To Hell and Back by L.B. Gilbert

Chapter Three

Rhys topped the rise and stopped, crossing his arms as he watched his men go through their training routine. They were too far to see him, so he let a small smile grace his features as Jerik slammed the heavier Tanik against the ground.

“He’s coming along nicely,” Naveen, his second, commented, coming to stand next to him.

Rhys murmured his agreement. Jerik was the youngest member of the clan, now over two dozen strong. But the strength of the Draconai Imperia had never lain in numbers. Each one of his dragons was a lethal disciplined warrior, capable of laying waste to an entire city. Not that they did that anymore. It would have violated the treaty they signed to stay in this world.

Visions of blood and war-ravaged landscapes flickered across his mind, but he ruthlessly shut them down. He did not allow the past to shackle him, as his predecessor had.

Rhys hadn’t been the clan leader when his people came to Earth. That responsibility had belonged to Markus. But his mentor hadn’t been able to adapt to life on Earth. Compared to their birthplace, this realm was lush and comfortable—too comfortable for warriors like them.

But they had to adapt. Markus had never understood that. His mind had been frozen in an unending war. Rhys’ soul had lived in that place for a long time, too, but once they had won, he’d forced himself to let it go. Because winning the war had cost them everything.

Humans called it a pyrrhic victory when the price of triumph was so high it may as well have been defeat.

Victory had cost them their home. Now that Rhys was the head of the clan, he would not allow them to lose another. Ever vigilant, the remaining members of the Draconai Imperia trained for battle ceaselessly, sharpening their skills against each other and the few predators that escaped the nets of the Elementals, the female enforcers of supernatural order on this world. Not that they advertised this fact to that small band of women.

They probably know of the monsters we hunt anyway. The creature they called Mother, the creator and founder of this world, kept them well-informed. It was of little consequence. As long his people abided by their rules, the two groups avoided each other, giving him the autonomy to govern his people as he saw fit.

Turning to Naveen, he got the bi-weekly report on internal clan matters. “Sanaa has invited the entire clan to her home the week after next for the celebration,” his second informed him.

Rhys paused, his hard features softening a fraction. “How is she?”

“Quite well,” his second informed him. “As are the babes according to the healer.’’

A skitter of nerves crawled up his spine. Sanaa, one of the few females of the clan, had taken a mate ten years ago. The male, an Earth-born bear shifter, was a quiet and careful man who’d won his trust—after a few years. Neither group was particularly fertile, so they took no precautions against conception. Many years had passed before Sanaa conceived, but, when she did, she was blessed with two babes.

It was one of the reasons they had chosen to stay on Earth as refugees, rather than searching out an uninhabited planet they could rule. If their species were to survive, they needed to breed. Their surviving numbers were not large enough to found a healthy population. But humans were abundant and as the old myths told them, they were biologically compatible.

More than one dragon had come to Earth to find their mate back when travel between realms had been possible. His kind had courted their women, taking the females back to their homeland after winning them. Humans still told stories about those females, but they twisted them into tales of horror. In those dark legends, the women ended up as food, instead of living out their lives as cosseted and treasured mates.

Rumor had it he had a human ancestor in his lineage, but it was so far back in his history as to be of no consequence.

Compared to a dragon’s complex nature, human biology was quite simple. It was one of the curious details about them. The genes that governed growth, reproduction, and aging were basic and unspecialized. That primitiveness gave them plasticity. Humans and their magically adept derivatives, shifters like Tom, were almost a blank slate. That made them biologically compatible with any number of more complex lifeforms…namely his dragons.

It had been his intention for all his clan members to take a life mate, but few had chosen partners. Despite having access to a large population of compatible females, their possessive and inflexible natures would settle for nothing less than a true mating. Sanaa and a few others had gotten lucky. The rest were still waiting.

But not you.His chance had come and gone.

Rhys pushed away that thought, crushing it in an imaginary vice for good measure. “We will clear the schedule once the birthing starts,” he announced.

The entire clan had been anticipating this since Sanaa’s scent had changed, signaling her pregnancy. They would all want to be there. Releasing them from their training regimen was the least he could do.

“Actually, Sanaa wants to have us over beforehand.”

“Before?” Rhys frowned.

Naveen shrugged. “According to Tom, it’s traditional. He calls it a baby shower. We are to bring gifts.”

Rhys sniffed. “What greater gift does he desire than our acceptance of him in our clan?”

“That’s what I told him. He looked at me as if I were crazy.” Naveen snickered. “I’m not sure he sees the value for the prize it is. He said as much—that he loves his mate and therefore ‘puts up’ with the rest of us.”

Rhys was tempted to ‘put up’ a few things in Tom’s orifices, but given the man was about to have his hands full corralling two baby dragon shifters, Rhys decided to let the insult slide.

“Anyway, Tom clarified,” Naveen continued. “The gifts are for the babes—blankets, infant-sized clothing, and instruments of play. According to a website I read, these gifts are meant to help the parents get ready for the arrival of the infants.”

“Oh.” Rhys considered that. “A useful tradition.”

“I thought so, too.”

Dragons did give gifts after the birth of a babe—jewels or gold were customary. But this was a holdover from the old world, when a pregnant female was hidden away in an aerie, far from any other dragons that weren’t of the father’s bloodline. Non-family members couldn’t see a babe until it could fly, usually once it was a few years old. Everything was going to be different now.

“What is the most expensive item they need?” Rhys asked.

“Tom mentioned a stroller with twin cabs to wheel the children about.”

“That will be my gift,” Rhys declared. “What will you buy?”

Naveen drew a notepad from his pocket. “Something called a diaper genie.”

Rhys growled low in his throat, and Naveen looked up. “Not a real djinn of course. It’s just a brand name.”

Rhys grunted. How foolish of the human world to name a baby product after such deadly creatures. But then, the choices of what Naveen called ‘the marketing machine’ of this world never ceased to amaze him.

The first time he’d come across a store display of the beverage called ‘Dr. Pepper’ had been a moment of great confusion.

“Keep me updated on this event,” he ordered, remembering the near-miss he’d had then, his honor demanding he smash the bottle of liquified physician before the locals imbibed the poor man. “We don’t want Sanaa to overexert herself observing Tom’s traditions.”

Naveen straightened, inclining his head before departing. Rhys watched his wing, what the Drak’s called a squadron, a bit longer before shifting. Bunching his muscles, he took to the sky, flying high over the sea of pines.

His clan had chosen the Canadian Rockies as their home, mainly because it echoed the savagely rocky vistas of their homeworld, albeit a much greener version. Also, the ruggedness of the terrain promised humans would keep their distance. This was becoming less true in this age of satellites and air jets. But after the pioneering efforts of Aldasoro and Wright brothers in flight, Rhys had seen the writing on the wall. He’d taken steps to protect their territory.

The members of the clan had lost most of their fortunes when they abandoned their world, so they had been forced to rebuild them on Earth.

However, if there was one thing dragons excelled at, it was hunting treasure. Their senses were attuned to the task. He could smell gold and taste the tang of precious stones in the air whenever he was near. After the financial markets were created, it was easy enough to invest what they had found. Making money was a gift. Buying their own satellites to protect their skies, occupying the only available orbital paths, had been simpler than shooing down all the others that passed overhead.

Rhys landed in front of his home. Made of massive redwood logs and beams he’d harvested at the turn of the century, he’d crafted a sprawling three-story lodge slash mansion.

It had started as a small one-room cabin, one that he’d built with his own two hands. Over the years, he’d added to it, a room at a time. Occasionally, he tore parts down to add a picture window and, more recently, a deck without rails that wrapped around the entire third story.

He landed there, angling his wings to sweep off the dry leaves and pine needles that had fallen on the wooden surface. Better than a broom, hethought as he shifted back to two legs. He crossed the freshly sealed wooden boards before throwing open the doors to his office.

The sunlit space sparkled as he moved. Rhys stroked one of the many dragons responsible for the glittering gleam.

The lavishly jeweled beasts graced every table and shelf in the room. Naveen had given him the first one as a joke, amused that so many human artists were enamored of their winged form.

But Rhys had taken a liking to the curiosities. His collection spread over three rooms with his favorite specimen, the obsidian with ruby eyes, sitting next to a massive four-poster bed in his private chambers.

Other treasures glinted in the light—a golden cross recovered from a sunken vessel, a ruby-encrusted goblet found in the basement of an abandoned castle, and a shelf of golden plates scavenged from the ruins of Pompeii.

He weaved in between the tables and shelves, dropping a fifty-nine-carat sapphire he’d been carrying around in his pocket into one of the open chests flanking his desk. Sitting in the custom-made leather chair, he booted the state-of-the-art computer Naveen had recently upgraded.

The clan made it a point to embrace human technology. They also owned a significant amount of property and businesses. According to the treaty they had signed, they had the right to invest in themselves so long as their activities didn’t harm the humans they employed.

It was harder than it sounded, like constantly having to check he wasn't walking on ants. But he did it because money meant security for his people and being ethical meant avoiding scrutiny.

He threw himself into today’s work, checking on the clan’s investment concerns. Such an important task was divided among three of his people, but Rhys always double-checked their work and frequently made significant financial moves on his own.

However, today the usually enjoyable task felt monotonous, and he was glad for the distraction of an email alert from one of the junior clan members. At least until he opened it.

Rhys took one look and hissed, just barely avoiding melting the screen with a stream of liquid fire at the grainy camera still embedded in the text. Trembling violently, he pushed his chair away from the desk until it banged into the glass and wood wall behind him.

It can’t be her.

How was this possible? Rhys closed his eyes, his heart pounding faster than it had in over three hundred years. The woman on the screen was not her. She had been in her grave for centuries. This female simply looked like her.

It’s not the first time you’ve run across a woman who bore a resemblance strong enough to give you pause. But this one…she was uncanny.

Giving himself a hard shake, Rhys forced himself to take a second look. He sat down, then pulled the oversized computer monitor closer to him. He’d overlooked the small play icon in the middle. It was a video file.

Stiffening his jaw, he moved the cursor and pressed play. His breath shortened as the stranger moved through a crowded store with her grace and her facial expressions.

What the hell was this?

And then the woman stepped in front of a large oval mirror. Rhys saw the surface of the mirror flicker before his image appeared. He watched the rest of the video, muscles rigid, the same breath stuck in his chest for so long it started to burn.

When the movie was over, he replayed it over and over again. After the tenth replay, he saw the message Jerik had written at the bottom of the email.

Canaan, one of our informants, heard about a Fae male attempting to reach out to all the dragon shifter groups on Earth, offering to barter some ‘juicy information’ in the hope of a reward. He contacted the merchant, who sent him a still of this video, where our clan colors were identified from your wings in the mirror. He contacted me, and I authorized a payment to obtain the rest of the file.

Once he saw it, our informant sought out the Fae and is currently sitting on him at his shop. As far as we know, our clan is the only one to receive the entire file, but Canaan can’t guarantee that other interested parties hadn’t intercepted it.

Other interested parties?

Those final words jarred him out of his stasis. He stalked to the door, throwing open the double doors to yell at the top of his lungs, “Get me Jerik. Now.”