn't mention that."

"Yes, well, there was only so much I could chat about while…" Kit's scales shifted between pink and purple. "And this is a recent development. Courtesy of a certain Slait Court princess. We brought siphons for you to wear as well. They won't work as well as our tattoos, and only when the five of us are close together, but it's well…"

"The kind of power people kill for?" Tavias offered.

"Exactly." Striding in, Cyril tossed an amulet to Hauck then handed one to Tavias. Quinton's already hung around the warrior's neck. Cyril was as wet as Kitterny and, like her, the same but different. More powerful. More present. And not just because of whatever magic he could now wield. When Cyril turned to Hauck, it was a king who surveyed him from head to toe. "Are you alright?"

"I could eat a goat or three," Hauck said.

"Noted." Cyril gave Tavias and Quinton the same visual inspection then jerked his head in the direction of the wet footprints he and Kit had left on the stone floor. "Let's move out of here."

"This way is better," Quinton said, moving out into the corridor with a sure step.

"Do I want to know why you know your way around a secret prison so well?" Hauck asked, taking up a defensive position in front of Kit. Not that she needed much defending given what he'd seen earlier.

"You tell me, Hauck," Quinton looked over his shoulder, and the shadows seemed to bend along with him. "Do you wish to know?"

"No. Not one bit." Hauck shuddered despite himself. Quinton was frightening to begin with, but with the extra power he now wielded, the male became downright terrifying.

Quinton snorted softly and broke into an easy jog toward the darkness.

A quarter hour and a half-dozen dead guards later, they were outside on a platform edge, the wind beating against their skin and clothes. Hauck's magic stretched, his dragon sensing the coming freedom. Power rolled through his veins. Through the mating bond that absolutely vibrated with magic. The carved stone siphon around Hauck's neck felt hot, like a charged magnet that hoarded magic on its host's behalf.

"Where to now?" Hauck asked, breathing in the sea and farther off scent of aspen trees. Stars shimmered in the dark night sky in peaceful contrast to the violent waves crashing into the cliff where the pack now stood. The water looked deadly. Impossible to tame. And yet Cyril had done it. Just as Kit had incinerated a pair of guards. Blight's tits indeed.

Cyril glanced at Tavias, who met his twin's gaze without blinking. Then Tavias touched his hand to his heart. "I am yours to command, my liege," Tavias said solemnly.

"You don't have to—" Cyril started to say, but Tavias gripped his shoulder. Small specks of lightning danced along Tavias's skin and swirled around the amulet he wore around his neck.

"I want to," Tavias told him. A corner of his mouth lifted. "Plus, after all the horseshit you put me through, I deserve to. Just to be sure you don't try to stick the bloody crown back on my head."

Cyril snorted softly, but nodded.

Hauck grinned. "I am yours to command, my liege."

"Not sure if that one is an honor or a liability," Tavias muttered under his breath.

"Liability. For sure," said Hauck.

"I am yours to command," Quinton's voice from Cyril's other side made even Hauck jerk. Quinton paused a moment before adding, "My liege."

Well, wasn't that something.

"Should I—" Kit started.

"- No," Cyril said quickly. "You are my mate. Our mate."

"And the dragon queen," Hauck interjected—both because it was true, and because it ruffled Kitterny deliciously. "So you deserve your own oath. But that one should be sworn with a great deal more pomp and circumstance. And wine."

Kit's eyes widened. "We aren't really doing that, right?" she asked Cyril. "That's not happening?"

"Don't borrow tomorrow's worries early." Cyril raised his head to the wind and moved toward the lip of the ledge they occupied, his chest rising and falling with deep steady breaths. "Tonight, we fly to take back the Massa'eve thone."