Page 101 of Taloned Heart

Well, it made little sense to hope right now. Lore had done what she could, and in doing so, she’d saved him and his children from the wounds that the acid balls would have left. But their people were still fighting. Just as she’d promised they would.

She was no goddess to walk into a battlefield and end the fight there. They needed to prove themselves to her, and they would.

“Father!” Nyx shouted, sweeping elves off the castle ramparts near her. Their screams echoed for a few moments before she snarled for their silence. “Bring her back to us.”

“I will.”

And then he let the change ripple through him. He was still half on the wall, even in his human form, so he had to drag himself upright. Already breathing hard, he rolled onto his feet and balled his hands into fists.

Three elves stood between him and the door that Lore and Margaret had slipped through. Three elves who would now meet their end.

He stalked toward them, shaking out the tense muscles in his shoulders. “Have you heard what happens when a dragon kills you?”

They looked at each other, then back at him. The elves gripped their swords a little more tightly, bringing them closer to their bodies as they walked toward him as one.

Perhaps they thought it would be easier to attack him because he was no longer massive. They must look at him now and think that even though he was a significantly large man, that he must be less of a threat.

They were wrong.

He didn’t have a sword or a weapon, but he had his body and that was all he needed. These elves had no clue what they were about to fight, but he would at least warn them. Like the good man Lore had taught him to be.

“The old legends say if your body is burned by dragon flame, that your soul is consumed.” He flashed the three elves a grin. “Are you willing to risk your soul?”

Again, they all looked at each other, as though they could bolster courage just by looking at other elves. It wouldn’t help. One of them dropped his blade, lifted his hands, and backed away. The other two remained where they were and only gripped their sword hilts with even firmer grasps.

Abraxas tilted his head to the side. “Your friend is smarter than you two.”

“You are not a dragon at this moment,” one of the elves snarled, her voice revealing that she was a woman. “If only you had your scales and your flames to intimidate us.”

Ah, so Margaret had lied to them about his abilities as well, or perhaps they were merely too young to remember that a dragon was to be feared in whatever form they chose.

He gave them both another sharp toothed smile and then held out his hand. With a flex of his stomach, he expelled a bright flame that turned into a fire sprite in his palm.

They had frozen where they were, suddenly realizing that they were in more trouble than they had realized. And when he smiled, their hands trembled and shook their swords.

“Burn,” he said, his voice guttural in his order to the sprite that suddenly looked so pleased to do as he asked.

It would burn whatever stood in front of it, and right now, that was the two elves who now would know what true terror felt like. The sprite hopped off his palm, struggled to stand on the ramparts, and then sprinted toward them with all the speed of lightning.

One elf shouted, the only remaining man. The sprite went right for him. It grabbed onto his leg and tunneled underneath the armor. Though it would not melt the metal, it could melt whatever was underneath.

The elf’s screams echoed across the castle as he desperately tried to yank his armor off, but whoever had put it on him had done so very efficiently. He was having a hard time removing it, and that left Abraxas staring at the female elf, who glared even harder at him.

“I will end you, once and for all,” she snarled.

“You will not,” he replied, and cracked his knuckles. “Now, fight.”

She sprinted toward him, all lithe body and smooth movements. Abraxas recognized her attack form. It was one that Lore used to use. He’d battled with Lore before, and his elf would not confuse him with her liquid moves. He dodged and ducked, moving away from the blade step by step until he had her where he wanted her.

And with a snap of his arm, he grabbed her around the throat. She thrust her blade up between them and it caught on wood. She stared down, realizing that he’d placed his body behind a rack that held their arrows, and she was on the other side of it. Now her blade was stuck, and he had her by the throat.

“You should never fight a dragon,” he said, his voice tired and disappointed. “What have they taught you?”

Then he threw her off the edge of the castle. She let out a little shriek before her body hit the ground, and he could not find it in himself to feel any pity.

There should be more elves. He wanted the world to see them more and to experience all that the elves had done. He wanted them to fall in love with the world, just as he had. But these elves... They were a poison to this world and did a disservice to their kind.

The elves he knew of, the ones in the old legends, were more interested in growth and expansion and adventure than war. These sad little ploys to drag more power toward them made them seem more like dwarves, wishing to find treasure like they could bury themselves in it.