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If I do say so myself.
I shifted back into my human form and walked toward the large double doors, instantly sensing that something was wrong.
The door was open and there was blood on the floor, trailing into the house.
“Fuck,” I hissed, my hands extending to my sides, two solid and lethal blades of ice appearing in each one of them. I tiptoed around the blood and entered the castle. It was silent, nothing made a sound. The gargoyles weren’t activated, so whatever got through must have done it by surprising my family.
The blood trailed through the entryway, down the smooth stone floor before it transitioned to the dark hardwood, the blood disappearing. I continued forward, hearing murmured conversation coming from the living room to my left.
Ahead of me was a golden mirror, circular and bright from being next to a stained glass window. It reflected the room and showed me the person closest to me was someone I actually recognized.
Tall, styled brown hair, handsome face, broody with stormy eyes.
I spun around the corner and grabbed the Marvel in my arms, holding the icy sharp edge of my blade against his throat. His body pressed flush against mine. I could feel the heat rising off him, feel his pulse pound like a chorus of drums, his tense but firm body still against mine.
And if he had done anything to hurt my family, I’d feel that pulse beat to nothing as he bled out on the floor.
Chapter 6
Break the Ice
Caleb
I had no time to react. No time to defend myself. I became as still as a corpse, not wanting to accidentally nick an artery and bleed out before I could even explain myself. My hands couldn’t move, so I couldn’t weave a full illusion if I wanted to. I could try and work something out, but it would be a flimsy, flickery mess. And the second the ice dragon realized I was trying to fight back, he’d end it all.
“Madds, no!”
Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. Warrick, the dragon who had greeted me earlier, put his hands up, nearly dropping the book he had been carrying. His eyes went wide underneath his round glasses.
“But… what’s going on here?”
The ice dragon who currently had me pinned against his body moved the blade a hair’s breadth away from my throat. I could still feel the bite of the chill that came off the solid chunk of lethal ice.
“Put the ice down, and I’ll explain,” I managed to speak without having my voice squeak from the fear.
“What about the blood?”
“What blood?” Warrick asked, now sounding worried. He looked around us, into the hallway.
“The blood by the front door,” my assailant said behind me. He was so close that his breath tickled the top of my head, running over my ear. I shivered. The dragon who held me had to be almost an entire foot taller than me, his body encasing me like a bear trap.
Warrick’s eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I do know that Marvel isn’t responsible for it. He arrived about a half hour ago, and I’ve been with him ever since.”
“Um… what the hell’s going on in here?”
The new voice came from behind me. Considering I couldn’t turn my head without getting sliced in half, I decided to just hope that this new arrival would also be on the innocent Marvel’s side.
“Dawn, what is Madds talking about, saying there’s blood by the front door?” Warrick asked.
The disembodied voice appeared in front of me. Another one of the dragon siblings, the sister with loose waves down to her shoulders and sharp golden-hazel eyes, stepped up next to Warrick. She held up a can of red paint in her hands. “Are you talking about this blood? I’m working on a project and accidentally spilled some on my way into the castle.”
“Seriously?” both Warrick and Maddox asked.
Dawn gave an unimpressed nod.
“Can you let me go now?”
The ice blade disappeared, leaving behind nothing but cold air and sweaty palms. I was finally able to turn, looking my captor directly in the eyes. I wanted to punch him, land a hit directly against his cocky jaw so that he could feel just an ounce of the discomfort he had put me through.
Or… did I want to punch him or kiss him? The icy, cocky brick wall of a bastard.
To his credit, his face tilted downward, and a “sorry” dropped from his lips.
“Can I go finish what I’m working on, or do I have to be worried about someone getting stabbed with an icicle?” the sister asked, shooting a skeptical look between me and her brother.
“Yeah, we’re good here,” Maddox said, the apologetic look dropping and being replaced by that unreadable expression of his. He clearly didn’t get the same chance to change clothes as I did, his black T-shirt and jeans sporting a few stains and tears, but nothing that really revealed the kind of battle I’d seen him go through just hours before. That was how good of a fighter he was. Barely got a hit on him but nearly took care of the cultists single-handedly.
