Chapter Thirty-Seven WITCHING MOON

Chapter Thirty-Seven

WITCHING MOON

Week Three, Day One

Year 3000

Blood loss and pain had begun to take their toll when Ash tore out the blue dragon's throat. The hot blood tasted bitter on his tongue, and he didn't have a chance to savor victory. A roar of rage just beneath him warned that an attempt at revenge would be swift.

Good.

Dark clouds obscured everything up here. Only the occasional crack of lightning helped. But Ash's power flooded before him, seeking the bones of the earth. Seeking stone and rocks and dirt, all as much a part of his nature as his fire.

The jagged mountain peaks rose dangerously high south of the castle. Some of the rocks slicing upward were sharper than any dagger.

And the roar behind him meant his pursuer was close enough for this.

Folding his wings as close to his body as possible, Ash fell into a spinning dive. A few handspans too far to the left or the right, and he'd be regretting this maneuver for however long it took a dragon to bleed out.

But he didn't misjudge. Not when it came to the sweet caress of earth.

He dove between the jagged peaks of the mountain so close that the wind from his passage flicked pebbles at his tail. As soon as he was clear he unfurled his wings and rocketed upward, grazing the sharp mountain rocks. His power smoothed out, sharpening the towering peak as he passed, leaving a sword-edge a dozen paces tall in his wake.

The slick, sick sound of stone slicing through hide and guts was swiftly drowned out by the pained shrieks of an enraged dragon. In the dark clouds below, Ash saw the helpless flutter of wings as his foe sought to fight free of his impalement.

A mistake. Without the rock blocking the wound, blood gushed free.

And the dragon fell.

Ash felt a moment's grief as he cleared the dark clouds and saw the broken body on the rocks below, the dragon's green scales still shimmering in the light. But only a moment. Because when he turned back to the nearly empty battlefield ...

It wasn't empty, not anymore. Thousands of soldiers had appeared from somewhere, their mass surrounding a pitiful circle of defense. The High Court and the Raven Guard held their own, but they were weary and wounded. Slowing.

And on the tower above them ...

The sight nearly dropped Ash from the sky. Sachi, her golden hair blood-streaked and wild, fluttering on the wind. She balanced on the parapet, swaying for only a moment.

And then she jumped.

A roar of denial tore free of him. Folding his wings, he launched into a dive, speeding toward her. He knew the distance was too great, but if he could reach her, if he could—

Her plummeting body vanished.

Ash's human heart almost vanished with it. He flared his wings, checking his dive so abruptly that the slashes across his back screamed in agony. But when he spiraled higher, he saw that the Betrayer had vanished, too.

The world pulsed around him. Fear for Sachi vanished under a sudden wave of giddy anticipation that flooded him from all directions. He didn't need the earth beneath his feet to heed this message—every element whispered it. Sang it. Screamed it.

SHE WALKS THE DREAM

SHE WALKS THE DREAM

SHE WALKS THE DREAM

The Dragon's consort had gone to war where the Dragon could not follow. But she'd left part of her heart—part of their heart—behind. Below him, the endless wave of soldiers tightened around the High Court. Zanya lay at the center, with Inga bent over her.

Fight well, my love. He whispered the words into his heart and released them into the Dream, where Sachi did battle.

Then he turned toward the force that threatened his family and let the Lord of Fire reign.