Black, smoky tendrils began to wrap around his hand almost immediately, and when he threw the punch he’d been winding up, his fist sent that power to the far wall where it shattered as if it were sheetrock instead of the huge eighteen-inch-thick cement bricks.
All of the walls inside the Keep were constructed of the thick, stone blocks. The building itself seemed to take offense at the attack. Immediately following the display, the room grew colder and darker.
No sooner had Storm turned around to smile over his supposed victory at Furio, then one of the broken shards seemed to zoom across the room to smack him in the forehead.
“Ow!” Storm rubbed his head and flung the shard onto the floor.
“Awe, cumpy, you fucked up.”
Seconds later, every bit of the broken remnants of brick and plaster floated upwards and off the floor. The air hummed and buzzed with energy as the pieces wove themselves back together seamlessly, creating the appearance of never having been broken.
“Sorry, Keep,” said Fergie McAndrews in a sing-song voice.
She walked into the room at just the right moment as she always did. Catching her Wolf Shifter mate’s glowing blue eyes with a mischievous smile on her lips.
The redhead wore her latest pair of spindly-heeled torture devices, these in an alarmingly bright shade of purple, and headed directly into Storm’s open arms. She greeted him with a kiss that was far too personal to conduct in mixed company, but they were Shifters. PDA’s were kinda the norm.
Their story was legendary, even if it only began months ago. The love they shared for one another was almost tangible. It hurt to watch, but Kingston remained unmoving and observed the byplay.
He turned his head out of respect once their lips touched, noting with passing interest how the room seemed to warm and glow around the mated couple. It was as if the Keep wanted to bask the lovers in a protective bubble. Odd, he mused. Then again, he’d started to notice something off with the Keep after Fergie had pointed it out over dinner one night.
There was something very different just lately about the place he’d called home for the last few decades. A certain awareness he had not recognized before.
As their group leader and a rare Diamond Dragon Shifter, Kingston was one of the oldest supernatural creatures in the order. The Guardians of Chaos was a well-respected organization, but their numbers were small. He’d been a sworn member for a century. His Dragon hissed as his mind threatened to wander back to the days of his youth.
Don’t go there. Not now.
The past was in the past. Best to think of other things. Like hunting for the bastards who’d attacked Neela, then Fergie. The Loyalist problem was getting entirely out of hand. If they refused to accept that mates were off limits then why should the Guardians have to adhere to the rules set forth by the Assembly?
Kingston was in a seriously pissed off mood. That seemed to be his baseline just lately. But what did he expect with little to no rest? A Dragon needed to sleep, but he was anxious. Unsettled. As if he could sense something big was coming.
But what? Fuck if he knew. Kingston was many things, but a clairvoyant he was not. Besides, it was no use. How could he sleep knowing Neela was gone and it was all his fault?
Grrrr. The Dragon inside of him snarled. The beast’s claws scratched against his skin, but it was too risky. He could not let the anger inside devour what precious little was left of his humanity.
And just lately, it felt all too little. His fire was burning low, the heat that flamed his soul was going out. Fading. That happened when mates died, but his was no usual mating. He frowned and rubbed his chest.
It could not be that. After all, when he’d woken up that morning he’d been hotter than a furnace.
“Kingston? You alright, cump?” Furio knocked on the wall, his inquiry barely making a dent, “you’re growling, dude, like loudly,” he added, eyebrows raised high on his pronounced forehead.
The Stallion Shifter was unique in Kingston’s experience, and he valued him as a member of the team. He silenced his growl and gave the man a curt nod before exiting to his study.
Sometimes he needed to be alone. Now was one of them.
The wall sconces lit themselves as soon as he entered, as did the fireplace. His computer turned on, but the lamp next to it stayed dark. He frowned deeply, pulling his chair out before sitting his colossal frame down.
He waited, but nothing happened. Hmmph. He’d gotten used to the Keep taking care of all the little odds and ends he and his team were simply too busy to worry about. Very odd, he mused, the lamp remained off until he bent forward and tugged the little chain.
“You angry with me?” he asked aloud, shaking his head and releasing a long, slow breath.
He was developing Fergie’s fancy for talking to inanimate objects. Fucking hell. Kingston ignored his momentary lapse of sanity and logged in to the Guardians network to read the latest reports and necessary assignments.
He never thought New Jersey would be such a hotspot for paranormal activity, and yet, here he was leading one of the busiest groups of Guardians this side of the Atlantic.
Even more amazing were these new confounded machines that were equipped with special, magicked software that protected them against all matters of malware supernatural and not.
Kingston answered his correspondences, updated the proper channels on their hunt for Loyalists in their sector, and took a look at the quarterly reports. He felt like a fucking businessman and that was something both he and his Dragon loathed.
A chiming bell alerted him to an incoming message and Kingston switched tabs to his email. His finger stalled as he rolled the cursor over the new message. It was from the Assembly regarding their meeting over Neela Baldric’s death.
“Fuck,” he inhaled deeply and clicked on it.
His eyes closed as he read their findings. Murder. Deliberate. Collateral damage in the war against the Loyalists. Tragic. Apologies.
“Fucking bastards!”
Kingston stood abruptly, overturning his desk and sending everything on it flying across the room. His Dragon snarled and snapped. Pain lashed at him from the inside out as he balled his fists and took a swing at the wall sending shards of stone flying.
Fuck. He was losing it, he thought as he sank to the floor. The room remained quiet. The stone stayed broken. And Kingston closed his eyes and tried to calm his raging beast.
The door swung opened and Furio and Storm ran inside, halting when they saw he was alone, but enraged.
Smart. Very smart. Kingston was looking for a fight and right then anyone would do. But instead of hurting the very team he was responsible for, he headed for the window.
White diamond-shaped scales began to pop out over his skin and he felt himself losing control over his Shift. And why not? This was a pretty big fucking deal.
With an enormous roar, Kingston tore through the window, breaking glass and brick as his almost seven-foot-tall, two-hundred-fifty pound frame changed into that of a fifty-foot-long four-thousand pound Diamond Dragon. The last of his kind.
Sorrow unlike any he’d ever felt welled up inside him as he shot enormous streaks of flames into the sky and flapped his enormous wings. He opened his jaws and screeched a mournful cry that echoed through the forest.
So much pain, so much anger, he needed to fly. To soar among the clouds to try and forget his sorrows. His Dragon was hurting. With scales that appeared white to the naked eye, but upon closer inspection they were in fact clear and crystal-like, he used them to hide himself from the normals.