22. The Dragon and His Boy

The human eggling was following him.

Eroch approved.

Stalking was an important skill to have for a hunter, and if the coldhunter named Ash was not going to teach his offspring how to hunt, then Eroch would take it upon himself to teach the eggling.

Nevermind that Eroch had limited skill in hunting. He hadn't reached an age yet before his abduction to this realm to be taught such things.

Which was why he had asked Cian to help him.

"When hunting, the goal is to be efficient, swift, and merciful. Being efficient with the killing blow leads in turn to swiftness and mercy. Inefficient hunters kill sloppily, and leave their prey to suffer. That's the mark of a bad hunter, and not behavior to emulate," Cian instructed, Eroch nodding along as they trundled through the underbrush of the forest within the mound.

The great cavern of stone and magic hummed in the far distance, the roof overhead glowing with a smaller version of the sun high, high above them. Clouds of moisture crowded the ceiling, obscuring it from view, giving the impression of a cloudy summer sky.

The trees and the plantlife in the forest were real, though they smelled and looked different than the ones Eroch was used to seeing along the ocean by the Mansion.

Here the forest was dense, strange birds sang, and the rustle of fauna that Eroch had never smelled before kept distracting him.

Cian was armed with his daggers, one on each thigh, and a weapon he called a bow strung on his back. Tiny sticks with sharp points he called arrows sat in a bag slung on his back as well. Eroch was not sure how they worked. What use were such tiny sticks against dangerous prey?

"Tiny teeth," Eroch hissed in doubt, speaking in his own language to Cian. He was grateful the Brennan brothers understood him and could speak to him. He flicked a wing at the little sticks called arrows. "Little sticks."

"Which when thrown very fast by the bow, punch deep into flesh," Cian explained, answering in Eroch's language. "It is how people attack dangerous prey from a distance, to avoid being hurt."

"I fly fast and bite prey," Eroch growled, tail lashing. "Little sticks can't fly faster than dragon."

"We shall see," Cian said with a smile. "Is the young human still following us?"

Eroch focused behind them and heard the boy stumble over the ground, muttering to himself in a different language than the one his brood-father spoke. It was pretty and flowed like water. "Boy follows, speaks pretty words."

"No hunting then unless he's with us," Cian said, making Eroch droop in disappointment. "Stay right here."

Cian disappeared, melting into the shadows under the trees. Eroch listened and heard when Cian found the boy not too far from where they had stopped. A harsh shriek of alarm, and then Cian walked from the trees, carrying the squirming human eggling over one shoulder. He stopped beside Eroch and gently dropped the boy on his feet, but he stumbled and fell on his rear.

Eroch blew smoke at the boy, who coughed and waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey, what was that for?"

"Eggling bother hunt." Eroch explained. He looked to Cian to translate.

"Eroch said you were interrupting his hunting," Cian explained, crossing his arms and staring down at the human.

"He did not! He's chirping like a bird!" Leandro declared, clearly grumpy. Maybe he was hungry. Eroch got grumpy when he was hungry. He would feed the eggling from his kill to make him happier.

"Are you an expert, then, in languages of different realms?" Cian asked primly, one brow arched, and the boy flushed, dropping his eyes to the ground.

"No," he muttered before looking at Eroch, face red. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

Eroch blew a small smoke ring at the boy, who grinned at the sight.

Cian translated it into English. "He forgives you."

Leandro got to his feet. "What are you doing…here? This place is so weird."

"I was teaching Eroch how to hunt larger prey so he can feed himself," Cian informed the eggling in English. "Pigeons are no longer sufficient. But your presence changes our plans and your fathers will be looking for you, so we need to return you to the outer world."

"Please don't take me back yet. I told Da that I was gonna hang out with the dragon," Leandro said with sad eyes. "He and Papá are having grown-up time together."

Eroch had no idea what that meant. Cian's face went red, and he blew out a rough breath, hands on his hips, squinting at the human boy. "Fine, you may stay. Be quiet, and we aim to kill something for Eroch to eat. No crying allowed."

"I won't! I promise," Leandro said, excited.

Eroch was still stuck on what grown-up time meant, but then he was confused as to why someone would cry during hunting.

Cian resumed walking and Eroch and Leandro followed him deeper into the magical forest, the calls of strange creatures echoing off the cavernous ceiling high above.

The boy would either cry for his fathers or be too excited to understand the ramifications of taking a life, but he was interested in seeing which it was—Leandro seemed a practical boy, but he was curious as any child would be and that curiosity sometimes led to some unpleasant experiences.

He was expecting a frantic call from someone looking for the boy, so he set his ring alert to the softest vibrate it had and kept it in his pants pocket. Nothing worse than a phone call interrupting a crucial moment.

They were on the trail of a red stag and three does—the forest held many species, and the red deer had been flourishing in the underhill forest for centuries. There were wolves and bears, of course, to handle the population, but Cian was keeping the larger predators away by his mere presence. They knew better than to mess with him.

"What are we after?" Leandro asked, sounding as English as his vampire father when he spoke that language. When he spoke Italian or Spanish he took after Ignacio. It was charming, a point in the boy's favor even if he chose to speak as if in a drawing room greeting guests.

"Red deer," Cian replied quietly. "Now shush, and mind your feet."

Leandro looked down at his sneaker-clad feet in confusion, and Cian smiled despite the seriousness of the hunt. Eroch kept pace beside the boy, head up and nostrils flared as he scented the prey farther ahead.

Cian whistled softly, gaining Eroch's attention. "Remember. Efficient, swift, and merciful. Be quick with your kill and you will achieve them all." Eroch nodded his head in agreement. Cian smiled at him. "Circle downwind and choose your target. I will be nearby to help if you need it."

The small herd was a hundred yards away in a thicket, bunked down beneath the thick boughs of several trees in knee-high grass. The wind was in hunters' favor, blowing away from the herd and right on Eroch as he slinked into the foliage and tried his best to be stealthy.

Once his senses told him Eroch was about halfway to the targets, Cian gestured for Leandro to be quiet and follow. The boy was wide-eyed and nervous, and he kept quite close to Cian, nearly in his shadow. Cian carefully grabbed the bow from his back and strung an arrow, knocking it but not drawing, holding it at the ready in case Eroch needed help making a fast kill.

They reached the edge of a small clearing, the thicket with the herd about fifty feet away, and Eroch was almost slithering through the tall grass off to his right, barely moving. Cian was impressed—for a dragon so young, Eroch had a keen sense of how to hunt already. His age group back on his home world would still be bound to the nest and dependent on the mature brooding dragons for sustenance.

Eroch got within leaping distance when the wind changed and a warning snort came from within the thicket. Four deer then burst from the trees, within feet of Eroch, who leapt up from the grass like a striking viper.

Eroch landed on the back of the stag, its tall antlers covered in velvet, but still sharp and deadly—it swiped at the dragon on its back, nearly snagging Eroch's wings. Eroch's weight listed the stag to the side, claws digging into red fur and flesh, toppling them to the ground, the stag bellowing. The remaining deer scattered, disappearing into the trees.

Cian quickly drew the bow and steadied himself for the shot, ready to help, when Eroch managed to lock his jaws on the base of the deer's skull, biting down hard enough Cian that heard the shattering of bone.

The stag went limp, and Cian stood slowly, easing the bow out of the draw and then returning the arrow to the quiver.

The stag's body twitched in death throes, Eroch growling and maintaining his grip on the sides and neck. Cian strode across the clearing, pulling a dagger from a thigh sheath, and knelt by Eroch and his kill. In one smooth motion, he slit the stag's throat, hot blood pouring out onto the grass, the heart still beating in the dying body. Best to cut the throat immediately to aid in draining the blood from the kill before butchering it.

And it was merciful.

Cian withdrew from the kill a few feet, letting Eroch calm himself while he pulled a silk handkerchief from the ether and cleaned his hands and silver blade while he waited. Cian looked back at Leandro, expecting hysterics or fear, but the boy was sitting on a small tree stump nearby, watching curiously, staying quiet. He avoided looking at Eroch directly, as if he were making a point not to challenge the predator over his kill. Cian wondered at the boy's behavior until he recalled that Leandro was the son of a predator—Ashwin Metcalfe was a vampire, and surely had hunted and fought in their travels to protect his son.

Practical indeed. Cian was pleased.

Eroch finally released his kill, mantled his wings high above the corpse, and roared to the cavernous sky high above in victory, shooting a blast of fire as his roar echoed through the underhill.

"I'm heading home," Angel told Simeon, who nodded and pressed a kiss to his hair. "I love you."

Simeon gave him a sweet smile, emerald eyes full of affection and warmth. "I love you too, mo ghra."

Simeon and Constans were still dealing with the after-crisis of the poisoned fledglings, and Angel was exhausted. Too much emotional and mental upheaval in the last several days and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep.

Angel left the vampires in the living room of Constans' penthouse, and he went to the vault, which Isaac had propped open earlier so Angel could go home when he wanted to and wouldn't need to wait on someone to open it for him.

He checked that he had everything—his satchel, check; his athame in its scabbard on his back, check again. He approached the arch and focused.

The archway was black and silent; it waited for a traveler, and Angel thought longingly about his home in Beacon Hill and the comfort of his own bed before stepping through the arch.

He came out in the hallway of his Beacon Hill townhouse, grateful for the expediency of mound travel. A trip that would have taken thirty minutes was reduced to seconds. Angel stopped right outside the arch and felt a ripple of energy from the wards around the townhouse. Something was different, and it was centered on the front of the house near the front door—he heard Martin talking down below in the foyer. Angel guessed the Council had tried to get inside, and he hurried to the stairs.

Angel made it to the stairs and froze at the top step. Martin was talking to Special Agent Samuel Kenzie, the foppish agent no longer dressed in a boring suit but head to toe in black, including the wicked-looking gun in his hand.

His blonde hair was swept back from his face, allowing Angel to see the reddened eyes, the sweat running down his temples.

Martin was standing with both hands up, in response to the gun Kenzie had pressed to Martin's forehead.

Martin was at an angle to Angel, and he couldn't see Angel standing in shock at the top of the stairs, but Special Agent Kenzie saw him, and the click of the gun's hammer sent ice-cold fear shooting through Angel's body.

"Mr. Salvatore—sorry, Necromancer Salvatore—please come down here," Kenzie said, voice cracking, as if he'd been screaming himself hoarse. And from the magic Angel saw teeming around his head and shoulders, he felt that might be the case.

Angel reached for the banister and Kenzie moved his finger from the barrel to the trigger. "Don't move those hands," Kenzie warned. "If I think you're casting, I will kill your butler."

"Alright," Angel said softly, as calmly as he could, despite the fear building in his gut. "Please don't hurt Martin, he's innocent in all of this."

"Move it," Kenzie ground out, and a fine tremor went through his whole body, sweat dripping down his temples, hair damp.

Angel carefully descended the stairs, and he got a better view of the gun. It was pressed to the skin of Martin's forehead, not a hairsbreadth of air to work with—Angel did not need to speak to cast, but the chances of Angel sneaking a bullet-proof shield between Martin and the gun without Kenzie feeling it happen were currently nil.

Martin was not going to die today.

He kept his hands out a bit from his sides, hip height, showing his palms, and he made it to the foyer floor, facing Kenzie and Martin.

Martin was terrified, deathly pale and eyes wide, but he was doing better than Kenzie, at least physically.

The front door was open a bit, a few inches, the sound of traffic and people walking by coming through the crack, and Angel hoped no one came to investigate the unlatched door. The sense of wrongness from the wards came from the doorway—and Angel was close enough now to see it was blood magic that had cut a door-sized hole in the wards, and quickly, too. So quickly that it must have happened minutes before Angel got home, before the magic could alert him to a problem. The distance between the Beacon Hill townhouse and the Tower wasn't huge, but far enough that there was going to be a delay in communication between Angel and his wards.

The wards were alerting him now, for all that it was too late, and Angel sensed death on the doorstep.

Someone died getting Kenzie through the wards.

"Martin, you okay?" Angel asked gently, keeping an eye on Kenzie even as he asked.

"Yes, sir," Martin managed to choke out, visibly steeling himself. Kenzie didn't stop Martin from speaking. "The regular staff are gone, sir, and the senior staff are locked downstairs."

"That's good, thank you, Martin," Angel reassured his butler.

"Don't think they're calling for help," Kenzie burst out, fingers adjusting the white-knuckle grip on the gun. "I took their phones."

Angel saw the pile of shattered phones at Kenzie's feet—he was serious about no one calling for help. And if the senior staff were locked away downstairs then Kenzie must have used a charm, as none of the access doors to staff spaces had locks on them.

"Where is everyone else?" Angel asked Martin quietly, not making any sudden moves.

He just had to outlast the agent.

"Your guests went to the Mansion, sir, to work with Dame Fontaine," Martin managed to say before Kenzie shoved his head a bit with the gun. Martin glared as best he could and kept speaking.

"Shut up," Kenzie said through clenched jaws.

Angel winced, and refrained from jumping on Kenzie, controlling his breathing and racing heart as best he could—Angel briefly focused inward, but the mate bond was mentally a bit too far for him to reach without Kenzie noticing him zoning out. He might mistake it for Angel casting a spell and kill Martin.

"What do you want?" Angel managed to ask, as if Kenzie had stopped by for a friendly cup of coffee and a chat.

"You're coming with me," Kenzie replied, and with his free hand, dug out a pair of cuffs from his belt.

Angel's heart sank—they were runed and bespelled iron cuffs, the runes glittering in silver on the industrially crafted wristbands. Kenzie tossed them at Angel and he reflexively caught them, fumbling a bit to avoid dropping the heavy metal on his feet.

"Put them on or I kill him," Kenzie ordered, eyes wild.