Chapter 87 Chapter Eighty-Seven

Chapter 87 Chapter Eighty-Seven


Sylvan lounged back on the log and watched Isla walk off the beach beside Gregory.

Make sure she gets home safe and mindlink me when you’re there, Sylvan instructed the soldier.

Yes, Sir, Gregory linked back.

Sylvan accepted the flask of dragon mead from Cole as he sat down beside him. Cole smacked him on the shoulder. “Isla go home?” Cole asked.

“She was dead on her feet,” Sylvan confirmed.

“And you’re not?” Cole asked with a chuckle.

Sylvan lifted the flask and took a hefty gulp. “I’m just enjoying the atmosphere,” Sylvan said, gesturing around the party still in full swing.

The night air was still cooling from the heat of the day. It would be hours before the party dwindled and the people of Deveraux turned in for the night. In fact, some were just now arriving from their work shifts and were being handed their first drinks of the evening. It wasn’t often that Sylvan was allowed a moment to relax, to enjoy himself. Even after war had been fought and won, while his men were celebrating, he was in his tent, commanding the other officers on recovery, prisoner exchanges, and finalizing negotiations. He knew this moment was a fleeting one. He knew that any day the world would come down around his shoulders. He’d meant what he’d told the elders. He had every intention of taking the throne from Tristan and once that occurred… moments like these would be nothing but a distant memory.

The thunderclap of dragon wings sounded overhead. Everyone glanced up, trying to see into the darkness of the night sky to identify who was breaking the law by riding their dragon down to the beach during a gathering. It wasn’t until the dragon was close to the sand that everyone started to clamor and close in. The dragon was red, a rather rare color for the species. Its eyes were a bright purple, ringed with gold… and they were fastened on Sylvan.

“Teresa!”

“It’s Teresa!”

“She’s come home!”

The crowd flocked toward the dragon whose long neck snaked through the throng of people in the direction that Sylvan sat. Cole, looking unimpressed, took back the flask and downed the majority of its contents.

“Teresa?” Sylvan asked, giving Cole a poignant look.

“Unfortunately.”

Sylvan grunted as the dragon pressed its nose into the center of his chest. He glanced up at the dragon’s back but did not see its rider. Based on the location of the crowd slowly shuffling in their direction, he could guess she was at the center of it. An elder stepped up beside Sylvan and, with one raised palm, forced the dragon back.

“Teresa Lonmere, you are aware of the rules. Escort Lussida off the beach before it creates a chain reaction with the other dragons,” the elder instructed.

“Apologies,” a sardonic voice called from the crowd, which slowly parted to reveal the dragon rider. Her light green eyes flickered with mischief in the firelight as they landed on Sylvan. Her smirk widened as she slowly undid the laces of her gloves. “Lus smelled something she liked and refused to obey me and your outdated laws, which could only mean one thing…”

Teresa’s hand reached out toward Sylvan, ready to confirm her suspicions. But Cole was faster. His palm wrapped around her forearm, stalling her advance. Teresa continued to stare at Sylvan with intent, her smile unwavering.

“Hello, Cole,” Teresa said.

“He’s not your mate,” Cole growled.

Teresa puckered her lips in a pout and finally tilted her head so she could look at Cole. “You sound jealous. Are you still not over what happened?”

“There is more than one reason why a dragon can be interested in someone. His mate is fae,” Cole explained. “Her scent is all over him.” Cole shoved her arm, pushing her slightly back in the process. “Bessimor behaved the same way.”

“Aw, how is Bessi?” Teresa asked.

Sylvan watched the exchange with great intent. Though her tone was mocking, he caught the genuine interest in the way her eyes rounded. Cole crossed his arms and widened his stance while raising his chin, a defensive maneuver against the woman that had once broken his heart… the mate who rejected him.

“If you actually cared, you would have left Lussida at the grove so they could…”

“Bond?” she asked with a chuckle. Teresa placed her bare hand on Cole’s exposed forearm. Despite himself, Cole’s mouth parted, and he released a puff of air in shock at her touch. “You can’t bond with a broken connection, Cole.” Teresa’s eyes flicked to Sylvan. “Who’s your friend?”

Cole took a step back, forcing Teresa’s hand to fall away. “Prince Sylvan of Eredhal, Teresa Lonmere,” Cole said, with a flippant gesture. “I’m going to get another drink.”

Before Sylvan could stop him, Cole was stalking across the beach, past the red dragon who tentatively reached her maw out at him but quickly withdrew after a single look from its master. Sylvan followed the path of his friend until Teresa stepped into his eyeline.

“Prince Sylvan of Eredhal, huh?” Teresa cooed. Sylvan cocked one eyebrow, unimpressed. “The famous Mate Killer.”

“And you are?” he asked, though he already knew.

Teresa Lonmere. A mercenary. A dragon rider who proclaimed herself to be anything but a citizen of Deveraux. It was dragon riders like her that gave the species a bad name. For a few gold coins, she would set her dragon on a city, scorch its buildings to the ground, and decimate its population to nothing more than a few lucky survivors. For a few more… she’d assassinate someone herself: sneaking into their room at night and slitting their throat before leaving a brand on their skin using her fingertips so everyone knew who had claimed the life.

Cole had come across her nearly a decade ago during the final battles to claim Solelei. Their mate bond had been disarming; they knew before they even touched, yet she’d callously rejected him, performed the bond-severing on her own so that Cole felt as though his body was being destroyed by the very fire his dragon wielded. Sylvan had been there. Held his dearest friend down as he tried to claw at his chest and Bessimor helplessly roared into the night sky, feeling not only the pain of his rider but the pain of his own bond being torn apart.

Teresa chuckled. “Based on the scorn in your eyes, I’d wager you already know full well who I am,” she teased. “Shall we?” she asked, raising her hand for him to take.

Sylvan scoffed. “Do you really think the gods would see fit to grant you another mate after what you’d done to the one they’d already gifted you?”

Teresa’s eye twitched, but she shrugged off the acidic comment with grace. “That is a perk to being a part of a species nearing extinction.” She leaned forward. “I don’t think they have much of a choice.”

Sylvan leaned in as well, his expression one of pure menace. “I am a wolf, dragon rider. I have one fated mate, and she far surpasses anything you could ever offer me. Even if by some twisted slight of fate, we were mates, I’d reject you before you could place a grimy claw on my skin and then watch as my fae mate finished you off. You will not touch me. If you do, I’ll leave it to her to enact whatever revenge she sees fit. Understood?”

Teresa’s lips pulled to the side, and her eyes pinched at the corners, but her bravado was not easily dissuaded. “The night is just getting started, Mate Killer. I’m going to get a drink. Care to join?”

Teresa turned her back and walked off into the crowd of people eager to ask her questions about the outside world and her murderous exploits. Her dragon reached out, but one flick of Teresa’s wrist made the dragon shake its head and take off into the night.

Isla is inside, Gregory mindlinked. She has gone up to her room.

Thank you, Gregory. Now see to your own woman, Sylvan responded.

As you command, Gregory linked with a hint of pride in his tone.

Only a minute later, Cole returned, swaying slightly on his feet as he handed over a large pitcher of dragon mead for Sylvan to take. Sylvan assisted him in sitting down and clicked his tongue when Cole nearly fell backward off the log.

“Gods, how much did you drink? You were only gone for a few minutes,” Sylvan tsked.

“I took a puff or two of smoke,” Cole grumbled, shoving Sylvan away.

“Smoke? What kind of…” Sylvan held his hand up. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Maybe you should go home.”

“Oh, you’d like that, huh, Mate Killer? Have her put her little hands on you so you can rub it in my face how you have every girl fawning over you, even the ones who say they could never love someone else?”

“Hey,” Sylvan warned.

“I just don’t get it. You treat your mate like an actual slave, and she still falls into bed with you, but I…”

“She fell into bed with you first, remember?” Sylvan growled.

Cole’s eyes widened, and his irritated expression softened. “Oh, yeah. Hah!” Cole lunged forward, and this time Sylvan had to catch him before he face-planted.

“It’s alright, Cole,” Sylvan said, patting his friend on the back. “Like the whore said, you have a fair shot of finding another mate someday. Someone who will actually treasure you.”

Cole sighed. His shoulders sagged forward as his hands fell limply between his splayed knees. “I can’t… I can’t touch anyone…” he whispered, and Sylvan felt a sharp pang of grief in his chest for his friend. He gripped Cole by the shoulder to ground him. Cole lifted his gloved hands. “You don’t know what it’s like. To only want to hold someone without hurting them. Then that moment comes when you finally reach out, and you feel someone’s skin without it blistering under your fingers, only for them to… flinch away as if you had.” He glanced up at Sylvan, his eyes uncertain as if he shouldn’t say what he was about to. “I had hoped, with Isla…”

“I know,” Sylvan said, squeezing his shoulder. “I get it. I mean, I don’t, but I understand.” Cole sighed and leaned forward. Then his body went limp. “Fuck, Cole?” Sylvan lifted him up and tapped him on the face.

Cole’s eyes fluttered open. “Wh-what?”

“How much of that shit did you take?”

“Clearly just the right amount,” he slurred with bloodshot eyes and a crooked grin.

“Come on, night’s over,” Sylvan said on a sigh as he hauled him to his feet. As Sylvan lifted him up, Cole slipped again, going completely limp. “Fucking hell,” Sylvan growled.