His brother’s voice reflected his horror and Tyrez shared it. Archmages could pull life essences directly from their surroundings, with devastating consequences. “If he’s an Archmage, where did he come from? The named ones were accounted for.”
Another pause, followed by more opening and closing drawers. The wall outside was lined with cabinets. “If he truly is, this issue just got a whole lot more complicated.”
Razir’s footsteps approached the Oracle’s room, and Tyrez moved toward the bed. What he sensed contained a deep, abiding torment that twisted his heart and soul. A shiver passed through him.
“It’s pretty intense.” His brother appeared in the entryway. Violet flashes within his deep purple gaze reflected his own discomfort.
Tyrez’s throat was so locked up he couldn’t speak. When was the last time he’d been flooded with such emotion? He couldn’t remember. It was far from normal for a Dragon to feel it so deeply.
It grew worse as he examined the rings bolted into the walls, one of which trailed a long chain that ended in a manacle. Ripping his gaze from it, he pulled back the covers from the bed, seeking the most intense scent he could find. But what Tyrez detected from beneath the covers wasn’t just scent.
And it blasted through him.Shards, why did it feel like that? Like it was twisting his heart until it tore to pieces?
“Are you all right?” Razir had moved closer, until he stood at the foot of the bed.
“Do you feel it?” Tyrez glanced at his brother.
Razir tilted his head. “I feel his pain. But I do not feel madness in it. I think this Oracle is sane.”
That wasn’t what Tyrez had meant, but Razir was right.
The women they’d rescued had met the Oracle. “His name is Firashe,” Tyrez reminded him, horrified when his voice broke. When his brother shot him a look, Tyrez straightened and averted his gaze. His gut reaction seemed rather hysterical—not becoming of a Legion warrior.
As Razir busied himself going through dresser drawers, Tyrez sat on the bed and opened the cabinet beneath the bedside table. He stared at the stack of books within it. Paper copies could be carried between realms, so they were more common among his kind.
He lifted a few out. Firashe liked Urban Fantasy, it seemed. He had the full series of Nightshifter, written by L.E. Horn. The books’ pages were worn, as though read repeatedly, a concept borne out by the bent corners to mark certain sections. Tyrez’s fingers ran over the covers. He’d enjoyed this series too. Tales of hope. Of heroes. And shapeshifters.
He put the books on the nightstand and dug through the rest—his brow rising at the romances. Interesting choice for a male Dragon. But he was so alone...
As Tyrez sat back, his hand fell to the pillow. Something harsh rolled between his fingers, and he looked down.
Scales. So pale a gold they were almost silvery. When he lifted the pillow and shook it, they drifted down to the bed. He gathered them in the palm of a hand, and once again, his heart twisted.
Razir had moved on from the dresser and was now in the adjoining bathroom. Feeling stupidly furtive, Tyrez picked up the book, cracked it open, and set the scales within the pages before closing it again.
He told himself that the DNA within them could tell the Legion which family line had generated Firashe. When Razir reappeared from the bathroom, he stated, “I found scales.”
Razir held up a small envelope. “There’s more in the bathroom. Way too many to be normal. He can’t be shifting in there—not enough room. His stress must be causing him to shed excessively. But we can send them for DNA analysis.”
Tyrez nodded as he gathered up the books.
“Why are you taking those?” Razir asked. “Fingerprints won’t tell us anything, especially the way you’re pawing them.”
Tyrez shrugged. “I liked this series. No sense in leaving them here.”
His brother shot him a look, but said nothing more as he led the way to the gate that would take them home.
Tyrez was grateful that Razir didn’t press on it. He was loath to admit, even to himself, that he’d taken the books because Firashe’s scent and life essence permeated every single page.
I will free you.The vow came out of nowhere, but Tyrez embraced it with every fibre of his being. Dragons did not take such things lightly.
He would free Firashe. Or die trying.
* * *
During the day, the homeless became invisible.
Not literally, of course. But the swarm of humanity that invaded the offices and stores walked right by them, eyes straight. It wasn’t always a conscious thing. Society discouraged nosiness. Some simply considered it good manners.
