An Heir in Shadow (The Shattering Darkness Book 1) Page 3

  “I didn’t tell him; he saw my birthmark when… when… we… well, you know,” she forced out, unsure why she was so reluctant to admit she had slept with him. Lucian was the biggest womanizer she knew, but going from friends to lovers…well she didn’t know what she had expected, but this was certainly not it.

  Connar frowned at that. “I am going to skip over this news, both as your boss and your friend. If you are a dragon, why didn’t you shift and fly yourself to a safe house? I mean you managed to get yourself here.”

  Morrigan blanched and a flush rose on her pale cheeks at the same time. “I have never shifted into my other form before. My mother kept us on the run since I was born, I was not allowed to explore those powers, she knew he could track us, if I did.” She didn’t know why, but she hid the fact that she had not shifted into dragon form—but something else.

  The crunch of gravel at the far end of the road had them both snapping around to face the car driving toward them.

  “This is going to be hard Mor, we need to find someone who can train your dragon abilities, someone who does not bow to the Prime…” He stopped himself, those red brows furrowed in, as if he was thinking about something upsetting.

  “I don’t know of anyone who has the ability to shift, who is outside of the Prime’s purview. Even my mother would have had to answer his summons.” She blinked, as Connar began to smile at her wickedly. “What?”

  “There is indeed a dragon who does not have to bow to the Prime. She was exiled long ago for speaking out against his regime. Her family is too powerful for the prime to just kill her. So, she was exiled from all that was dragon. She has been living among the humans for decades now, her parents cannot go to her in exile, but they have been supporting her quietly since. She was against a prime male ruling in the stead of a queen and she argued for decades to have a council of elder women to run the people.”

  Morrigan’s mouth dropped open at his words, she couldn’t think of a dragon in history who would have spoken against the prime, save for the queen. It usually meant death for whomever was foolish enough to spew their thoughts. “She must come from a powerful family, to escape with merely exile.”

  Once a dragon was exiled, the prime effectively cut off his power to control her, the blood ceremony which occurred when the dragon was exiled, and made it so the amulet would not even recognize her as a dragon.

  “She is the youngest of the Corrain brood, born only seven years after your mother. Rosalind Nic Corrain, she lives on Backbone Mountain in Allegheny County out in western Maryland.” Connar was displaying a full grin now, as the car pulled to a stop before them.

  Morrigan nearly cackled at the name of the mountain. Of course, a dragon would pick the highest peak in Maryland.

  They both slid into the backseat of the car, nodding at the bewildered driver who could not understand how they managed to get themselves out here without a car and why she had a sword. Connar’s sharp toothed grin shut him up quickly, and Morrigan fought the urge to burst into hysterical giggles.

  In less than twelve hours, her world had been shattered, the safe hidey hole of a fae agent was gone. Soon, even Tristan would know who and what she was. There would be no safe haven anymore, Morrigan had no choice but to hone every weapon at her disposal.

  It took them about forty minutes to get to the safe house and to Morrigan’s chagrin Connar insisted on entering the small house first. Dismantling the wards with his keycard, he slipped in, and left Morrigan on the front stoop with her sword held slightly behind her to keep any snooping neighbors from reporting a crazy woman with a sword.

  He slipped back out within a few moments and gestured for her to follow him into the darkened building. From the outside, it looked like a shabby rancher, with algae-stained, concrete front steps and weatherworn yellow siding. Everything about it seemed to scream “ignore me”. She wrinkled her nose at the damp smell which permeated the entryway, either it was another deterrent to keep out would be burglars, or there had been a recent flood in the home.

  “Damn Connar, I see the bureau still invests in the best for us,” she snarled through her cupped hand as she pushed past him into the small living room. Lights flared to life when she stepped out of the entrance way, Morrigan blinked in both surprise and delight at the weapon-lined walls and massive fireplace in the back of the house.

  A fully stocked kitchen lay to the right of the weapons chamber and a few bedrooms adjoined the kitchen. The structure was obviously magically enhanced, the courts used the same magic to expand their territories into huge tracts of land within their allotted space, there was no physical way a house this size had this large antechamber of weapons in its living room.

  She laid her father’s sword on the nearest couch, scrubbing her hands over her face again. Morrigan couldn’t stand the feel of her own skin, since she… evaporated? It felt like she was overflowing, and her power just leaked out of her body, like there was nothing to hold her flesh in. She looked over at Connar and frowned at his intense expression. “Why are you staring at me like I just stole your last beer?”

  “You’re my queen, why wouldn’t I stare at you?” He spoke solemnly, as if he was just waiting to lay down his life for her.

  Her temper burst into full life, anger burning through the remains of her discomfort, she was before him in a heartbeat. Her fists curled in his shirt tightly as she pressed so close she could almost see the glow of her eyes against his gray chin.

  “I am not your queen!!” Morrigan roared. Panic and fear mixed with the rage in her gut, she felt sick, overwhelmed by the vast rollercoaster of emotions today.

  Her hands loosened as tears built up in the back of her eyes, too much had happened in a short amount of time. She couldn’t keep shooting from one extreme emotion to another in a manner of hours, and she certainly could not deal with the fact that her body had become air. She dropped her hands with a slight whimper and pressed her forehead against his shoulder as the first ragged sob broke her lips.

  “I don’t want to be anyone’s queen… I just want to live. Why can’t I just live?” she moaned into his shoulder, but even to her own ears she sounded like a child. This world was not black and white. It was not fair or balanced. Some things just… were.

  Still Connar answered gruffly, his fingers stroked over her silken hair, a slight tremble to his shoulders as he spoke. “Can’t you do both?”

  Sometime after her sobs died off, Connar had slipped out of the house, he woke Morrigan only to let her know he was going to go speak with Rosalind from a secure phone. They couldn’t be too careful anymore, Eoan may have wanted to keep her presence undetected by the king of the fae, but Tristan would have felt the amount of power she pulled to shift, even from D.C. It was one of the ways the elders on the placement panels could keep track of all strong gifts, the very pull of magic disturbed the flow of the Earth’s energy, her uncle could track her from that alone. She had been foolish to fight like that in the middle of the street, even if it had not been Eoan, she knew better. The fear that had driven her was no excuse.

  Morrigan watched her eyes, the metallic silver dull from her tears, in the mirror of the safe house bathroom. The old yellow lightbulb flickered slightly, sending shadows skittering across her face and chest, in her reflection. She looked more like her mother in this light, with her delicate chin and generous lips. Pale moon-kissed skin that shimmered with a faint silver glitter, the echo of her father’s blood. Her eyes were his, but the sharp cheeks and high-arched brows were just a younger imitation of her mother’s. She had her father’s raven wing hair, wavy more than curly, the vivid blue sheen was faint under the yellow light. Dark bags, which were not there this morning, lined under her eyes from the unusual expenditure of magic today.

  She really needed to eat and sleep, but she knew sleep would escape her tonight. The thought of food turned her stomach, so she dipped her face into the sink full of icy water to chase away the nausea.

  Morrigan dried her face slowly, then reached for the light switch, she flicked off the light and padded to the nearest bedroom with her sword clenched in her fist. She didn’t let it drag against the floor, but that was the extent of her strength at this point, it took conscious effort just to keep her power from igniting the blade. Her blade, Drynwyn or White-Hilt, was one of her last connections to her father. It was one of the thirteen lost relics of the light court, the sword of legend which would ignite in the hands of only the worthy. When her father died and her trembling ten-year-old hands pulled the sword from the sheath, its flames had terrified her more than anything. Now that she understood what it meant to be worthy of the blade, the rippling blue—and sometimes white—flames no longer scared her.

  Morrigan shoved open the door to the first bedroom outside the bathroom with a weary sigh. The bedroom was simple, a small double bed which pressed against a wall, as usual there were no windows in the bedroom. Agents were too paranoid to enjoy any view which the safe house might offer, and they certainly wouldn’t appreciate sunlight forcing them from bed. She set her sword next to the bed, and dropped onto the mattress with a grunt. She wanted to change, but she could not stand the idea of Connar going to her place only to be confronted by the Prime, so she had quickly shot down any suggestion of getting herself some new clothes.

  She stroked her fingertips across the images of the Backstreet Boys etched across her shirt. As much as she said she wore this shirt for the laughs, the band had always been a comfort in her childhood. Their harmonic voices had always lulled her fears and encouraged her childish daydreams of a better life. There was no better life for her… not even her parents' sacrifice had bought her the chance of freedom.

  Morrigan shoved her face into the pillow as she came to the realization that running could no lo
nger be her tactic. It wouldn’t even delay the inevitable at this point. There was nowhere else to hide at this point, now that Eoan knew she existed, it was only a matter of time until Tristan came hunting for her.

  Thankfully her father had been able to train her in the fae spell crafting. Though spell was not an accurate description of how the fae bent energy to meet their will, their connection to the elements were equal only to the true fairies who lived in the ancient forests of the world. When the fae cast a spell, their will literally bent the elements around them into whichever form they wished. Tuathal Mac Cathalain had been stronger than his brother. The only reason Tristan ruled was Tuathal’s flight from the court.

  Her parents had met during the final great war which ended in the treaty with the humans, even as they tried to kill one another, their souls had risen in defiance. The mating link snapped into place between them and connected them forever. Her mother used to smile wistfully when she told Morrigan the story of their meeting. Eeada’s soft, crooning voice filled her mind as she floated on the edge of sleep.

  “Nay Morri-girl, your father wasn’t trying to kill ME, he only followed his father’s will, as I followed my queen’s.” The sensation of her mother’s fingers in her hair pushed her deeper into the dream-memory.

  “But mama he used his sword on you!” Morrigan’s voice was high and light, a child’s again.

  “And I used my claws on him.” Eeada snorted, her mother’s voice was beautiful even in a faded dream-memory, her amusement filled Morrigan with warmth and love.

  The memory dissolved into darkness as she fell deeper asleep; her dream changed, it grew darker and violent, like a shadow which cloaked her mind.

  Blood flooded her senses, until Morrigan could feel it on her hands and lips. She could smell the scent of it in the air, as if all life was choked from the wind itself. Her eyes fluttered open from the soothing darkness, which had held her in her mother’s arms, and light assaulted her eyes in a disorienting blast.

  She found herself walking down an aisle of beautifully dressed courtiers, all of whom kneeled before her in supplication. Morrigan could feel her power crowd the room, it washed over each prone form.

  They were disgusting… weak… tainted blood… unworthy…

  Alien thoughts twisted in her skull, and knitted her brows in confusion which did not show in her reflection on the shining onyx floor. Morrigan found that she was garbed head to toe in black silk, the fabric poured over her curves like liquid night and fanned out behind her in a voluminous train.

  The massive hall was the heart of the dragon court… the consulate was supposed to be darkness crafted into a solid structure. The two-hundred-foot ceilings had hundreds of perches and yawning holes to let in the night sky. The only light was the innate glow of the onyx floors and walls, as if years of the moon’s light had been absorbed then reflected. A shimmer of magic stretched across each entrance into the ceiling of the chamber; the magic seemed crafted to repel bad weather.

  At the end of the hall were two thrones made up of enormous dragon skulls… the first queen and prime who had emerged from the explosion which made the world, from their wings sprinkled the stars in the sky.

  Eoan sat on the male skull, an indolent smirk twisted his cruel mouth. His lavender eyes should have been beautiful, but they were filled with greed and hate. The mass of his white curls was piled under the Prime’s coronet, a small chip of the draconite amulet had been embedded in the black crown. Each spike that circled his head, was tipped in blazing gold, and rose high above his head like dragon wings stretched for the sky. Morrigan could feel a matching crown on her head, worse yet… she could feel the heavy amulet itself nestled between the valley of her breasts.

  Horror flooded her veins as she realized the normally black draconite chip on his crown was smeared with dark red blood, and somehow Morrigan knew it was her own blood. A harsh cry of denial echoed hollowly against her lips, lips which she could feel were curved in a smile of perverse delight.

  Her terror and disgust reached a crescendo, at the image of the bleeding dragon at her feet, once she reached the thrones.

  Massive glittering red wings, embossed with beautiful whorls of red and gold across the strong arches of membrane, were crumpled across the stone floor. The wings had been sheared from the dragon’s back and the body of the dragon lay still before Eoan.

  Those were Connar’s wings.

  She woke screaming… not moaning or crying… but screaming with rage and sorrow. Her hand gripped Dyrnwyn’s hilt tightly; while the ancient blade burned not with ethereal blue flames but the white gold flames at the heart of the earth.

  Whipping her head back and forth wildly, Morrigan frantically fought for control over herself, her ragged gasping breaths were the only sound in the room. Even the mystical fire crackled soundlessly in the stillness of the room. Her sweat was like ice on her skin, and it took her a long time to warm up, after the terror which had fueled that dream.

  The fire slowly died down on her blade, it retreated and left the room lit only by the glow of her panicked silver eyes, as she struggled for calm. The light from those faded as Morrigan sucked in a deep shuddering breath and she finally felt like she was back in her own body, not locked in that other person’s. Was that just a nightmare or a true dream, a warning from her parents?

  The last queen had died a century before her birth and her death had always been viewed as just another casualty of the curse, but was it? The moment of Queen Aileena’s death, Eoan had stepped up and nearly wrenched the amulet from her body, before the rest of the elders could decide on who would carry on after her, since there were no other living black dragons. After the amulet was his, the rest of the dragons had submitted without much issue. It was a surprise that anyone who spoke against him managed to just get exiled, but it spoke of the dire straits which her people had fallen into.

  Eoan could not risk killing a pure blood female in her prime, but surely, Morrigan was not the only black dragon to be born all these years?

  Even if they were mixed with human blood, Connar was a testament to the power which could be yielded from the dilution of the blood in the face of the curse.

  Morrigan dropped her head back on the pillow to go back to sleep, but kept the sword in her fist. A few hours later, she cracked her eyes open to look at the digital clock on the table beside the bed. When she saw the clock flashed six a.m., she groaned and tossed back the blankets.

  Connar would be here soon to shuttle her to her new teacher. She hoped he would bring her some shoes to replace her boots, and that he didn’t think it was safe to go near her home since it could reveal that he knew where she was. The idea of someone finding out Connar knew where she was, when she could feel Eoan hunting her, had her constantly on edge.

  Even as she rose from the bed to pad into the bathroom, she clutched the ivory-hilted sword close to her. She would need to consider getting a new sheath for it, she thought with a grimace but then a smile. Maybe she would be able to find one in the armory Connar was trying to pass off as a living room.

  Thank the mother, that the house was encased in wards to avert attention from humans, anyone who looked in the windows would think the owners were readying for war.

  She probably was…

  Chapter Three:

  Backbone Mountain: Allegheny County, Maryland

  They had been traveling for hours from the safe house in Annapolis toward Backbone Mountain, to meet the woman who was to train her powers and the abilities of her dragon. Hours locked in the tight quarters of Connar’s truck, filled with a tense silence, had begun to rub her nerves raw. She frowned at the speeding scenery, he had been so quiet when he came for her at the safe house, Morrigan didn’t think he spoke a word to her.

  Connar had tossed sneakers—sneakers of all things—and a drab, black, winter coat at her as he stalked back to his truck. Dragons tended to dislike cold, the fae could thrive in Antarctica as long they could connect with the earth, but dragons were born of the fire which lived at the Earth’s core.

  She jerked when Connar spoke first for the first time, his deep voice was a little bitter as he chuckled. “I really should have guessed sooner that you were more than just a fae half-blood. Even if you were just half human, simply being in a car would hurt you. Let alone a row home in the heart of Baltimore.” His black gaze darted to her, before returning to the road quickly.