Page 5 of Waking Her Dragon

This time, when Kara paused, Sydney jumped in with, “This is talking about Anya and Emma.”

“Okay. Yep. I see that,” the Dragon Queen agreed. “I want to meet them, too.”

“I promise you will meet everyone very soon.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Kara teased before returning to the text.

“A calling to heal, a hidden nature, a history long forgotten… All protected in the heart of a woman destined to complete a warrior and his Dragon. The revelation of all she is brought forth from the joining with her mate.”

“A complete circle of all called and confirmed, their Mates and their families, then increased by one, the twin of the warrior, also brother of the lost one, will become the Congress: a whole, perfect, harmonious unit that will bring about the Great Miracle.”

“When all is complete, and the Miracle recognized, the Ancients will speak through the Special One and the Child. They will bless two Clans. One whose scales are the color of the summer sky and the water when it is calm. The other, whose very nature is the embodiment of Dragonfire. These Clans and only these Clans, along with their Mates as they become known, will battle the denizens of Hell and bring the Devil himself to his knees.”

“If any of these great Dragons or their Mates are missing or the Blessing is not completed, all hope is lost. Hell has won the war. Dragonkin, humankind, and all the Others of the universe will be lost.”

Deafening silence followed. The pages of the volume had stopped turning. Kara had stopped speaking, and Sydney’s mind was racing.

Quickly putting all the pieces into the best order she could, Sydney commented, “Some of the words are changed from what I remember when Siobhan read this to everyone thirteen years ago, but correct me if I’m wrong; it could simply be the translation, right?”

“Absolutely,” Kara confirmed. “From what I see in your memories, I believe you are correct. It happens with all ancient languages.”

“But you actually spoke it,” Syd snickered. “So, I say we go with your translation.”

“Why, thank you, my dear. Now we need…”

“Sydney? Syd? Are you okay?”

The sound of Carrick’s voice shook her from the trip down Memory Lane she was on and demanded she answer. “Well, okay is a relative term.”

Her heart was once again racing. Carrick’s expression had gone from shocked to befuddled, downright confused, and truly worried. Opening her mouth to explain, she could only sigh.

Syd was utterly and completely exhausted. Not physical fatigue, but soul-deep spiritual exhaustion that she knew resonated from her like the lamp of a lighthouse in the dark, moonless night. She hadn’t truly rested in weeks, and the look on Carrick’s face said he’d never seen her like that, and he was seriously concerned.

Before she could say anything, he stepped to the side, motioned with his free hand, plastered on a smile, and invited, “Get in here, Syd. What can I…?”

Promising herself that she’d be polite and mind her manners as her mom had always told her to do, everything went straight to Hell in a handcart when she opened her mouth. “Sorry, Carrick. I don’t have time for pleasantries.” Tapping her temple, she kept going, the anxiety and fear in her tone something she couldn’t hide. “I’ve lost all contact with Garrett. I can’t even see his spirit in my mind’s eye. Something is wrong– really wrong…”

2

He hung from the ceiling like a broken monument. Hanging in utter and complete darkness, his full weight was held aloft by his shackled wrists wrapped in silver wire, barbed with the claws of ichneumon wasps. Every time his muscles spasmed, the metal bit deeper, and the venom of the foul predator slithered farther into his veins.

Sharp, aggressive hissing attacked his ears as the silver ate at his flesh like ravenous maggots on the carcass of a deer. Crackling and popping, the foul, chemical, coppery scent of burning blood– his blood– filled the air.

Throat raw and swollen, the passage nearly closed, he forced an inhale. Pain shot through his body. His lungs heaved. His chest caught fire. He was literally burning from the inside out…

And still the Demon Lord, Leviathan, the personification of envy, primordial chaos, darkness, and untamable wrath, did not stop. His propensity for torture knew no bounds. In his most primordial form: The Dragon of the Abyss, he tried to fight fire with fire.

Slapped in the chest with a barrage of raw, malicious, abhorrent Sorcery, the physical impact cracked Garrett’s ribs but stopped short of his core. Repelled by the stubborn, blinding pulse of his pure White Dragon Magic, he was spared instant death. That inner Light, a shield of goodness, continued to protect him, but maintaining it was costing him his mind, his memories…All that he had ever been.

The Black Magic didn't pierce the shield. It squeezed it. It gripped with an iron fist. It dug in with massive, hooked claws. The pressure inside his skull rose until blood ran from his eyes, coating his cheeks and spilling onto his chest.

Then came the ash. The air vanished, replaced by a suffocating torrent of the smoke of the dreaded Chimera. Forced down his throat, the fist of soot and fumes expanded and contracted as it sought to fill every fiber of his being. His inner Dragonfire choked. His soul tried to push back. The glittering thread connecting him to his Dragon King, Aodhan, frayed.

Vibrating with a high-pitched, agonizing whine that felt like a rusty saw blade dragging across his conscious mind, Garrett’s rage grew. He wanted to scream, to roar, to let the Dragon tear through his skin, but his body was a cage of agonizing paralysis, trapped in the eternal, breathless second between life and death.

The Demon Lord didn’t just want to break his body– he wanted everything. He wanted to possess Garrett. He wanted the Dragon King with whom he shared his soul. He wanted the location of his Clan’s Lair. He wanted to use all that Garrett was to destroy Dragonkin.

But when he thrust his consciousness into the Guardsman’s mind, he found only a vast, terrifying void.