A Kingdom of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 3)

I loved him—faults, hang-ups, and all—and I’d never gotten the chance to tell him. Nor could I tell him now.

“Micah is doing this to show you what you’d be missing,” Hannon murmured sadly. He felt bad for Nyfain. “I heard what he said to you, and now he’s proving it. That was probably his intention all along.”

“How do I fix this?” I asked Hannon.

“How do you usually fix him? You’re the only one who seems capable of it, from what Hadriel says.”

Rage.

Rouse his dragon, I told my dragon. Rouse him. He’s letting the man’s fears muddy his mind. Shove down the man so they can win this fight. Win this battle and claim us as their mate.

My dragon surged up unexpectedly and shifted, her pain and anguish at watching Nyfain’s shame fueling her haste to do as I said.

Don’t battle for him, though, I cried in desperation. She got crazy when it was time to battle; I’d just seen that firsthand.

I’m not an idiot.

I often beg to differ.

She waited for Hannon to scrabble backward, his eyes wide, before she beat her wings two times, hard. It lifted us up off the ground, and we hovered there for a long moment, gathering everyone’s attention, before she curled her wings in with a snap and slammed down onto the ground. With a mighty roar, she set the ground to trembling.

Weston, to the side, shifted into his wolf. The other wolves around him followed suit. And then he lay down, his head on his paws. The wolves behind him, as one, did the same. Sable and Dash sat down next to Father, their eyes hard. In the sky, the Wyvern dragons dropped gracefully, stopping at about the height my dragon had reached before snapping in their wings and dropping as well.

For a moment, no one moved beyond treading air, the dragons from the villages contemplating their choice. They either sided with one of their own, a powerful alpha, or a foreign prince who had lost his identity as a dragon in trying to keep his people safe.

Movement caught our eye.

Across the field, Vemar walked forward with a powerful strut. He stopped with a hard expression, staring straight at me, then shifted and rose exactly like I had. He hovered for a long moment, like he was debating whether to continue into the sky to support Micah’s treatment of Nyfain. Then he snapped his wings, slammed down onto the ground, and sent up a savage roar.

One by one, the dragons in the sky lowered, some slower than others. Most didn’t make a show of it, touching down on the ground and then closing up their wings, but a few did. A few added their roars to Vemar’s, showing their disappointment in the man they knew.

Finally, the pain and suffering within Nyfain eased a little, letting his dragon have more space to take matters into his own hands, as it were.

Rage built, hard and hot. Power leached from us, his dragon taking from us after all those times it had done nothing but give. I added some heady pleasure into the mix so Nyfain would know I was here for him, eager to help in any way that I could—the equivalent of a little kiss on his way to work.

Micah didn’t give up his circling, though he dipped in his flight a little now, just out of reach.

I knew Nyfain wanted to leap off the ground to try to grab him, but he held still. And built. And built. My dragon kept supplying power, feeding him all we had.

Silence drifted through the spectators. The ruffle of Micah’s wings filled the vast space.

And then Nyfain exploded with a roar so loud, so intense, that it seemed to freeze the air. Micah wobbled, his wings flapping like those of a startled bird, and tilted dramatically. Nyfain launched up, higher than Micah could’ve ever expected, I was sure, plucking the other dragon out of the air and pulling him back down to the ground. He was on Micah the next moment in a vicious attack that churned my stomach even as it sent desire flaming through my blood.

Nyfain ripped scales off Micah’s side with his sharp, well-used claws. He tore lumps out of his flesh with a practiced jaw. And although Micah fought his way to standing, Nyfain quickly swung his tail and sent spikes into the other dragon’s side.

Nyfain’s savagery was unparalleled. This was a showcase of his constant fighting for the last sixteen years. He was brutal. Feral. He knew no rules. He’d long since abandoned decorum for the sake of survival.

His prowess showed and then some.

In a moment, it was over. Nyfain stood over the bleeding form of his opponent, stopping short of killing him, and sent up a thunderous roar in victory. The ground quaked. My blood froze. Desire flooded me.