Read Online Dark Storm by Christine Feehan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christine Feehan
Ads: Link
The heat increased. The air sparked. The gases caught fire in a flash of boiling orange flame. Dax closed his eyes and flung up a shield. Heat poured over him like an ocean wave.
A voice that sounded like thunder growled and rumbled in his brain. Only the strongest may hope to hold a dragon’s soul. How strong are you, Danutdaxton of the Carpathians? The dragon spoke in his ancient language, Carpathian, allowing Dax to understand him.
Each word boomed and burned inside his mind as if a hammer made of flaming lead were pounding against his skull. Dax fought the urge to cover his ears, knowing it was useless.
“As strong as I must be to defeat my enemy,” Dax replied. A dragon’s soul. Was that what fought him now? Or had Mitro found a way to trick him after all? “Do you think me your enemy?”
Does a lion name the flea his enemy?
“A flea, am I?” Dax was mildly insulted at the thought. He reached for the heat rising from the magma, drawing it to him, shaping it between his hands into a ball of fire, which he flung at the center of the insubstantial creature. But rather than punching a hole through the shimmering red mist, the fireball exploded against the surface, spreading out in tongues of flame that were swiftly absorbed. The red-mist dragon seemed to grow larger, as if the flames only made it stronger.
The enemy of heat was cold. Dax tried to drain the heat from around the veil of mist, but the heat was too intense for him to do more than cool the room a few degrees.
“If you mean to help, Old One, then help,” Dax said. “There is a great evil locked inside this volcano. While I fight you, it is trying to escape.”
What should I care of this evil thing? You have awakened me from my resting place and I care nothing for your troubles.
Dax puzzled over that for a moment. The dragon had no reason to care. His time was long past. All that he knew and loved was gone from the earth. Even his body was gone.
Perhaps there is no reason other than you are a dragon, and a great warrior, or so I have been led to believe.
There was a moment of silence. A dragon’s soul is a mighty power. Only the strongest of vessels could hope to contain it. All others would shatter.
Power slammed toward Dax again, but this time he tried a different tack. In his years of training with the ancients of his race, he’d learned when to stand firm and when to bend like a tree in the wind. He ducked the dragon’s main blast and rolled forward beneath it, coming up close to the beast’s shimmering presence.
His feet sank into the edge of the magma pool. Fiery pain streaked up his legs as flesh scorched and burned. Dax shuttered his mind against the agony and tried to absorb and use the heat as the dragon’s soul had absorbed and used his fireball earlier. His hands shot out, tracing wards in the air, spinning and twisting energy and the molecules of air in the room into a shining web that he cast around the insubstantial mist of the dragon’s soul. A rainbow of light reflected through the room as the energy swirled around his opponent.
Determination and calm rolled through him as the net settled over the dragon. He could feel the spirit gather itself, like any creature would before it strikes. He spread his fingers wide and held them, palms out, between himself and the dragon. Gently, he touched thumb to thumb, then forefinger to forefinger, completing a circle of power, and through that circle, he drew his net of energy tight.
The beast thrashed and roared in outrage, but the bonds of his net held fast. Slowly, relentlessly, Dax pulled the net tighter and tighter. He inched his way backward, dragging the protesting weight of the dragon with him.
Heat jetted out, splashing over him like a geyser. His skin burned. His hair singed. He did not release the net. He kept pulling it through his circle of power, drawing the dragon’s soul in tight, folding it in upon itself, pulling it away from the magma pool that he suspected was
A voice that sounded like thunder growled and rumbled in his brain. Only the strongest may hope to hold a dragon’s soul. How strong are you, Danutdaxton of the Carpathians? The dragon spoke in his ancient language, Carpathian, allowing Dax to understand him.
Each word boomed and burned inside his mind as if a hammer made of flaming lead were pounding against his skull. Dax fought the urge to cover his ears, knowing it was useless.
“As strong as I must be to defeat my enemy,” Dax replied. A dragon’s soul. Was that what fought him now? Or had Mitro found a way to trick him after all? “Do you think me your enemy?”
Does a lion name the flea his enemy?
“A flea, am I?” Dax was mildly insulted at the thought. He reached for the heat rising from the magma, drawing it to him, shaping it between his hands into a ball of fire, which he flung at the center of the insubstantial creature. But rather than punching a hole through the shimmering red mist, the fireball exploded against the surface, spreading out in tongues of flame that were swiftly absorbed. The red-mist dragon seemed to grow larger, as if the flames only made it stronger.
The enemy of heat was cold. Dax tried to drain the heat from around the veil of mist, but the heat was too intense for him to do more than cool the room a few degrees.
“If you mean to help, Old One, then help,” Dax said. “There is a great evil locked inside this volcano. While I fight you, it is trying to escape.”
What should I care of this evil thing? You have awakened me from my resting place and I care nothing for your troubles.
Dax puzzled over that for a moment. The dragon had no reason to care. His time was long past. All that he knew and loved was gone from the earth. Even his body was gone.
Perhaps there is no reason other than you are a dragon, and a great warrior, or so I have been led to believe.
There was a moment of silence. A dragon’s soul is a mighty power. Only the strongest of vessels could hope to contain it. All others would shatter.
Power slammed toward Dax again, but this time he tried a different tack. In his years of training with the ancients of his race, he’d learned when to stand firm and when to bend like a tree in the wind. He ducked the dragon’s main blast and rolled forward beneath it, coming up close to the beast’s shimmering presence.
His feet sank into the edge of the magma pool. Fiery pain streaked up his legs as flesh scorched and burned. Dax shuttered his mind against the agony and tried to absorb and use the heat as the dragon’s soul had absorbed and used his fireball earlier. His hands shot out, tracing wards in the air, spinning and twisting energy and the molecules of air in the room into a shining web that he cast around the insubstantial mist of the dragon’s soul. A rainbow of light reflected through the room as the energy swirled around his opponent.
Determination and calm rolled through him as the net settled over the dragon. He could feel the spirit gather itself, like any creature would before it strikes. He spread his fingers wide and held them, palms out, between himself and the dragon. Gently, he touched thumb to thumb, then forefinger to forefinger, completing a circle of power, and through that circle, he drew his net of energy tight.
The beast thrashed and roared in outrage, but the bonds of his net held fast. Slowly, relentlessly, Dax pulled the net tighter and tighter. He inched his way backward, dragging the protesting weight of the dragon with him.
Heat jetted out, splashing over him like a geyser. His skin burned. His hair singed. He did not release the net. He kept pulling it through his circle of power, drawing the dragon’s soul in tight, folding it in upon itself, pulling it away from the magma pool that he suspected was
Similar Books
