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  “Dear child, you are gravely mistaken.” Walsingham gave her a sad look. “Samhrain didn’t raise you just to marry his son. He raised you for a sacrificial purpose.”

  “What?” Rovik was downright scandalized.

  “If my theory is right, the dead chit is about your age when she passed away. There’s an old ritual in Tiamat grimoire that if one sacrificed a Schwarzen mate at the anniversary of the incident, the curse would be annulled.”

  Rovik felt cold all of a sudden. “And how exactly will they sacrifice Emily?”

  “I assume in the same manner Samhrain killed that chit.”

  Rovik felt sick. Fuck. If he hadn’t met Emily that day, she would be murdered by her foster dad. Beaten to death. That kind of cruelty jarred him to the core. How could someone raise a child as his own, only to be sacrificed in an absurd ritual? He looked at Emily, gauging her reaction. Only Emily didn’t seem too shocked at the revelation.

  Emily laughed nervously. “That explains a lot of things. I’ve always had a nagging feeling like I were a lamb in a den of wolves. Now I know for sure that Dwayne didn’t love me. Nor did Norman. They never had.” She exhaled a long suffering breath. “I don’t understand why the elaborate wedding plan though? If Norman hadn’t forced me to marry Dwayne, I’d probably still live with them. It’s not that I had anywhere else to go.”

  “Ah.” Walsingham tapped his fingers together. “This incident happened more than a century ago and I only have a speculation. But I believe that by binding you into the family, Samhrain prevents you from leaving. You’re a crucial part of his plan. He’d risk everything to keep you in his hands. Naturally, the only person who knew the truth is Samhrain himself. But I have a feeling he might not be so generous about sharing the reason behind his machination.”

  “He has to. I intend to question him,” said Rovik firmly.

  “Oh?” Walsingham eyed him with renewed interest. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “I have to get Emily to a neutral place first, of course. Like New York. The city is under the Guild’s rule and I can’t imagine Norman would dare to cause trouble there. As soon as she’s safe, I’ll fly to Vermont and question him.”

  “Rovik!” Emily protested. “Don’t be stupid.”

  Senior chuckled. He said conspiratorially to Walsingham. “I told you he’s cocky.”

  “Say what you want, but I never like to leave unfinished business behind.”

  “I don’t want you to go anywhere near Fairlee, Rovik. Just forget it,” said Emily hurriedly. “It’s not worth it.”

  He cut his gaze toward her. “If I don’t confront him, we’ll live the rest of our lives looking behind our backs. Do you really want that?”

  Emily glared at him but was unable to retort.

  “I think it is best that both of you have a rest. It’s been such a long journey to my humble home, was it not? How about if I prepare a nice dinner for us?” said Walsingham, rising from his seat.

  “Not chicken, I hope,” said Senior.

  “What’s wrong with chicken? They’re cuddly and delicious.”

  “How could you not get bored eating chicken days in and days out?”

  Walsingham stiffened. “I’m fond of poultry.”

  Emily stood up, smoothing her shirt. “Sir Walsingham, may I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course, dear child. Down the hall, the third door.”

  “Emily,” Rovik started.

  She ignored him and stalked off quietly.

  Great. Now his mate was mad at him.

  Two hours later…

  Rovik planned to drive back to Bangor that evening but Emily was still exhausted from the travel. Walsingham insisted they stay for the night.

  Since the farm was out of cell phone service range, Rovik used Walsingham’s landline to contact Jericho. Rovik asked him to gather info about Emily’s mother. Emily might not want him to dig into the past, but Rovik knew he must find the reason why Norman had raised Emily since a child.

  If he intended to use her as sacrifice to break an old curse, Norman would never let Emily live in peace. He and his son would find a way to get Emily back. Rovik wanted a new life with his mate. He didn’t want the constant threat hanging over their happiness. What if he and Emily had a daughter? Would she become a future mate of a Schwarzen male as well? Then Norman would see her as fit as Emily’s replacement? No. Rovik couldn’t allow that to happen.

  He must end the connection between Emily and Norman soon.

  Walsingham served them a simple dinner of boiled chicken with boiled vegetables from the kitchen garden. Rovik squelched an urge to put hot sauce on everything Walsingham cooked. The old dragon’s personal taste hadn’t seemed to evolve past the eighteenth century era. Halfway into the dinner, a bell tolled like crazy from somewhere in the parlor.

  Walsingham put down his fork. “Oh dear, oh dear. It has happened sooner than I’d imagined.”

  Rovik cut his gaze to their host. “What’s going on?”

  Senior also put down his silverware. “I believe we have company.”

  “Samhrain and his brood,” said Walsingham. “Maybe this is for the best, meeting them here out of prying eyes. We can settle our differences amicably.”

  “The only thing I’m interested in settling is ripping their heads off their necks,” said Rovik grudgingly.

  “Ah, young king,” Walsingham sighed. “Always reckless.”

  “Cocky,” added Senior.

  Rovik growled and this time Senior only waved him off, didn’t take his bait. He turned to Emily. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

  Emily got up from her seat. “No, I want to fight. I’m tired of being afraid all the time.”

  “No!” Rovik, Senior, and Walsingham spoke at the same time.

  “This is men’s business,” Rovik burst out.

  Emily shot him a withering glare. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t you think I have the right to ask Norman the truth? He raised me as a sacrificial lamb.”

  “Didn’t you say you want this all to go away earlier?” Rovik frowned. “You begged me not to confront them.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she retorted hotly. “If you’re going to fight them then I’m in too. I’m not going to be left out.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Rovik ran his hands through his hair with frustration.

  “My dear girl, I wouldn’t dare deprive you of demanding satisfaction from Samhrain, but it would be wise if you let us handle the initial negotiation. You, after all, are what they want. Keeping you safe before we could reach an ideal situation for a negotiation will give us the upper hand. What do you say, Miss Anderson?” said Walsingham.

  This old dragon certainly has a way with words, thought Rovik. He looked at Walsingham with new appreciation.

  Emily seemed mollified by Walsingham’s words. “Well, if you put it that way.”

  Walsingham reached across the narrow table to pat her hand. “Come. I think you should wait in the bunker.”

  Rovik turned to him, surprised. “You have a bunker?”

  Walsingham waved his hand carelessly. “Under this house, yes. I was plagued by a little paranoia during the Cold War and I thought to myself I should build one just in case. This seems to be an appropriate occasion to use it.” The old dragon beamed widely at everybody. “Now, shall we?”

  Emily paced back and forth in the fortress of reinforced steel Walsingham called his bunker. The space was no bigger than a shipping container with all four metal walls fortified with scribbles of Latin spells and Enochian. The bunker was fit to ward against demons rather than its intended purpose. There was no food or provision of any sort. The only thing in the bunker was a rickety old bed, a desk, a chair and books and writing implements. Apparently, Walsingham wasn’t planning to eat while he waited through the attack from the Soviet Union.

  She decided to take a seat and grab a book to read. Seconds later she put it back on the
table. The text was in Greek. She couldn’t read it for the life of her.

  Then she went back to pacing, obsessing what was happening right now above ground. She didn’t doubt Rovik’s fighting ability, plus he had Senior and Walsingham with him. She bet Norman wouldn’t play fair after Rovik snatched her out from under his nose on the big wedding day. What if Norman had enlisted help from the Stonehearth clan? How many dragons were against them? And here she was sitting doing nothing.

  She should be doing something.

  Something.

  In Walsingham’s old truck, Rovik, his father, and Sir Walsingham approached the edge of the farm where their unwelcome visitors laid siege. Just beyond the ward boundary, two dozen dragons in their human form waited. Rovik recognized one of the sheriff deputies immediately. He’d torn the guy’s limb off during their previous encounter and it didn’t seem to have grown back. Rovik made note that dragons couldn’t grow appendages like salamanders or starfish. The guy glared at Rovik with hatred in his eyes.

  Norman McGuire and an unknown older man stepped forward. Judging from their reaction, the older gent seemed to know Walsingham.

  Walsingham slipped into his usual self, drawling in his creamiest Received Pronunciation accent. “Geoffrey Stonehearth, what a delightful surprise. How long has it been since we last met? Two, three centuries? And Samhrain’s here too. Marvelous. In fact, the entire clan as well. I’m humbly, deeply thrilled. To what do I owe such an honor?”

  “Evening, Sir Walsingham. Wish we’d met under a better circumstance,” said the Blutrot chief stiffly. “I think you know the reason we’re here. We came for the girl. Emily.”

  “Over my fucking dead body,” said Rovik simply.

  Walsingham chortled. “Now, now, young king. No need for such harsh words. And Stonehearth, I’m afraid Miss Anderson is my guest and she is naturally under my protection. I must strongly advise that you abandon your intention. You know I cannot allow for her to be taken against her will.”

  Rovik glanced at Walsingham and let the old dragon do all the talking. He was never good at civility anyway. Instead, he focused on the faces of the enemy. Dwayne McGuire looked as if he wanted to put a hole in Rovik’s head. Rovik gave him a sneer.

  “Emily is my fiancée. She belongs to me,” said Dwayne in a snarly tone. “I demand she be returned.”

  Rovik chose not to take the bait. He only turned to Walsingham, waiting for what he’d say.

  “The young lady has wished otherwise. I’m afraid I cannot concede to your demand.”

  “Then we’ll take her by force!” Dwayne spat.

  “Oh?” Walsingham seemed to be humoring the sheriff’s son. “Do you really intend to do that? Is that wise?” The old dragon turned to the Stonehearth’s chief. “I’ve always tried to be impartial but forcing a woman against her will is highly illegal. What are you planning to do with her? The young lady has a mate and she’s happy with him.”

  Geoffrey Stonehearth answered this time. “It is a matter of honor, Sir Walsingham. Clarissa Anderson had bequeathed her daughter to my cousin here to be raised as my nephew’s bride.”

  “Bequeathed?” Senior voiced his disbelief. “Surely, you’re not referring to our out-of-date practice, Chief Stonehearth? No respectable dragon would give away their offspring for any reason in this day and age. It’s illegal. Children are not items that can be given away. It is insulting that you even suggested it.”

  “Illegal? By whose law? Humans’?” Geoffrey Stonehearth let out cold mirth. He held up his palm. “Save the argument, Schwarzen. Our people are faithful to the old ways. Clarissa owed Norman and we’re here to collect the payment.”

  “What did she owe to you, Samhrain?” asked Walsingham to Norman, using his original name. “Who is she?”

  The sheriff flinched. He traded gazes with his cousin. Geoffrey Stonehearth hesitated to answer.

  Walsingham made a reproachful noise. “You came here demanding access to my esteemed guest and yet you cannot reciprocate our inquiry in good faith. Who are the chit’s parents?”

  “You don’t need to know,” said the sheriff, at last.

  “Then I regretfully must rescind my hospitali—”

  Rovik jumped in a flash. He grabbed the sheriff’s throat before Walsingham even finished his sentence and slammed him to the ground. “Who is she?” Rovik barked. “Who are Emily’s parents?”

  The sheriff growled and shifted.

  Rovik shifted to keep pinning him to the ground.

  Everything happened at once and chaos ensued. His father and Walsingham followed his suit and took on the unwelcome intruders. In the matter of a second, the farm became a battlefield. Senior took on Geoffrey Stonehearth. Walsingham swiped a few with his enormous tail. As an old dragon, Sir Walsingham dwarfed the rest of them in size. Rovik didn’t think that the gentle-mannered Walsingham could fight, but when dragon Walsingham locked his mighty jaw on Geoffrey Stonehearth’s scaly midsection and shook him like a rag, Rovik was convinced Walsingham and his father could take care of the rest while he focused his attention on Norman.

  His teeth penetrated the sheriff’s thick scales and the taste of blood on his palate jolted his primal sense like a live, naked wire. His Schwarzen instinct overpowered his mind.

  Blood.

  Fight. Kill. Eat.

  Norman snapped his jaw at him, trying to tear at his neck. Rovik clamped his bite, didn’t give him any chance to break free. He pushed Norman onto the ground when his opponent flapped his wings, trying to flee. Rovik realized that Norman wasn’t as agile or strong as he was in their first encounter. The sheriff had sustained internal injuries and hadn’t completely healed, which was working to Rovik’s advantage. Clouds of dust swirled around them, making the visibility low.

  From the corner of his eyes, Rovik saw fast movement coming toward him. He released the sheriff and countered the attack. He savagely swiped his claws and whipped his tail. The sharp spikes on his tail could slice and sever through other breed’s scales if driven by enough force.

  Cry of anguish.

  Shower of blood.

  The gore fueled his appetite. The last strand of his humanity was overpowered by his instinct, Rovik surrendered completely to his nature of the beast.

  Somewhere in his peripheral, his father let out a roar after gulping a large chuck of his fallen enemy. Seeing Senior had indulged himself, Rovik wasn’t going to hold back. Tonight was a feast.

  All is fair.

  Kill, kill.

  Eat.

  Rovik leapt into the sky and T-boned a youngling who had tried to swoop into Walsingham’s house. The two crashed to earth, straight into a chicken barn. The roof and walls splintered around them and hundreds of terrified chickens flapped their wings in panic. A taste of the youngling’s blood alerted him that he’d sampled it before.

  Dwayne.

  Rival. Fresh meat.

  Dwayne fought and the two encircled one another, treading the dance of death, trampling on the debris of the barn. Dwayne lunged at him. He grazed Rovik’s foreleg with his claws. Rovik went for the kill. He snapped at Dwayne’s belly and shook him with all his might, crushing Dwayne’s intestinal organs. Rovik’s fangs tore the scaly midsection. Dwayne tried to escape but Rovik didn’t give him a chance. Dwayne had been a thorn in his side since he met Emily. His instinct told him to eliminate his competition. Rovik obeyed.

  Rovik mauled Dwayne one more time and completely eviscerated him. He tore a big chunk of the flesh and devoured it.

  Kill.

  Feed the beast.

  Rovik let out a triumphant roar.

  He ate more than hunted the remaining Blutrot clan. With Walsingham defending his home base, Rovik pursued the rest. He skillfully gutted and killed two dragons. After the third, he didn’t bother to eat anymore, just kill. He was in the middle of chasing his fifth when Norman came out of nowhere to finish the business between them.

  Rovik led him in a merry chase before facing him. Norman must have sme
lled Dwayne’s blood on him which sent him berserk. Rovik took his time, goading the sheriff into making a mistake. The moment Rovik saw an opening, he seized the chance and ripped Norman’s hind leg. Norman attacked but Rovik fiercely drove him into submission. He didn’t want to kill the sheriff just yet. He wanted Norman’s confession. Dragons only conveyed basic emotion through simple body language. Their body’s structure didn’t afford them the luxury of human speech. Therefore, Rovik forced Norman to shift into his human form.

  Norman didn’t seem inclined to shift. He kept fighting knowing he was losing…fast. Each time Norman tried to stand, Rovik beat him to the ground.

  Rovik was frustrated. Norman seemed to want to take his secrets to his grave. Rovik roared again. If dragons were capable of spewing fire like in the human’s myth, he would’ve already roasted Norman, limb by limb. He curled his tail around Norman’s body and slammed him against another chicken barn.

  Shift, damn it!

  Norman shakily moved. His draconian body shrank, shifting into his human form.

  Finally.

  Rovik shifted too and marched toward him. “Who are Emily’s parents, McGuire?” Rovik shouted.

  Norman opened one good eye. There was contempt in it.

  “Who are they?” Rovik was impatient.

  Just as he was about ten feet from the sheriff, Norman shifted into his dragon form, planning to use his tail to slash Rovik.

  A flash. A fraction of a second.

  An SUV came out of nowhere and plowed Norman’s head in its path. Rovik jumped out of the way. The vehicle bulldozed Norman toward an electric pole and didn’t stop until a sickening crunch screamed between the tires.

  Rovik was shocked to see the one behind the wheel.

  It was Emily.

  That stubborn woman! He’d told her to stay put.

  The SUV stopped and the door flew open. Emily ran toward him.

  “Rovik!”

  She cried tearfully. “There’s so much blood!”

  “I’m fine.” Rovik cut his gaze toward Norman. He didn’t move. Didn’t shift.

  Norman was dead.

  Emily looked at her surroundings and covered her mouth with her hands. By that time, the fighting was already over, but the destruction was immense. The farm appeared to be a disaster area. Bodies were sprawled everywhere.