More boulders slammed together all around them, circling them in.
Demevirld exhaled, shooting out more steam as his attention fixed on Maeve.
“A Sinclair,” he said, his voice vibrating through her bones.
She loosed a breath of disbelief. A dragon stood before her. Ten dragons surrounded her. An impossible fact, yet her eyes, and the blood coursing through her, said otherwise.
“How do you know my name?” she asked politely.
“Your scent,” he answered. “I have smelled it before.” Demevirld inhaled loudly, a hum of approval vibrating in his giant neck. “You share blood with Alian Sinclair.”
“You knew my Uncle?”
“Alian Sinclair was the last Magical to ever lay eyes on the Dragon. Before you.”
Maeve stammered. “He. . .” Then she understood. “He said he killed the last of you. . . he lied to protect you.”
Demevirld’s head lowered. “The Sinclair boy brought to Earth the skull and skin of Varra, who died of old age when he was here.”
“But why did he come here, if not to hunt you?”
“The Sinclair boy came here seeking knowledge. Knowledge of beastly afflictions.” His eyes traveled to Reeve. “Like the one on your brother, Antony Sinclair. Like the one on the Aterna at your side.”
A curse. Her father had told her, even back then: Reeve had been cursed. The Vexkari markings that traveled down his face made sense. He had been scarred by a curse.
“My Dragon form is not Aterna Magic, as I’m sure you’re understanding. Nor is it part of the Magic I inherited from my father.”
“No,” said Demevirld. “I placed a curse on you, boy. And I placed it well, it seems. How many moons did it take you to control your rage?”
Reeve smiled. “Many.” Reeve turned to Maeve.
Demevirld’s snout raised. He sniffed deeply.
“That is why you cannot transform freely,” said Maeve. “It was not a gift of power. It was a curse.”
Reeve nodded. “If I wanted to be human again, I had to learn to control my temper. My rage. After the Shadow War, after my father lost his mind, and Leandra died, I was so angry. More fury than one should know. I am ashamed of the beast I became. I just happened to come across Demevirld here on The Dark Planet, trying to escape the things that awaited me in Aterna. When I sought to take my fury out on him, he showed me just how pathetic I was.”
“The lesson was necessary,” said Demevirld. “Rage was consuming you.”
Maeve looked up at Reeve. He looked upon the ancient and deadly creature with respect and admiration. Demevirld snarled and spoke directly to Maeve, pulling her attention back up at his magnificent size.
“You are of Shadow Magic,” said Demevirld, and Maeve’s stomach tightened in fear. “I thought my grandfather eradicated such a thing.” The slits of his eyes narrowed and moved to Reeve. “You failed as well.”
“I did,” said Reeve. “Shadow lives.”
“No,” grumbled Demevirld. “You let the Sinclair with Shadow Magic live.”
Reeve hesitated. “I did.”
“I advised you not to.”
Reeve inhaled, long and slow, and then exhaled. “You did.” He looked down at Maeve. “But look at her, Demevirld. Have you ever felt such Magic?”
A low growl built in Demevirld’s throat, like fire swelling up. “It is a great source, a vessel like human bodies have not seen, I would imagine. I sense no Dread Magic beyond what sits on its finger.”
“She withdrew it all,” said Reeve, his voice laced with pride.
Demevirld’s pupils dilated. “Have you brought it here to defend your choices, Reeve?”
