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A monster. Heartless and desperate to kill. Niazatos was the one thing that rallied all of humanity, pulling humans and supernaturals together to create the Iron Treaty, a bond of peace that allowed them to work together and bring the Chaos King to an end of his own.
Except it wasn’t a permanent end. Killing Niazatos proved to be an impossible feat, so a group of supernaturals—one of each: a dragon, a fae, a Marvel, a vampire, and a shifter—managed to shut the Chaos King inside of an impenetrable prison deep near the core of the Earth, held closed by five enchanted locks.
That had happened centuries ago. Long enough for some to forget the horrors, twisting the memories and stories into something more revelatory. The Crimson Ring was born during that time, creating a cult clouded in the same bloodthirsty misery that their king worshipped. They were so sinister and smart with how they operated that they were able to create a public-facing front for recruitment simply dubbed Center of Betterment. They opened up various Centers around the country, locating them where they would lure in desperate people and give them a desperate option. Join the inner circle and find all your problems solved.
They didn’t have a central location or a singular leader, instead being spread out across the globe, pulling strings wherever they could in order to get closer to their goal. Just like the locks that held down Niazatos, there were five rumored heads of the Crimson Ring but only one known to everyone: Kyler Irons. He was locked up in the California State Prison, guarded around the clock by Marvels who could end him with the flick of a hand.
I flew through the air, slicing my way through the currents. I had one goal in mind: get to someone who could help talk me through this mess. I had a few really good friends I could call, but there was one in person in particular I wanted to chat with.
I tipped my wings in the direction of the Pacific Ocean, which glittered like a hand-painted backdrop dusted in diamonds. Surfers rode the curling waves with the same grace I rode the currents, other beach goers lying out on their colorful beach towels, soaking in the bright rays, shading their eyes and looking up when those rays were obstructed by a dragon-shaped shadow. Some of them sat up, prodding their friends to look up just as I passed over them.
Humans. Always so awed by the simplest of things.
Manticore Beach was ahead of me, its large black rock formations rising up from the pristine white sand, which reflected the bright sun. There were two particular rock formations that I knew my brother loved to hang out on, the massive columns coming together to create a private spot only accessible by flying.
I flared out my wings and slowed down my descent, giving a few flaps as I landed as gracefully as an eight-hundred-pound ice dragon can land. Damien, my brother, and Robby, his boyfriend, were standing on the far end of the rock formation, giving me space to land and shift back into human form.
“Madds, what are you doing here?” Damien asked, arms crossed and brows pushing together in concern.
“Sorry, man,” I tell him, wondering if I was interrupting something. “Dawn told me this is where I could find you. I would have sent a text, but who knows if those are getting read.”
“Are you in trouble?” Damien asked. His “big brother” mode clicked on, concern wrinkling his brows and green eyes narrowing to slits. “What is it? You’re worrying me.”
“I need your help. I think the Crimson Ring is after me.”
“Holy fuck” was both Robby and Damien’s response. Robby glanced at Damien, whose skin appeared to be made of porcelain from the lack of pores. Two sharp fangs glistened as he went to speak but couldn’t seem to find any of the words.
“Alright,” Damien said. “Start at the beginning.”
I rubbed at my face and looked out at the ocean underneath us. From this vantage point, we could practically see the entire beach. Behind us were the Malibu hills, where our castle sat perched like a gargoyle keeping watch.
“I’m not even sure where the beginning is,” I replied, turning back to my brother. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I was just trying to help Amelia, that’s all.”
“Amelia? I thought?—”
“Yes, she’s been sick, in the hospital. That’s why I’ve been out here looking for the three Moriarty paintings for her.”
My brother cocked his head before Robby jumped in. “What are those? Moriarty paintings? And who the hell is Amelia?”
“Amelia’s been one of my best friends since high school,” I explained, slipping my hands into the pocket of my black shorts. “She’s dying. Has Steel Skin Syndrome, only a few months left to live. If that. Ever since we were young, she’s loved the legend of the Moriarty paintings. It got her into the art field, but she could never get her hands on the three pieces.”
