The dragon stone had done what he could not – bring him to her. He flew over the forest so fast that the bows of the trees bent under the wind from his wings. Devon snarled, keeping his roar painfully in his throat as to not warn Remington of his arrival. The flight seemed endlessly long, even if it was just a few minutes.
Hidden away in a narrow gorge between towering mountains, stood a mansion so lavish that it could only have been owned by a Redblade. Now that he had found it, it seemed impossible that he hadn’t seen it before. The ostentatiousness of it all almost blinded him. The mansion was of fine red brick and had golden windowsills with thick maroon and gold curtains covering most of the windows as if something was hidden away in there. And Devon knew it housed the greatest prize he had – his mate.
He couldn’t keep the roar within him anymore. Like a tidal wave it cascaded from him, making the mountains rumble and shake under the weight of it. There was anger and fury there, but also a desperate longing he hadn’t thought himself capable of – it just went to show that the love of the right woman could affect even the most brazen bad boy. The windows shook as he roared, and he could hear the satisfying sound of glass cracking somewhere.
Soon, his paws touched the roof of the mansion, smooth stones forming a terrace as was traditional on all dragon houses.
Devon had every plan to shift into a human and find his mate, but he was stopped before he could go any further. Heaving with rage, Devon watched as the door leading into the mansion was flung open and Remington Redblade strolled out, only the slight redness on his neck hinting that he wasn’t completely pleased with Devon finding him.
“I see I must have underestimated your mate a little, hmm? I wonder how she got you here. No matter. This had to be done sooner or later,” Remington said, stopping in front of Devon, hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. The man eyed the dragon, and Devon’s nostrils flared, breathing in air in large gulps.
“How about we settle it like our forefathers, Bluewing? I know you thought it a crude tradition that was best to be forgotten in the annals of time, but I’d like to believe I’ve changed your mind now.”
His Cheshire grin drove Devon mad. Fire burned in his belly, ready to be showered down on the destroyer of his happiness. Just as he prepared to douse Remington with flames (knowing it would do little more than to annoy him, as dragons weren’t easily swayed by fire), something caught his attention in the corner of his eye that made him stop dead in his tracks.
Gem…
There she was, her golden hair a disheveled crown around her head, defiance in her eyes as Jolly held onto her, a golden dagger at her neck. The little man sneered at Devon, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from going on a rampage. If it hadn’t had the distinct danger of hurting Gemma in the process, there would have been little keeping him back. He was relieved to see that she was alright, though.
It renewed the strength in him that had been waning from the long search, bolstering him when he felt like he was on the verge of exhaustion. As if new life had been breathed into him, Devon stood up taller, baring his teeth as he looked back on Remington.
I accept the challenge, he thought, echoing it to Remington. Impossibly, the dark sneer on Remington’s face only widened.
“May the best dragon win,” Remington said, and then the shift took him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gemma
Gemma watched in abject horror as Remington turned into his dragon form, lean and elegant next to Devon, like beasts from different times. Where Devon was brimming with strength and speed, Remington possessed a wily, feline grace that looked almost out of place on a beast the size of a dragon. She hadn’t noticed that she was holding her breath until both of the beasts rose from the roof, their wings creating little hurricanes that threatened to sweep both Gemma and Jolly off the side of the roof if they weren’t careful.
“Yes, yes, finally!” Jolly murmured, vibrating with exuberance behind Gemma. She had almost forgotten about the sharp dagger pressing on her throat – so little did it seem to matter now when Devon’s life was in danger. She saw the heaviness in his movements, the weariness in him, and knew that he must have been searching for a long time.
“Destroy him!” she heard herself suddenly yelling, screaming at the two dragons slowly rising up, their eyes locked on one another.
“Shut up,” Jolly seethed behind her, the dagger so close that it nicked her a little, crimson blood marring the otherwise clean, pristine blade. Gemma bit her lip, tears brimming in her eyes. She didn’t care one iota about her own safety but found herself gripped with fear for Devon. Right there and then, she knew she couldn’t live if anything happened to him.