Page 78 of The Artist and the Dragon

Malik raised his hands in false surrender. “No need to kill innocents.”

“Drop it. Drop the blade!”

He did, thankful it didn’t clatter into the pit of musicians below and kill some unfortunate soul.

Lewis laughed. “Your father was right. You are weak.” Then he tipped his blade to the rope, to the ribbon wound around it. It ignited into a trail of sparks that turned everything it touched to ashes.

With a snap, the rope gave way.

The chandelier started to fall. Glass clicked. Candles flickered.

A collective gasp and shriek rang out from below.

And then the chandelier halted. Rope groaned and crystals cracked against one another, some small pieces fell free to rain down below, but the mass of it stayed, swaying above the now-panicked crowd.

The singing stopped. Music broke off in discordant notes.

“Ah, but you forgot that I’m the clever one.” In one swift movement, Malik dropped to one knee, grabbed his fallen blade, and pulled another free. Before the man had even stopped gaping, he was back on his feet, facing down his opponent. A grin spread across his face. “Not what you expected?”

The question still hung in the air when he raced toward the young lord, ready to catch him unaware. But Lord Lewis snapped from his shock in time to raise his dagger, deflecting Malik’s twin blades with practiced skill.

Malik stepped back, then struck again only to be deflected. Lewis advanced in a series of fierce blows that forced Malik to back up and block. But his smaller blades couldn’t take such hits; a particularly fierce blow sent one flying from his grip and tumbling down below.

Shit.He hadn’t counted on a worthy opponent. His pulse quickened, his mind trying to process each tell, to anticipate each move and block in time. They were over the stage once more.

Lord Lewis swung. Malik dropped to a crouch and flung his leg out, catching the other man off guard. He fell into thin rope railing before falling hard on the catwalk’s wooden planks.

Just as Malik readied to deal another blow, a loud crack sounded from the stage below. Light flared. And then a plume of fire shot up from the set.

Thatwasn’t part of the show.

He lurched back, throwing his arms up to block his face. Heat buffeted his skin, there and then gone again. There was no time to consider what had happened on stage. The moment he opened his eyes and lowered his arms, Lord Lewis was upon him. Malik raised his blade, but it wasn’t fast enough to fully block the strike. The dagger slid off his blade to catch on his upper arm. The steel slipped through his coat and shirt, cutting deep.

White hot pain seared him. He stumbled back, grabbing at the wound.

“Clever now?” Lord Lewis taunted. “How about this, my prince?” With disgusting arrogance, he raised his hands, dropping his dagger.

It was no surrender. The man’s body began to shiver, limbs stretching. Red flashed in his eyes.

Fuck. His little blade would do nothing against a beast. He’d be lucky to prick the leathery hide.

This duel had to end. Now.

His father might have thought him weak, a poor student and not very skilled. But Malik knew more than he’d ever show his father, and observed much. It didn’t take cleverness to know that a transformation took time. It was quick, heartbeats at most, but that was enough.

Malik barreled forward, knocking into the figure caught between man and beast, and sent them both tumbling into the rope railing. As he hoped, it snapped under the weight of them both. A roar echoed in his ears as beastly claws swiped for him—for anything to grasp—and found nothing.

But Malik did. He grabbed an unbroken rope at the last moment and hung on for dear life. The coarse strands burned his palm, scraping away skin. His muscles groaned as his bottom half dangled in the air off the side of the catwalk. Below, the beast smashed into the stage with a heavy, sickening thump. More screams rang out from the audience members who’d yet to flee—crazy fools.

His injured arm screaming with pain, Malik heaved himself onto the wooden catwalk, finding purchase and using his good arm to haul him up. Finally, back to safety but still breathing heavily, he dared a glance down. The beast was cradled in cracked stage boards and blood, still as death.

He cursed inwardly.Sorry, Wynni.Things weren’t quite going to plan, to say the least. Not only had he failed to take the man alive, he’d damaged the stage. He’d have to make this disaster up to her.

But first, there were more dragons to see to. Someone had ignited the stage, and he couldn’t let them get away.

Equally as important, he needed to find Bronwyn and ensure she was safe.

If anything happened to her, he’d never rest until he hunted each and every person responsible and made them pay. Slowly and painfully.

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