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Maksim avoided the worst attacks by jumping through the shadows, which enraged his father further. His mind screamed that he didn’t want to do this—that he would never want to hurt his father—but it was drowned out by the blood rage and the addictive lure of the dark magic.
Thunder filled the valley from their clash, and their blood painted the lawn of the home they’d shared for a century. Very little of Maksim remained, and Timofey was incoherent, mentally cursing as his dragon roared and snapped.
Maksim shot one of his spines at the other dragon. It struck his father’s right back leg and ripped a gash through the scales to the flesh beneath. He savagely bit the wound. The brown dragon roared in pain and paused his attack. That moment was all it took for the taste of dragon blood to hit Maksim’s senses. Every value and inhibition vanished. There was only thirst. Nothing mattered but the blood.
His conscious awareness faded, and Maksim blacked out, leaving the bestial vampiric dragon in control of their shared body. Timofey fought valiantly, but he was no match for Maksim’s power or his ruthlessness after the bloodlust consumed him.
When Maksim returned to himself, it was still dark. He rose slowly, noting that he was in human form, naked, and covered with blood. The lawn was so drenched with blood and gore that he didn’t recognize the hellish landscape at first. The moon’s reflection made the puddles of blood look like nightmarish tidepools and glittered on the snow. He felt queasy as scraps of memory resurfaced in his mind, filling in the gaps so he could piece together what had happened.
He reached the obvious conclusion and looked around in horror. The scattered body parts could only be his father’s remains. Maksim had ripped him to shreds and gorged on his entrails. That visual surfaced with crystal clarity, and he wanted to vomit.
He rebelled at the thought of harming his father. However, a persistent voice declared him the superior warrior and was satisfied that he had emerged victorious in his first real fight. For the first time since Maksim had awoken as a vampire, he wasn’t thirsty. Bliss and renewed power coursed through him.
He was sad and ashamed that things had gone so wrong, but his human emotions were overshadowed by the delight of discovering a way to relieve both the unending thirst and the gnawing hunger. It wasn’t just Therian blood and flesh he needed. Maksim had to hunt and feed on other dragons. He grinned at the thought of being a cannibal and preying upon the dragons who had made his existence possible. He liked the irony.
He walked through what remained of his childhood home. He would never return here, and he saw nothing he felt compelled to carry into his new life. The man he had been, the one who had lived here for a century, was dead and had risen as more.
As he changed back to dragon form, Maksim examined the mansion, experiencing conflicting emotions. His thoughts whirled, drowning him in sorrow before lifting him with pride. The dragon sighed and launched into the air, then turned back to spray the house and the fields with obsidian flames. He watched until only smoking ashes remained.
Maksim decided he had been right about the Therians. They couldn’t be trusted. Nadya had shown him the true nature of vampires, and his father had demonstrated the vileness that lived in the dragons' hearts. He felt nothing as he flew away, abandoning the scorched earth of his childhood home, his father’s impromptu grave, and his humanity.
He didn’t stop until he reached the home he’d shared with Nadya. It too was abandoned, the ashes of countless pyres still visible. Maksim changed into human form and stumbled through the halls to the master bedroom. He fell into bed, naked, bloody, and exhausted, and instantly slipped into a deep sleep.
Maksim dreamed about Nadya and awoke determined to rebuild his forces and take the Therians on. He would destroy their empire and wipe it from history.
His beloved had been working with a group of rebel Therians who were not satisfied with the new king. She’d always spoken to their leader privately, but Maksim had met the man.
She’d introduced him as Jules.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rebel Therians’ Safe House, Saturday, January 19, 2013, Evening
Jules’ anxiety grew each day that he did not get a report on the rebels’ attack on the palace. After his captives had been rescued, the slavers Jules had kept with him had returned to what was left of the abandoned Russian town. Jules hadn’t risked returning, but he had sent some of his underlings to retrieve anything worth having from the stores.
Sorting through the things they’d salvaged had given him something to do as he waited for news of the battle. By the next day, he’d known things hadn’t gone according to plan, so Jules did what he did best and saved his own skin, no matter who got hurt.
Secure in a tiny safe house a few hour's flight from the palace, Jules waited, wondering how he’d gotten into this situation and how he might escape it. He was safe for the moment. Jules had no connection to this house and didn’t see how the Therians could track him here. He’d picked an isolated home in the right area, slaughtered its occupants, and taken their place. The minions he’d brought with him were useless for anything beyond simple errands. He needed his pack.
In frustration, he ran a hand through his short, spiky brown hair. Waiting for news was agonizing, but if things had gone well at the palace, one of his people would have called. Hiding from the consequences of his actions had kept Jules in the dark about much of what had happened in the supernatural world during the past week, but he still hoped to contact the rest of his pack.
The Therians had sent a massive force to rescue the captives, so Jules was grateful that he hadn’t stuck around to see how things played out. He’d survived this long in the cutthroat slavery business by knowing when to run. He was the general who sent his valiant troops into battle. After this loss, he had to survive to keep the rebellion going. Their way of life was at stake, and he couldn’t risk dying, or all might be lost.
He didn’t know what had gone wrong during the palace attack. With the strongest Therians on a rescue mission to save the royal, the people he’d sent to the palace should have overtaken the guards left behind to protect the royal stronghold. Jules had bet everything on that invasion, and he had the sinking suspicion that he’d lost it all. His only remaining assets were his wits.
Jules hadn’t taken anything with him when he left except the burner phone programmed with his inner circle’s numbers. Shortly after establishing his safe house, he’d sent a message asking for reports, but none of his people had responded. Jules was no longer hopeful, so when his phone rang eight days after the attack, it made him jump. He had given up on hearing from his people again.
“Speak,” Jules ordered after answering the call on the second ring. According to the caller ID, it was Gaspard, now second-in-command after Jules had shot Louis in a fit of rage. Gaspard was too weak to meet Jules’ high standards as a right hand, but he was smart and knew how to keep his mouth shut.
“Hey, Boss.” The hyena shifter sounded out of breath and scared. “It’s bad, Jules. We never even made it into the palace. Nadya’s vampires used us for cover and attacked at the same time, using witches to portal inside while we kept them distracted.”
“FUCK!” Jules screamed, barely resisting the urge to throw the phone in anger. “That slippery bitch. I didn’t expect her to betray us. Where have you been? The battle was over a week ago!”
“They’ve been chasing us!” Gaspard huffed. “Most of our people were fucking slaughtered, Jules. Oscar and Eliott are gone, but I have Mathis and Leon with me. Only a handful of us survived, and we’ve been running for our lives.”
That got through to Jules. “They’re all gone?”
Gaspard sighed. “I started with fifteen, and there are only six of us left. If we don’t get help, there won’t be any. That’s not the biggest news, though, Boss. Nadya is dead.”
