Most considered him crazy. His warriors had too…at first.
But he couldn’t let it go, refused to let the insult inflicted by the Scottish pack on his family line fester.
Fifty years was a long time to wait to right a wrong, but no matter the time frame, a Dragonkind warrior never forgot. His sire certainly hadn’t, training Grizgunn for war, making him vow to avenge him—and reclaim his birthright—before unleashing him on the world. If only his sire were alive to see how much progress he’d made, to experience each victory along with the fallout as his son wreaked havoc on the Scottish Highlands and the communities Cyprus protected.
The whoreson deserved it all. Every bit of Grizgunn’s fury, along with the agony of knowing he failed to defend his territory from a warrior king far cleverer than him.
He hummed in satisfaction.
Cyprus the pretender. The arrogant male needed to be sliced open and left to die. The slower the commander of Scottish pack bled out, the better. Every last drop squeezed out until the male’s heart stopped beating, and he turned to dragon ash and blew away on the wind.
Grizgunn’s sire would’ve been proud of his efforts. Had he lived, he would’ve patted him on the back, extolled his son’s virtues to anyone willing to listen, and—
“Commander!” Hakon barked from the ground. “What are you doing—trying to get fried?”
Grizgunn blinked as a sunburst exploded over the water. The bright wave flicked its lethal tail. Dark skies vanished as poisonous UV rays sliced through the clouds. Heat rippled over his scales. Pain burned across his shoulders, raking like blades down his spine.
Smoke rolled off the hard shell of his interlocking dragon skin.
With a curse, Grizgunn folded his wings. His paws slammed down on compacted earth. Momentum tossed him sideways. Gritting his teeth, his curled his claws into the turf. Chunks of stones pinged off the outer shell of the church. The scent of peat moss burst into the air, joining the smell of singed scales.
Already in human form, Hakon sprinted beneath a broken archway. Shifting out of dragon form, Grizgunn hauled ass behind him.
Sunlight crept over the top of crumbling walls. Raising his arm to shield his light-sensitive eyes from the glow, he stayed on his warrior’s heels and snarled a command. Magic exploded up the center aisle. An effervescent shimmer slammed into the nave at the front of the church. The spell protecting the lair twitched, then turned, flicking the tips of its barbed whip.
Black eyes narrowed on him from inside the magical abyss. Hakon cursed. Grizgunn growled in warning.
The shield snarled back, but yielded without throwing the usual tantrum. Cold air heated as the portal began to open. Footfalls thumping, Grizgunn ran. Stone scraped against stone. The heavy slab topping the altarpiece slid sideways, revealing a narrow staircase that descended into the underground lair. Boot soles scrambling over cracked mosaic tiles, Hakon dove into the opening.
Grizgunn vaulted up the steps, onto the platform fronting the nave. Throwing himself forward, he slid like a baseball player. The side of his leg rasped across flat stones engraved with the names of humans laid to rest beneath the cathedral floor. His foot caught the top step. Sunlight burned over the back of his neck. Blisters bubbled across his skin. Another curse. More scrambling, and he somersaulted down the stairs headfirst.
Hakon snarled.
The slab snapped shut, enclosing them in darkness.
Grizgunn’s shoulder slammed into the side wall. “Fuck.”
“You idiot,” Hakon said from the landing at the bottom of the first flight. Gray eyes the color of smoke began to glow, painting a target on his chest. “Swear to Silfer, Griz. Next time you pull that shit, I’m gonna—”
“You think you got enough juice to take me?”
“After witnessing that shit, it’d be fun to try. Someone’s gotta knock some sense into you.”
Grizgunn sighed. Trust Hakon to give it to him straight. The male took honesty to extremes, getting in his face when no other warrior dared. A trait he appreciated about his friend, and the entire reason he’d appointed the male XO of the Danish pack. Which meant he needed to stop being an idiot and start giving Hakon his due.
“Sorry.”
Hakon blinked. His gaze flickered like a dying flashlight. “What did you just say?”
“Don’t give me any shit,” Grizgunn said, dropping mind-speak as he touched the back of his neck. Singed skin, totally crispy, and enough pain to piss him off. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Was rethinking our strategy up there and got distracted for a minute.”
“Or ten.”
Grizgunn clenched his teeth. “What’d I say about giving me shit?”
“You were circling up there like a fucking vulture. I know you can’t wait to pick over the Scottish pack’s bones, but…come on, Griz.”
“Hakon—”
“You know what we’re up against. I can’t pull this off without you. We need to be on the same page, not fucking around with—”
“I know, bror,” he murmured, calling his warrior “brother” in Danish, defaulting to his native tongue. A longstanding habit, something that settled him when stress crept in. “Hard to forget when it’s all I ever think about.”
Twisting his head to one side, Hakon cracked his neck. “You going to take the money?”
The ten-million-dollar question.
Literally.
That was how much money sat on the table. A candlelit one set by Rodin to seduce him into the fold…and under the Archguard’s thumb.
“Haven’t decided yet.” He glanced up as the light globes above his head activated, throwing illumination in soft waves. “I’m not a fan of the conditions.”
Hakon grunted. “Or the restrictions.”
“Rodin’s help comes with strings, Hakon. A lot of them.”
“Maybe, but with it, we’d have been able to pay Montgomery, and the Scot would be caged in our dungeon right now.”
Hakon wasn’t wrong. A bone of contention between Grizgunn and his new XO…along with a missed opportunity. Having the upper hand while trying to kill Cyprus and the assholes he commanded would’ve been sweet. What amounted to icing on the proverbial cake, but draining his resources to get a hold of Vyroth (Cyprus’s blood brother and identical twin) had seemed irresponsible. Like shooting himself in the foot instead of using his claws to rip apart the enemy.
He’d spent years saving for the war with the Scottish pack. Every penny he earned as a mercenary while exiled in Denmark got thrown into the fund, to aid the cause as he worked to undo the injustice done to his sire.
“Water under the bridge,” he murmured, starting down the stairs toward his friend. “Can’t go back, gotta move forward.”
“Still pisses me off.”
“I know, but…” Pausing on the landing, Grizgunn slapped his XO on the back. “The new warriors should help lighten the load. Got any good candidates?”
Hakon scowled. “Not as easy as it sounds.”
“You’re still in the process of screening?”
“Two dozen applicants so far, and still…nothing. But the next batch looks promising. Lots of firepower.”
“Skill sets?”
“Got a water dragon on tap. He’s got a couple of warriors with him who look—”