The bite mark on his arm was still sore. He’d have to meditate later to make sure it healed faster. While his magic would get around to it, he found that meditating helped him focus his magic where he needed it.
After working out, he showered, made some coffee, and went on early morning patrol. The witching hour, between about 2 and 4am, was the hardest for his people to stay awake. Basilisks from the third generation down needed daily sleep unless they had at least one-half enchanted blood. The rest slept on a weekly basis. While they weren’t as governed by the sun as Wrath was, they mostly held day jobs. Only a few with no other job or with a flexible schedule could patrol at night.
As was his ritual, he brought thermoses of coffee to the guards farthest from the house: on the driveway and on the border of werewolf pack territory. They patrolled in basilisk form but changed for a sip of coffee. Being in human form dulled their senses but coiling up and napping in the woods would dull them more.
The only activity reported was a wolf who chased a rabbit just past the border. A warning trill from the guard sent her loping back.
Wrath stripped down in his usual spot in a clearing in the woods and changed into dragon form. He glided over the ten acres of property watching and listening as the cool air caressed his dark wings. He went beyond his territory’s borders to look for trouble that might be brewing in the area—a fight amongst the werewolves or drunken bear shifters.
Just after dawn, he felt a familiar weight in the air and headed back to the clearing. Warning calls were already going up, they sounded like birds to an untrained ear. Back in human form, he checked his phone, but already knew what it would say.
A dragon was approaching.
It wasn’t just any dragon, though. It was a powerful sonofabitch with mage blood.
Wrath texted back, telling his people to ready their weapons, but to allow the dragon to pass. The guards were all armed with guns containing bullets dipped in basilisk blood. While Etel could use magic to deflect some bullets, fighting off bullets from automatic weapons all around him would be a strain even for him.
Etel was just pulling up in a generic looking rental sedan when Wrath reached the front of the house.
Wrath waited at the front steps while Etel got out of his car. He hadn’t seen Etel since long before the war. Etel was looking older, unusual for a dragon.
“Ezzu, thank you for seeing me.” Etel spoke in flawless Akkadian, though his first language—and the official language of dragons—was Sumerian. It was a concession on his part.
“How did you find me? Don’t tell me one of my wards was damaged,” Wrath said in kind.
“Alal has known where you are for decades. He practically owns the telecom industry.”
“You’re going to explain about sending the woman?”
“That and much more. We have a problem and I need your help to solve it. Shall we sit and talk?”
“The Prince of Dragons needs the help of the lowly King of Basilisks? How interesting, and unlikely. Fine, we’ll talk, but the human is inside sleeping.”
“It concerns her as well. She knows what you are?”
“She does.”
“Then there’s no secret I’m going to tell that I don’t trust her to keep.”
Wrath didn’t want his eldest brother in his sanctuary, but Etel wasn’t being aggressive. He didn’t arrive in dragon form and he spoke Akkadian. The war was long over, Etel had put a stop to it. Wrath would hear him out, if only to satisfy his curiosity.
Raising Wrath’s curiosity had been Etel’s intent, it had to be. Wrath hadn’t let a dragon near him in centuries.
Wrath dipped his head in acquiescence and stepped aside, gesturing for Etel to walk ahead of him up the stairs. He was sure Etel was just there to talk, but he still wasn’t going to turn his back on him. He knew his people were watching the house. They’d already called in reinforcements. They’d be ready for battle as long as Etel was there and on high alert after. Dragons were never welcome guests.
Etel stood in the living room, waiting for permission to sit. Wrath gestured for him to do so. Etel sat on the sofa instead of in Wrath’s favorite chair. Another silent concession.
“Coffee, brother? Something stronger?” Wrath offered, switching to English.
“Scotch, if you don’t mind,” Etel said, responding in kind.
“Macallan or Lagavulin?”
“Lagavulin, please.”
Wrath poured the whisky, preferring the lighter taste of Macallan for himself and pouring a glass of peaty Lagavulin for Etel. He took them into the living room and handed Etel his glass. He heard movement in the bedroom. Jess was awake.
“Thank you,” Etel said.
Politeness among dragons was more dangerous than when they were baiting each other and hurling insults. Insults and the resulting fights were for fun. Politeness was meant to prevent a fight that could end up deadly.
“You’re welcome,” Wrath said as he sat in his favorite chair. “You’re looking tired, Etel. When did you last sleep?”
“Last month for a couple of weeks. I am tired. I think my age is catching up to me. You look unexpectedly well.”
Wrath was sure it was a lack of mindful use of magic during meditation that was wearing on the older dragon. He’d keep that knowledge tucked away.
“Thank you,” Wrath said. “What’s this problem you speak of and why did you panic our little brother over it? Imagine having a young woman in your care and finding
