Weston nodded. “Good.”
“We need you to pull out his animal, dove,” Hadriel said. “And probably the most powerful of the dragons—that big fucker, right? He’s terrifying. Calia can peel away their suppression right now, before the officers open for the day, but then she’ll need to rest. We can make a couple trips to bring people to release, but I have to be honest, love…I don’t think we have all the time in the world. The demon king is not too thrilled with the current state of affairs. He’ll be setting things back to rights and looking for the people who made it like that. Playtime is over.”
“He’s blaming it on Jedrek and me—”
“You did it.” Jedrek rose like a man possessed, his eyes wild. “You did this!” He pointed at Hadriel. “You’re from the castle, aren’t you? I thought I recognized you from somewhere.” He curled his hand into a fist. “You ruined everything I had. Well, not for long. The second his majesty hears about this—”
“Enough,” Weston barked, but there was no power riding his words.
We need to release his wolf so that he can get Jedrek under control, my dragon said.
I did as suggested, blasting out power as Vemar stopped beside Hadriel and gave his shoulder a hard pat.
Hadriel did a sort of shimmy, trying to sidle away, something that made Vemar grin wickedly.
“Enough,” Weston commanded again, this time with power and might curling through his words.
Jedrek jerked ramrod straight, his eyes growing intense, his mouth clenching. Fear lit his gaze. Another alpha was on the scene, and this one spoke the same language—wolf.
“You will be removed from this place,” Weston said as Calia and her doppelgänger turned to Vemar, probably focused on lifting the suppression magic. They’d already helped Weston, and he’d just needed me to pull his animal free. “You will be placed in a proper pack where you belong. You clearly have not done well running solo.”
Jedrek’s hand came up to his chest. Shit. I’d unintentionally released his animal.
“Tell him not to shift,” I told Weston quickly.
“What’s going on?” Micah and Tamara stepped up to the bars of their cells, joining a few others who’d already woken.
Weston continued barking orders at Jedrek as the faeries did their job. Hadriel reached through the bars for me.
“We have to leave this kingdom soon, love. Let’s talk about how to make that happen.”
TWENTY
FINLEY
The whip crack sounded a moment before the pain registered, crawling across my back. Pleasure pounded through me, overriding the sensation. I didn’t soak it in, though. I didn’t soak in either feeling, actually. My mind was focused on the task ahead—I had to give these bastards a big, powerful send-off, courtesy of the crowded everlass, so they’d go retire for the night and give the wolves a bunch of much-needed planning time.
Crack.
I stroked the grooves in the whipping post I was strapped to, fingernail marks from those who had come before me. Maybe even mine from previous sessions. It connected me to the others who had stood in my shoes—or lack of shoes, I guessed. Today I wore a loose slip, currently being shredded from my body.
Crack.
The tip of the whip sliced my flesh. Searing pain met pleasure. My brain drifted away from both feelings.
I’d given Calia a week to free as many people as possible from the suppression spell. Most of the dragons had been released, and they’d also freed the more powerful shifters and faeries. We had about as much power as we would get.
Now it was my turn.
My interlude with the officers had turned out exactly like I hoped. I’d stuck my fists out of the cell to be cuffed, soggy crowded everlass in one hand (steeped to start the release of the poison) and dried crowded everlass in the other. Though a little liquid had dripped from my hand as we made our way, they hadn’t appeared to notice. When passing the large copper canister of their brewing fizzy drink, I’d snapped the cuffs, killed an officer, and knocked into the large canister as if I’d tripped.
In reality, I used the distraction to drop in the leaves.
The officers, as hoped, ran to secure the canister as I pretended to try to escape.
That was when I got a refresher on the officers’ ability to randomly pop out of nowhere, whips in hand. They had dragged a terribly weak me (my acting prowess was on point) to the whipping post, secured me in, and here we were…just waiting for the crowded everlass to do its job.
They wouldn’t dip into their strange drink until tomorrow, according to Weston. After the drink would come the lull, their period of rest, and the length of that break apparently depended on how much power they’d poured into the process. The more power they harvested from us, the stronger their creations. The stronger the creatures, the longer the officers needed to recover from making them. The guards talked about it here and there, and over the years, Weston had paid careful attention.
Nyfain’s job had probably been harder these last months because I’d been feeding the guards our combined power. My presence here was harming him in more ways than one.
Okay, pity party, keep it together, my dragon thought. You can only go to pieces when you are back in his arms.
I didn’t understand the logic but agreed with the sentiment.
When the officers were resting or celebrating or whatever it was they did, they’d drink most of that fizzy stuff. They wouldn’t know they’d been poisoned until they were dying. Crowded everlass worked quickly and didn’t have a strong flavor.
Don’t fuck with an everlass-loving dragon.
Crack.
I rubbed my finger across another groove.
I could feel Nyfain’s despair. He was trying to hide it from me, I knew, but it kept growing. I also felt his impatience.
An imaginary clock ticked in my head. I barely felt the vibrating pain mingling with pleasure as it raged through my body. All I could focus on was tomorrow. There were so many moving parts to our escape plan, the largest of which was the Bridge of Doom.
I didn’t have a fucking clue how we’d make it over that.
Crack.
Apparently the strength of the magic was now ten times what it was during one of the last escapes. That was guesswork on Micah’s part, but it stood to reason. Our reactions when we went over it were much more severe than anyone else remembered.
I pulled more power from Nyfain, stuffing it into the air around me. A very distinct snuffling sound indicated the officers were eagerly consuming it.
The bridge was the only path we could take. Hadriel, Weston, and I had looked at every possible exit route. All of the others would run through guard stations, idling demons, or other groups that would sound the alarm. We could kill everyone we ran across, but eventually there would be too many of them. They had an enormous castle of demons ready to die for their king, and we had a cluster of weakened shifters and faeries. The odds weren’t in our favor.
Bile rose in my throat, and my stomach swirled as my mind turned to Nyfain’s kingdom.
We didn’t have great odds of making a stand in Wyvern either, something Micah, Weston, and even Calia had said to me after hearing Hadriel’s update on our general numbers. More dragons had been awakened in our kingdom, yes, but they were young. Inexperienced. They wouldn’t help us in a battle. The rest of the shifters, experienced or not, were the mediocre or lesser-powered shifters who’d suffered years of demon abuse.