She wasn’t calm. She was running around inside her head like a crazy person, her heart still doing the jackrabbit dance. She thought of the beating the Goblins had given her. She thought of Keith and his bookie, both dead. She thought of the switchblade in the pocket of her leggings.
Dragos released her, rose up on his knees and removed the weapons harness. He laid the battle-axe and sword aside. Then he removed the short sword he had buckled at his waist and put it on the ground with the other weapons. He stared at the approaching host, eyes narrowed, as he told her, “Maybe if I don’t fight, I can negotiate with them to let you go.”
“You can’t just surrender,” she said. “They’re going to kill you!”
“Probably not right away.” His expression was all brutality and harsh angles. “If I surrender, it may buy some time. If I can get you away, you could try to get back to my people in New York and tell them what happened. They would keep you safe.”
He meant they might not kill him right away because they would torture him. She felt her bile rise.
She studied the Dark Fae King on the bluff. She had never hated anyone so much, especially someone she hadn’t met before.
He was another of the world’s premiere Powers, one of the oldest of the Elder Races. His knowledge and memory of Earth’s lore and history would be extensive. As Dragos had pointed out, there was no telling what Keith might have blabbed before she stopped him up with the binding spell. And Urien had Elven connections, if not Ferion, then perhaps one of the other Elves who had witnessed her discussion with Ferion and had heard enough to speculate.
“It won’t work anyway,” she said in a flat voice. “They’re not going to let me go.”
He glanced down at her, not bothering to argue. “Then we fight.”
“I won’t be captured,” she told him. She dug into her pocket and withdrew the switchblade. She pressed the lever and the blade snicked open.
Quicker than sight, he grabbed her wrist. His eyes blazed. “The fuck are you doing?” he snapped. “You won’t be captured? Then we fight. We don’t give up.”
She glanced at Goblins and Dark Fae. There were so many of them, they were a small army. They were almost in bow-shot range.
She put a hand over his. “Dragos, this time will you trust me? Will you let me try one more thing and not ask me any questions about it?”
His hand and face were like stone, his body clenched.
She fought a sense of rising panic and kept her voice soft. “Please,” she said. “There isn’t much time.”
His fingers loosened. He let her go. She rose to her knees and faced him. He held still and watched her face as she put the tip of the blade against the white scar at his shoulder. She concentrated on the dark bronze of his bare skin. She bit her lip and tried to make her hand move, but all she did was start to shake. Her grip on the switchblade turned white-knuckled.
“Damn it,” she gritted. “I can’t cut you.”
His hand came over hers again. This time he gave a quick jerk and the blade bit into his skin, right over the scar. Hot, brilliant blood began to flow from the cut. She took a choppy breath and nodded to him. He let go of her again.
The second bit was a lot easier. She drew the blade across her palm. It was a good deep cut. Pain blossomed and her own blood began to drip down her wrist.
The advancing army had crossed into bow-shot range, close enough she could hear the Goblins laugh and call to one another.
Talk about a last-ditch effort. Wish I knew if this would work. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.
“Here goes nothing, big guy,” she muttered. She met his falcon-sharp eyes and slapped her open cut against his.
For a few seconds it seemed nothing happened. Then something flared and flowed out of her, passed through her palm and entered him. His head fell back. He gasped as he swayed on his knees. His Power roared in response.
She swayed, dizzy from the transference. Then Dragos shimmered and expanded so fast she fell on her back.
She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows, staring up openmouthed at the appearance of the enormous dragon who stood over her.
Oh. My. God. She had imagined what he must look like. She had caught that one glimpse of his shadow flowing over the beach. Nothing could have prepared her for the impact of the real thing. He had to be the size of a private jet.
He was varying shades of bronze that had an iridescent glint in the sunshine. His wide, heavy-muscled chest was right overhead. Her head bobbled back and forth as she took in the long legs planted on either side of her. The bronze color darkened to black at the ends of his legs. His feet had curved talons that had to be the length of her forearm. His body narrowed to powerful haunches and long tail.
She stared for a frozen moment at the slit in the sheath of thick bronze hide between his hind legs, covering the region of his genitals. There didn’t appear to be any part of him that was vulnerable.
Massive shadows unfurled across the ground. He had opened his wings and mantled like an eagle.