His only other option would be to shift into human form and confront them. And that was too distasteful to even consider.
Kellan stayed in his spot and watched as the two circled each other. Nothing’s changed. Humans are always fighting.
No matter how many centuries passed, no matter what country he visited, they were all the same. Selfish, belligerent, arrogant, greedy bastards.
Not that he cared how many humans killed each other. The more dead meant they were that much closer to the dragons returning home. It was because of the humans that dragons no longer ruled the realm.
It was humans who had begun the war.
But it had been dragons who ended it.
The humans were talking. Kellan listened to their exchange with interest. He thought back to the many times Con had visited him while he slept, and realized it had been many, many, many centuries since he last woke.
Con’s visits every few decades kept those dragons who wished to sleep away centuries—or millennia—up to date on the world so when they awoke they were more or less knowledgeable about the times. So it wasn’t difficult for Kellan to make out what the humans were saying.
The male disliked the female according to the way disdain dripped from his voice. Surprisingly, the female didn’t cower. She fought back, moving quickly—for a mortal—and striking the male deftly and accurately. None of her punches or kicks went astray.
Kellan smelled blood. It had been a long time since that scent assaulted him. It made him think of the last time he had walked among humans—and why he had chosen to sleep.
There was a grunt from the pair. The male had a broken nose and a cut lip, but the scent Kellan held was strong, too strong for such paltry wounds.
His dragon eyes locked on the female, and he caught sight of her left arm held protectively against her side. Blood ran thick and fast down her leg to drip upon the stones.
In a whirl, the female came up with a weapon of her own.
Kellan’s interest sharpened when the male said he wanted to wound the female. It wasn’t hard to guess she was to lure the dragons.
He inwardly snorted. Stupid humans. They all thought dragons base creatures who wanted to eat everything in sight or char it. How could he and the other Dragon Kings have fallen so far?
They used to rule the skies, the seas, and the earth. Every dragon of every color had called earth home. They had reigned supreme.
And for Kellan and the other Dragon Kings, it had been their right to rule their dragons, keeping everyone in line. That’s not to say there weren’t battles, but with one word from a Dragon King, all fighting would cease.
How Kellan longed for the days of old. He missed his dragons, and he missed being able to take to the skies whenever he wanted. It was one of the many reasons he decided to sleep away the time. He couldn’t look upon the earth and humans without wanting to kill them all.
Kellan was impressed with the female, even though he hated to admit it. She was a valiant fighter, and though she was wounded, she was winning.
She moved in a lightning-quick spin before she kicked her opponent to the ground. Then she landed on top of him and sunk her blade into his heart.
Just like that, the battle was over.
The female had lost too much blood, however. She couldn’t swim back out, and she didn’t know her way through the caves of the mountain to seek help.
The only one that could help her was Kellan. And that wasn’t going to happen. There would be hell to pay with Con, but Kellan had ceased to care long ago.
He wouldn’t return to sleep until she had breathed her last though. Kellan expected her to fall over and die, or try to find her way out.
Instead, she kicked the male away and leaned back against a boulder before pulling some sticks from a pocket on the leg of her skin-tight suit. She bent them, and with a slight pop, green light shone around her.
She set those aside and took another small pack from a pocket next to her ankle on her other leg. Her breathing was harsh, and sweat coated her skin.
“Shit,” she murmured and swallowed audibly.
Her accent wasn’t Scots or British. Kellan went through all the dialects Con had played for him over the centuries in his mind until he reached American.
Could that be why the Brit hadn’t cared for her? It was a silly reason, but then again, humans rarely made sense.
Kellan forgot about accents as the female reached behind her and grabbed something. There was a zipping noise before her black suit loosened.
With a grunt she pulled her right arm out of the black material before carefully extracting her left. She pushed the thick fabric down, giving Kellan a view of a small top that held her breasts. A bathing suit, he recalled.