Dragon S Layers Ch 20

Author's Notes:

Hey there! If this is your first time checking out the series, you shouldn't have any problem figuring out where things stand with this chapter/volume, but if you like what you read, please consider taking a look at the first chapter (also on this site and my account).

This chapter was brought to you by the very generous donations and patronage of fans of the series who help me buy food and warm socks so I can write smut for you!

These wonderful people are the reason you're reading this, so please give them a thanks!

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Tristan

*****

Volume 3 Chapter 4: Hang Ups

The bloody mess of gristle and bone fragments that used to be sergeant Syches had been stuffed into a vaguely human shaped burlap sack and bound tightly between two trees, spread eagle. Gashes torn into the sack wept bloody tears into the early morning dew, pooling into the viscera below-- claw marks had rent the muddy ground around it. Animal claws. Big ones. A wolf of some kind.

Amaranth's heart fell into her stomach. The grizzly scene burned itself into the part of her mind where images went to become permanent parts of her soul and in a flash had become the only thing she could see when her eyes closed for even a split second. There was so much blood. . . Humans really didn't have that much in them, did they?

"I told you!" The soldier was saying. "I told you, it's not natural!"

"Who else knows about this? Who found him and when?" Markus fired off the questions in rapid succession as he edged toward the rim of the clearing, eyes keenly focused on the woods.

The soldier eyed the mess that had been his leader, picking quietly at his leathers, perhaps not entirely sure what to think or even who to trust with what he knew. Was he that daft? "I just found him a second ago, came to your tent straight away but you weren't there. I--. . . I was gonna go to the Duke's, but I thought only right I check the other tent." He fidgeted slightly when Amaranth turned her gaze to him.

Markus glanced back to the camp, no doubt wondering the same thing Ammy was; half a dozen soldiers were already awake, only one had seen his sergeant in such a manner, but there was no doubt that as soon as more of them awoke there would be questions. Questions they needed answers for. Immediately.

Amaranth became acutely aware of how vulnerable she was in that moment; standing in little more than her boots and arming leathers along with her cotton pants. If whatever did this came along, there would be no chance she'd be able to fight back. She took a deep breath, cleared her mind and tried to reach for her focus.

She was a paladin sworn to protect her Duke and he was in danger, she needed information. She needed to focus. . . She had training for investigations, even if it was minor--

yes, deep breath. Think back on it. . . What do you have to do first?

Secure the scene.

"Markus, stand back." Amaranth stepped up near the mess. "W- Where was his head found?"

"Uh-- stone's throw from. . . From this, m'lady." The soldier glanced at Markus who returned his bemused expression.

"Okay," Amaranth edged around the carnage with a wary eye cast towards the woods. There were no drag marks in the dirt but she did find a fresh blood painting one of the nearby trees. Then there was the rope; sinewy, braided, hemp maybe. The kind of rope they used for tie downs and for hoisting tents, definitely military quality-- Amaranth squinted at one of the knots that held the Sergeant's leg. A hunter's knot. . . "Well, shit."

Makrus stepped up beside her, easing into her personal space. "What's wrong?"

"Look at this knot," when he leaned over to examine it, she added in a near silent whisper. "Don't say anything out loud." For the ten seconds it took him to work out what kind of knot it was, Ammy busied herself checking the other knots. The two knights shared a knowing look without a word passing between them.

Finally, Markus produced his dagger and began cutting the corpse down. When Ammy started to say something, he looked at her. "We don't need the men seeing this, I'll take care of this. . . Check on his lordship, I didn't see him around."

The soldier glanced at her, still holding the head as though it were a holy artifact, he didn't dare disrespect the man's memory by throwing it on the ground, but holding it was awkward and he was somehow unworthy. She knew the look, though, the look of a man who expected a woman to do what was expected of her.

Amaranth disregarded the notion and padded over to Richard's tent, surprised to find him in the center of his living area sipping tea from a glass cup. She nearly stumbled when she saw his half-lupine eyes flick up to her. The orange tint around the edge of his cornea flared to wash out the whites, leaving him looking feral as he stared down his nose at her. They were sharp and keenly focused; wolf on prey

Just like that, though, the primal fury was gone and he exhaled a low rumbling sigh. He didn't speak, though. That warm, inviting vigor that she'd fell in love with was a mere shade of what it had once been. He didn't even speak when she stepped in, how unusual.

"My lord?"

He shook his head, clutching the little glass cup. "I truly hate this place," he rasped.

"What's wrong?"

"The call. . . It's the forest, it calls to us."

Amaranth kept an arm's length distance, just in case. "I-- ah, how was last night?" Her voice wavered a little as he eyed her. Her self preservation instincts prickled slightly, reminding her that Duke or not,

lover

or not, she had a job to do. She needed to know the truth, though; she had to be sure. "Did it call to you last night?"

He took a sip of his tea and with half lidded eyes, he murmured "I controlled it. . . I was going to wake you, but. . ." Richard's expression fell a little. A roiling growl filled his throat, replacing his normally calm voice. Slowly, as if each word was taking everything he had, her lord, her lover and her friend set his cup down and spread his hands. His voice was slightly raspy and distant. "I knew the two of you were--"

"Richard, we have--"

"Stop!" he snarled, teeth borne. Amaranth drew back with a sharp intake. "I'm. . . Not myself. . ." His right eye twitched. "Does he know? About us?"

"My

lord

. We

need

you. The sergeant was killed, I think by lycans."

The sobering effect of her words struck a chord, snapping him out of his fugue. "How bad?"

"He's

dead

, Richard. T- there's pieces of hi--" Ammy stopped herself. "Richard. . . What happened last night?"

"What--"

"With watch. W- I can't think of any easy way to ask this. . ."

"Since when," he paused for a second. "has that been a problem for you?"

Amaranth's soft amber eyes settled on the young man and she did her best to keep the sound of confidence firm in her throat. She had knew she had no right to come out with her accusation, but she could test the waters, get a sense of how he'd react. Then she could take it from there. Yes, that sounded like the wisest course of action. "Do you remember when your father used to take us hunting?"

Richard's voice cracked, his hands clenching in his lap. His eyes flicked down then up to her. He wasn't the same man she knew. "Hunting. . . Yes. I do."

"He told us never to come out this far. . . Remember?"

"I. . . Yes." He brought his hands to either side of his head. "Yes, that's right. Heart of the forest. . ."

"That's right, heart of the forest brings you closer to your nature. But that also means we're on our way out, yes? How bad is it. . .? Are you missing any time?"

"Time? Time, yes. A bit." He let out a slow sigh. "Yes, watch last night. . . I was on watch."

"Was there anything else? D- did you. . ." She stole a glance at his fingernails. They looked clean. "What happened, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Ammy. . ."

"Humor me?"

"I'm in control. I always have been. . . Born this way, remember?" The man smiled a little uneasily as if he didn't believe his own platitude. "It's just the woods, the spirit of the forest. Whatever you call it."

"Richard-- My lord-- please, focus. The sergeant at arms,

your

military advisor is dead! Do you remember anything? Did you see or hear anything last night on watch? There were claw marks in the dirt around his body and your father's kno--" Amaranth bit her tongue, hard.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

At once Richard was on his feet in front of her, nose to hot, humid nose. He towered over her, filling her nose with the hot primal scent of his mixed heritage. He bore down on her. He shoved her harshly with hands maligned by a coat of fur, claws grazed her leathers as he took her shoulders. "You imply too

much

," he snarled.

Not quite on the edge of his transformation, edging dangerously close to it, he held her firm. Hands clamped down on her shoulders, he broke into her personal space breathing in and out sharply. His breath was hot, musty, the smell of meat. Ammy gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry."

He flashed a look of confusion as his teeth started to elongate into sharp daggers.

Amaranth punched him in the nose-turning-snout. He buckled backwards grabbing his face and growling deeply. She didn't give up her initiative, she lunged forward and grabbed his arm and hooked it around his neck, kneeling into the crook of his leg to force him to his knees. "I need you, Richard. We

all

need you. . ."

For his part in it, the lycan man grabbed at his tunic and forced himself to draw in deep breaths with the small knight using his weight against him. She drank in his scent unconsciously, suddenly aware of just how much she held over him. How much he belonged to her-- the secrets she kept and the things they had done ensured it. She was his protector, his lover.

She tightened her grip on his neck. Who the

fuck

was he to endanger everything they'd shared? No one was going to hurt him and if he had killed that man, he'd made her job harder. How could he do that to her? "Don't you love me?"

"I do," he growled. "It's--" Next thing she knew she was being pulled off her feet. He flung her over his shoulder and slammed into the tent floor with a

thump

. He was staring down at her with his hands on her shoulder. Breathing in short sips, he whispered. "It's because I love you that I'm not going to let you hurt me."

"Bu-" Ammy huffed, trying to collect her voice. "Did you kill him?"

"Why would I do that? He was my father's right hand!"

"Then we have serious problems!"

Richard eased back to sit on his haunches like a squatting wolf. If his ears were poking out, they would have been perked forward. He didn't ask for an explanation; he didn't have to.

"Wolves. . . He was torn apart by wolves, but someone

hung

him out there, hung him using your father's knots--"

"It's an intimidation move," he supplied with a glance to the tent's entry. There was a small trickle of blood dribbling from his nose but he didn't seem to notice. "He was being displayed to intimidate us."

Amaranth righted herself so she could meet his gaze, surprised to find his expression calm and calculated; this was the ruler and leader she'd chosen to protect. This was the man she loved. The shake in his offered hand, though, said he was struggling to keep himself under control, even she could feel a twinge of something in the back of her mind, something trying to pull on her. Something that wanted her to attack him. He was defying her duty to him. He had to be punished!

With a deep breath, Richard rose to stand over her and in that smooth movement she became acutely aware of how easy it would be for him to crush her. Instead, he offered his hand again. "Come on, let's take a look."

"Right. . ."

Back outside it became readily apparent that the other soldiers who'd been on patrol had found out about the body. They had encircled Marcus, careful to keep out of striking range but the tension between the dozen or so men and the knight was a palpable thing. All the while the young knight stood protectively over the body. In the early morning fog he looked like a monument to fallen soldiers.

Amaranth took the nearest man's shoulder as she approached, "Disperse! All of you!"

For just a split second the soldier looked about ready to strike her. It faded when Richard stepped past her into the circle, kneeling to examine the corpse and the head that had since been rejoined with its body. He laid his hand upon the sack with a couple of quickened breaths, then looked to the forest beyond.

The soldier Ammy had been holding shrugged her off and turned to the camp, disregarding the scene entirely. A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd, several of the solders' gazes turned to the half-elf, accusatory, demanding. Apparently they'd reached a conclusion of some sort on her involvement in their leader's death.

Under the scrutinizing gaze she saw a flicker of hatred; anger. The same anger that boiled in the back of her mind. How

dare

they even think to impugn her honor with their accusations? Her, a noble, made to kneel prostrate before these common filth? Unthinkable! Then one of them looked to Richard, to Marcus.

She surged forward to grab the soldier. Marcus was in her face before she'd gotten three steps.

"Calm down," he whispered harshly. "We're being watched."

Amaranth blinked. "What?"

"The Duke. Something in the woods watching us. . ."

She drew in a long, slow breath and closed her eyes, searching for her center and imagining a pillar of warm light in the base of her spine, wrapping herself around it like a lover. Clinging. Knowing that her goddess would protect her, guide her. She needed to quiet her anger and listen.

Just. Listen.

Marcus laid his hand on her shoulder lightly, sighing across the tip of her pointed ear. "Ammy, we're going to be leaving. Get yourself ready."

"But what about Syches?"

"The forest'll reclaim him, right now we need to move. . ."

"W-" Amaranth looked up to him, ignoring Richard's glance. "What? What about his family? They deserve--"

It was Richard who spoke, strong and resolute even amongst the fear and anger roiling through the men. "Get yourselves prepared, we leave in an hour." A murmur of descent rippled through the ranks who, seemingly unwilling to move, lingered in the shadow of their fallen leader. Richard turned to them expectantly. "Now!"

Amaranth wasn't the only one to be startled by the Duke's outburst. He never raised his voice.

#

It hadn't taken them twenty minutes to break camp and get suited up. While they fitted themselves in their armor, Marcus and Amaranth didn't speak, not even a breath passed between them. It wasn't that time was of the essence, but rather that there didn't

feel

as though anything needed to be said.

But there

was

something. Something important. Something that refused to pass her lips and she couldn't even remember what it was. Amaranth clutched the hilt of her sword while she lead the procession onto the trail with her horse behind at a few feet.

Not only had it not occurred to her to make sure everyone was behind her, but that everyone was alive. Seeing two unclaimed horses in the middle of the campsite, however, brought that oversight into perspective. She looked back, did a quick head count. Then repeated it; two short. "What the hell--"

"What?" Richard was beside her in a second, leering over her protectively. "What's wrong-- oh." He quieted when he saw the horses. "Sir Markus, grab them. Amaranth, take the men forward."

"What're you going to do?"

He handed her the reigns to his own stallion and turned to the site. "What I should have done last night."

Before she could raise a word of objection the broad shouldered noble had practically faded into the underbrush. She caught a glimpse of him several hundred feet in a second later. He was running towards something. . .

It was at that moment that she had to remind herself she was still, technically a noble, these men would have to listen to her. Yes, she could do this. "Listen up!" she steeled herself against the looks she earned. "We're heading out, double quick, stay tight. Groups of two. Column formation." Amaranth belted out the commands by rote, relying on her training to make her voice sound focused and in control.

Even if she felt anything but, it still sounded good to her ears.

When Markus returned she weathered his questioning look with a solemn expression. "Where the hell did he get off to?"

"He's going hunting."

"What?" he whispered sharply. "You just

let

him?"

"He'll be fine. He'll catch up to us, just trust me--"

"Ammy! He's--"

How dare he question her? "I know

what

he is. He'll be

fine

."

That seemed to catch the human off guard. He eyed her dubiously for a second and gritted his teeth. Ammy wanted to plead her case that he knew what he was doing, that he was probably more powerful than anyone in this forest when it came to it, that anything foolish enough to cross his path wouldn't live to regret it. Instead, like some over emotional cow, she took Markus's shoulder. "Trust me. . ."

Markus's brown eyes lingered on her and he let out a sigh. "Fine." To the men he said, "you heard her! Watch for holes and we move quickly, first one to fall behind is cooking tonight!"

"Thank you," Ammy whispered as she started forward at a slow trot. They'd have to pace themselves if they wanted any chance at putting the camp site behind them. Absently she wondered just how far they'd really get once the men realized their lord was gone.

# # # #

Werewolves were easy to hunt. Even in the depths of night there were tells that gave them away; it was one of those clues that had lead Briee to a small burrow some hundred or so feet away from where the soldiers had set up camp for the evening.

Pounding waves of anger and frustration crashed against her senses one after the other, threatening to drown out her consciousness the closer she got to the den. It was powerful, consuming, demanding. It tried to erode her mind, to twist her to its bidding. Blinding in its intensity.

But it was nothing compared to her father's ire.

A lifetime of suppressing the influence of his seething anger had sharpened her will power, yet she could still feel this alien presence trying to slip into cracks between her armor; a cancer that wanted nothing more than to have its way with her and break down whatever might have remained of her soul. Something was innately wrong with that, though. Werewolves weren't magically active enough to be able to project their will in such a way.

Or were they? Had she been misinformed? Briee dampened her lips, clutching her massive blade as she stalked up to the mouth of the den. She sniffed the tepid air that billowed from the earth's maw. The burning itch of musk, of fresh birth, wet leaves and something sharper, more pungent seared through her entire being like burning oil. It was the taste of draconic magic, unmistakable even now. She might not have been able to wield it, but her sisters and even the outsider brood mother had learned the arts.

Briee eased into the den and tracked her way through the sloping tunnel which shrunk significantly to the point where even she, short as she was, had to crawl. Branching tunnels tempted her but she kept true to her path, guided by the smell of a new mother and the soft whimpers of newborns.

The tunnel turned down sharply then pitched upward into a massive birthing den easily the size of any civilized home and, unfortunately, set up specifically to keep an eye on the tunnel entrance. Briee came eye to eye with a fat woman in the middle of transformation, sporting a long muzzle swept in ruddy black fur that matched her coal black eyes which were focused right on the armor clad intruder.