“I put four drops in the mug.”
“How dare you disregard my instructions. Have you any idea what you’ve done? Magic is not to be used arbitrarily. This is not good. Not good at all.”
“What are you saying? Is he going to die? I told you he can’t. I’m not going to pay for this with my life.”
“You may not have a choice in that,” Oklin warned darkly.
“Are you saying this is going to kill him?”
“Don’t screech in my ear. He will not die, but this excessive amount is going to have enormous repercussions. His Majesty may be unable to escape his dragon form. It will tear apart his elven side, and he’ll be stuck unable to be with his mate or rule your people as he was intended.”
Wesley’s laugh was maniacal to Oklin’s ears. “So, he’s stuck as a dragon? Well, I guess you really did what I asked. I wanted him to disappear, and this way he has. A dragon can’t get in my way. I guess I owe you a great deal of gratitude.”
It was gratitude Oklin didn’t want. His conscience prickled as he thought of the damage Wesley had wrought. There was no antidote for his potion, and he doubted it was possible to create one. Once the elf was destroyed, he could not be brought back. This was not what he intended and though he wasn’t a dragon, his heart sank. “Don’t call me again.”
Oklin didn’t wait for a reply; he hung up and sank down onto the floor. At this moment on another continent, an elf was likely being torn apart by an overly aggressive dragon completely against his will. As a sorcerer and scientist, Oklin felt betrayed and horribly responsible for putting the weapon of His Majesty’s destruction in the hands of Wesley. He should’ve known better, and Oklin wondered what the hell he could possibly do now to fix any of it.
He followed the Arch Wizard because he’d been picked by Fate, even if he didn’t agree with his politics. Oklin could not contact the fallen knights or the sentinels. It was strictly forbidden by the Consilium Veneficus. There was no way to create a reversal potion; he would have to study the blood of the emperor to get started. His entire being in turmoil, Oklin decided what he needed most was a drink. Perhaps after he soaked his brain in alcohol, he could find a way to forgive himself for harming one of Fate’s own chosen. Each time he came into contact with a dragon, something went wrong. Perhaps it was time to re-evaluate his goals and assess if it all was worth it.
Beautiful to look at, these dragons were also dangerous, and though no one would know he was involved, the guilt wasn’t going to disappear anytime soon. Oklin cursed as he stood and headed for his kitchen. One thing was for sure; he wasn’t going to take one more damn call from Wesley’s loathsome ass. He hoped the fallen knights and the sentinels were able to unravel the puzzle of who put those fucking drops in His Majesty’s cup. That revolting dragon deserved to pay for his callous disregard of properly used magic. He’d separated two mates and the punishment for that would be death.
Once he had a full glass of nothing but pure alcohol in his hand, Oklin gulped it. It stung as it went down, but the warmth of his drink permeated his clammy skin. He stood, refilling his cup and guzzling the contents until the crushing emotions on his brain dulled. Oklin already knew the sting of what he’d done would never leave him, and the blame could be solidly placed on Wesley’s shoulders. Had his instructions been properly followed, there would be little harm done. Fuzzy from his imbibing, Oklin came to a decision.
It was true that directly contacting the Order of the Fallen Knights and the Sentinel Brotherhood was strictly forbidden, but there was nothing that said he couldn’t find a way to pass information in a roundabout way. He’d give them a few days to figure out Wesley’s betrayal and if they didn’t connect the dots, then Oklin was going to give them a nudge. An anonymous note sent magically to someone connected to the lot ought to do. Smiling, Oklin was surprised a giant exclamation point didn’t appear above his head, but he was quite drunk.
The Arch Lich was hated by nearly all wizardkind, but that was because Egidius had been a revoltingly jealous bastard. Arch Lich Chander was chosen by Fate, and so he should be respected, to Oklin’s way of thinking. He ruled the Order of Necromancia and just happened to be mated to the leader of the Sentinel Brotherhood. Oklin could discreetly pass a magical note—something possibly illegal as the rules were ever-changing but not quite a vicious offense as calling the Reverent Knights himself—and perhaps mention Wesley.
Since he didn’t have to worry about his own hide, Oklin could even suggest they check Wesley’s phone records. Somehow, there had to be something to connect him back to Oklin, even if he hadn’t used his normal cell phone. As emperor, there were probably sorcerers already studying His Majesty’s blood. They would already be aware there was a wizard involved. He couldn’t be punished by a government he didn’t belong to, so what difference did it make if they discovered it was him? It might even offer him an avenue to make a public statement explaining what that shit Wesley had done and how he’d never meant to hurt His Majesty. Oklin decided to lie on the floor when the room started spinning as he didn’t want to throw up the booze he’d so carefully poured into his stomach.
One week, he decided. If nothing connected Wesley to his crimes within the next one hundred and sixty-eight hours, Oklin would send the necessary information to the Arch Lich. That dragon needed to pay, and while nothing would strip away Oklin’s guilt, it was the least he could do to help. Desperation filled him as he thought of the poor elf being annihilated at the hand of his own creation. Mentally he sent off an apology to Their Majesties for unintentionally coming between them. He hadn’t been graced with his other half, but that didn’t mean he didn’t honor matebonds. Closing his eyes, Oklin allowed the lethargy washing over him to pull him into slumber. What he needed more than anything was sweet oblivion.
Chapter 13
Never had a weekend taken so long to be over, Chrysander thought as he dragged his hands over his face. It was early Monday morning and several days had passed since he’d last held Ellery in his arms. As if sensing his distress, his dragon mate nuzzled against his head. Ellery hadn’t strayed from his side as Sorcery D’Vaire had arranged to pour enormous amounts of Chrysander’s blood into him, trying to reverse the potion some criminal poisoned him with. It had no effect according to the people working around the clock to fix Ellery.
Their grim faces made Chrysander’s heart sink each time they appeared with no new answers. He wasn’t angry or frustrated with them. Chrysander could see how hard they were working, and there was no doubt they were exhausting every avenue. They were all fond of Ellery and wanted him back, though Chrysander more than anyone needed the elf. When the Arch Lich emerged from the office building, Chrysander didn’t rise from the mound of pillows and blankets that spilled out of the tent the Grand Warlock supplied him with.
Chander’s eyes were bloodshot, and his dark hair was sticking up in several directions. His shoulders were hunched, and he approached Chrysander and Ellery with his hands buried in the pockets of his ancient jeans.
“I just checked the clock,” Chander stated without preamble when he got close enough to be heard.
“It’s what? A little after seven?” Chrysander asked.
“Yeah, Council session is supposed to start soon.”
For the first time in his life, Chrysander didn’t feel the pull to put his dragons and the Council before everything else. His mate needed him, and that was all that mattered. “Ell’s still a dragon.”
“I know. We’re trying, Chrys.”
“I didn’t mean that as a criticism. I know you guys are doing everything you can.”
“If you want to stay here, I can handle Council session this morning.”
“I’d prefer you working with Sorcery D’Vaire.”
“You aren’t the only one. So, what do we do? Cancel it indefinitely?”
“Yes.” The word was barely out of his mouth when Ellery head-butted him hard enough that he fell over onto his side.
