Scorched (Rulers of the Sky Book 1) Read online

  Scorched

  Rulers of the Sky Series

  Book One

  by

  Paula Quinn

  Copyright © 2016 by Paula Quinn

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The Twenty-first century

  The cliffs above the North Sea

  Marrkiya of the Eleventh crouched low beneath a cool slab of the cave’s dark interior. His slow, steady breath fell softly upon his claws, heating his scales to a deeper, jade-green. With the patience of an ancient hunter, he watched the small group of men with their meager torches lifted high over their heads walk right past his enormous nostrils. He knew why they were here. He held his breath, careful not to exude even the slightest whiff of methane.

  Tomias of the Eleventh and Zakarr of the Ninth walked among the intruders, all, in human form.

  “I smell him,” Zakarr whispered. He paused and squinted his eyes into the obscure shadows surrounding him on every side. “He’s close.” He stretched his torch outward and continued on deeper into the cave.

  “Pray we don’t find him, Zack.”

  Lowering his great, scaled lids to avoid the eye-shine from the torches, Marrkiya slid his eyes toward Tomias the White. He knew this man. He’d known him for centuries, since the days of the Drakkon.

  “He’ll kill us if he finds us here,” Tomias went on. “We’ll die a gruesome death. I fear his transformation will not be an easy one. He could be the last of our kind—”

  So, they came to transform him, did they? Marrkiya had known it was only a matter of time. But Tomias…they were once friends. How could Tomias come for him?

  “Our kind?” Zakarr sneered, his voice low. “We’re no longer Drakkon. We’re men now. We belong to the human race.”

  At Zakarr’s proud declaration, Marrkiya’s spiked brow dipped low over his eyes in a deep, furrowed scowl. Once, long ago, these two men standing before him were majestic Whites, proud and beautiful with snowy white scales and salient, hoary eyes.

  Before Padgora of the Sixth had discovered the Phoenix Amber, the magical gem that held the power to transform Drakkon into men. Zakarr and Tomias had once possessed wings almost as wide as Marrkiya’s own. He had flown with Tomias and hunted with him. But everything had changed in the last ten centuries. Reds, Greens, Blues…every genus of Marrkiya’s mighty race had chosen to trade their treasures for skin, solid bone, and…Marrkiya’s heart hardened while examining the men, that horrendous hair on their heads. They sickened him.

  He wondered, aching to lick his chops, how a pair of transformed Drakkon would taste against his palette. He would eat Tomias first for the betrayal that hooked Marrkiya so deep.

  “We had a choice,” his old friend was saying. “He doesn’t.”

  Zakarr shrugged his shoulders, oblivious to the darkness that had grown more foreboding in the last few seconds. “In the end, it will be his choice.”

  “He’s an Aqua,” Tomias reminded his companion. “Surely several hundred years has not dulled your memory enough to forget the arrogance of his color genus. He fought over a hundred Reds and received nothing but a slightly scorched tail. He’ll never choose to live as a man. He won’t turn over the treasure—”

  “Which is exactly why Patrick wants him altered as soon as possible.”

  After all his threats, Padgora, or Patrick White as the world knew him, had finally sent men to alter him. After the first transformation in the twelfth century, Marrkiya had traveled into every land, making himself known to every man, beast, knight, or mercenary who thought to come against him. He’d feared no one and no thing. He still didn’t.

  Bigger than two mountains, with cerulean scales as dazzling as the heavens before man was put on the great earth, he’d become a force no human could withstand. Witnesses to his devastation claimed he’d swooped down from the clouds like a falling star to ransack and char anything in his path.

  Marrkiya hated Padgora for destroying his race, and his hatred was fed like dry tinder to a fire over the long years he had spent alone. Each time another Drakkon transformed, it broke Marrkiya’s heart. He hated his own race for becoming men, for succumbing to the changing world where the once revered Drakkon had become nothing more than hunted monsters.

  We’ll have his treasure whether he hands it over or not. Zakarr’s silent thought rode upon the air like a charge of energy, making Marrkiya’s eyes darken in the shadows. Let them try to take his treasure.

  “Careful with your thoughts, Zack,” Tomias said, hearing his companion’s unspoken words, as well. “If he’s here, you will alert him to our presence. You know he can hear even better than we can.”

  These men, Marrkiya thought, careful to harness his contempt, still possessed the Drakkon power of telepathy, as well as near-immortality—if one was not eaten or charred to a crisp, that is.

  “Patrick is a fool to believe Marrkiya will give up his treasure.”

  “It is not complex,” Zakarr said aloud, keeping his voice to a bare whisper. “Marrkiya either obeys the law of the Council or he dies. We have enough golden arrows to send him back to the stars.”

  Tomias shook his head, then gasped at the scent beginning to burn his nostrils but it was already too late. The heavy odor of methane filled the dark, dank cave an instant before the wall directly to his left rumbled to life. Tomias leaped to his right, rolling beneath a jagged canopy of sharp stone in time to avoid the billowing blast of fire issuing forth from Marrkiya’s huge, gaping mouth. Marrkiya deliberately let him flee. For now.

  Zakarr was the first to perish, barely able to produce a scream before he was engulfed in flames hotter than molten lava, his flesh singed to ash.

  The rest of the men screamed in terror, while Tomias stood paralyzed while the light from the fire brought Marrkiya into full view. The monstrous beast rolled his head from side-to-side, turning his cave into a blazing inferno. He watched Tomias close his eyes and await his death. Marrkiya wanted to kill him but memories invaded his thoughts. Instead of eating him now, Marrkiya stared at the once majestic White with disgust and sadness slanting his blue-green eyes.

  “Tomias,” he growled low, his voice rumbling through his deep chest.

  Tomias open his eyes and rubbed them.

  Warm wisps of smoke curled around Marrkiya’s leathery nostrils. When he opened his mouth, Tomias recoiled, holding his hand before his face as if such a meager tool could ward off the beast hovering over him.

  “Pye jora kihoit ’n evorta sime adorna, Tomias?”

  The sound of his melodiou
s ancient language spoken aloud nearly broke Marrkiya’s heart all over again, for he had neither spoken it nor heard it spoken in centuries.

  Tomias coughed and gagged from the methane gas drifting across his face. He stammered in terror over his human, and far more awkward speech when he opened his mouth.

  “I-I can no longer understand the language, Marrkiya.”

  Marrkiya grimaced with disgust before he spoke again. “Pye jora hittu lmaie sike ’n dyrtre fra Lacodanay.”

  “I don’t…”

  You have given up much to become a man. The words were spoken using the old ways of telepathy. The Drakkon could speak any language, modern or otherwise, using their ancient power. But it had been centuries since a pure Drakkon had used telepathy on Tomias. So much stronger was the meld than that of a mere man, that Tomias doubled over clutching his belly.

  Now I shall ask you again. Mercilessly, Marrkiya’s voice thundered through Tomias’ skull. Have you come to steal my treasure, Tomias?

  “No! I…” Tomias looked around the smoky cave where small fires now burned. A tear spilled down his face and washed away the burning singe of Marrkiya’s wrath.

  “We came to deliver a message to you, Marrkiya. You didn’t have to kill them. Two were not even Drakkon.”

  ’Twas a quick death, human. Marrkiya arched a spiny brow and Tomias looked away from the amusement that glinted the Drakkon’s huge, piercing eyes. Would you have preferred it if I ate them? Those deadly eyes raked over Tomias in the next instant, weakening the man’s knees. Pathetic. What is your message to me? Make haste, before I make you my next meal, he thought, growing bored at his cat and mouse game.

  Tomias rose to his feet. Marrkiya waited, sensing his thoughts and the great amount of courage it took the human to face him. Tomias was a member of the High Council of Elders, and if his long life were about to end, Marrkiya would allow him to die standing. Tomias had once been a peace-loving White and had gotten along well with the more aggressive Aqua during his time as a Drakkon.

  “Marrkiya.” Though the man had to crane his neck to look into the Drakkon’s ruthless eyes, he did his best to keep his gaze steady as he delivered Padgora’s message. “Since the beginning of the Great Transformation, we have lived peacefully among mankind. We were hunted as Drakkons, killed for sport. But now, our only threat is you.” Tomias stopped. “Are you smiling? Yes, we’re afraid of you, Drakkon. Does that satisfy you? You’ve burned many of our homes. You’ve made many of our lives a living hell for the last eight centuries, having to hide our families from you.”

  Something wicked passed over the cold surface of Marrkiya’s eyes when he sent his next thought to Tomias. Tell Padgora his first daughter was no virgin. She tasted foul going down.

  Tomias paled, but bravely continued on. “You’ve defied every law, and now Patrick is going to transform you himself.” He backed up slightly when Marrkiya rose up on his haunches. “You have seven days left as a Drakkon and then he’ll use the Phoenix Amber to end your reign of terror. You will still have use of some of your power, as we all did after the change. You will remain immortal. Your fire will be gone, of course, but your wings will remain for a few months. You must exercise caution using them though, for you will be living in man’s world.”

  Marrkiya angled his head as if contemplating how Tomias might taste and then turned away. He lumbered toward the cave opening where he could smell the fresh, briny air coming from the sea below. He swished his great, arrow-tipped tail in a wide arc that would have splattered Tomias into the wall if he hadn’t leapt out of the way.

  I am the last Drakkon, Tomias. Would he end our race so easily, this man you follow?

  For more minutes than Marrkiya cared to count, his visitor remained silent and kept his mind clear. Marrkiya sensed he was hiding something. Then, “He wants something he thinks you have.”

  And what might that be?

  Tomias swallowed and looked up. “A treasure. A very special treasure.”

  Marrkiya probed Tomias’ thoughts but found nothing but a murky image of a large golden stone. What makes you believe my hoard is not special, Tomias?

  “A thousand hoards cannot compare to what this treasure is worth,” Tomias told him.

  Marrkiya turned his powerful head to paralyze Tomias with a gaze as penetrating as any weapon. What is this treasure and where do I find it?

  “I will tell you after you transform. You have my word.”

  Marrkiya lowered his head to Tomias’ and exhaled his gaseous smoke in his face. No treasure was worth the extinction of his race. He would never transform. Just the thought of it enraged him. I’ll never transform, human. As for this special treasure, I shall find it myself. You can tell Padgora that I’m going to consume him. Now be gone from me or I will kill you.

  When Tomias left him alone, Marrkiya stepped out over the narrow ledge of a precipice hundreds of feet above the ocean. This wasn’t about any mysterious treasure. Padgora wanted his treasure, his hoard, for it was greater than any Drakkon’s before him. It had taken him centuries to collect his jewels. Crystals as crimson as a drop of blood on a fair virgin’s skin, as green as the pastures of ancient Erie, and blues that rivaled the farthest sea. Not to mention his stones of purple, amber, and aqua, many created from the essence of a virgin. He cherished every one, craved what they contained, as every Drakkon did—the only thing unattainable for his kind. Purity.

  Some desired it more than others. Men like Tomias had given up their ancient Drakkon blood, trading their scales for flesh, seeking the innocence of one reborn. Marrkiya preferred the purity of his own blood. His beautiful scales, just as brilliant and iridescent as they had been hundreds of years ago. His claws—he held them up to examine them while he thought of their many attributes—long and sharp, able to rip whole trees from the earth. He was a lord of the air, a true king among beasts. Who could defeat him? Padgora? He would have laughed if it were possible. No, he would rather die than become a man. Puny, foul diseases upon the earth that they were.

  He let his gaze drift over the horizon and wondered if seven days was enough time to find Padgora and eat him.

  Chapter Two

  Samantha Montgomery placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the holes in the bailey’s north wall. It was almost in as much disrepair as the dilapidated drawbridge and the crumbling battlements above her. She’d known the condition of the castle before she bought it four months ago. She just hadn’t thought about how she was going to repair it.

  It wasn’t that the place had to be repaired. Not like the gaping hole in the roof of the old great hall that she had to hire three men from the local village to fix a week after she moved in. That had cost her a bundle, the remainder of her savings to be exact. But it was either spend the money or dine in a river every time it rained. That was another thing about England that she hadn’t bothered to check out before moving here from New York. It rained here almost every day.

  She sighed and chewed on her fingernail while she stared at the holes in the wall. They didn’t need to be fixed, but this was her home now and she liked the things in her life to be tidy and neat.

  Her home. Just the thought brought a smile to her face, no matter how broken down it was. She owned a castle for goodness sakes! So, it was small. It was hers. She pinched herself for the millionth time since she’d landed at Heathrow, leaving her old life, and a cheating fiancé behind.

  A product of the New York State foster care system, she’d never had a real home or a family. But she had plenty of dreams and one hell of an imagination that eventually launched her into a career as a writer. Six years and five bestsellers later, she’d saved enough to purchase her dream. A small castle on the northern borders of England. It was the first thing she’d ever actually owned in her life. She loved it with every fiber of her being, crumbling walls and all.

  Maybe here, she could find the happiness missing from her life. She’d written so many stories about knights that she almost believed she could meet one
here in England where knights were born. At least there were no Raymond’s here.

  “I brought you some tea, dear.”

  Turning, Samantha smiled at Eleanor Sinclair. Ellie was the first spark of sunshine in her new life. She owned an antique shop in the local village and took a liking to Samantha the first time Sam stepped into her shop two months ago. Ellie reminded Sam of Agnes Andrews, her social worker at foster care. Agnes had been in Sam’s life from the beginning. She was the closest thing Sam had to a family. She died two years ago at the age of eighty-three.

  Ellie was more like a grandmother than a friend. A grandmother was just what Samantha needed since leaving the states to come to a country where she didn’t know a soul. Ellie called her courageous, but the truth of it was that Samantha was scared to death. But she was also happy. Really happy for the first time in her life.

  “How many stones do you think we’ll need to fill it?” she asked, taking the piping hot cup of tea from Ellie’s chubby fingers.

  Eyeing the wall through her specs, Ellie calculated silently. “Twelve should do it.”

  Unfortunately, Samantha had counted the same. Even if she could afford twelve stones to match the size of the missing ones, she wouldn’t have enough money left to hire anyone to set them. She bit her lip one last time, then raised her cup to her fortress.

  “I guess it’s a good time to learn how to be less of a perfectionist. I’ll have to live with it for now.” Her gaze shifted to the corroding battlements. “And those too. Just don’t walk under them for a few months, Ellie.”

  “Come, dear,” Ellie comforted. She took Samantha’s hand and led her back to the castle. “It’s getting late. Come inside and I’ll make you some supper before I leave.”

  They had just reached the one working castle door, when a thunderous crash and the sound of splitting wood shook the foundations around them.

  “What in blazes was that?” Ellie almost tumbled upon turning, her eyes darting upward in the direction of the frightening sound.