Alamosa Arena (American Dragons Book 9) Page 4

  She focused her mind. The Battle of Denver had been two years before, almost to the day, and she’d spent most of that time a prisoner in the Leadville Cruxis, having her core perverted. Or was it perfected? Hard to think. So hard to think.

  Heridan walked into the terminal and saw the seats, the motionless people mover, and a Jamaican Juice. She’d loved their smoothies. She remembered that she’d heard a woman call out, Fuck Jamaican Juice. I want Jamba Juice.

  No, there wasn’t a woman in the airport. That was a memory, something Mouse said at some point. They thought Taco Bangs and Señor Chang’s and Donald Douglases were so strange. For them, it was a Big Mac. For her, it was a Big Doug, and she had loved fast food. Heridan’s metabolism had been superpowered for most of her life, and that meant she could eat what she wanted and as much as she wanted. Tara had loved food. Heridan couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

  How could Heridan remember what Mouse had said? How was that possible? Connexra. Mother is calling. You should answer Mother. The voice was her own, but it sounded like someone else’s. Heridan’s voice versus Tara’s voice?

  The conflict would kill her, or drive her insane, or both. All the Prime’s dragons and all the Prime’s men couldn’t put Tara Heridan back together again.

  No, that wasn’t right. That rhyme was about Humpty-Dumpty. Why was he an egg?

  She felt the Morta of someone behind her. Was it the blue-skinned woman with the white hair? Or was it Steven Drokharis, the Taco Bell version? The McDonald’s version. Zoey, the bear girl, hated fast food. How did Heridan know that?

  Connexra. Mother is calling. You should answer Mother.

  Heridan turned. The scent of orange blossoms and sweet smoke perfumed the wide terminal.

  Steven Drokharis approached her, concern in his eyes. Where was his smirk? Where was his smarm? He thought he could do anything with the vassals in his father’s Primacy. Or was he dead?

  Heridan felt her thoughts slip away from her. This Steven was so handsome, approaching her with his hand stretched out. He wore a red hoodie and jeans and boots. Was that a crown on his head? It looked out of place and silly. It made Heridan smile. Her black lips pulled back from her fangs. Her exoskeleton covered her shoulders and back but not her breasts or stomach or sex. She was basically naked in front of him. She wasn’t a Dragonsoul. Nudity should embarrass her.

  Or would seeing her naked make him want her? “Stop it!” she screamed.

  Steven did stop and raised both hands. “Stopping, Tara. I’m stopping.”

  “Heridan!” she hissed. “Tara is dead. Or I think she is. It’s hard to think. Mother is calling. I should answer Mother. Connexra.”

  Steven nodded. “If you do that, if she finds us here, we’ll have to run. We’re almost to a solution, Heridan. We’re so close. I need you to hold on a little longer. Just a little bit longer.”

  Fear and rage thrummed through her core. Who was she afraid of? Who did she hate? Zothora? Steven? Both?

  Using the Morta skills had depleted her resources. She knew where to get more. “Leeze,” she whispered.

  Steven let out a strangled yell and fell to his knees.

  She reached into the dark energy of the Dragonlord. Yes, he was a Dragonlord, so powerful, so yummy. She wondered what his cock looked like. That put a special tingle between her legs. She was far from a virgin.

  She’d fantasized about joining a Dragonlord’s Escort, and now she could, if that was what she really wanted. However, that was a problem. What did she really want? Did she long for a dragon or did she want a goddess inside her?

  “Magica Incanto,” Steven grunted.

  Heridan didn’t know what kind of spell he was casting, but it seemed to have no effect. She was taking his Morta, adding it to her own, and growing more powerful.

  “Damn,” he said. “I can’t dispel your Morta energy. I hate to do this, Heridan, but you’re taking too much out of my core.”

  BlackBlood tentacles exploded out of Steven’s clothes. At the same time, he cast a shield spell. He certainly wasn’t running low on Animus. The stuff was overflowing out of him. He’d probably had sex that morning.

  Heridan used transvexri to appear behind him, in a shadow corner near the doors that led to the jet bridge.

  Steven spun and got his black shield between them.

  That didn’t stop her. She cast another Leeze spell to pull from his Animus core rather than his Morta center. Yes, the light energy flowed into her as Morta. Leeze allowed her to feed off both kinds of power.

  Steven grimaced at the attack. “Okay, fine, let me try something else. Defensio!” He placed another shadowy force field between them. Her Leeze spell winked off.

  “Should’ve known,” Steven said. “So a shield spell against magic does protect me against Morta attacks. And a physical shield will protect me against BlackBlood.”

  Heridan pushed herself off the ground using her midnight tendrils. She somersaulted over him and hit him square in the chest. He fell to the ground with her atop him.

  She leaned in close to inhale his orange-tinged scent. “You smell good.”

  “Thank you?” Steven asked in wonder.

  Heridan couldn’t help but kiss him. He smelled good. He tasted better.

  STEVEN REACHED AROUND Heridan and felt the chitin on her back, hard and unforgiving. She had one of his hands pinned to the floor above his head. Those claws could rip open his flesh easily, and yet, they weren’t fighting anymore, but kissing.

  Morta energy swirled around him. A bit of the ichor dripped onto his face, but he found he didn’t mind it. This woman, part human, part Zothoric, smelled surprisingly sweet, like some strange flowery perfume.

  Did that point to an innate goodness? He hoped so. She sure didn’t stink like a Hybrith.

  Her tongue was human enough, soft and wet. Her breasts pushed up against his chest. His hands went from the exoskeleton on her back to the soft globes of her ass. He squeezed them before sliding a finger down her crack.

  She jerked back. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  He felt her anger, and it triggered his own. Rage and lust combined in his core. He accessed DragonStrength and tossed her off him. Now she was on her back, legs spread. He scrambled on top of her. His enhanced muscles had her pinned to the ground.

  Riding his rage, he kissed her again, pressing his body between her legs. She rubbed herself against him, their mouths mashing against each other—lips and tongues and spit, the kiss seemed to go on forever. He broke it. He wanted to get a good look at her body.

  He leaned back a bit. All the while, his Morta core swirled with anger. The black carapace covering her throat met pale skin, lightly freckled. Her nipples were big and hard, begging to be sucked. The muscles of her flat belly tensed, covered with the sheen of sweat. Or was that Morta? Sex with her would be a messy affair. She literally dripped.

  She didn’t have a trace of pubic hair. From his angle, he couldn’t see her sex. He got curious.

  He let her arms go and sat back on his haunches. The swollen petals on her wet mound pooched out visibly.

  Yes, he satisfied his curiosity, but it was a mistake.

  She flung him back with her tentacles. He caught himself on coils of his own. Their kiss had replenished his dark core. He triggered SerpentGrace, switching from Morta to Animus easily.

  She was trying to get up. He didn’t let her. Back on top of her, the rage and lust made him want to take her right there. This was different than his experiences with Nefri, but then, Heridan was completely different than the dark elf. With Heridan, he felt a crazy sexual energy fueled by hate and fear. He felt connected to her, probably because he’d pulled her out of the Prosha pod at a critical time. That connection had given him his Morta core.

  “Are you going to take me?” she hissed.

  “I’m fucking thinking about it,” he growled.

  Her face was strange, her hair gone, her head covered in a hard carapace. Horns
poked from her skull. She had a demon’s black eyes. Yes, she was some alien thing, and yet, she had a beauty to her. Or was that her lust he found so attractive? Her juices soaked the front of his jeans.

  “Well? Do it. You know how to use women. Use me if you have to. I don’t fucking care.” Her eyes flickered from black to hazel. Her horns receded as the chitin on her head became skin. Auburn hair grew and lengthened into curls. A very human woman stared up at him. Tears slid down the sides of her face.

  The whole energy of their intense encounter changed in a heartbeat. She went from a fury-fueled fuck beast to a weeping girl, heartbroken. Having sex with her right then wouldn’t be right.

  He withdrew from her and sat down, trying to still his thundering heartbeat. “What do you mean I know how to use women?”

  Heridan covered her breasts with one arm, her sex with the other. “Steven Drokharis is a piece of shit. He uses women and throws them away. He doesn’t give a shit.”

  He blew out a tense breath. “Wrong Steven. That was your version, and I killed him. You’ll find I’m completely different than that asshole. I wouldn’t sell out my entire world to win.” He took off his hoodie and handed it to her.

  She put on the jacket and zipped it up to her chin. “I know. I think I know at least. How long can I go on like this? Can you tell me?”

  He smiled at her gently. “I wish I could. All I know for sure is that you haven’t contacted Zothora. We don’t think you will. We believe in you, Heridan.”

  She let out a ragged sigh. “I wish I had your faith in me. I really do. How can we end this? How can I be free?”

  “Let’s go back to the terminal. We were just discussing that.”

  Heridan wiped her cheeks. She finally found a smile for him. “Were you as turned on as I was?”

  Steven didn’t answer. He helped her off the floor and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss said it all.

  Chapter Five

  BULLETS SPARKED OFF the exoskeleton on Ulita Rozhenko’s back. She hardly felt them. Dead pine trees surrounded her and the huge Jugger Hybrith next to her. Cooper-colored needles blanketed the ground, a foot deep at least. The Toufulkor pushed through them on their strong goat legs, snorting out of their long goat heads. Their atlatl hands flung Morta javelins of all shapes and sizes. A dozen of the Russian dissidents were impaled. Humans were so easy to kill.

  This was the last of the rebels on the Eurasia continent. It had taken some work, but Ulita had finally found the last outpost, in Siberia, where a blistering sun made snow all but a memory. These humans thought their AK-47s were so powerful. They were nothing compared to the raw strength of the Myriad.

  Shaze blackened the sky and came down, whistling, as one rebel after another was devoured by the demons. The dog-shaped Splackers, insect eyes blinking, galloped forward, whining and shaking. The Splackers exploded, covering trees and humans in acid. The dead pines creaked, then cracked, then came falling down in multiple thunderclaps. Dust and gun smoke hung in the air.

  A last woman darted forward. She stuck her pistol in Ulita’s chest. The Prosha grabbed the woman’s arm and snapped the bone. “Nyet, darling. I will not be dying today. My real work is just beginning.”

  Twin BlackBlood spikes shot out of Ulita’s eyes. The spears ripped through the woman’s skull. This one had been a fighter, and yes, inside her was a bit of Animus. She wasn’t a Dragonskin, no, and not even a Dragonkind. She was human enough, and that meant she was fair game and not Hybrith material.

  Ulita had found some Dragonkind on the Eurasia continent. The Prosha had placed them in various Cruxi spread across the lands. The Magicians, Morphlings, and Warlings were in the process of being perfected. Those fortunate souls would thank her once the transformation was complete.

  The woman slumped to the ground, dead. Ulita took her bit of Animus and added it to her Morta. Leeze was a joy.

  With a thought, she bid her forces to return to their Cruxis, on some unnamed lake far to the north. To think, as a girl, she’d visited these forests, and she’d found them beautiful. How simple and naïve she’d been—Moscow, and that girl, were but faint memories.

  Ulita relaxed, taking a moment to enjoy the total victory. Her side of the globe had been cleansed of the human virus. There wouldn’t be any more sneak attacks against her many Cruxi, no more battles, just the silence of the devoured world. The other side of the planet wasn’t perfected, not yet. The interlopers were there. She and Mother would deal with them directly.

  Ulita used Connexra to see the shadows across the world, then used transvexri to teleport to the Cruxis, a black dome rising out of dark waters, at the bottom of a dead mountain. Inside, the hive was buzzing after the attack. In the honeycombed walls, her children ate grubs and slithered around each other, celebrating in their own way.

  Siberia. Moscow. Ulita’s faint memories became solid.

  She’d been a powerful Magician before the Great Devouring, serving Boris Kovel, the Dragonlord of the Russian Primacy. She’d helped Boris secure other Primacies, and she’d been an important part of his Escort. Boris was brutal to his enemies, but kind to his wives. They’d feasted together, in his great Aerie at the center of Moscow. She remembered the borscht, laden with sour cream, and the hunks of meat in steaming sauces. She remembered the bite of the sautéed cabbage, and the cookies for dessert. And coffee, she remembered coffee so fondly. Those meals had been good. Had they really filled her? Not like eating humans. Filling herself with Morta was far more satisfying.

  She’d been such a pathetic creature, a Magician, mortal, doomed to die. She’d done well to channel the Animus within her, and yet, in the end, time would’ve found her. She might’ve gotten a few more centuries than the humans around her, but snap your fingers, and she would’ve been gone.

  Now, she was immortal, serving a goddess that spanned the eons as well as the galaxies. Once Ulita’s world was devoured completely, once Mother sprang her trap and ended the threat against them, Ulita would journey to other worlds, lead other armies, and eat, and eat, and eat. She would be as endless as Mother. That was better than any amount of beet soup or sour cream.

  She shook away the memories and approached the central chamber of the Cruxis. The walls of the pod peeled back to let her inside. Morta ichor flooded the chamber until she was breathing the black fluid, so comforting in her lungs.

  Connexra. Mother. My work on my lands is done. Tell me how I might serve you now.

  Mother was so close now. She responded immediately. My lovely child. I felt your kin feed. I enjoyed the deaths of the humans, and they have given me strength. It won’t be long now, two of your days, and then I will be with you.

  Ulita wept. Will you hold me, Mother? Will you cradle me to your breast? Her black tears mixed with the dark liquid drowning her.

  That and more, child. That and more. Your sister, Tara Heridan, hasn’t reached out to me. We find that troubling, do we not?

  Ulita snarled, Nyet, Heridan is not my sister. She has rebuked you. She is weak, and when I find her, I will kill her.

  Easy, child. Heridan remains a Prosha, however lost and weak she is. We will give her another chance. Then, if she continues to be difficult, I will eat her myself.

  Ulita didn’t like the idea. They’d gone through so much trouble, and the only reason why this new Steven Drokharis and the other interlopers were still alive was because their world only had one Prosha to lead the Myriad. If only the interlopers hadn’t rescued Tara Heridan from the Leadville Cruxis. If only Tara Heridan had seen the horrible beauty of Mother and rejoiced in it.

  Mother’s presence grew stronger around Ulita, stifling her, pinching her core with such sweet agony. You will serve me, Ulita. You will not question. You will not disagree. You will bend to my will.

  Ulita knew she’d made a grave mistake. Mother knew all, even her most intimate thoughts. Da, Mother. I am so sorry. I feel how wrong she is, but you know best. Mother always knows best.

  An errant thought swe
pt through the Russian Prosha. If Mother knew best, why had she spent so much time on the Terror Trio? They had failed them in the end, one dying on this world, the others dying on another. Ulita reined in her mind. She repeated, Mother always knows best.

  I do, Mother agreed. Before you were even the lust of your parents, I knew you. I marked you. Even before the Alpheros journeyed to this blue-green gem, I spoke your name.

  Mother’s invisible fingers tightened on Ulita’s core, and it was painful, or did it feel good? Ulita didn’t know, but she loved how close she was to the Womb Mistress, the Utereich, Zothora. In that closeness, she felt a sexual excitement that forced her to huff in the Morta ichor around her. She swirled and spun, swimming, or dancing, or both.

  Then it was bliss, a dark bliss that swept away all her doubts. This was Mother. This was her everything. How stupid for Tara Heridan to refuse such eternal, excruciating caresses. Ulita felt sorry for her. In the end, Mother was right not to murder Heridan. The failed Prosha would join them eventually. How could she not?

  THE HORROR MOTHER HADN’T moved her lair in a very long time. Zothora found the travel exhilarating. Not that she was moving through space, since distance was such a quaint concept for something like her. Nor did she move through time. She was beyond such niceties. Her lair, teeming with trillions of pieces of her, was a vast web of threads connecting her to every universe. She knew everything. She could feel all of her Proshas. Every kill fed her. The Animus was channeled into her beautiful, corpulent body. She had grown fat, and yet, she felt starved, but only for an instant, as one second of hunger was replaced by millennia of satisfaction.

  If the network of threads hadn’t been so numerous, so tangled, she could’ve appeared at once on what the child, Steven Drokharis, referred to as the Battle World. She thought of it as the Game World, and what a game she was playing. This would end the last threat to her. No other versions of the Drokharis family could ever come as far again. Some of it was his luck—his destiny dripped with luck—and some of it was his cunning. He was the final piece on a single board, and once she licked the Animus from his bones, no other game would ever be necessary.