Blood rage still burned in Devon’s eyes, but the exhaustion was evident in him. He couldn’t take on another dragon – his mind might be willing but his body was unable.
“NO!” Jolly screeched in deathly terror, tears streaming from his eyes. “It can’t be!” he muttered, his shaking hands holding on to the dagger. Remington lay almost motionless on the snow, streams of blood dribbling from his body and pooling at places. The Redblade had been defeated, just like his forefather before him.
It’s not worth it, Devon. He is done, now you would just be slaying a broken man. Leave him to the mercy of his family… Gemma heard, the metallic tone to the voice marking it as Cillian’s. The golden dragons walked forward as well, one going to check on the fallen dragon while the other went to Devon’s side, as if bolstering his strength with their bright, almost ethereal presence.
Where Devon looked rough and severe, the golden dragons were as if straight off of a painting – mythical, majestic and carrying themselves like lions.
If she weren’t so wrought with worry, Gemma would have been in awe of the fantastic beasts she was allowed to witness. Devon stood strong for one more moment, but then his gaze swept across the long distance, and Gemma felt his warm eyes resting on her.
Come back to me, she pleaded again, her hands shaking around the dragon stone as she gripped it tightly.
Lowering his head, Devon trudged towards her, and before she could think of trying to stop him, his weary wings had spread again and taken him to air with painful slowness. He flew low and slow, his belly scraping at the tops of the trees as he descended upon the mansion from the mountains. The building shook as he landed, blue blood splattering on the stones.
Jolly’s eyes shone with abject horror and rage, and with bravery that Gemma hadn’t expected from him, he lunged at the big beast, screaming unintelligibly with the dagger held high above his head. He must have known it was a sure recipe for death. There was no other way. Almost as an afterthought, Devon crashed his wing into the man, sending him flying over the edge of the roof before he could ever touch Devon.
One last parting scream noted his descent and then a sickly quiet fell over the gorge, so silent compared to the rattling noises and the rumble the earth had made under the dragons’ paws.
“Devon!” Gemma yelled, the tears she had kept back so carefully now free to roll down her cheeks.
She ran to him, throwing her arms around him just as he began his transformation. His body twisted and undulated under the strain, blood marring Gemma’s skin where she touched his scales, until he had turned completely into a man again. His body slumped against hers, but still, his strong arms gripped her into a hold that would take ten men to break. He pressed her against his bare chest – his clothes that usually survived the shift now but tatters around him – and nuzzled his face into her hair.
He was cut and bruised all over, large wounds on his arms, legs, chest and face marking where Remington had caught him.
“Thank the dragons above that you’re alright,” he murmured, his hand fisting around her hair. She pressed her face against his shoulder, holding him so tight she feared she might hurt him, but it seemed the great dragon was above pain at this point.
“I thought he was going to kill you,” she said breathlessly, looking up at the big, ragged man. He smiled a shadow of the smirk she loved and loathed, and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“I was sure I would kill him,” he noted absently. “I am glad I did not,” he finished, his grip loosening just a little. She could feel him tremble under her touch, sheer force of will keeping him on his feet. With a relieved sigh, Devon nudged Gemma’s chin higher and stared into her eyes, his sapphire blues so intense with love and desire that she could see both the man and the dragon behind them, coming together as one. “Thank you for calling for me, Gem,” he said.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she managed weakly. He chuckled, and the soft sound filled her with an immense kind of joy she hadn’t expected. How could it be that his life now meant so much to her? This man, who had deserved nothing but loathing from her had now become the focal point of her existence, impossible to be without.
Without thinking, she stood up on her toes and kissed him on the lips. The tremble that went through her was painful in its intensity, her fingertips clenching around him, holding on for dear life as she threw herself into the exchange. He responded immediately, and Gemma let a little murmur of a moan escape her lips when his tongue dipped into her mouth. Her hands scuffed into his hair, the dark, slick strands silky under her touch.