When they were alone, he turned to Grace. 'Come,' he said, an order he'd obviously become quite fond of.
She didn't protest as he led her to the entrance of his room. 'Are you sure you don't want me to guard your back?' she said as he hustled her inside.
His golden eyes darkened. 'I do not mind a woman going into battle. I mind my woman going into battle.'
'Darius-'
'Grace.' He closed the distance between them and meshed her lips with his. His tongue swept inside, conquering. She wound her arms around his neck, accepting him fully. Loving him completely. When he pulled away, they were both panting.
'Darius,' she whispered again.
His heated gaze met hers. 'I love you,' he said.
Of all the times to give her those words!
'Tell me what I want to hear,' he demanded.
'I love you, too,' she sighed.
He nodded, satisfied, and gave her one final kiss. Without another word, he left her in his room. Alone. The doors slid firmly shut behind him, and Grace looked down at her hands. They were shaking, not from the lust that sluiced through her body; that was always there and would never go away. This time a gut-wrenching fear caused her tremors. Fear for Darius. For her brother. They needed her.
And she wasn't about to let them down.
She could deal with Darius's fury, but she couldn't deal with his death.
In her hands, she cradled the medallion she'd pilfered from the warrior whose imaginary bullet she'd removed.
I'm going with him , she thought, determined to follow him.
Darius might be strong, but he had never seen what a gun could do. Yes, he had the vests, but that didn't ease her fear for him. He was her husband, and she planned on using her gun to protect him.
CHAPTER 21
Darius stood in the forest, gazing down at the carnage before him. He'd flown here at lightning speed, only to learn the unit he'd sent to guard Javar's palace had been bested. They were covered in a white film and blood streamed from bullet wounds. Some were alive. Most were dead. His wings retracted and he dropped his vest. His hands curled into fists. Those humans must be stopped.
'Find the survivors,' he called. Then he and the dragon warriors branched off, searching for the living.
He cursed under his breath as moans of pain filled his ears. How many more would die before this ended? Frowning, he strode over to Vorik, who lay prone and still. He knelt down.
Vorik's eyelids opened slowly and Darius pushed out a breath of relief that his man lived. He withdrew a sharp silver blade from his back scabbard and blew fire on the metal. When it cooled, he dug out the bullets just as Grace had shown him. Vorik grimaced and tried to pull away.
'Tell me of the attack,' he said to distract him.
'Their weapons… ' Vorik said, calming. 'Strange.'
Renard approached and crouched beside him just as Vorik fainted. 'What happened to them?' He touched the white, dusty coating and jerked his hand away. 'What is this cold substance that covers their bodies?'
Darius turned stark eyes in his friend's direction. 'I do not know what it is. Don gloves if you must, but do as Grace showed us and dig out the bullets.'
The carnage reminded him of the day he'd found his family slaughtered, and as he worked, he had to bite back a groan. Had he not shared his pain with Grace, he might have collapsed from the weight of it now. With shaky hands he continued on to body after body. The dragon's recuperative blood helped them heal as soon as the small bullets were removed. If only Javar had known this, how many of his warriors could he have saved?
When he finished, Darius gazed down at his blood-soaked hands. He'd had blood on his hands before, and hadn't reacted. But this affected him. How much more blood would he wear before this day ended? He knew the answer: by the end of the day, blood would flow like a river. He only prayed the blood did not belong to his own forces, but his enemies.
He shoved to his feet, gripping the hilt of his blade. 'We must reclaim what belongs to us,' he shouted. 'Who will fight with me?'
'I will.'
'Me,' rang out. Every warrior standing wanted the chance to avenge the wrongs done.
'May the gods be with us,' he said under his breath. His wings sprang from his back. He swooped up his vest, gripping the black material and smearing it with blood. Using the strength in his legs, he pushed off the ground. The glide of his wings kept him in the air and moving higher, faster. His army followed behind him. He heard the rustle of their wings, felt the intensity of their determination.
Human guards roamed the top of Javar's palace. When they spotted Darius, they shouted, aimed and fired. In the air, he dodged the multiple rounds of bullets and spewed his own fire. His warriors did the same, burning the humans and their weapons. Then, one of his warriors grunted and was suddenly falling from the sky. He didn't see who it was, but continued breathing his fire.
A gong sounded, loud, high-pitched.
The humans atop the ledge didn't live long enough to hear it. Their scorched bodies withered into ash and floated on the breeze. Darius settled his feet on the jagged crystal. His wings retracted, and he quickly drew on his vest and fastened the straps. When his warriors were properly protected, as well, he met each of their stares one by one and waited for nods of readiness.
He withdrew a long, silver blade with each of his hands and approached the dome seam. Sensing his medallion, the two sides silently parted. He gazed down, but could not see anyone inside, surrounded as they were by a thick fog. He heard the shuffle of their panicked footsteps, however, and the murmur of their fear.
He would have preferred flying into the unknown, but the vest would not allow it.
He jumped.
His men quickly followed suit.
Down, down he fell. When his feet hit the ground, his entire body reverberated with the impact. He grunted and rolled.
Humans screamed and scrambled out of the way. Their shock delayed their reaction, and Darius used that to his advantage. He jolted to his feet, swords raised and struck his first victim. The human gurgled in pain, clutching his chest, then collapsed.
Behind him, his warriors fought valiantly. Breathing fire. Always breathing fire. He didn't pause, but advanced on his next target. A look of sheer terror contorted the young man's features when he realized Darius was coming for him. The man aimed a long black gun at Darius's chest and fired. One bullet after another slammed into Darius, causing only pinpricks of pain. He laughed. Eyes widening, the man dropped his gun and gripped a thick tube that rose from a red canister on his back. White foam sprayed out and over Darius's skin, so cold his blood hardened with ice crystals. His dark laughter increased.
A Guardian of the Mist welcomed cold. Was strengthened by it. He twirled his swords and struck. The man's body spasmed, then sank lifeless at his feet.
The alarm grew louder, screeching in his ears and soon blending with the sound of gunshots. He winced at a sharp sting in his thigh, glanced down, and saw trickles of blood where a bullet had pierced. Never slowing, he rocked forward, using the momentum to slay another enemy.
Having destroyed every human within striking distance, he darted his gaze throughout the room, searching where to fight next. He watched through horror-filled eyes as Madox fell, his body covered in white foam, blood seeping from numerous wounds in his arms and legs.
Darius didn't know if his friend lived or died, and his stomach twisted. With a growl of pure rage, he spewed a stream of fire, catching the last of the humans and igniting them like a bonfire. They did not dodge it fast enough.
