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Icy rage filled every cell of my being. Every molecule that made me who I was contracted and contorted. My physique resembled a Stretch Armstrong doll being pulled and pushed and forced into a bigger, better, and more fearsome foe. Sith and I's sole focus was to move all we were into the compact, indestructible form of our Warrior Dragon.
The Magic of the Ancient Dragons beat against my body, forcing the large, elongated muscles Sith and I usually used for flying into my chest, biceps, and quads. The Earth beneath my feet shuddered, forcing me to dig the long claws jutting from the tips of my toes into the rock floor just to remain standing.
An inferno, like flaming shards of silver forged in the fires of the Earth’s core, sliced through the flesh and bone of my spine and ribs. The tips of Sith’s wings curled downward, turning inward towards my shoulder blades, pushing through the thick layer of scales, tearing into my flesh as if we were made of no more than wet paper.
Bone shattered, and muscles tore until I no longer possessed wings at all but instead had what looked like huge blades of an oversized battle-ax jutting from my back on either side of my body with long, venomous finger-claws extending from their razor-sharp edges. Oh, yeah, I was armed with everything the Universe could think of and then some. Moving them up and down and forward and back, an evil grin curled the corner of my shortened snout, and Sith and I mentally seethed in unison,“Today, the enemy pays for touching our Mate.”
Thank the Heavens. He was finally as pissed as I was.
Visions of slashing the green monster – a Yule Lad if all the clues were right - to ribbons while injecting him with our acidic poison made us both hunger for the battle. It would be a slow and painful death, for there was no antidote to the toxin we possessed, and it didn't matter. We would leave him to die in agony without so much as a backward glance. In our mind, it was a just end for the one who'd dared to touch Lucy.
The talons at the ends of my fingers tingled as they doubled in size and girth, and their hooked tips shook with the need to rip through Yule Lad flesh. My eyes flew back to Lucy's, but hers were closed. Tapping back into our Mating Bond after closing it off so she would not experience the pain of our Shift, I heard her heartbeat. Faint and thready, but still beating.
Pushing off the rock floor, I launched myself into the air, stretching my paws toward the Yule Lad's chest. I saw the fear in his eyes. He knew what I was capable of and knew he'd fucked up in an epic and deadly way. The bastard went from confident predator to scared prey caught in a trap in the blink of an eye.
Moving so fast, he was little more than a blur - even to my preternatural sight, he was nothing but a flash of green and fur. I saw it for what it was. The bastard did the only thing he could. He threw Lucy's limp, unconscious body into the air and turned to run away.
Pouring all that we were into our wingless flight, Sith and I stretched our arms as far as they would go. Catching Lucy in midair, I didn't have time to do anything but lay her safely behind the boulder to my left and tell the tiny Gingerbread Woman I instinctually knew was my Mate's Familiar what to do. "Take care of her, please. I'll be back."
Not waiting for an answer, I shot upright and spun to the right. Out of the corner of my eye, I clocked Gryla, the Icelandic Christmas Witch braced against the farthest wall. She was shaken but would be fine. Making sure there was no one else in the room, my gaze gobbled up the vast array of torture devices and tools, chains and shackles, and an honest-to-the-Goddess Iron Maiden. Yes, I mean an upright iron casket with spikes on the inside that will impale the victim when the door is shut. It even had the crank on the side to be sure the person inside was good and dead before opening the door. We were in a dungeon – no doubt about it.
Suddenly, everything became clear. We weren’t in some random cave in the middle of the Hinterlands. We were in the legendary and highly speculated about Castle of Iceland’s Christmas Witch.
“But why didn’t we know where we were?”I asked Sith.
“I’ll explain later,”he growled in response.“We have bigger problems.”
Focusing all my attention on the direction Sith was looking, I froze. I simply could not believe my eyes. My left foot hit the ground, and my right was following suit when the Yule Lad I needed to beat the shit out of ran face-first into yet another Gryla.
The massive head of our Warrior Dragon snapped to the first Gryla. Her eyes were wide. One hand was over her heart while the other was against the wall, and her head was slowly shaking as she mouthed, "No."
“What the hell is happening?”I demanded of my Dragon King.
“Look with the Magic you’ve been given. Put aside your anger and see what is really there,”Sith ordered, his tone leaving no room for discussion.
Doing as I was told, I inhaled deeply as the veil of the Mystical Sight I'd inherited from my mother fell over my eyes. Instantly, I saw everything through a light emerald filter showing only the naked truth. The façade of the long, orange hair, high cheekbones, perfectly pert nose, bright blue eyes, and glowing green skin I knew to be the authentic Icelandic Christmas Witch was gone, and what I saw pissed me right off.
Wearing a freshly pressed western shirt with bright red rhinestones on the yoke and matching buttons running down his hefty chest and a tummy that would make the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man envious, I knew that asshole. Fuck! I was related to him.
To make matters worse, his bolo tie sported the Archer Family crest that he most definitely was not supposed to be wearing, and the bolo clips at the bottom of the cord had been engraved with the glowing eyes of Satan's very own Hellcat, Priscilla. Dammit! How did he keep walking out of the Underworld like the Gates of Hell were a revolving door?
I wish it ended there, but sadly, it continued. I couldn't miss the crease that had been ironed right down the center of both of the legs of the asshole's Wrangler blue jeans, the big, wide leather belt embossed with flames, or the massive silver buckle that matched his bolo clips tucked up tight under his aforementioned belly. How in all that's holy did that useless excuse for a human get his clothes washed and pressed in the Underworld? He and Mother Archer were supposed to be locked away in the deepest Pit of Hell, scooping ginormous Hellcat turds out of the largest cat boxes ever created anywhere and everywhere.
"Stop right there, Bocephus Archer," Sith demanded, using Big Daddy's government name. "With the strength of the Universe and The Powers That Be, I command you to…."
“SHUT UP, WORTHLESS DRAGON! I will kill this Yule Lad, his mother, and that worthless excuse for Brown Witch if you don’t zip your snout and do as I say!” He roared.
Repeating the action the Yule Lad had used on Lucy while still wearing the Magical façade of Gryla, Big Daddy's hand shot out and closed around the neck of the Icelandic Christmas Witch's son. Snatching his feet off the ground, Big Daddy swung the huge Yule Lad - who was at least as tall as I was - over his head and spun him around like a ragdoll.
Looking for an in, a way to get to Big Daddy without him seeing us coming and without getting clobbered by a flying Yule Lad, I felt a shift in the Ether. My Mystical Sight shook and wavered.The tiny hairs on the nape of my metaphysical neck stood on end. "What was that?"I mentally whispered.
“Look at the Yule Lad,”Sith immediately responded. “He’s unconscious, dare I say, almost dead from the sound of his heartbeat. It only stands to reason that whatever he used to damper the Magic on the mountain has been stripped away without his constant attention. That should….”
“Duck!”I yelled as the limp body of the Yule Lad came flying toward us.
Once again, I was amazed at the agility of my Dragon King as he bent at the waist, swiveled at the hips, and spun on his toes. Right back up to our full height of ten feet, he took a long stride forward, reached out with his left paw, and grabbed Big Daddy by the shoulder.
Jerking the embarrassment of the Archer Family backward right before his hand closed over the true Gryla's arm, Sith flung Big Daddy across the room. In that second, everything moved in slow motion. I could see the spittle flying from my uncle's lips, even more blood vessels breaking in the whites of his muddy brown eyes, and ultimately, I could hear the crunch of the bones when his skull made contact with the rock wall of the dungeon.
