Mark shook his head. “There’s something wrong with this dragon. He’s… dangerous.”
Tristan looked unconvinced. “Many believe gargoyles to be strange and dangerous.”
“No,” Mark said. “We need to be prepared for a fight here.”
Tristan shrugged. “I always am.”
They rose from the table and equipped themselves with weapons. As Surcy pulled her daggers from the weapon’s chest, her hand recoiled as she brushed against the gun. Her flesh tingled uncomfortably at its nearness. She wasn’t sure why most paranormal beings hated the feel of the weapons, but she knew they often malfunctioned when they were around any way.
The demons likely keep it here just in case it’s needed.
Closing the chest, she went back out into the main room, where her demons were ready. Mark sat on a chair, his hands pressed against his temple. Another warning sang through her blood, but she pushed it aside. He knew his limits. Right?
“Ready?” Tristan asked, and she knew he was aware of her worries.
She nodded.
Mark rose slowly, and they went to Surcy. They all took hands, and she closed her eyes as Mark sent the image to her. It looked like a mountain top in the clouds. It was a place she could have never imagined, but the picture was all she needed to teleport them there. Taking a deep breath, she felt her powers flow around them. A minute later, the four of them stood on the ledge of the mountain.
“Fuck,” Daniel muttered, moving back from the edge. “Of course it had to be high up.”
Tristan shifted into his gargoyle form, his wings spreading wide behind him as his flesh changed to the stunning color of wet-stone.
She tore her gaze from him and placed a steadying hand on Mark, who looked even paler. “I think this is as close as I could teleport to it.”
“Dragons don’t like to be disturbed and always create shields around their lairs.” Tristan explained slowly. But then, he looked up and frowned. “But unlike the legend, they don’t enjoy living in desolate caves. They enjoy wealth and beauty, such as large manors and castles. This seems… unusual.”
She glanced up to the cloud-covered top of the mountain. “We had better start climbing if we plan on being there any time soon. And, uh, maybe Tristan should take Mark up, so he can get a good view of the place and see if there is anything else he can tell us about it.”
Tristan nodded and wrapped his arms around Mark. It worried her that the druid didn’t refuse him. In seconds, Tristan began to flap his large, stone wings and rose above them, disappearing within the clouds.
“No problem, we can climb,” Daniel muttered, turning to the almost sheer rock, his eyes travelling slowly up.
Surcy moved beside him, reached up, finding a handhold, and pulled herself up. It wasn’t that she enjoyed climbing, but without her wings, she was left with little choice. She hoped Tristan had the sense not to leave Mark alone at the top.
The climb was more of a challenge than she ever expected. Sweat made her clothes stick uncomfortably to every inch of her body, and she was breathing hard. Several times she nearly lost her grip, but Daniel was always there, one hand clenching the back of her shirt as she gained a stronger handheld.
Glancing up, she saw the top of the mountain just above them and knew her shaking legs would thank her when she got to solid land.
But just as her mouth curled into a smile, a roar shook the earth, sending tiny rocks and dirt raining down onto them. She had to press closer to the rock to keep from falling, even while her heart raced.
“What the fuck was that?” Daniel asked, sounding out of breath.
“I’m guessing an angry dragon.”
He said nothing, but neither of them moved for a long minute, as if waiting for a dragon to come bursting toward them. When nothing terrible happened, she took a deep breath and looked above her once more. They needed to get to the top. If Tristan and Mark were facing an angry dragon, they would need all the help they could get.
She reached for the next handheld.
14
Tristan could not take his gaze from the dragon. Gargoyles were not quick to anger. Their decisions were made with intelligence and strategy, not influenced by emotion. But rage consumed him now. This… was wrong.
The dragon had black scales at one point, but now they were nearly gray. Its flesh hung from its grotesquely thin body, and its wings had patchy holes. The chains that bound its neck were thick and covered in spikes, which even now bit into its flesh, sending dark blood running down its scales in rivulets.
His fists clenched. Whoever had done this would die for their cruelty.
The creature was immortal. No matter how it starved. No matter how it bled, it could not die. This was an existence he would not wish on his greatest enemy.
The dragon roared again, but only a puff of smoke left its lips. There was no chance a dragon in this condition could breathe fire.
“That’s the Immortal,” Mark whispered beside him, leaning against the cave wall.
Tristan nodded. “So, how do we free him?”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Tristan allowed his senses to stretch out. The chains contained a spell that prevented the dragon from shifting and from breaking the chain. The magic was ancient, powerful, and perhaps created by Caine himself.
As he stared at the chain, he realized that there was a good chance he could break it. Gargoyles were good with stone and metal, anything that could be used to create.
“I think I could free it.”
“It’d kill you before you could,” Mark said, pushing off from the wall. “If we could reason with it—“
“Him,” Tristan added, because now he was sure it was a male. “Shifters cannot remain in one form or the other for too long. Being a dragon for so long means
