Dragon in the Blood (Vale of Stars Book 2) Page 3

  The rough-looking bartender moved closer. The man bore three ugly scars—one stretching from his jaw down the side of his neck, another across his left cheek, and a third across his brow that disappeared into his hairline. His crooked nose had been broken more than once. “Will ye be staying the night?”

  “Food and ale if you have it,” said Valla, drawing the attention of the two Greyclaws down the bar. She unstrapped her chest-pack.

  I tensed, knowing it was her feminine voice that drew their attention.

  The bartender glanced at Bowen and nodded. “Huntergild.”

  “Greetings, Orlik.”

  Bowen stepped to the bar while Valla and I shared a questioning look.

  “The weather is shifting,” offered Bowen.

  Orlik grunted. “An ice storm will hit. Ye may want to rethink staying the night.” He plopped three tankards of ale on the bar.

  “How soon?” asked Valla.

  Orlik sniffed the air. “I’d say within the hour.”

  “You are sure?” she persisted.

  “Aye.” He turned away and bellowed toward the kitchen. “Benta!”

  A petite Sunsting poked her head from what must have been the kitchen. Her yellow eyes, which matched her wings, glowed in the dim light.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “Three,” replied Orlik.

  Bowen tossed three coins on the bar. “We’ll take a room.”

  Valla leaned toward Bowen. “Are you sure of this place?”

  Bowen nodded. I lifted a tankard, then led them to a table in the far corner. Taking the chair facing the Greyclaws at the bar, I kept my back to the wall.

  Tension rolled off Valla. “It doesn’t look very safe.”

  “Orlik’s place is a steel trap,” offered Bowen. “It’s the safest place we could be during an ice storm.”

  She took a deep gulp of her ale, glancing over the rim at me. “We’ll need more than one room.”

  “One room,” said Bowen.

  “Agreed.” I tapped a finger on the table. “We shouldn’t separate.”

  The two at the bar hunched close and whispered while the Sunsting girl walked from the back balancing three bowls on a tray and weaved around the empty tables. The two Greyclaws shoved off the bar and lumbered for the door. The bigger one glanced in our direction, an undertone of menace in his flat expression. The open door let in a stinging wave of frigid wind before it slammed shut.

  After setting three bowls of stew on the table, Benta asked, “Can I get you anything else?”

  Her gaze settled on me. Schooling my features into something most women responded to warmly, I said, “This smells fantastic. Are you the cook?” I stirred the meaty concoction, which did not smell delicious.

  A flush of pink filled her cheeks. “Yes. There’s plenty if you’ll be wanting more.”

  “We’ve traveled a long way. This is a welcome sight.” I took a hearty bite, refraining from wincing at the gamey taste. “Say, can you tell me if those two men come here often?” I nodded at the door where they’d just left and spooned a second bite.

  “Who? Vidus and Bryn? They’re regulars here.”

  “Benta,” called Orlik, “let’s close up.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  She scurried off toward the kitchen. Orlik ambled to the outer door and slid three massive bolts home.

  “Okay, Bowen,” said Valla, “I agree. This place is a steel trap. But how long will we be locked up here?”

  As he ambled back toward the bar where the Greyclaw brothers left their two mugs, Orlik called out, “The ice storm may last a day. Maybe two.” He had exceptional hearing, even for a Morgon. “Your room is second on the left upstairs.” He disappeared to the kitchen.

  “Two days?” Valla slapped her hand on the table and then tapped onto her wrist comm. “We still have four or five days of flight in good weather to get to the coven.”

  “Weather is rarely good in Aria,” said Bowen. “We can only hope it will be fair enough for swift flight after the storm.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, having devoured the meal with relish.

  I was busy doing the same. No matter that it tasted like salted wood, we needed the calories. Valla prodded a piece of meat, then pushed the bowl away.

  “You need to eat,” I urged her.

  “I have protein bars. It’ll suffice.”

  Stubborn didn’t even cover it. I wanted to protest further, but the firm set of her chin said it would do me no good. Still, her lack of care for herself agitated me.

  “What did you make of the Greyclaws?” she asked. “They didn’t look like natives, no matter what the waitress said.”

  True. They weren’t dressed in the well-worn, homemade layers of most Arians.

  “No,” I said. “They had the look of playboys fallen off course.”

  “Bad luck encountering them here,” said Bowen.

  “Or it wasn’t luck at all,” added Valla.

  “Agreed.” I pushed my empty bowl away and leaned back. “Probably scouts sniffing around to see who the Morgon Guard would send.”

  “But how would they know of the mission?” asked Valla.

  “There is an informant in Nightwing Security. Kol kept our objective within a small circle, but he and Lucius let a few extra know of it.”

  “Wait.” Valla scoffed. “Kol and Lucius leaked our operation?”

  “To very few,” I added.

  “He could’ve let me know he’d endangered our lives unnecessarily.”

  “But it is necessary,” I argued. “Valla, we must find out who the mole is. They could gain knowledge that could endanger many lives.”

  “Yeah. Like ours.”

  “Many more than ours,” I corrected.

  What always amazed me about Valla was her quick response to logic. She wasn’t an emotional female who reacted with haughtiness and defiance. Well, not when it came to work. Professionally, she always kept a level head. Now, when I teased her on a personal level, that was something different. And damn if I didn’t love to get under her skin. If I was totally honest, I wanted to get next to her skin.

  She stood from the table, tucking her dark wings tight against her back. “Let’s get to our room and behind closed doors for further conversation. No telling who else might be listening in this place.”

  “I’ll have a quick word with Orlik,” said Bowen as he walked away.

  Seeing something I wanted behind the bar, I said to Valla, “I’ll be right behind you.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at me and shrugged before making her way upstairs. I had an idea to pass the time. And a way to discover a bit more about the tight-lipped Valla Moonring.

  CHAPTER 4

  T his wasn’t how I imagined our first night in Aria. I arched my back, feeling the muscles tighten as I stared at the two mattresses on the floor, trying to figure out which one of us would be the unlucky one curling up in the uncomfortable looking chair by the hearth.

  Next to the fireplace, there was a small window, closed with steel shutters. The icy wind howled and lashed against them, but they were sealed tight.

  The grate stood cold. I walked over and lifted the lid of the wooden crate to the right of the hearth. Large chunks of coal, an easy fuel source in the mountains, were piled halfway to the top.

  While adding several pieces to the iron grate, the door opened behind me. Conn stepped in with a bottle of something tucked under his arm and three tin cups in his other hand. A devilish grin spread across his handsome face.

  “What is it you have planned, Rowanflame?” I asked, one hand on my hip.

  “Entertainment,” he replied with a wink.

  “Well, come put your skills to better use and start this fire. I’m freezing.”

  He set his bottle and cups on a rickety table then crossed over to me. “I’m at your service.”

  I rolled my eyes and pretended his flirting didn’t affect me. What stirred me to anger was that it did. But when he squatted on his h
aunches, sucked in a deep lungful of air, and blew out a powerful stream of orange-gold flame that lit the coals with a sturdy fire, my pulse pounded faster. Anger had nothing to do with it. He impressed me, intrigued me, and I was too damn tired to deny the fact even to myself.

  He stood facing me, closer than necessary, his hazel gaze drifting over my face. “That should keep you warm.”

  For a moment, I said nothing. As a Moonring, my gifts ran in another direction. But Rowanflames were more than fire-breathers. They were given the name firedancers for a reason, the only clan with the ability to control flame on an elemental level. A yearning to see what he was capable of dared me to ask what else he could do with flame.

  But the door opened, breaking the silent moment crackling with tension. I stepped away as Bowen slid the bolt home on our chamber door.

  Bowen tossed his pack to the ground and began unlacing his boots. “There’s no one staying in the inn but us and an old priest. We should be quite safe here to ride out the storm.”

  “Now that the Greyclaws have left,” I added.

  “True,” said Bowen. “Orlik said Vidus and Bryn come here about once a week. It seems to be their main stopping point traveling in and out of Aria.”

  “Where are they going to and from?” asked Conn.

  “That, Orlik didn’t know. But this week they’ve been here every day. They knew the Guard was coming. They’ve obviously been waiting to see who and how many were on the team passing through.”

  Conn had kicked off his boots as well and was now unzipping his thermal suit.

  “Could you give me a hand with the backflaps?” he asked, turning his back to me.

  “Um. Sure.”

  He opened his wings so that I could reach the zippers beneath, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to the muscles in his shoulder rolling with the effort. I unzipped them both. “Got it.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a grin, then slid off the suit, revealing a well-muscled body. Both Conn and Bowen wore the regulation black long underwear and short-sleeved shirt which fit like a second skin beneath the thermal suit. The same I wore under mine. Sweat had molded the fabric to the toned contours of their bodies. But it was Conn’s that kept drawing my eye.

  He arched a brow in my direction. “Don’t be shy. Better get that suit off or you’ll dehydrate once the room heats up,” he said, tossing me a half-smile. “We’re all professionals here.”

  “Hmph,” was all I could muster as I moved to stand in front of one mattress. I tossed my pack onto it, claiming it for the night, then I felt him at my back.

  “Let me help you out here.” He unzipped both backflaps, his hand grazing the underside of my left wing.

  “Thanks,” I snapped and moved away. My wings were sensitive to touch. Not all Morgons had this sensitivity. But even that slight brush of his hand felt like an intimate caress, as if he’d stroked my inner arm or behind my knee. I shook off the shiver he’d induced and stepped farther away, facing the wall, and undressed down to my regulation long underwear.

  “Come on, then,” said Conn, sitting at the table and rapping the bottom of a tin cup on the wood. “Let’s pass the time with a little fun.”

  “I’m game,” said Bowen, scraping a chair on the stone floor as he took a seat. “What are we playing?”

  I took my time after shimmying out of my suit and folding it, retying my hair tight against my scalp into a tail. My undergarments clung to my skin, damp from the exertion of the flight and the thermal suit. I wasn’t shy of my body, but a certain someone made me self-conscious.

  “Come on, Valla. You’re playing, too.” Conn may not have realized it, but he often used a commanding voice with me that was edged with dominance, a subtle hint of his dragon riding his vocal cords. I was accustomed to this tone of voice from my brothers. But they were my brothers. Conn had no claim on me and had better keep his dragon in check.

  I sauntered over to the table, pretending it was normal to hang around with two colleagues in what was equivalent to our pajamas. “I don’t think it’s wise to get inebriated in a place like this.” Curious, I took a seat at the third chair anyway. “Especially with those two suspicious Greyclaws from the bar.”

  “First, I don’t plan on getting drunk,” said Conn, grinning. “I’m good at this game. And second, Bowen’s right. This place is impregnable. I checked the exits before I came up. There is only one other beside the door in which we entered. Both are more than capable of ensuring our safety.”

  “So what are we playing?” asked Bowen. He uncorked the bottle and inhaled a whiff. A mischievous smile cracked his usually stoic expression as he poured them each a small amount.”

  “What’s that look for?” I asked, feeling on edge.

  “Arian moonshine. I hope you compensated Orlik for this bottle.”

  “More than compensated,” said Conn. “But I couldn’t pass it up.”

  “What’s so great about Arian moonshine?” I asked.

  Both of them chuckled. “Just take it slow,” suggested Bowen. “No one knows how they make it. There’s never any hangover and the intoxication isn’t the norm. It’s…”

  Gazing into his cup, Bowen swirled the small amount he’d poured.

  “It’s what?” I asked.

  “Take a sip,” said Conn with a nod of his head, his mouth quirking up on one side. “A small one.”

  I did. Tentatively. Rather than burn like whisky or other hard liquor, the woodsy, floral liquid slid down my throat, instantly tingling through my veins, awakening my senses with a slam. Morgon senses were already heightened, but I instantly felt a sharp awareness come to life. My eyesight honed in on the rhythmic pulse throbbing at the base of Conn’s throat, on the smell of the coal smoke sifting through the chimney, on the hiss of the fire burning, on the sweet-and-tangy aftertaste of the moonshine on the tip of my tongue. My pulse tripped a little faster.

  “How…what is in that?”

  “Dragon magic,” said Bowen, pouring himself another.

  “But how do they make it? With opiates?”

  “No,” said Conn. “My brother, Corbin, and I actually broke it down to try and figure it out once. There are no hallucinogens or opiates used. The base for fermentation seems to be nothing more than lunaflyr, the night-blooming flower which grows in abundance in the foothills here in Aria.”

  “So what’s the game?” asked Bowen, already pouring himself a third cup.

  “All right. It’s called Truth or Lie. Here are the rules.” Conn schooled his expression into one more serious. “For each round, I’ll call a topic, so both your truth and your lie must be about this topic. It’s simple. You’ll say both a truth and a lie about yourself. The person to the right will choose which one is the truth. The other will either agree or disagree. If you guess wrong, you drink. If both guess right, the confessor drinks.”

  “Easy enough,” I said, though a slight foreboding slid down my spine. When Conn’s naughty smile made its appearance, the temperature in the room shot up thirty degrees.

  “Good. I’ll start,” he said. “First topic. Occupations.” He paused as he thought of his truth and lie. “My first job was at a human diner.” He paused again, then said, “I hated working for Nightwing Security my entire first year.”

  I was to Conn’s right, so I had to choose first. Conn was good at keeping a straight face. I couldn’t tell by his voice inflection which one was the truth.

  “The first one is the lie,” I said.

  Bowen leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I say the second one.”

  Conn gave me a wink. “Drink up, Valla.”

  “Really?”

  He laughed. A pleasant sound, I had to admit. “Really.”

  I drank down my cup in one shot, wanting to know why he had hated Nightwing.

  But Conn refilled my cup quickly, ready to keep the game going. “Okay. Your turn.”

  I cleared my throat as the potent moonshine slid through my veins like sweet fire. “I was first in my
class of The Assassins’ Order. And I held my first job in the Morgon Guard at age ten.”

  Bowen studied me carefully. I couldn’t help but laugh at his intense staring, as if he could seek the truth in my expression.

  “The first is the truth,” he finally said.

  “Agreed,” said Conn.

  I smiled. “Drink up, gentlemen.”

  “Damn,” said Bowen. “That was a good lie. I thought for sure you were first in your class.” He knocked back his cup and refilled both his and Conn’s.

  I laughed. “I was second in my class.”

  “Oh?” asked Conn, “who was first?”

  “Isadore Nightwing.” I frowned, realizing I’d brought her into the conversation without meaning to.

  “A fine assassin,” said Conn.

  “Yes.” I couldn’t help but agree despite my jealousy. “She is.” What I wasn’t sure about was whether I was envious of her status as first in class or whether it was because she garnered the admiration of Conn.

  “And what job did you hold for the Morgon Guard at ten?” asked Conn.

  “I assisted Kol in weapons training.”

  Bowen let out a bark of laughter. “How so?”

  “Well, someone has to fetch and clean all those blades. I was strong. Even at ten,” I said with confidence.

  “I bet you were,” added Conn.

  A flame of heat crawled up my neck. It was a slight compliment, but it was the way his gaze fell heavy on me and the deep rumble of his voice that sent my heart hammering. This is what pissed me off about Conn. He shouldn’t affect me this way. But he did. It threw me off-center. And that was one feeling I absolutely despised. With my youth and my brother as Captain of the Guard, I needed to be on top of my game all the time. One slip-up might cause others to see me as incapable of doing my job. Then wonder if the only reason I got here was from my family connections. And dammit, I refused to let that happen.

  I nudged Bowen. “Your turn.”