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“You’re forgetting about my human blood again. I can’t just cut those emotions off completely. Julian said I needed to open my senses, to feed on the anger of my dragon, to use my full powers.”
“He’s right. Our senses are a large part of our powers. But unfortunately genetics play just as big a part. Your blood is more than you think, and you come from the line of a great warrior. The power is in you if you wish it to be.”
I knew a gift of good genetics did make a difference. I thought of Erik and what it must feel like to live forever and have nothing. To watch others grow and do amazing things and have to stand by and be an observer.
“There are many others like your brother,” Esmerelda said. “There are so many of our people who are nothing more than long-lived humans. And often they choose to live the life span of a mortal. The powerless lead a solitary existence because Drakán are drawn to power. Many cause their own deaths to keep from having to live an eternity alone. But you are different. Your power is inside you, lying dormant and waiting for you to release it.”
“I don’t know how,” I confessed. The breakfast I’d eaten was like lead in my stomach.
“But you do know how. Can you not visualize yourself as a dragon? Can you not feel the pull and tug of her wanting to escape your fragile shell?”
Of course I could feel her. She’d been a part of me my entire life.
“Our powers are very basic, fed by heat and fire.” Esmerelda said, “What color is your dragon?”
I didn’t know. Whenever my dragon nudged me too hard, whenever our thoughts were too aligned, I always did my best to push her away—to reject that part of me. I refused to see her. Dragon color was hereditary. My father was red—a red so dark it was almost black, and the members of our clan who could transform were all shades of the color.
I very tentatively called to my dragon. She was already close because she’d felt my turmoil, and I shivered as she rubbed against the inside of my skin. For the first time I looked at her clearly. She shimmered silver, almost the exact shade of my eyes, and I gasped in surprise. She was beautiful and tears sprang to my eyes.
“Very good, my dear. You’re a fast learner.”
“What?” I asked, opening my eyes in confusion.
She nodded toward me and I looked down. My neck and chest were covered in silvery scales, iridescent in the light. I lifted my shirt and saw my stomach was the same. But I wasn’t fully transformed, my legs and hands were normal. I started to panic and the flesh of my human body came back into sight.
“Why am I silver? This can’t be right.” Horror pierced my chest as scenarios went through my mind. Was it possible Alasdair wasn’t really my father after all? No wonder he hated me. Did I belong to anyone? There were no silver dragons in any clans that I knew of.
“You are exactly as you are supposed to be,” Esmerelda soothed. “And Alasdair is your father. But you know as well as I do that genetics are a fickle thing. Sometimes they dredge up the unexpected.”
“I don’t think I want this,” I said.
“You will. It’s really very simple,” Esmerelda assured me. “If you can close your eyes and see your true self, then the change will happen. You must embrace it, Rena. Don’t turn your back on what you are. You need to practice transforming, and when you’re comfortable I’ll teach you how to fly.”
I wasn’t anywhere near ready to take that step. As much as I hated to fly in airplanes, I couldn’t imagine flying without one. But I was curious enough about the change that I’d try to transform again once I got back to my room. Maybe I’d just imagined the color of my scales. I prayed to the gods that Alasdair never saw the true color of my dragon form, because he’d kill me on sight.
ChapterFifteen
Isearched through the clothes Julian had stocked in the wardrobe for something appropriate to wear to thesfara. There wasn’t a single color other than black, not that I expected there to be. I knew without looking that there wasn’t anything in the suitcases I’d brought. I hadn’t planned on attending any formal events while searching for The Destroyer.
My choice of clothing would be important. I had to dress to impress Julian—to impress his people—but at the same time I needed something functional and easy to maneuver in if things became violent.
I paced restlessly around the confines of my room and watched the minutes tick by on the clock. I still had three hours before thesfarabegan, and I was sick of my own company. I had to get out of this place. I was under the impression Julian wanted me to think I was a guest. That I was welcome to come and go as I pleased. But in reality I knew that was an illusion. I’d have to find a way out on my own.
I’d never doubted my compulsion ability before, but Julian and Xana had certainly made me a little self-conscious. I didn’t bother to try to sneak out of the chateau. In my experience, people were more likely to question you if you looked guilty. I grabbed a light jacket and closed the door to my room behind me. I headed down the stairs as if I owned the place.
There were two guards at the front door, both Drakán and both with average powers. I could have taken them, but I didn’t want to if I could help it. Security cameras sat unobtrusively in each corner of the foyer. I turned in the opposite direction and headed toward the back of the house. I figured going through the back garden and over the fence was my best bet for escape.
I hadn’t taken the time to explore the chateau during my short stay, so my knowledge of the floor plan was minimal. I finally came to a small room, something similar to a den, with plush leather couches and a large-screen TV that took up almost an entire wall. It was all black of course, but it also had a set of French doors that led out into the garden. Perfect.
The rain had stopped and the sun was finally peeking out from the clouds. I reached the French doors and had my hand on the silver handle when I felt an ominous presence behind me. One I wasn’t familiar with. I whirled around and ducked low into a fighting stance. I swept my leg out and hit what felt like a block of cement. Something cracked in my ankle, but I ignored the pain. The man didn’t fall flat on his back as I had planned. I hadn’t budged him an inch.
I moved to attack again, but he held up his hands to stop me and backed out of reach.
“You shouldn’t sneak up behind me if you want to live,” I said. I finally looked him over from head to toe. He was intimidating—the size of a small tree and bald as a billiard. The dragon tattoo on his skull moved when his facial expressions changed, making it look alive.
“I am Olaf,” he said.
“Of course you are. Why were you sneaking up on me, Olaf?”
