Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Dragoncross Abbey,

Dundaire, Scotland

A ripple of scales slithered under the skin of Zerek's left forearm, their hard edges torturing his bones.

Pop.

He winced. That was the third time this week his elbow skewed out of place.

He snapped it back.

"Bloody hell, Zee." Duncan glanced up from studying the map unfurled across the library desk. "You need to keep that beast in check."

Reeling in his dragon-side had proved challenging since he could no longer meld with Balon. Though the affliction wasn't unique to him. No dragon shifter from the den he'd hailed from was capable of completing a full melding—the bringing forth of their dragon-side—without possessing the sigil he'd been born with. And his had been lost at Culloden. Or more precisely, stolen. Not that Duncan wasn't aware of the fact as his sigil had gone missing then as well. "I don't need a lecture."

"I think you do because that thing is fuckin' freaky when it acts up."

"This coming from a shifter who in dragon form has not one, but two barbed tails jetting out from his spine."

Duncan peered over the wire rims of his glasses. "A split tail is not two. Nor is it freaky. And may I remind you, that rare anomaly saved your sorry arse more times than I can count. I'm just suggesting you stop making a spectacle of yourself."

"Is that what you think? That I'm doing this on purpose?"

"I did not say that."

"But you were going there."

"For the love of St. Andrew." His older cousin, Valentine, stepped in from the library's balcony. He closed the glass door behind him. "Staegyl can probably hear you clear across in Staegylken Keep with that dratted whining."

"He started it," Duncan said, turning his stare back to the map.

Valentine arched one black eyebrow at Zerek.

"That doesn't even warrant a response." He tugged on his boots, his palm grazing the top of the vertical row of weaponized spikes projecting from the black leather. Normally he didn't take the Saturday night patrol around Dragoncross. That was Duncan's shift.

But with the latest cache of old maps and books having been recovered from the abbey's storerooms only an hour ago, he didn't care to pull his best mate away from studying them. That, and he was useless when it came to deciphering glyphs drawn by the dragon elders of old.

Duncan was the language expert among their unit of shifters who had survived the betrayal at Culloden. And today's haul could very well contain clues as to where their sigils might have been carried off to. The cache came from the personal collection belonging to their unit's leader, Dabraxas, who was famous for leaving cryptic notes in the margins of his maps and books. He was also the dragon who'd taken their sigils to supposedly keep them safe before he vanished, never to be heard from again. The fact Dabraxas could be their betrayer was very much in play.

Zerek rubbed his elbow.

A veil of sympathy crossed Valentine's bearded face. "I'm guessing Balon's still kicking up a fuss?"

Zerek nodded. "He's more restless than usual tonight, but I'm not about to chide a fading dragon. He's only acting on instinct."

"The lack of melding doesn't necessarily mean you'll lose your dragon," Duncan commented.

"But in most cases, it does."

"Staegyl survives," Valentine said. "And his human-side died ages ago, proving melding isn't always necessary for a dragon-side to live."

Balon was not Staegyl. Nor was he the late Marcus. "Staegyl's human was a centurion who'd been healed by Christ. I'm way more sin-riddled than Marcus ever was. And as for religion…well, I think we can all agree I am far from being a good Catholic."

Valentine smirked. "You weren't even a good Pagan back in the day."

On that, he agreed with Val. Though he had improved some since becoming a Christian, as he now prayed daily. But whether those prayers were recited out of fear or guilt he couldn't say. He truly didn't believe he was a soul worthy of salvation. No man could be when he'd been turned into a killing machine and used as such since the year 127 AD. At least he did not look like the weary soldier that he was. All dragon shifters stopped ageing somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. His lucky year had been twenty-eight.

Leaning back on the sofa, Zerek returned his attention to Duncan. "Is anything in that bunch proving useful?"

"Not so far. While I've deciphered several of Dabraxas's notes concerning battles and trade deals, none of them reference a vault. And we all know he was too smart not to keep at least one secret place outside of Dragoncross in which to stash his horde. Though it could take me days to learn its location."

Days weren't what they had. "We should never have trusted that bastard. He wasn't blood to us." Being born of the same den did not necessarily mean they all descended from a common lineage. Roman dragon shifters were nested based on the location of their birth, not their blood. Only three of his den were relatives.

He, Val, and Duncan had mothers who shared Scottish ancestry, and the same ancestry at that. Their mothers were all maternal cousins. Marcus and Dabraxas were both fully Roman. The five ended up at the Antonine Wall due to their fathers. And they only settled in Dundaire because Zerek suggested they build Dragoncross Abbey after the Romans no longer controlled Britannia.

"In human form Dabraxas was our calvary leader," Valentine said, leaning his hip against the desk. "I'd like to think he did what he thought was best for us."

Zerek disagreed. "But we don't know for certain what his motives were. He could have very well betrayed us all." Their troop of five dragon shifters fighting for Bonnie Prince Charles had dwindled to three at Culloden, an unknown deceiver among them. But whether that traitor was The Great Staegyl or their own leader, Dabraxas, they hadn't yet figured out. Staegyl fell wounded, forcing him to cloak his massive form and fly away from Culloden. But at least they'd had contact with him over the years.

Dabraxas on the other hand had vanished, his body never to be found. Not in human form or dragon. Nor were the sigils recovered that he'd taken supposedly for safekeeping, not wanting his men to be caught in dragon form once he realized the Jacobites had lost all chance of defeating the English.

And since that fateful day he'd been trapped in human form, his dragon-side suffering.

"What we need is the Draco Slab and its slayer." Duncan looked up from the desk, the glow of lamp light highlighting the blond streak in his dark brown hair.

Zerek shook his head. "Don't go there, Dun. You know how I feel about Rylie."

"But going back in time might be our only chance at discovering what happened to our sigils. I know it didn't work last time, but that doesn't mean it won't work now. And we can't go through the portal without the slab and its slayer."

"He's right," Valentine said. "Rylie St. George is the solution to our problem. The only solution."

He was not going to sacrifice an unsuspecting human to save his own life. "Absolutely not."

"Why are you so against it? We've used slayers since the beginning of time." Val offered a perplexed stare.

Because this was different. This was Rylie, the woman they'd live next to for ten years, and the woman he dated for four. "We've used slayers only when we had an agreement with them. Rylie doesn't even know dragon shifters exist. Plus, I promised her mother that I'd look out for her, and I confirmed the same with her father before he died. I won't go back on my word."

Val fired off a curse under his breath. "You promised a St. George you'd protect his offspring? I can understand making such a pact with Rylie's mother. After all, Isla was close with her cousin Bane, despite her having been born in the States. But St. George would have definitely hunted us if he could. He was a dragon slayer through and through. How Bane allowed a non-shifter to keep Craignamore is beyond me."

Bane was a very fair Alpha, that's why. He accepted Rylie's father no different than he'd accepted dragons invading his wolf-shifter clan's territory. "We're not using Rylie. Besides, she'd have to come to us willingly. And since she thinks we're just three arrogant arses who deal in antiques, and not a trio of dragon shifters, that isn't going to happen. She's also not fit for what helping us would entail as she wasn't raised as a dragon slayer. She didn't even bid on any of the Roman items, or the artifacts connected to Culloden, at today's auction. In fact, she didn't bid on anything."

Ducan cursed. "Rylie was at the auction, and you didn't think to tell us?"

"There was no need."

"Maybe there was. You said she did get a copy of the catalogue we only meant to send to Staegyl. Which by the way, I still don't understand how you messed that up."

Neither did he, but it happened. "I didn't mention Rylie being at the auction because she didn't stay long, and she didn't buy anything. Which more than likely means her family no longer possesses the Draco Slab. Isla never mentioned it after our failed attempt at finding the sigils last time. Of course I didn't mention that I'd kept the quartz eagle, after that trip, either."

"You only did that to protect the woman." Duncan almost sounded sympathetic. "If it were up to her, she would have gone back in time over and over again until she managed to fix things in the past between Magnus St. George and Catriona MacHendrie. And while the five of us can go back any number of times, the same rules do not apply to anyone outside of our calvary unit. Roman dragon law states that very clearly. Isla would have died in the past if she'd gone back again. And that would have had huge ramifications on the present."

"I still didn't like allowing the woman to think the quartz eagle had been lost. Though I never outright lied to her, I did avoid discussing the matter." Guilt filtered into Zerek's soul.

"Regardless of what transpired in the past, you still should have told us that Rylie came to today's auction." Valentine rubbed his chin. "Maybe that's why Staegyl stayed away. He could have sensed a slayer in the area."

"I'll run an extra sale next week." Staegyl rarely kept his distance from the abbey on auction days. But every once in a while, it took several tries to catch the dragon's attention. Today was one of those times.

Zerek slipped a dagger inside his boot, then double checked the silver bullets loaded in his belt. While he'd never had an issue with any of Bane's wolves, the Alpha did inform him that on occasion feral beasts from other parts of Europe were known to infiltrate the pack and being fully armed to deal with them was best.

Satisfied with his stock of weapons, Zerek stretched one last time before standing.

Across the room, still leaning against the desk, Valentine toyed with the left cuff of his white button-down shirt. He hummed.

Shit. "You only hum when you have something to say that you know will piss me off. And I'm in no mood tonight, so just say it."

Val slowly lifted his gaze from his cuff. "Are you certain that in all the time you courted the St. George woman, she did not mention the slab?"

"Of course I'm certain. I wouldn't keep something like that from the two of you."

"You failed to tell us Rylie attended today's auction." Duncan didn't even bother looking up from the maps.

"Only because it was not worth mentioning." He did not like being questioned with such suspicion. His cousins were everything to him, the only family he had left. "You both just insulted me. And I don't appreciate it." He stood. "I'm off to do patrol."

"Wait." Valentine stepped away from the desk and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "We're all under a tremendous about of tension as we've never gone this long without melding. You know Duncan and I would both die for you. Just because he's a callous jerk at times, isn't his fault. The egg he was hatched from fell to the floor before he was born."

Duncan threw a square of sticky notes at Val's back. "I am so tired of hearing I was hatched from an egg. I hate that whole fictional dragon concept."

"That's not fiction," he said. "Staegyl's kids were all hatched."

"Staegyl is full dragon." Duncan fumed. "I am not."

Val burst into a hearty laugh.

Zerek held up his arms as if in surrender. "Please don't throw paper at me."

Duncan pouted. "You're both dicks."

"All kidding aside," Valentine continued, his demeanor turning serious. "There is one other way to open the portal without the slab."

He was not going to put Rylie in that dangerous position. "Only a trained slayer can open it using just the quartz eagle. We'd be asking too much of Rylie. She's not capable of it."

"You could train her."

Duncan put down the magnifying glass in his hand. "That's not a bad idea, Zee. You were the best instructor our unit ever had."

He was not going to train Rylie the way his ruthless general of a father had trained him. "Teaching an innocent woman to be a slayer is dangerous. Teaching an innocent woman who hates me, even more so."

"You could fix that," Duncan said. "You know, be nice to her rather than being a jerk around her."

"I am not a je…" He let out a deep breath. "I have my reasons why I act the way I do in the woman's presence."

"You still like her," Valentine said.

"Of course I still like her. She's our neighbor and we've known her for years."

Valentine chuckled. "No, cousin. I mean you still like her."

"Don't be ridiculous." Love was not for him. For one, his world was too dangerous. And two…well, two was just the fact that he was him. "I'm completely over the woman. Plus, she shot the balls off Balon's statue when she was seventeen. I don't care to give her the chance to do the same to my stuff. We weren't right for each other before. And we're still not right for each other, now."

"I never knew you to be a coward, MacKenzie." Val eyed him head on, dragon spark flaring in his brown eyes.

"It's too dangerous."

"For you or for Rylie?"

Damnit, but he hated when Val got him riled up. "For both of us." He grabbed his sword from where he'd placed it on the coffee table earlier.

"Sometimes to save someone," Valentine said, "you need to let them go. Rylie isn't yours to protect, despite what you promised her parents. But she might be yours to nurture. You can help her become who she is meant to be."

That was not his job. Protecting Rylie while keeping her at bay was best for the two of them. "I'm not training the woman and we're not discussing the matter further. Besides, every trip I take back in time, makes me more trackable. Which means my father can show up at Culloden as he was still alive back then. And I have no desire to catch that bastard's attention. Who knows what he'd change in our world if found me in the past before he died."

Both Duncan and Val remained silent.

"Glad we all finally agree on the subject. Now I'm off to close the front gates and do a quick check of the property." He turned and headed into the abbey's main hall.

A hint of aromatic incense mingled with centuries-old traces of hearth ash, battle sweat, and blood carried through the air. Dragoncross bore numerous scars, the smells embedded in its stone walls being the least of them. And in some ways, he found that haunting remnants comforting. They were familiar to him, reminded him of the ruthless way his father had pushed him starting from the age of five, to be a lethal soldier. No way was he fit to play a permanent romantic role in Rylie St. George's life. Val and Duncan didn't know what the hell they were talking about.

He dismissed the notion and proceeded down the hall.

Nearing the abbey's entrance, Zerek froze, a burst of heat pricking his nerves. He drew his sword.

Inching up to the metal studded door, he reached out and flung it open with a single tug.

A burst of cold air greeted him.

Beyond that, the stone slabs of the abbey's front steps stood vacant, a stretch of moonlit fog covering the lawn.

The earlier heat that had struck his nerves continued to flare.

With caution Zerek made his way from the abbey then down the gravel drive, his boot heels crunching stone. He raised his sword and advanced.

Above, slivers of moonlight peaked through the rustling leaves of property's the large oaks.

Balon slithered under Zerek's skin.

"Easy my friend. I'm not detecting an enemy, despite the strange sensations we're picking up."

The dragon inside him jerked upward, traveled through his throat then his nose, and finally settled behind his eyes.

Zerek's supernatural instincts kicked in, allowing him to classify every noise, smell and shadow into neat little boxes in his head.

Still, he detected no formidable threat, but the heat stalking his core remained.

He continued down the drive.

In the distance an owl hooted, but other than the loan bird, Zerek sensed no other creatures on the property. Not even any of Bane's wolves prowling for small rodents.

Rolling his shoulders, he let the tension drain from his muscles, but kept his sword drawn. All that nonsense about bringing Rylie into the fold had him raging war with own thoughts. It was one thing to train a fellow soldier or shifter, but no way was he cut out to be a teacher for an innocent human. How could he be when he'd made his first kill at the tender age of fifteen?

Memories of the arena swarmed his mind.

The feel of his father's hand clutched over his, the man's biting strength bearing down on his shaking fingers guiding the sword into the fallen gladiator's stomach, more than vivid. As was the recollection of what followed.

His father's hearty laugh accompanied by the cheers of the other generals gathered for that night's games pierced his ears.

He held his breath, tried to shake the images flooding his vision.

It did no good.

His stomach churned, recalled his body's reaction to the kill.

He'd thrown up everything inside him that night. An act that earned him a public beating from his father.

Zerek shook his head and forced the memory as far away from the present as he could.

He kicked a pebble out of his path.

Something hard hit the back of his skull.

Zerek teetered, then fell, his face kissing cold ground.