Dragon Trial: Dragon Guard Series book 1 Read online

  “Hey, Helgi. Fancy a tumble?” a barrel-chested guy by the window called out.

  “Unless you have tits and a cunny, I’m not interested,” Helgi shot back.

  “Aw, he ain’t got the tits,” his companion said. “But he sure is a cunny.”

  Helgi guffawed as I choked into my ale.

  A shadow fell over the table. “Anya?”

  Oh, fuck. I’d know that voice anywhere. I glanced up into Dunstan’s handsome, arrogant face. He was big, almost as tall as me, and the only male I’d allowed myself to feel anything for. Young, foolish Anya with stars in her eyes and hope in her heart. Dunstan had killed that with a reality check when I’d found him with a real woman. One that made him feel like a man, one that couldn’t pick him up and throw him around the fucking barn. It had hurt, but not as much as his face when I’d buried my fist in it. And that was me done when it came to relationships. Funny thing was, once I was no longer interested, the arsehole wouldn’t leave me alone. The man was like a throwing star, cutting and deadly and impossible to lose.

  “How have you been, Anya? It’s been a while,” he said with his signature smolder.

  “Not long enough.” I didn’t bother to offer him a smile.

  “You’re looking well,” Helgi said. “How were your travels?”

  Dunstan was a hired hand like us. In fact, it had been through his recommendation that we’d gotten our first gig with Barret. His way of apologizing for being an ass, no doubt.

  “Travels were productive,” he said.

  Helgi shot me a sly glance. “Join us.”

  Bitch. She was getting back at me for the curvy brunette at the bar. That’d teach me to cunny block her. I grit my teeth as Dunstan took her up on the offer. His knees brushed against mine under the table, and the impulse to flinch was almost too much.

  “How’s the old man?” he asked me.

  “Fine.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Have you heard the rumors about the sentinels?”

  Helgi nudged me under the table with her knee, and my ears perked up because information was information.

  “Common belief is that the Draco are up to something,” Dunstan continued.

  Sentinels were the Draco’s eyes. They sent them over the Outlands every so often. They were hovering discs that gathered data to take back to Draco City. We had no idea what the information was used for.

  “Sentinels are always hovering above the Outlands,” Helgi scoffed. “They’re probably trying to locate all the smugglers exporting tech out of Draco City, or making sure that we aren’t gathering an army in preparation to attack the city and take it back, or checking the Dreki haven’t somehow found their way here.”

  She was right, the sentinels were harmless. If the Draco wanted to attack, we’d have no chance at defense. Even though Skins probably outnumbered the Draco two to one, the Draco had the tech and armory to bring us to our knees. Our primitive weapons didn’t hold a candle to their sophisticated ones. We still relied on fossil fuels while they’d engineered an alternative that was limitless and twice as powerful. The only way a Skin ever made it into the city was if they were signing up for the army or for servitude.

  “It’s more than that,” Dunstan said. “They’re gearing up for something, we just don’t know what. I’ve put the feelers out, but so far crickets.”

  If Dunstan was entertaining the idea that something was about to go down, then maybe we should be wary? He was a tosser when it came to romance, but he was excellent in the spying and intelligence department.

  Dunstan glanced over my head and the skin around his eyes tightened. He cursed under his breath. “I have to go, but I’ll see you around.” He slid out of the booth and made to duck into the crowd.

  That was it? No come-on. No innuendo? Something was wrong.

  “He’s running,” Helgi said in a singsong voice.

  Shit, she was right.

  “There he is!” someone shouted.

  Dunstan froze on the edge of the crowd and turned back. His body was tense even though his expression was amiable. He held up his hands. “Guys. I was just coming to find you.”

  Three large males strode up to our table. One had green scales running down the side of his face and across his neck and collarbone. The other had the vertical pupils and yellow irises of the Dreki, and his hands were covered in thick leather gloves, probably hiding another deformity. The final Skin had the flared nostrils and turgid upper lip of his Dreki ancestors. All three were openly carrying weapons—breach load, double barrel shotguns sawn off to pistol size, and Magnum bolt-action rifles. The shotguns were pretty common, but the rifles could bring down big game in a single shot. They were expensive and wielded predominately by only one type of Skin.

  Mercenaries.

  Dunstan was in shit with a band of mercenaries. Of all the scrapes to get into ... Seriously? The guy was a beautiful moron.

  Dunstan flashed the mercs a grin. “Guys, guys, I’m sure we can resolve this like gentlemen.”

  “You ain’t no gentleman, D,” the turgid-lipped merc said. “You’re a fucking double-crossing thief. Now hand it over.”

  “I don’t have it.” He looked over at us. “I just sold it to them.”

  The mercs turned their thick necks to look at us, and Dunstan bolted.

  Ah, shit. I slid out of the booth with Helgi at my back. “He’s lying, obviously.”

  Turgid-lip, the spokesperson of the trio, looked me up and down. “How about we make sure?”

  He stepped toward me, hands out, ready to frisk me.

  He never made it.

  A fist connecting with bone is always a satisfying sound, especially when that bone belongs to someone who could tear you a new one given half the chance and the fist belongs to you. Mercs are lethal, so hearing one scream like a bitch was mighty satisfying.

  Helgi, the crazy cow, burst into belly laughs. The merc’s backup team recovered from their shock and moved in for the kill. The Skin with the mashed nose glared at me with bloodshot eyes that bled murder.

  Helgi’s laughter cut off. “Anya, shit is about to get crazy.”

  My lips parted in a grin. “Hell, yes.”

  Chapter Two

  Bloody, bruised, and euphoric, we stumbled out of the Tap.

  “And stay out!” Henry, the owner, yelled.

  Once things had kicked off, everyone had jumped in. It had been the classic snowball effect, and we probably wouldn’t be welcome at the Tap for a while. Neither would the mercs. They staggered out behind us now, their laughter drifting up like smoke into the night air—three hulking Skins with swollen eyes, busted lips, and crazy-ass grins on their faces.

  Man it felt good to blow off some steam. It was the Skin way. Aggression ran in our veins, and although most of the time we could be pretty chill, our flip switch was always to hand.

  The mercs fell into step beside us. “You have a killer right hook,” scale face said.

  I side-eyed him. “Yeah? Well, that uppercut you threw almost knocked me out.”

  He chuckled, hawked, and spat blood. “Ever thought about going into the merc business?”

  Yeah, I’d considered it. But being a merc meant being constantly on the move. It would mean leaving Dad behind. As much as the thought thrilled me, it wasn’t an option. “Not for me, thanks.”

  “Well, if you ever change your mind ...” He left the sentence hanging and gave me a split-lipped grin. “A pleasure rumbling with you.”

  I wiped at my bloody nose. “You too.”

  “If you see that fucker Dunstan, you tell him we won’t forget this, and if we didn’t have another job lined up, we’d be gunning for his traitorous arse.”

  “What did he take?” Helgi asked.

  “The loot from the last job. Some old rusted key. Looks useless, but it’s worth a pretty penny. The bastard snuck off with it while we were asleep.”

  Sounded like Dunstan, which was why we’d never actually worked with him. Dunstan wasn’t
a team player. It was all about him, both when it came to work and when it came to play. The man only did what served him best.

  “Don’t worry. If I see Dunstan again he’ll be kissing my fist with his teeth.”

  The merc gave a wet laugh and spat out more blood onto the dusty ground. “See you around, ladies.” He offered us a salute and then headed east with his men, their tight butts vanishing into the night.

  We ambled toward Juniper.

  “We shouldn’t have intervened,” Helgi said softly.

  For a moment I was lost as to what she was talking about, but then the penny dropped. We were back to Rae, but there was no way I’d have Helgi feeling guilty about trying to save a woman from domestic violence.

  I climbed up onto Juniper. “Fuck that. We did the right thing. She’ll see that one day. Let’s get out of here.”

  My fingers were on the ignition when the Tap door slammed open and a female came running out.

  “Helgi! Wait.” The female jogged toward us, tits jiggling in the moonlight.

  Helgi plastered a smirk on her face. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  Yeah, it really was. She’d talk about Rae when she was ready, or not at all, whatever. But right now she needed a distraction, because that was how my friend dealt with pain—diversion and distraction.

  I turned away. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  “Yeah ...”

  But she was already gone, her mind probably focused on the pleasures she could ring from the pliable body desperate to be played. I fingered the paper in my pocket. Barret’s hush-hush reaction and his hasty exit told me this job was going to be big, and my gut told me it was going to change our lives. Juniper purred to life and the flatlands beckoned me home.

  * * *

  The house was shrouded in darkness. It was a solid building, better than most in this part of Dust Town. The third floor was in ruins, but we’d boarded it off and made it water-tight using sheets of plastic and corrugated metal. It had been home for the better part of my life but had never completely felt like roots.

  I’d left the back door unlocked, so I snuck in that way now. The kitchen was in shadow, but my feet knew exactly where to step to avoid the creaks and groans. My bed was calling, and my body ached to be free of leather and rough cotton. I was almost at the steps when the room was suddenly bathed in light.

  “Where were you?” a stern male voice asked.

  Ah, crap. “Hey, Dad, you’re up.”

  “Stating the obvious—a sure sign of guilt,” he said dryly. He glared at me from beneath bushy brows from his spot by the kitchen sink. Despite the gray hair and beard and the whole I-should-be-old air, my dad was tall, straight-backed, and pretty scary when he was pissed.

  Like now.

  “I went for a drink with Helgi. It was fine.” Maybe a smile would help, but my busted lip had me wincing instead.

  He studied me and tightened his dressing gown belt. “Your broken face says otherwise.”

  Licking my split lip, I reached up to gingerly touch my swollen eye. “This? Pah. This is nothing. You should see the other guys.”

  “Guys?”

  Damn the ale. Time to pull my foot from my big mouth. “Look, Dad. I’m fine, okay? I can take care of myself. I’m not a child.”

  He placed the lamp on the table. “Of course you can, and of course you’re not.” And here came the sarcasm. “That’s why you go out and get into a fight. That’s why you sneak off like a criminal in the middle of the night.” He stared at me levelly. “We have a farm to run.” His tone grew soft and serious. “A business that puts food on the table. How can you work the land if you’re injured?”

  I pressed my lips together, ignoring the jab of pain.

  He threw up his hands in despair. “Haven’t I taught you better? Haven’t I taught you how important it is to have a roof overhead?”

  He was understandably upset. He didn’t know the truth, didn’t know how little we made from the business. “Yes, you have. I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You need to promise this won’t happen again. The farm must come first. It is our bread and butter. Promise me.”

  Oh, fuck. There was no way I could do that.

  “Anya!” he snapped.

  My temper, always balancing on a razor’s edge, flared, but I tamped down on it. “I can’t make that promise.”

  He sat back and blinked at me in surprise. “Why?”

  I ran a hand over my face. It looked like it was going to be a night of revelations. “The farm is no longer viable, okay? This farm is dead. It’s been dead for years, and the food on the table you’re talking about comes from me.”

  He stared at me, wide-eyed. “What ... What do you mean?”

  Damn the lip-loosening effects of shitty ale and a good rumble. The nearest chair beckoned, and I was suddenly bone-weary.

  Lowering my body onto the creaking wood, I locked eyes with my dad. “I lied to you about how much we were bringing in on the produce. Competition is fierce, and to be honest, the cow stopped giving milk months ago, and the hens rarely lay any longer. Our quality is ... questionable.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand ...”

  Of course he didn’t. The farm had been his dream, but he had no clue how to run it, not really. He spent his days digging the fields, feeding the animals, and tending his herb garden, and I’d let him, because, well, he’d saved me, and I owed him.

  “Anya?”

  He was looking at me expectantly, waiting for the truth. Here goes. “As well as helping out in Helgi’s workshop, I’ve been running jobs.”

  He frowned. “Jobs? What kind of jobs.”

  “The odd retrieval and a few beatdowns, that kind of thing. We’re doing good. The money is good.”

  His lips tightened. “Helgi and you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where are you finding these jobs?”

  I ran a hand over my face, flinching when my palm grazed my eye. “The Tap mainly, through contacts we’ve made. Dunstan set us up with one of his facilitators.”

  My dad pulled out a chair and sat down. “You think that’s a good use of your training? The training I gave you to protect yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. We needed the money.” But it was more than that, and from the look on his face, he knew.

  His shoulders rose and fell in a heartfelt sigh. “It’s my fault. I should have asked more questions, been more aware. This.” He spread his hands. “This will never be enough for you.”

  Guilt clawed at my belly, followed quickly by familiar panic. What did he mean? What was he saying?

  I leaned forward, reaching for his hands. “It is enough. It is.”

  And in that moment, I was a child again, afraid and desperate and defiant all at the same time. Convinced that this haven, this home, would be taken from me, but adamant not to show my savior how much this sanctuary meant to me.

  He must have read my emotions on my face because he scooted forward and clasped my hand in both of his. “This is your home and always will be, but it pains me that you couldn’t come to me and tell me you needed more.”

  Tell him that I needed to beat the crap out of something? That I needed the thrill of the chase and the hunt? Remind him of what I’d done and who I’d been when he’d found me?

  No.

  He sighed heavily. “Never be ashamed of who you are, of what you did to survive. Aggression is in your blood. It’s the Skin way.” He offered me a crooked smile. “I should have known that farm work wouldn’t have been enough, that the training wouldn’t be enough. Anya, you can always be honest with me. You must always be honest; how else will I know if you’re—” He shook his head. “How else will I know when it is time to make changes?”

  His hand was warm over mine, reassuring, and the chill that had crystallized in my chest melted.

  It was my turn to sigh. “I guess it’s time to make changes, then. I can keep the roof over our head and the food
on the table. Being a hired hand pays well.”

  His gaze hardened. “No, you misunderstand me. No more running jobs. It’s too risky.”

  Okay… “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  “We pack up and we move on. We’ll find fresh land, fresh dreams, and start anew.”

  “That was my plan eventually too.” I sat forward. “We can head to the glades.”

  “No. Not the glades.”

  My heart sank. “Okay ... then where?”

  “I’ve been meaning to do this for a few months now, but I wasn’t certain you were ready. But now you are.”

  He was speaking in riddles and my head was beginning to throb. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think it’s time we leave the Outlands altogether and make for the Furtherlands.”

  Had I just heard him right? He wanted to leave neutral ground and walk straight into danger. That was his plan?

  “Anya, did you hear me?”

  “The Furtherlands?” My tone was calm and even.

  He nodded.

  Okay, I’d heard him all right, and I was suddenly stone-cold sober. “You want to go into Dreki territory. Are you insane? We have no idea what they’d do to us. We might as well sign up for servitude in Draco City—at least we know what shit to expect there.”

  His dark eyes hardened. He hated it when I cursed, but he didn’t admonish me this time. “I’ve heard that there is fertile, farmable land there.”

  I let out a bark of laughter. “From who? Has anyone actually come back to tell the tale? Where are these rumors coming from exactly? Probably strewn by the Dreki. The Draco are the lesser of two evils here. They did liberate us from Dreki rule, after all.”

  He released my hand and sat back. “Yes, or so we are led to believe.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means history is recorded by those who have power, and in this case, it is the Draco who pen the legacy of our world. Even if it is true, even if they did liberate us, they also enslaved us. They conscript any Skin who dares cross into the city without a permit. Trust me, Anya, there is no black and white here.” His jaw hardened. “I’ve made up my mind. We will leave at the end of the week.”