Heart of the Dragon Read Free Page A

each warrior’s stare, one at a time, holding it until the other man looked away. “But there is a time for war and a time for strategy. Now is the time for strategy. I will send a patrol into the Inner City and learn the vampires’ purpose. Soon we will know the best course of action.”
    “But—” one warrior began.
    He cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Our ancestors waged the last war with the vampires, and while we might have won, our losses were too great. Families were torn asunder and blood bathed the land. We will have patience in this situation. My men will not jump hastily into any skirmish.”
    A disappointed silence slithered from every man present, wrapping around the table, then climbing up the walls. He wasn’t sure if they were considering his words, or revolt.
    “What do you care, Darius, if families are destroyed? I’d think a heartless bastard like you would welcome the violence.” The dry statement came from across the table, where Tagart reclined in his seat. “Aren’t you eager to spill more blood? No matter that the blood is vampire rather than human?”
    A sea of angry growls grew in volume, and several warriors whipped to face Darius, staring at him with expectation, as if they waited for him to coldly slay the warrior who had voiced what they had all been thinking. Tagart merely laughed, daring anyone to act against him.
    Do they truly consider me heartless? Darius wondered. Heartless enough to execute his own kind for something so trivial as a verbal insult? He was a killer, yes, but not heartless.
    A heartless man felt nothing, and he felt some emotions. Mild though they were. He simply knew how to control what he felt, knew how to bury it deep inside himself. That was the way he preferred his life. Intense emotions birthed turmoil, and turmoil birthed soul-wrenching pain. Soul-wrenching pain birthed memories…His fingers tightened around his fork, and he forced himself to relax.
    He would rather feel nothing than relive the agony of his past—the same agony that could very well become his present if he allowed a single memory to take root and sprout its poisonous branches.
    “My family is Atlantis,” he finally said, his voice disturbingly calm. “I will do what I must to protect her. If that means waiting before declaring war and angering every one of my men, then so be it.”
    Realizing Darius could not be provoked, Tagart shrugged and returned his attention to his meal.
    “You are right, my friend.” Grinning broadly, Brand slapped his shoulder. “War is only fun if we emerge the victor. We heed your advice to wait most readily.”
    “Kiss his ass any harder,” Tagart muttered, “and your lips will chap.”
    Brand quickly lost his grin, and the medallion hanging from his neck began to glow. “What did you say?” he demanded quietly.
    “Are your ears as feeble as the rest of you?” Tagart pushed to his feet, leaving his palms planted firmly on the glossy tabletop. The two men glared at each other from across the distance, a charged stillness sparking between them. “I said, kiss his ass any harder, and your lips will chap.”
    With a growl, Brand launched himself over the table, knocking dishes and food to the ground in his haste to attack Tagart. In midspring, reptilian scales grew upon his skin and narrow, incandescent wings sprouted from his back, ripping his shirt and pants in half, transforming him from man to beast. Fire spewed from his mouth, charring the surface of everything in its path.
    The same transformation overtook Tagart, and the two beasts grappled to the ebony floor in a dangerous tangle of claws, teeth and fury.
    Dragon warriors were able to change into true dragons whenever they desired, though the transformation happened of its own volition whenever raging emotions gripped them. Darius himself had not experienced a change, impromptu or otherwise, since he discovered his family slaughtered over three hundred years ago. To be honest, Darius