Dragonfire: Freedom in Flames (Secrets of the Makai Book 3) (15 page)

Tristan stopped again, too tired to take another step. “Before—” He couldn’t remember what he was going to say.

Donovan scooped him off his feet and carried him the rest of the way, stopping briefly to pick up the fallen staff. Tristan didn’t resist and felt nothing when a man in a black suit opened the rear door of the limousine, speaking in a different language. Donovan responded with a single syllable.

And then Donovan was gently slapping the side of his face, forcing him to open his eyes. “We’re at the vineyard. Get to your feet.”

“Food.” A hamburger. Steak. Ribs. Anything would fill the widening gap in the pit of his stomach. “Please—”

“Do not eat anything Lazaro might offer you. Is that clear?”

Tristan nodded, though he would have agreed to anything at this point.

“Stay in the car until I say so.” The door opened and Donovan stepped into the glaring sunshine. Within a moment, he motioned for Tristan.

Tristan stood, shading his eyes and struck by the beautiful landscape. Plants around him hushed, then began whispering excitedly, spreading the word.

Donovan wrapped Tristan’s fingers around the staff. “Perhaps you are correct, and we should do this another time.”

Tristan smiled, encouraged by the welcome. “It’ll be okay.”

White flowers, like snowballs, opened as he and Donovan walked along a brick path. Tristan stopped to inhale the fragrance. It had been so long since he’d been able to think of anything but food and sleep. Now it was summer and flowers and open fields.

“You are drawing attention to yourself, Tristan.”

His eyes drifted to the man standing behind them at the car, a reminder of why they were here. “Right. I can do this.”
Thank you for the welcome, but I...I can’t talk right now.
He’d have to learn to control his thoughts better, so as not to ramble and make a fool of himself. If Dorian were here, she’d be laughing her head off about now. He smiled at the thought and shook it off.

A sweet scent led him to a hedge of roses. “May I?” he whispered, pausing with his fingers lightly on the woody stem.

Of course, Dragon King.

I am not a king. But I would like one of your flowers with me, to keep me grounded.

It would be my honor.

Tristan severed the stem, apologizing for any pain it might have caused the shrub. Other plants along the formal trail offered their flowers as well. Tristan’s smile grew wider.

“Focus, Tristan.”

“Wait.” Tristan leaned toward a rose bush a second time.
About Lazaro, the man we are meeting. Do you like him?

Murmuring whispers spread through the manicured gardens. Tristan waited.

“We’re sitting ducks in this location,” said Donovan. “We should keep moving.”

The man you call Lazaro is not as skilled as our previous gardener, but he tends to us daily and talks to us. We have no complaints, except to say there is a leak in the watering pipes, swamping the ground near the grape line, and two of the apple trees have fallen ill to an invasion of insects.

Thank you. I’ll see what I can do.
Tristan walked beside Donovan, unhurried.

Lazaro waited at the top of a long staircase. Tristan groaned. “Why are there always stairs?”

Donovan sighed. “No talking.”

Tristan held the flower to his nose and inhaled the scent before continuing up the path.
He does his own gardening?
That alone had to count for something at least.

The man spends a few hours with us each day before the sun is high. Often he meanders on the lesser paths, which is something the previous groundskeeper rarely did. We are happy with his service.

Tristan frowned. What was Lazaro up to?
Is he by himself when he does this?

Yes, though there are always men with guns in their pockets, protecting us from those who would do us harm. But they do not talk to us. They keep to paths most of the time, except for today. Today they are crouching among us and they are not at ease.

“We’re surrounded,” Tristan whispered.

“You just now noticed? Five on the roof, twenty to the left, eleven to the right.”

Tristan confirmed the numbers, sensing heartbeats and heat signals. “Wait!” His vision must have shifted and he wasn’t even aware of it happening. “I shouldn’t be out in public. We shouldn’t do this.”

“You’ll be fine. Close your eyes and stay focused on walking.”

Tristan did as instructed, willing his eyes back to normal, breathing in the peaceful smell of the flower as Donovan kept a guiding hand on his elbow. When a pounding vibration echoed through the brick path and the plants hushed, Tristan opened his eyes and watched Lazaro rush down the stairs with his tight curls bouncing at each step.

Donovan stopped, halting Tristan as well, and waited for Lazaro to close the distance.

“Thank you for coming.” Lazaro bowed nervously.

This was not the same man who’d kidnapped Dorian and killed people for looking at him funny. Tristan kept his head down and let Donovan handle the conversation.

“You have not held to the terms of our agreement,” Donovan said. “We could leave and not think of your brother again.”

“The guards. Yes.” Lazaro glared at the landscape as his cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I asked them to stand down, but they think this entire idea is terrible, and to invite you of all people…well, I can’t blame them for their loyalty. BUT NO ONE IS TO FIRE UNLESS FIRED UPON!”

Tristan flinched at the yell and kept his attention on the ground.

“You really are ill.” Lazaro eyed Tristan for a long moment. The air became too thick to breathe. “My apologies for thinking otherwise.”

Lazaro reached out with a finger to lift Tristan’s chin and Donovan grabbed hold of his wrist. “Don’t touch him.”

Bushes jostled as guards stiffened, taking aim.

“For god’s sake.” Lazaro rubbed at his wrist the moment Donovan flung it away.

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you.”

“There’s a leak in the sprinklers by a grape line, and the apple trees need to be sprayed for insects,” said Tristan, before he might forget.

Lazaro scowled. “How can I know if he’s well enough to give it an honest attempt? What I mean is, if this is a one-shot deal, maybe I’m better off waiting?”

“And maybe he’s dead by morning.”

“Oh.” Lazaro frowned. “Tristan or my brother?”

“Take your pick.”

“I see.” Lazaro pulled a white cloth from a pocket and sopped up the sweat on his forehead. “I suppose I should be more grateful that you’re here at all.”

Something made of glass crashed from an upper floor of the house. Tristan’s eyes shifted in an instant as he peered through a central window, pinpointing the exact room where the sound had originated. Inside, two figures were fighting and one was knocked to the floor. It remained still. “Donovan—”

“I see it.”

“Damn.” Lazaro spun to face the front of his house. The heat signal ran down a set of curving stairs and headed for the front door. “Put your guns down!” Lazaro ordered before facing Donovan again. “I promise, she was here before this arrangement with you and Tristan. I was thinking bloodlines, you know? And then she seemed to be enjoying herself, and wouldn’t leave, and it really wasn’t my plan to have her here this long. But then I thought maybe she might come in handy if Tristan needed incentive. It was a terrible thought, I know, but please don’t—”

Lazaro was a wreck, begging for forgiveness before the person could even walk out the door.

“Whatever she says, she’s not speaking with my approval or permission. I would never endanger my brother’s life by pulling a crazy stunt like this—”

As Lazaro rambled on, Tristan locked eyes with his mother, and vaguely heard Donovan telling Lazaro to shut up.

She looked decent enough with her hair a lighter shade of red than usual, wearing a jade-green skirt and white blouse. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her in something more businesslike than nightclub-ish. He’d almost forgotten she’d existed at all.

She said something to him, but with the rush of blood pulsing in his ears, he missed it. “Shouldn’t you be in prison or something?”

“Halfway around the world and I still can’t get rid of you!” She pulled her hand back to slap him, only to have it caught by Lazaro. “What are you doing here?”

“Come along, darling.” Lazaro wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her toward the door. “We’re just discussing a bit of business with the wine production. This man is a connoisseur from France.”

“Stop manhandling me, you chauvinistic brute!” She yanked herself free. “I don’t believe a word you say.” She stomped back to Tristan, breaking a heel on one of her shoes. “You ruin everything! And just when things are going good. What’d you do, drop out of high school?”

He knew he should hide his eyes when they shifted, but he couldn’t tear away from the sight of his mother and her shrill accusations. Donovan stepped between them with his arms outstretched.

“Get away from me, you big buffoon.” She tried to shove Donovan aside. “What kind of drugs are you on?”

The heat signals in the surrounding gardens were getting restless, their heart rates increasing. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the chaos, and smelled the flower one last time.

His mother.

Donovan and Lazaro each held an arm to keep her from attacking him. How had Lazaro explained her being here? Tristan glared, unbothered by the fact that his eyes were all wrong. He let them look—let them see that something inside wasn’t human.

“Tristan,” Donovan warned. “Focus.”

Why should he apologize for her hatred? Nothing about her was his fault. He stepped forward and held out the white rose.

She glared at the innocent flower and snarled. “You’re a monster.”

“I know.”

CALL OF NATURE

THE STAFF FELL
to the ground. Tristan clutched his head, unable to stop the pain rippling through every bone and muscle. He dropped to his knees.

Donovan knelt beside him and whispered in his ear. “I can’t transport you while your DNA is fluctuating.”

“Can’t breathe.”

Guards from both sides of the walkway revealed their positions and stood, keeping their guns aimed at Tristan and Donovan. Lazaro held up a hand to stop whatever they might be planning. “What are you up to, Donovan?”

“Tell them to drop their weapons,” Donovan said calmly. “We’ll come back at a better time.” He gripped Tristan’s head and forced eye contact. “Do not shift in front of these people. Pull yourself together long enough for me to transport—”

“What are you doing to the poor kid?” asked Lazaro.

The battle within was lost.

Tristan took a deep breath and reveled in the fresh scents of the magnificent outdoors. Loud noises exploded all around, disrupting the harmonious magic, creating a slight sting against his armored scales.

Guns and gunshots.

Guns and a green man.

Sure enough, the green figure was waving his arms at the gathering of gun-wielding creatures. Humans.

Something of a laugh purred up his long throat. No walls of enchantment could keep him on the ground this time. He spread his wings and took two short strides, lifting himself above the trees as the roaring cheers of foliage escalated.

The gunfire wouldn’t stop, nor would it bring him down. He pushed his wings harder for more lift, only to feel the sting more fiercely. His wings weren’t holding the air like they should, with what seemed like hundreds of bullet holes ripping through the skin.

A faint weight on his back drew his attention—the green one. The gunfire ceased.

He banked left to where reaching tree branches could remove the odd human. But the man vanished and reappeared higher on his neck, gripping the more narrow plates of armor with a stronger hold.

He curled his wings inward and dove toward the ground, curious at the metal objects on wheels colliding against each other in their haste to clear a path.

Tiny people screamed in terror as he tried to extend his aching wings. But before he could crash to the strange surface, he was hurdling through a dense forest along a camouflaged castle, tumbling into the trees before he could shift directions. Trunks were severed and the bones in his wings cracked.

The green man lay unmoving on the ground.

He stabilized his footing and backed out the way he’d come, mindful of his wings, thanking the trees for their sacrifices, and limped to the nearest clearing. His bloodied wings were barely functional, but he had little choice when two humans appeared next to the steps of the strange castle.

The cave was barely big enough to fit in comfortably. He collapsed the entrance with stone and snow for his own safety and protection. The freezing night air prevented him from flying farther, but also had the effect of numbing his tattered wings.

He curled himself into a ball and sought out his surroundings. A pack of wolves howled in the east, surrounding a crowd of rabbits trying to huddle in a decaying stump. A few owls perched in the crook of a nearby tree. The human pursuers were following a false trail to the lower elevations, barely within range of his senses.

Food and water would have to wait until his wings were healed enough to carry his weight. He licked the torn edges, using the healing nature of his own saliva to ease the pain, and let himself sleep.

Fire.

Something in the darkness awoke him from his dreamless state—a human word whispered in the stillness. His joints were stiff and his wings felt nearly frozen, but something in his chest burned. Perhaps there were more gunfire wounds than he’d realized.

Fire, Tristan.

Troubled by the familiarity of the words, he scanned the mountain and found no trace of the two-legged creatures.

The body hungers food, the flame hungers release.

Something about the idea of fire made him uneasy, confined in such a tiny cave. He exhaled sharply, unable to define a specific reason not to. The walls sparkled in the sudden light and steam filled his nostrils.

It took a few more attempts before he could succeed with flames again, but he soon realized the heated rocks would keep him warm, and they would dry out the musty dampness seeping into the flesh beneath his scales.

He sighed, content within the warm walls, and drifted into a deeper sleep.

After two passings of the moon, footsteps resounded in the rock beneath him. He rolled his head to the side and listened; two, maybe three humans were crossing the land in the valley, five miles out. He groaned and went back to sleep, unable to muster the effort to care one way or another.

When he woke again, the humans were not within range. He stretched his neck and tested each wing joint, satisfied with the healing progress. Most of the holes had closed and the bones felt fused.

He could sense the sun rising on the horizon, and knew with absolute certainty where to go.

North. Now.

It should be an easy glide with a ten-thousand-foot drop to sea level, then he’d need every ounce of strength to cross the water. Unless he flew high, relying on updrafts to keep his lift. But doing so would require waiting a few more hours for the heat of day and there wasn’t time.

Doubt flooded his mind. He needed food before a day of flying, especially if he truly intended to cross the sea. He flexed his claws into the ground and the boulders to the entrance moved aside. His bad shoulder cramped almost instantly and the icy air and intense sunlight stung his eyes.

No time to hunt. No time to wait for darkness.

The humans with their green-man tracker would spot him if he stayed in the area for too long. He took a deep breath and fully extended his wings, retracted and expanded them again to loosen the joints, then created his own lift along the side of rocky mountaintop. The hunting party would see him easily if he rose too high, surpassing the mountain into the bright skyline.

The temperatures warmed as he glided toward the lower elevations. He didn’t have the strength to go for coasting altitude, and instead soared as close to the ground as treetops would allow.

With the white snow far behind, a white misty shadow was more visible against the darker greenery. It stayed just behind him on the edge of his vision, mirroring his movements. His only proof that it was not his own shadow was the simple fact that it did not exist in relation to the sun.

His glide leveled out at the base of the mountain; his wings became too heavy, too fatigued to do anything but hold the course steady. The misty shadow darted ahead and veered to the right, but it was too late to consider the action as a warning to change course.

On the ground, in a perfectly square field, humans were running toward the wooden boxes they called homes. Bells were ringing and a mechanical horn blasted a long warning cry. His heart pumped strength to the tips of his wings and he raised his elevation to make it over the next line of trees.

A small bay came into view, along with several islands offshore. Three boats, swarming with people, were making their way to the deeper waters, while on a wooden path built over the water, more people were pointing up at him.

A light gray blur spiraled in front of him.
Where are you going, Tristan?
asked the tiny creature.

North. Why do you call me that?
It was the second time he’d heard that word and it bothered him greatly.

It is your human name. Do you have a different name now that you’re a dragon?

Tristan pulled back with curiosity. He hadn’t expected to have a conversation with this little female creature, and it certainly wasn’t from his own species. What did she mean by ‘now that you’re a dragon’? Hadn’t he always been a dragon?

As he thought of his past and destination, an image of a girl named Dorian came to mind. His left wing buckled at the strain of the new angle. He righted himself and got back into a more comfortable rhythm of motion. The water was approaching fast, along with another fleet of ships carrying humans and dying fish. If the fish were for him...an offering of peace and safe travels.... It couldn’t be possible. Not from humans.

He aimed for the fleet of ships in desperate need of sustenance before his journey.

Can’t you see they are arming their weapons?
the little flying creature said.
Are you trying to get yourself killed? There are too many for one dragon, and if you continue on your way, they will still follow and kill you.

They are already tracking me.

You’re leaving a trail. Was that not your plan?

He took a second to glance behind him, noticing the spray of blood trickling from his torn wings.
Why would that be my plan, little one?

They are your friends, great one. And me, Pink.

I am not great, nor are you pink.
He thought for a moment, leveling his flight path parallel with the water. He couldn’t remember befriending humans, yet the thought didn’t sound untrue. What else was he forgetting? Much, it seemed. He had no past.
My mind is un-well. As is my strength. Do you have suggestions for me?

He would heed her advice and forget the ships, but he would still have to pass over them as he headed north, as the most energy-efficient route.

You are unfed, Tristan. Come back to land and prepare for this journey to the north, then all will be well.

I have not the strength to gain height, nor turn. I must continue to the nearest island.

They will help you get to the north. Landon says you cannot swim.

He lost his wing rhythm again, falling thirty feet closer to the rolling sea before he could steady his wings enough to hold air. He hadn’t considered the water. Why would it prevent him from swimming? There was a chance he could land on one of the many vessels below, but they were overcrowded with humans. Besides, the water had a soft, gentle appearance to it.
This Landon, is he someone we trust?

Landon, yes. But not those humans up ahead. They cannot be trusted and already plan to do you harm. You must only trust those in the Makai—they have vowed to keep you safe.

Why have they made such a vow?

The humans on the nearest vessel were taking aim with metal pipes of various lengths. Weapons. Guns. The green man had shot him with a gun before, yet he was to be trusted now?

Before he could alter his course, a human male clung to his neck, much like the green man had done. Tristan spiraled downward, burdened by the weight near his head and annoyed by the audacity.

“Tristan, we have a plan!” The human’s grip was slipping as Tristan put more strength in his wings to regain control. But the name distressed him once again—his apparent human name. He could not be one of them. A creature moved by violence, greed, and power, no matter what damage it inflicted upon others.

They were shooting him now, from the ships below. Every encounter he had with the humans seemed to involve blasting guns. Metal balls ripped through his wings and thudded into his chest. After several hits, the balls of metal ricocheted off an unseen force inches from his body. It was a confusing concept to grasp.

“Turn back!”

Trust him!
Shouted the little one, racing to the man’s outstretched hand.

A very straight branch with a metal blade sliced the air in front of him. He dipped hard to the left to avoid a collision, only to become entangled in an attached vine. The human was no longer riding as a passenger, falling to the sea below.

As he considered diving to catch the creature, a second bladed branch pierced the leathery skin, close to his body. The vine, ‘rope’ he recalled, yanked tight. The bladed end fell useless toward the ground and became twisted on the dangling rope beneath him.

He picked up speed to break free of the tether, ripping the gash in his wing wider until the rope itself was pulled tight.