Could you only join this cult if you were prematurely gray?
Original dude from the tunnel still seemed to be the spokes-gray. “My name is Gerard, I am the second in charge of this sanctuar … sanctuary.” I noticed he lapsed into what sounded like Romanian at times, but there was no indication if this was his native language or not.
I stepped forward, my jacket draped over my arm crinkling loudly. “We need to speak with Quale.”
No more screwing around. I was tired, hungry, worried about my family back in Stratford, and … mostly hungry. Identical expressions of rapidly blinking eyes and open mouths descended over the five grays’ faces. I had taken them by surprise.
“How is it that you know of Quale?” the shortest of the grays asked me. He was only an inch or so taller than Mischa and I.
The four Compasses took a singular step toward the group. I freaking hated it when they acted like a single unit. The motion had tingles racing down my spine and dread settling in my stomach.
“Take us to Quale.” Braxton had also had enough, he was not even trying to hide his annoyance.
The grays didn’t seem very concerned by his angry stance. Either they had no idea what Braxton was, or they were very used to dealing with dragon shifters. “Follow us,” they said together.
Everyone in our group shucked off any extra layers before taking the first step onto the red dirt. Heat engulfed me and I sighed. I didn’t like to be baked; there was probably some snow wolf in my lineage. Sweating, I stripped off another shirt, leaving myself in just the singlet. I hoped it didn’t take us long to cross this zone, otherwise I’d be naked before anyone knew it.
Gerard started to chatter; he was our tour guide. “There are five areas here in the sanctuary. This is the desert, where the heat loving races make their residence.”
So far I couldn’t see any inhabitants, just long plains of red dirt with a few mountains and rocky crevices scattered around, the sand shifting as we walked. There were some pathetic plants, mostly surrounding small ponds of water. The florae were hardy, cacti-looking species.
Gerard pointed to a long, craggy cliff that was off the far edge. “Stay away from that range of cliffs. That is the territory of the Jinn. They are not very friendly.”
Jinn … genie. I thought they were freaking myths, or at least so well hidden that I’d never meet one. Information on their race was scarce, but we’d done one subject on them in school. Extremely powerful, they’d been rulers of the fire lands of Faerie, and there was even some truth to the wish-granting legend. Of course, you’d be an absolutely moronic moron to trust them with anything, let alone promise them something for a wish. A few desperate humans had found that out the hard way. Despite their evil doings, I was pretty sure no jinn were in the prison system. They were impossible to find, let alone incarcerate.
We were about halfway across the red plains when my thoughts on jinn were distracted by unexpected movement. One of the mounds – which I’d thought was a small mountain – was starting to rise. Holy flying crap! That was not a part of the environment, it was a red dragon. Not a shifter, but an actual dragon.
It was a little smaller, more animal-looking than our dragons, but still in full possession of deadly fangs and fire.
Braxton’s gaze locked onto the magnificent vision. “You have native dragon breeds here?” He sounded both impressed and hesitant.
Couldn’t blame him for that. He more than anyone knew the danger of a dragon with no human instincts. Though I often thought human instincts could be the most dangerous of all.
Gerard took a moment to examine Braxton. “Yes, each of these territories has a different species of dragon calling it home. Dragons were hunted; we keep them safe. But they can be as ferocious as you suspect. Best to not approach them.”
Easy for him to say, because clearly red dragon didn’t know the rules and was heading in our direction. Braxton reached out and captured me under one arm and Mischa under the other. Before either of us could even blink, we were back behind him and he was stepping to the front of our group.
“Why is it approaching us?” I heard Grace whisper.
Tyson’s features tightened, a reaction to the distress in her voice. Damn Louis, forcing someone as soft and gentle as Grace out into this world. She didn’t need this fear. Although, as she cleared her throat and straightened in confidence, I wondered if I was underestimating her. There was fire beneath the gentle. I’d seen it before, but I still worried.
Gerard answered. “They will be curious of the dragon energy riding this group. You have two strong marked and a shifter. It’s a big deal.”
Wait, how did he know Mischa was marked also? Her energy and physical mark were still spelled. “How do you know there are two marked in the group?” I decided to ask.
“We are the dragon mystics,” was his reply, and judging by their closed expressions, it seemed to be the only explanation we were getting.
Our attentions were diverted to the red beast, the dragon no more than ten feet from us now. I could scent the wild magic on it. Dragons were innately connected to the magic which weaved the lines of the Earth. They were unlike any other creature to roam this world, or even the fey’s dying lands.
“Stay back,” Braxton warned us. “If I have to shift, you’re all too close.”
Murmuring amongst themselves, the mystics looked like they were going to object, but they didn’t actually say anything in protest. They had stepped into the role of a neutral party, giving no opinion on whether we should take on a dragon or not. Or it could be that they seemed to know that Braxton was a dragon shifter. The race with the best chance of dealing with the natives.