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  “Another meeting with a Madai, eh?” Droth reflected on his disdain for the Earthlings he had to deal with. Their life without magic, dragons, and bondsmates seems so bland, so dull, but then again, I don’t currently have a bondsmate myself. “I’ll go with you,” he grunted. Who am I to think such egotistical thoughts? His hand unconsciously reached out to his side searching for a dog, but his loyal beasts were still in Austin. He dearly missed his Dobermans, his three pets, littermates of the dog currently with Emily Whayne. They were his closest current consolation to a bondsmate, but he had to leave them. Work was work. He just hoped to complete this cursed task soon. The whole project had taken so much longer than he had ever imagined. Will Samil ever follow through with his promises? The ultimate prize, a true bondsmate from Samil, sometimes felt unattainable.

  During a conversation on Samil’s last visit, Samil had reported finding a trace of Droth’s future bondsmate on Acacia. Samil’s talents were continuing to evolve, and he was now able to track a bondsmate several generations prior to its birth. He had assured Droth that his future bondsmate would be an Acacean eagle, a variant of a bald eagle on Earth, but larger, stronger, and with a light layer of protective scales. Samil was confident he could follow the magical clues and have a bondsmate ready when Droth returned to Acacia. Is Samil just teasing me?

  Droth stretched his muscles that were feeling more refreshed; however, he winced as a sharp pain flared in his flank. He rubbed his hip. No matter how much magic his skilled green magicians infused, he never fully healed; his body continued to age. He would never be fully healthy until he returned to Acacia, hopefully with the ensuing friendship of a bondsmate and the benefit of life extension. However, time was not on his side. His body was not made to endure Earth’s atmosphere for so long. Closing his eyes, he again imagined flying through the mind of an eagle bondsmate.

  Milo cleared his throat. “I hope we get in a real fight tonight. I’d love to thin out the population of this vile city while we’re making our transaction.” Milo laughed, and Droth closed his eyes even more firmly, sinking deeper into his soft recliner to drown out Milo’s disquieting chortles.

  “You can kill whoever gets in our way. Just don’t let us get caught.” Droth spoke quietly. He liked Milo’s assistance and respected his talents, but he was troubled by his aggression. He mentally reviewed the progress he was making on Project Blackbarb. This upcoming mission was related to the purchase of the final plans for the sophisticated propulsion system, a vital portion of their endeavor. Once all the pieces of the device were acquired, he was confident that with practice he could assemble the apparatus in less than ten minutes.

  He opened his eyes and nodded to the healers. “I’m recharged. Enough tonics and green-magus for today. Milo, who’s the next magician to head back to Acacia?”

  Milo looked thoughtful for a moment. “Rumanovah. She’s working in the potion room. She’ll be heading back with Marcus Tate.”

  “Sweet Rumanovah,” Droth murmured. He felt strong. His energy was restored. He waved Milo away while standing, “I’ll see you later.”

  “Fine, I’ll come for you this evening.” Milo gave a quick bow and departed.

  Droth hurried through the massive complex toward the mixture room. I feel almost like a young man again, he thought to himself. Warmth was building in his heart which quickened with his strides. He moved as rapidly as his body would allow, idly wondering what these emotions and desires would feel like on Acacia.

  He couldn’t wait to talk with Janishka Rumanovah, to simply stand in her presence once again. She was one of a steady stream of magicians who passed back and forth through Samil’s Prime Portal, a mountaintop portal located in Mexico, the only portal Droth was aware of. He liked to personally give information to certain mages returning to Acacia. Upon their arrival on Acacia, they could go into a dream-link with Samil, delivering the more personal video-like message of Droth speaking his words from their memory. Droth never trusted unsecured communications.

  Bursting into the potion room, Droth surprised Janishka and she dropped a curative elixir she was working with. She ignored the glass shattering on the stone floor and the blue liquid making a messy puddle, fixing him with a loving gaze that healed him to a greater degree than the rejuvenators. “Droth,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Janishka,” he murmured back, staring into her violet eyes dappled with flecks of gold, sparkling with a mischievous light. Rumanovah was in her forties and he was sure she could still have made a fortune on Earth as a runway model. She had full, rich brown hair with thick curls extending to her mid-back. Her skin was a dark tan and she was tall with an athletic build. Her bondsmate, a red-shouldered hawk, flew from her shoulder and landed on Droth’s arm and he regarded the graceful creature with admiration. Stroking the feathers of the bird, Droth marveled over the incredibly thin layer of tough scales on its chest, and the hawk leaned into his touch.

  “She missed you,” Janishka spoke in a soft tone.

  Droth turned his attention from the hawk back to Janishka. “Not as much as I’ve missed you.” Rumanovah rushed forward. She was exotic soft, silky sweetness as she fell into his arms. She put her head on his chest and Droth inhaled deeply, her smell was an alluring fragrance of vanilla and cream. “You make me so weak.” Droth ran his fingertips lightly over her cheeks.

  “Kiss me,” she gazed at him in a provocative manner.

  Submitting excitedly to her request, Droth released his unbridled passion. “You make me long for Acacia,” he whispered into her ear between kisses only pausing for seconds before his hungry mouth returned to her silken red lips. His eager hands sought the smooth skin on the sides of her face, her shoulders, and her body. For a few moments, he was in electrified heaven. Droth cursed the dampening of his senses on Earth, knowing this harmony would have been even more incredible on Acacia, but he still felt more alive than he had in months.

  Yellow and white magicians approaching, Droth’s ki, informed him and he inwardly cursed their impending interruption. “Magicians coming,” he said quietly. They both composed themselves, and turned to face two high-level mages entering the room, Marcus Tate and Brytam Kirby. They were both aligned closer to Samil than to Droth and he really had little desire to interact with the two. He studied the momentary flash of their powerful auras. Marcus radiated with a rich yellow crown of color, suggesting narcissism, arrogance and power. The man was strong as an ox and proud as a peacock. Brytam shone with a pale white halo, with elements of determination, ambition and intelligence. Droth admired her high cheekbones and full lips, she was almost as beautiful as Janishka.

  “I hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” Brytam teased, knowing dating other soldiers was frowned upon by Samil. Droth frowned at the white magician.

  “Someone made a horrible mess.” Marcus stepped into the room and marched slowly over the broken grass, grinding the fragments into the tile. “Are we seeing the aftermath of a lovers’ quarrel?”

  Droth sighed. “Stick to business, Marcus.” He glared at the man before giving him an update. “Project Blackbarb is almost ready for use. I’m sure Samil will be satisfied. Plans for the final battle can be put in motion.” He tried to stifle the sense of urgency stirring within his mind. He didn’t want to lose his calm composure, but he was beginning to dream of finally leaving this planet for good. He wondered if he would have time to successfully intercept Emily Whayne and her Doberman before Samil returned, but that task wasn’t really of critical consequence anymore. All that mattered was his future bondsmate and Janishka. He turned back to regard the beauty of the violet magician who winked at him coyly while twirling her hair and putting strands behind her ear. He would simply have to wait and see what fate had in store for him.

  C H A P T E R 2

  Preparations

  Lightning splashed across the sky and large droplets of rain fell from above as Droth and Milo walked toward their destination along the dark streets of Washington D.C. They talked qui
etly, ignoring the wet, steadfast in their determination to arrive at a predetermined bar to meet with the commander of the contract soldiers they planned to employ to guard them on their upcoming transaction with Project Blackbarb. The street lights in this area were broken, and darkness extended like a death shroud. Droth didn’t mind the pitch black; he even liked to walk through the slums of various cities. Observing the worst of Earth simply stimulated his desire to work harder to get back home. Occasional screams came out of buildings and Droth’s imagination pictured half-dead vampires sucking the last drops of magus from their victims, but he hadn’t initiated that part of their plan yet. He didn’t trust half-deads.

  Danger, rang out Droth’s ki, filling his mind. He peered in the direction suggested by his inner voice, but he didn’t slow his stride. A lone light on a decaying row house illuminated a front yard with a sagging wooden fence, splintered wood, and broken glass.

  The magicians were two blocks from their destination when a group of five men fell into stride with them, materializing all at once from the alleys and stepping confidently into the dim light. One of the men walked swiftly ahead then turned and blocked Droth and Milo’s path. He wore a white cotton shirt plastered to his chest by the rain, and his viewable skin was completely covered with ragged silver scars and tattoos, highlighted by a red dragon on his right forearm. He waved this extremity as he spoke in a hard, gruff voice, and the dragon writhed as if it were alive. “Old man, do you have any money to donate to a worthy cause?”

  Droth looked at the mugger in disgust—pale skin lined with layers of dirt, bloodshot eyes burning with inner cravings. “Let us pass.” He studied the man’s weapon. He was holding a small caliber hand-gun, which was shaking, not with nervousness, but with signs of an underlying demon of drug-withdrawal directing his actions. A wind suddenly whipped around the men, and the rain was blown at an angle.

  “He looks somewhat like a half-dead shade.” Milo spoke with a mocking laugh. To Droth, he sounded amused and excited by the confrontation. There was no fear in his voice.

  “Shut up,” the pale man rasped to Milo in a hard roar, his mouth twisting in anger. “Money. Now!”

  “I want to thank you for your kind offer, but the wealth I have in this briefcase is destined for a true warrior.” Droth gave the man a dismissive wave. “Move aside.”

  “Give me the case.” The addict’s eyes were now focused on the object in Droth’s hands. As he licked the rain off his lips, his free hand balled into a fist.

  “You scum are about to make a stain on this deplorable planet.” Milo altered his position slightly shifting into a favorite spell-casting position of Acacean magicians.

  Droth held out his hand to delay Milo’s attack another moment. “This is your last chance, I advise you to leave immediately.”

  The pale man’s furtive eyes glanced at the sneers on the faces of his friends before looking back at Droth and Milo. “You’re going to regret your actions this night.” He began to shake more violently as he raised his gun and pointed it toward Milo.

  No, you are, Droth thought as he let his hand fall to his side, allowing Milo to act. Before the pale man could pull the trigger, Milo pointed his hand at the leader of the motley crew, speaking several quiet words of an incantation. A small red fireball flashed from his finger, growing more intense as it neared its destination. The flames engulfed the man’s head, and he screamed in pain while falling to the ground. In seconds his skin was charred a dark black.

  “Sad that their bodies don’t erupt into death-smoke like on Acacia.” Milo’s voice was filled with mock disgust. He gave Droth a cheerful wink. “Earthlings are like the lower animal forms on our world.”

  The other four gang members were wide-eyed, but they didn’t run. Droth assumed they thought Milo had used some sort of a weapon instead of magic on their friend or they would be long gone. Taking a step forward, they pulled out assorted switch-blades and firearms. Droth stared at the tremors in their bodies, certain they were experiencing their own painful sensations of drug withdrawal, and he could sympathize with their pain. “Leave us!” Droth roared at them in a voice filled with steel, hoping they would melt into the shadows. He wanted to give them a last chance to flee.

  “Run away,” Milo warned them wearily, but Droth could hear an underlying desire to kill again, poorly masked in his words.

  Without warning the closest addict thrust a switchblade at Milo, but Milo’s combat skills, learned on the Island of Bashan, took over immediately. While grabbing the man’s arm with one hand, he lowered his other elbow onto the extremity. Droth listened to both of the bones in the man’s forearm snap. Milo’s battle prowess was enhanced by his offensive red magic, and he caught the man’s switchblade in the air before it hit the ground. Almost casually, he tossed the weapon at one of the other men who was advancing toward Droth. The knife lodged in the man’s throat, and he collapsed by his burnt leader.

  Twirling like an agile dancer to face the man whose arm he had just broken, Milo cast a cold spell, freezing the addict’s nasal and oral airways. He crumpled to the ground, gasping as asphyxiation set in. The two remaining gang-members turned and bolted from the scene. Milo murmured an incantation and a small missile, like an arrow, silently flew from a fingertip. The device embedded in the back of one of the unfortunate souls and he dropped immediately to the ground, sliding several feet across the wet street. The last mugger screamed in terror as he fled the death zone.

  “Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be contacting the police.” Droth inclined his head to Milo. “Nice work.”

  “Too bad I feel so exhausted after three little spells,” Milo sighed, “or I’d chase the last coward down.”

  Droth shook his head. “Let him go. I want to finish this deal.”

  C H A P T E R 3

  Castle Hadrian

  Hadrian drove through the dark in a huge military-looking vehicle, asking Emily questions about Samil as they headed toward his home in Maryland. Dr. D was also in the car. Emily had recently returned from Acacia, and she had not only verified that Dr. D was her father, but also discovered that Hadrian was her brother. They were sharing information, making plans.

  Emily discussed Samil’s heightened motions, suggesting he had been to Earth, and she revealed knowledge gained from the dragon Tiamat that Cyril was his brother. She recounted the rumors of Samil killing Vadimas, the head of the council of twelve on Bashan at a time when Dr. D had attended the school.

  “Two dreadful descendants of Drogor,” Dr. D muttered darkly. He glanced out the window, his eyes lost in thought, and Emily could tell he was saddened that Samil had killed his mentor.

  As Hadrian turned onto a smaller road, Emily heard the crunch of gravel beneath his wheels. Hadrian called in to his security detail on a two-way radio, alerting them, “Javan approaching.” He pointed out several teams. “The best I could find. I have sentries actively patrolling my property at all times with more available to augment the forces when needed.” He glanced at Emily in the rear-view mirror. “I always call in upon my approach to make sure everything’s under control.”

  The car headlights lit up a gate. “Nothing a few were-creatures couldn’t leap over,” Emily teased.

  Hadrian gave her a wry, knowing smile. “When the half-deads come to Earth, we’re all going to be in trouble.” After confirmation with several codes, a gate was opened, and Hadrian drove onto his property. “I think you’re going to like this house. It’s massive, like a castle: nine bedrooms, seventeen bathrooms, and seven fireplaces. It’s on one hundred acres and has everything you can imagine: a nice-sized stable for horses, a great pool and pool-house, tennis and basketball courts. I just wish I had some stone-mages to make it perfect.” He swiveled his head to give Emily a wink.

  As they drove along the driveway to the property, one of the guards gave a friendly salute to her brother. Emily studied the stocky guard wearing a camouflaged tactical vest. He folded his brawny arms over his chest. “Are the warriors
as talented as your Javan?”

  “I wish.” Hadrian saluted another sharp-faced soldier with long brown hair holding a black machine gun. “They’re as good as I could get here. I interviewed each guard three times, and I still keep close tabs on them to make sure they remain loyal. I only wish they were bound by dragon-oaths.”

  “Why so much security?” Dr. D put down his window and peered into the dark. “Have you been attacked?”

  “No, just ingrained in me from Halifax.” Hadrian slowed the car as he approached buildings. “He was so worried that I might be followed by our attackers that he taught me to always be on guard.” Outer lights began to turn on, illuminating the night. “I’ve established an extensive surveillance system and a secondary headquarters here for my work. My main Blacksky offices are near the FBI headquarters, but if that site is ever compromised, I can operate from this location.” He parked and opened the doors to let Duke and Xena roam.

  Now, this is a reasonably sized yard, Xena projected to Emily with satisfaction.

  “Xena likes your castle,” Emily laughed. She knew she had to be ready for anything, but she felt so relaxed and secure with her brother, her bondsmate, and her father at her side. Hadrian’s home was even contoured like a castle, complete with turrets and a series of outer walls.

  They approached the front door and Hadrian used a palm scanner. “One hundred percent more accurate than other devices such as fingerprint readers.” He set the machine to also memorize Emily and Dr. D’s hands to allow them entry at any time. “It detects blood flowing in our unique pattern of veins.” The front door was as thick as a vault, with bolts of steel over two inches wide retracting from locking mechanisms. Hadrian pointed out features on his impromptu interior tour: monstrous televisions, offices covered with mahogany wood, an arcade, a bowling alley, and a music room. He let them roam the house to find the bedroom of their choice.