as every muscle froze in terrified astonishment. She’d faced down bulls, angry sows and even a bear, but this was more menacing. “What is that thing?”
“Run!” Larkan commanded.
This time she obeyed, snatching up her backpack. She spun and bolted for the passage to the outer cave, her pack banging against her side. She didn’t stop until she’d burst into the sunshine, feeling the heat of it surround her like armor. Whatever lived in that dark place wasn’t meant for the light of day. She was safe.
Or so she hoped. She ran and ran, making it halfway down the mountain before she realized that she was alone. Panting, Keltie stopped, letting her backpack slide to the grass. Where was Larkan? What had just happened? She remembered his command to run. Had he come with her partway and stopped somewhere along the winding trail?
And then...she recalled a faint glimpse of the man as he had turned to stand firmly in the path of the Thing. He had been between her and it, guarding her retreat.
Stunned, Keltie remained motionless as the soft mountain breeze swirled past, smelling at once of green leaves and distant snow. Then she dropped to her knees, suddenly overwhelmed. No one had ever done anything like that for her before. She wasn’t the delicate, fragile type that men rescued.
A rush of hot emotion flooded her—a mix of guilt, fear and gratitude.
Anyone brave and stupid enough to face down a winged monster needed someone to cover his back. In an instant she was on her feet, grabbing her flashlight and a heavy branch. She left her pack where it had fallen and charged back toward the cave.
Chapter Two
As soon as the woman—Keltie—was out of sight and earshot, Larkan strode toward the massive creature. It arched a long serpentine neck, faint light gleaming on blue-black scales. Massive batlike wings unfurled with a leathery whisper, filling the cave yet more shadow. The only relief was in the twin fires of its golden eyes. As Larkan neared, the dragon bared its fangs with a rattling hiss.
“Who gave you permission to leave the den?” Larkan demanded in the dragon tongue, taking a quick glance behind him to be doubly sure Keltie was safely gone. Her absence was a comfort. His body was still tight and hot, as if being near her had ignited embers within his flesh. He had wanted an afternoon’s escape, some time alone to think about the upcoming festival day, but now he wanted to turn and follow wherever she had gone.
As he’d tried to tell her, the cave was full of perils. For him, a woman like that might just qualify. There was no place in his existence for an outsider. His role was clear: he was first among the Flameborn. Keltie Clarke was not one of them.
Distraction was a mistake. The dragon snapped, saber-sharp teeth slicing the air just inches from Larkan’s face. Larkan grabbed one of its pointed ears—not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to show he meant business. “Calm down.”
The dragon let out a whine—or as close to a whine as a lizard the size of a bear could manage. A puff of steam curled from the flaring nostrils, but Larkan held fast. “That’s enough!”
The creature made a grumbling noise. Shimmers of greenish light played over the dragon’s hide as it began to shrink, the wings folding into its back, the lashing tail disappearing in a wisp of sparkling mist. Larkan caught a sharp, cool scent like snow on herbs, and then suddenly the light was gone. Where the great lizard had been, a boy of about seven squirmed in Larkan’s grip. He was gangly and dirty, and completely without clothes.
“Mickel,” Larkan growled. There were few things under the mountain as troublesome as an adventurous juvenile. He released the boy, who scampered a few steps away and then turned to glare at Larkan. The next moment, Mickel seemed to think better of that plan and scowled at his bare feet instead.
“Does your master know you are here?” Larkan asked, already sure that the answer was no. Dragons did not leave the mountain—not since ancient times, when the Old Ones had returned to the Summerland through the rift. At the same time, the priests and lawgivers had ordered those who remained behind to go beneath the earth, and for centuries none had seen the skies. Now an exception was made for only the strongest of the warriors. Someone needed to guard the mountain, and for the time being that someone was Larkan.
Mickel looked up, and in his face Larkan now recognized a mix of hero worship and defiance. “I wanted to see the outside. I want to fly like you.”
The words made something twist in Larkan’s chest. What would it be like to have a son of my own? He softened his voice, mixing a little kindness into its habitual steel. “The first rule as a warrior is to obey orders. You were told to report for chores.”
Mickel’s face fell. He scuffed the floor with one grubby foot. “Can’t I just look outside the cave?”
Larkan felt a stab of sympathy as he put a hand on the youngling’s shoulder. The outside was glorious, with crystal-blue skies and thrusting mountains, but there were complications even Larkan barely understood. He thought again of the woman, with her large, dark eyes and the heat she had brought to his aching skin. No human had ever drawn him in that way, and he prayed none would again. “I promise I will take you out when you are a little older. You have to fly fast and strong out there.”
Mickel stopped squirming and looked up from under his brows. “You will? Really?”
“I promise, and I wouldn’t promise unless I meant it.”
The boy thumped into Larkan’s legs, giving him an awkward boy’s hug before leaping away in one elated bound. “We will fly and fly and fly!”
Mickel’s glee caught at his heart, but Larkan took a mental step away. According to ancient law, dragons belonged to the earth.
“Fly, fly!” Mickel crowed, sticking out his arms and zooming around in a circle.
“But not today, boy. Not yet,” Larkan said gently. “Now get moving. Back to your chores. And don’t leave the den without permission. There was a human in the cave.”
“Was I scary?” Mickel asked with gruesome satisfaction. “I should have roared.”
“Go.” Larkan gave Mickel a light push toward home.
With a heavy sigh, Mickel trudged forward. The cave with the paintings narrowed, feeding into a passageway set deep into the stone. Larkan strode to the end of the passage and pushed against the blank wall, speaking a word in his own tongue. There was a slight grating sound, and the wall slid away on a perfectly balanced mechanism. Beyond it was a stairway hewn into the stone.
A moment later, the wall slid closed behind them, leaving no trace that anyone had been there.
* * *
Keltie pounded back into the caves, hoisting the branch in one hand and the light in the other.
But it was empty—no monster, no Larkan. She stopped, winded, her lungs heaving for air as she looked around. A breeze skittered dry leaves along the stones behind her, a dead, hollow scrape that echoed weirdly along the walls. “Hello?” she called out softly. Her voice came back to her, sounding lonely.
Cautiously, she took one step and then another, shining the light into every corner and behind each of the huge boulders, dreading that she would find Larkan sprawled and mangled, or that she would find blood. Nothing. There was a layer of
