Blood Politics (Blood Destiny 4) (7 page)

Not too many months ago, I’d been desperate to discover more about myself and my weird blood; since shifting into a dragon I wasn’t convinced that I needed to know the truth any longer.
 What I’d not told anyone, and what I barely allowed myself to consider even in my most alone moments, was that during those seconds when I had became more monster than human, all semblance of rational thought had completely fled me.  I was used to having my bloodfire take over my thoughts and actions, of course, but I’d always still managed to remain inherently myself somewhere inside.  When I’d transformed, consumed by the rage and pain of seeing both Brock and Thomas massacred in front of me, there had been nothing left of me inside.  Not one scrap.  All that I’d been was a mass of unthinking death and devastation.  A tiny part of me dreaded to think what I might have done if someone else had gotten in between my dragon form and Tryyl.

I inhaled deeply.
 Solus had naturally read it, and he was still sticking around.  Being a typically arrogant Fae, he no doubt believed in his absolute invincibility against all odds, but surely even he would be sensible enough to steer clear of me if I was all that dangerous, I rationalised to myself.  And, by knowing more about what my true nature was really like, I’d have a better chance of guarding against anything terrible happening.  Of course I was glad that I’d managed to kill the wraith as well.

“You didn’t actually hurt anyone innocent, Mack,” I told myself aloud.
 Not that it meant I still wouldn’t though.

I inhaled deeply, sucking calming breath into my lungs.
 Okay.  I knew I was going to eventually read the bloody thing no matter what, so why not get it out of the way?  I made to put the coffee cup down on the table top and realised that flickers of anxious green flame were licking around my fingers.  Not helpful.  Closing my eyes for a moment and practising some of the meditative techniques that my old anger management counsellor had taught me, I forced myself to settle down.  When I checked back, the flames were gone.

I pulled the papers over to me, then turned
to the first page.  I’d already managed to translate the first chapter on my own back when the original had been in my possession, very slowly deciphering each and every word with the help of a bilingual dictionary.  I couldn’t be entirely sure that I’d managed to be accurate, however, so I started by re-reading what I already knew.  

It turned out my original efforts had been fairly spot on.
 Other than a few odd words here and there, and clumsy wording, I’d worked out all of the main points.  At some point in the very distant past, a remarkably foolish mage had attempted to experiment on a real, honest to goodness bona fide dragon, by transforming it into human form.  Said dragon had not appreciated her efforts and, as well as eventually killing her and numerous other humans who got in his way, he also spent a lot of time shagging the local maidens and getting several of them pregnant.  Before too long, however, a sturdy warrior by the name of Bolox had been smart enough to try and kill the dragon.  His shoulder had been maimed in the ensuing fight and, while his efforts had ultimately proved successful, the scars on his shoulder never disappeared.  Ever since that point, all progeny of the dragon had the same scars visible on their own shoulders, in some mystical transferable version of a knot-in-string reminder that whenever they came across any descendants of Bolox it was their duty to slaughter them instantly.  The scar thing didn’t really seem particularly logical, but I guessed that neither did being stupid enough – or magically endowed enough – to transform a dragon into human form.  

Something tugged at my memory.
 One of the first things I’d been required to do when I’d started at the mages’ academy was to read, understand and memorise their complicated legal system.  I was sure that one of the unbreakable rules had been that it was expressly forbidden for anyone to ever attempt to change the true nature of a living creature through magical means.  Now that I thought about it in the context of my great-great-great-and-so-on-grand-daddy, it made perfect sense.

I flicked over to the next chapter, which traced the lineage of that original dragon down through the centuries.
 Many of the original women who’d been unfortunate enough to have caught the eye of first ever Draco Wyr had died in childbirth, their babies along with them.  Enough had survived, however, to continue the line, albeit diluting the wyrm blood as they went along.  The anonymous author of the book speculated that many important figures throughout history could claim to be of the Draco Wyr suggesting, although not offering much in the way of proof, that people like Boadicea, Julius Caesar and Genghis Khan all benefited from the power of their blood and heritage.  The people they slaughtered didn’t benefit much from it, I thought, not that I didn’t admire some of what they’d achieved.

The second chapter ended with the author surmising that the reason the Draco Wyr had virtually died out by the turn of the nineteenth century was that their combative nature and dwindling powers caused the majority of the species to involve themselves in too many situations that resulted in their deaths at a young age.
 There was also the implication that many of them had been hunted down and bled dry, due to various Otherworld creatures desiring the power of Draco Wyr blood for themselves.  I thought of Iabartu and nodded to myself.  It didn’t appear that much had changed in the last two hundred or so years.

Pushing the papers aside, I wandered into my little bathroom and leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
 Clearly, in terms of the whole nature versus nurture debate, nature was winning as far as I was concerned.  My innate temper did indeed lead me into many situations which I would be wiser to avoid.  Of course I doubted that many of my ancestors had enjoyed the option of anger management counseling.  Perhaps being able to avail myself of such things meant that I’d be more successful at life than my forebears.  It occurred to me that I should probably make an appointment to continue with the sessions.  Anything that would help me stay in control, even if only minutely, could only be a good thing.

With that thought in my head, I decided to leave the rest of the book for now and see what else I could procure to help myself.
 I picked up my backpack, first extricating the vampire books from it and placing them in a corner to be read carefully at a later date, and headed outside.  Once I was out on the pavement, I glanced carefully up and down the street.  It was filled with shoppers, few of them paying me any attention.  It appeared that my pleas the night before had been heeded as I couldn’t see anyone, Otherworlder or otherwise, keen to follow me around.  Excellent.

Instead of turning left towards Clava Books as I normally would, I headed right.
 There were still a few hours before the shops would start to close so my little excursion would let me kill two birds with one stone.  Before too long I was standing outside a small store bracketed by earthy coloured signage.  Mrs. Alcoon and Julia would be proud of me.

I didn’t think I’d ever entered a homeopathic shop up till now.
 The restorative powers of herbal remedies had hardly escaped me, however, so I wandered up and down the shelves until I found something that I thought might work: a small bottle filled with a viscous liquid and a label that proclaimed itself as ‘Temper-Soothe’.  I picked it up and read the label.

There was a long list of ingredients, but the main ones seemed to be Passiflora Incarnata and Skullcap.
 I grimaced.  Neither sounded particularly appealing but my knowledge of all things herbal was not exactly extensive.  I considered calling Julia to see whether she thought this would be the right fit, but then decided against it.  It would probably just worry her.  And, after all, I was only taking the remedy as a preventative measure, much like vitamins.  I paid for it at the counter, ignoring the slightly raised eyebrows of the shop assistant, then headed back outside again, this time flagging down a taxi.

“Where to, Miss?” asked the driver, the twang of Cockney apparent in his accent.

I gave him the address, then sat back and watched the world go by.  Some days I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to living in such a large city.  It certainly didn’t help my powers of spatial awareness.  Out in the countryside, I found it relatively easy to work out my position and how to get to where I needed to go – here it was much harder.  As I wasn’t completely confident that I’d be able to find my next destination, and I didn’t want the taxi driver to use his famed black cab Knowledge to help, I had directed him to Alcazon, the swanky restaurant frequented by the more well to do inhabitants of the Otherworld.  From there, I’d be able to re-trace my previous steps to get to Balud’s weapon shop.  There was no way my budget would stretch to being able to afford to eat at the restaurant – my one and only previous visit had been with Solus and he’d been paying.  I’d just have to keep my fingers crossed that I had enough spare cash to buy myself something sharp at the shop.  It wasn’t that I thought that my pending nocturnal visit to meet a dryad was going to be dangerous, just that it didn’t hurt to be prepared.  The irony of buying a herbal remedy to stop me from attacking someone needlessly in a rage in the same afternoon as procuring weapons that would help me in such an attack wasn’t lost on me.  They were both for protection, I told myself firmly, just different kinds of protection, that’s all.

Before too long, the driver pulled up across from Alcazon, and I reached into my backpack to get out some cash.
 I was just handing it over, however, when something caught my eye and I suddenly drew back.

“Everything all right?” the taxi driver inquired solicitously.

My eyes were fixed across the street.  “Er, fine, just…just wait a minute, can you?”

He shrugged, and sat back in his seat.
 My attention remained focused on the couple who had just emerged from round the corner.  It was impossible to miss Corrigan.  He strode along the street as if it belonged to him, black hair glinting in the afternoon sun, and white v-necked t-shirt moulded to his chest so that every taut badass shapeshifter muscle was revealed.  The dark-haired woman at his side, and on whose back he was currently placing a protective hand, was clearly a shifter too.  I didn’t recognise her but I hadn’t grown up in a pack without being able to pick one out at a hundred paces.  Whoever she was, she somehow managed to pull off looking both dainty and powerful at the same time. The hackles on my skin rose as I watched the pair of them, and I felt the familiar surge of heat fire up in the pit of my belly then ripple through my blood.  I quickly sat on my hands in case inadvertent green fire decided to sprout up.  I wasn’t quite sure how I’d explain that to the taxi driver.

I knew that what I was feeling was jealousy and I knew that I had no right to that emotion.
 But it still didn’t stop it from flooding every molecule of my body.  So much for there not really being anyone in his life.  It just confirmed for me that he was only hanging around me now because he thought he could use the fact that I was a Draco Wyr to his advantage, just like the Faes and the mages did.  The woman seemed to sense my stare because at one point she glanced straight over in my direction.  I sank down into my seat and hoped that she’d not seen me.  It seemed to have worked as she turned back again without breaking her stride.  I waited until the pair of them had disappeared inside the gleaming glass-fronted building, then yanked out a hand and dug into my backpack, pulling out the Temper-Soothe.  I twisted the cap off then chugged down several gulps.  He could do what he wanted, I told myself.  I had no right to be angry at him because I had no claim on him.  But that didn’t mean that I couldn’t feel the bloodfire ripping through my system anyway.

The taxi driver eyed me sympathetically in his rear view mirror.

“Boyfriend?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” I said sighing, before handing over what I owed him, along with more of a tip than I’d originally intended.
 “Thanks.”

“That’s okay.
 I’m sure he’s not worth it anyway, sweetheart.”

I really wished that he hadn’t tacked on that endearment, as it caused the fire to flare up inside me even more.
  I took another swig of the herbal medicine and forced a smile on my face, gritting my teeth as he drove off, then stomped off down the street towards the troll’s store.

*

My mood didn’t seem to have improved much by the time I arrived in front of Balud’s shabby door.  I’d all but drained the Temper-Soothe.  Shitty stuff.  It tasted nasty and hadn’t done a damn thing.  Next time I’d know to avoid the homeopathic crap and go straight for hard drugs instead.  I lifted up the door knocker and slammed it down hard several times, feeling it vibrate against the wood as it did so.  

After what seemed like an eternity, the door eventually creaked open, and Balud’s dark beady eyes were blinking up at me.
 I pasted on a smile.

“Hi!
 Remember me?”

He stared silently at me.
 Okay, then.  I tried to remember what Solus has said when we’d visited before.  Maybe there was some kind of protocol involved that I was missing.

“I’m here to buy some weapons,” I folded my arms and tried to look as serious and forbidding as possible.
 “If I can afford them.”

The troll’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly.
 Oops.  Probably shouldn’t have said that part.