“That would be the house I would choose,” Liam said.

  Mouse sighed heavily. “Fucking Harry Potter.”

  Aria flexed her arm. “I’ve not read the books, but they say I’m Gryffindor. And I think you are too, Steven.”

  “I’d like to think so.” When it was his turn, he sat in the chair. Like Aria, he chose to get the circle on his left forearm.

  Once it was finished, Liam whispered, “Magica Divinatio.” He then nodded. “Yes, it worked. I can’t see you four. We have our protection.”

  BB grinned. “Glad I could do my part. I’ll be talking about this day for a long time. Y’all are an interesting bunch.”

  “Please don’t,” Liam said. “People are looking for us. It’s best if you don’t remember us.”

  Steven thought about casting a Mind Wipe spell, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to remove the memory from BB. It seemed unfair. No one else had cast a spell, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Then he wondered … if Liam didn’t have an Escort, and if he didn’t seek out battle, how did the Ronin get his Animus? The question seemed important until Liam took out a wad of cash.

  “No, we’ll pay,” Steven said.

  “No, I’ll pay,” Liam answered. “And I insist. I still have a Hoard, despite all that has happened.”

  Steven didn’t like accepting charity, but this seemed really important to the Ronin. Liam paid, and they headed out of the shop after a round of cheerful goodbyes with BB.

  “Do we need to get groceries?” Tessa asked.

  “No,” Liam said. “My Aerie is fully stocked.”

  “Where is your Aerie?” Steven couldn’t imagine a grand palace being anywhere in this sleepy section of Nebraska.

  “You’ll see,” Liam said mysteriously with a sly smirk. “You’ll see.”

  At first, Steven’s old doubts about the Ronin resurfaced, but then he remembered Liam’s tears and his friendship with his father.

  No, they had to trust Liam. They had no choice.

  “I hope you have cigarettes,” Tessa said, “because after all the shit that’s happened today, I need a little treat.”

  “Amen to that, sister,” Mouse agreed.

  SEVENTEEN

  Steven followed Liam Strider’s big truck in the Orange Crush. The three women with him were quiet. The events of the day were catching up to them, and they were all beyond tired.

  Steven was just glad that the tattoos would hide them from Mulk’s prying eyes. Hopefully. Finding Liam seemed to be a blessing, and all thanks to Mouse, who had used her contacts in Denver’s Dragonsoul underground to win the Ronin’s trust.

  Liam turned off the highway and onto a dirt track only a little better than the four-wheel path they’d taken to the edge of the lake. His headlights mirrored Steven’s as they tore through the weeds and flung mud out from behind their churning tires.

  They bounced over a rock. Mouse hissed. “For the love of biscuits, I didn’t sign up for this. I’m two seconds away from getting out and flying.”

  “Feel free,” Steven said.

  “Low on Animus.” Mouse glowered at him. Which meant no casting a hide spell. She crossed her arms, still draped in the huge dress.

  Steven thought about offering to help her with her situation once they got to Liam’s Aerie, but he didn’t want to pressure her into sex. Not even as a joke. Yes, she had a rough exterior. Inside? That seemed to be a different story.

  Liam finally pulled up to a big three-story house surrounded by miles of meadows. The moon broke from the eastern horizon to cast a silver light on Lake McConaughy in the distance. The road circled the structure and kept going.

  The house was huge, with broad eaves, shuttered windows, and a covered wraparound porch. It looked old and new, all at the same time. Steven grabbed his duffle bag from the Orange Bronco and then walked inside with his Escort behind him.

  The light was soft and welcoming. Turkish rugs, ancient and intricate, covered polished hardwood floors. Velvet settees, gold-embroidered divans, long couches, and big brass lamps gave the place an art deco feel. Artwork hung on the walls—all masterpieces of the 1920s and ’30s. Steven knew this because of his Intro to Art History class over at Metro. Most were of New York, from the artist Thomas Hart Benton. But there were a couple of Picassos.

  Liam caught him looking. “The Bentons are real. The Picassos are fake. I did the copies, and while they aren’t perfect, I am rather proud of them.” An easel with a blank canvas clipped to it stood by the window. Paint tubes were stacked on the table next to it.

  “The copies are excellent.” Aria appraised each piece in turn. “You have real skill.”

  “A hundred years of practice makes perfect,” Liam replied.

  Tessa wandered around, mouth open at how gorgeous and unexpected the place was. Mouse kept her arms across her chest. Dark circles ringed her eyes.

  Liam led them upstairs and showed them their rooms. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a big

  enough bed for you all. I suppose you could choose one room and throw mattresses on the floor.”

  “I prefer my own room,” Mouse interjected promptly, letting everyone know exactly where she stood for the time being.

  All the bedchambers were small, and they felt cramped because of the furniture stuffed into them. Four-poster twin beds, mostly, with ornate end tables on both sides. In one room, musical instruments hung from the walls—everything from guitars and lutes to banjos and trumpets. In one of the rooms, a huge golden harp dominated the space.

  Steven chose a room with a fireplace. Wood was stacked to the side in a bronze carrier. Wait … no, not a bronze carrier. A bronze shield, ancient and Roman. Steven had a very Spartacus moment.

  He collapsed on the bed and pressed his eyes closed, just for a moment. Or at least that was his intention. But he instantly found himself in a deep sleep.

  He woke when Tessa climbed into the little bed. He tried to get up to start a fire, but his body simply refused to cooperate. Nope, not happening, his muscles seemed to shriek when he tried to move. Then he remembered he’d fought for his life the day before. That takes a lot out of a guy. Tessa curled up next to him, fingers tracing lightly over his skin as they both drifted off.

  He woke again when Aria slipped into the small bed. There wasn’t room, clearly, but Aria had seemed so fragile lately that he didn’t point out that fact to her. Steven slept on his back with Tessa next to him and Aria pretty much slumbering on his chest. He’d gained muscle and Aria was so slight, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was far more comfortable than being squished into the back of the Orange Crush. And unlike before, Steven was battle-weary. He could’ve slept with a Clydesdale standing on his sternum.

  When the sun broke through the curtains, he didn’t want to move, he was so comfortable with his women around him. But Mouse. Mouse was alone. The thought of her stewing all by her lonesome troubled him deeply … but he wanted to sleep more than he wanted to worry.

  Finally, the smell of bacon got him out of bed. Was there anything bacon couldn’t do?

  Steven left Aria and Tessa and followed the smells downstairs to the kitchen. Yeah, no art deco there. It was a vast place of marble, the finest appliances, and even one of those refrigerators that blended into the wall. The Yellow Ronin cooked in style; Steven didn’t watch much TV, but he had caught one of those house hunting shows where they showcased the newest in everything. This place was better.

  Seriously. Liam Strider had the ultimate kitchen. The broad-shouldered Ronin whisked eggs in a big silver bowl. “I figured I wouldn’t have to wake you. The bacon would do the job only too well. You seem like a young man who appreciates the simpler joys in life.”

  Steven found himself annoyed. And just a wee bit defensive. “What does that mean?”

  Liam stopped whisking. “You like bacon. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m low class or whatever.”

  Liam grinned. “No, the fact you are arguing with me about your class makes me wonder about your class. If you’d grown up rich and powerful, I don’t think we’d be debating about pork bellies at this point in our relationship. Yet here we are. Stefan hid you among the humans, and none that could be traced to him. I believe the term is humble beginnings.”

  Steven had laugh. “Yeah, humble beginnings. That pretty much sums up my life up until only a few weeks ago. Now? Not so humble. I got used to the money fast. Is that normal?”

  “Having money is like having underwear. You don’t really feel it unless you don’t have it. Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Drokharis?”

  “You can.” Being called that still felt so foreign, and yet it felt so right, especially from Liam, who knew a little bit of the history behind the name. Still, it was clear most of what went down with Mulk’s murder of the Drokharis clan remained shrouded in mystery. Some Dragonsoul—maybe even some ancient entity—had wanted to keep it hushed.

  Right then, though, Steven had other concerns. “Do you live out here alone?”

  “I do.” Liam filled a big cup with coffee for Steven, but he sipped a tiny cup of espresso.

  “Tessa is going to be able to make you a better cup of coffee,” Steven said. “Wait until she sees your setup.” Liam had one of those espresso machines that was built into the water pipes of the house. It was several thousand dollars’ worth of coffee magic.

  Liam gestured to a table outside. “Feel free to enjoy my porch. What would you like in your omelet?”

  “Uh, surprise me,” Steven said. He took his coffee mug outside and sat in the shade of the eaves. There was a porch swing, various seats, and a long picnic table built into the deck. He looked out over the sea of yellow grasses, which were slowly being taken over by new greenery. The storms from the day before had coaxed spring out of the earth with every raindrop.

  Sipping his coffee, Steven watched a herd of deer meander down the dirt track. They might be heading for Lake McConaughy to get a drink of water or to find shade in the cottonwood trees on the shoreline.

  Liam came out with a Greek omelet, complete with feta cheese, spicy olives, tomatoes, and some sautéed spinach. He served it with three strips of crispy bacon and a pile of buttered toast. Not just regular butter, but a luxurious herbs and garlic creamy concoction.

  Steven motored through the breakfast and had to stop himself from licking his plate. It was delicious. The orange juice was freshly squeezed. To top it all off, Liam came out with homemade cinnamon rolls and more coffee.

  Steven felt like he was going to burst wide open, he was so full.

  “What time did you wake up to do all that cooking?” Steven asked.

  Liam shrugged. “I didn’t battle Judith yesterday. I didn’t need the sleep. You did. And being alone for so many years, I’ve learned that cooking for oneself has a simple joy to it, but cooking for other people is far more satisfying. Watching you eat was more fun than it should’ve been for a Dragonsoul my age.”

  “Without an Escort, how do you get Animus?” Steven asked.

  Liam gave him a long, slow, steady look. “Well, now, that is a pointed question. I suppose we might as well get started on your lessons. Where do you think Animus comes from?”

  Steven shrugged. “Aria said we get it from sex and fighting. Any fighting will do, but the kill gives us the most power. Which is why we know we didn’t kill Judith. No one felt the burst of Animus we’d get from wiping her out.”

  Liam sipped his espresso. He kind of looked ridiculous with the little cup in his big hands. “There is a vibrancy to life, all life, but especially in the organic soup we have on our little planet. Look at the solar system—the planets are made up of rocks, minerals, gases, and elements, but the only place that we have the vast amount of life is here on Earth.” He motioned to the fields. “If you ventured off our globe, you would have to travel trillions of miles to find even a single blade of grass. The energy at the very heart of life is what fuels us. The throb of life is the very heartbeat of our existence.”

  “So, if I never fought again or had sex, I’d still get Animus?” Steven asked.

  Liam nodded. “You’d need to attune yourself and improve your focus, but yes. It’s slower, yes, and it takes time. Hence, when I fought you and your Escort before, you had more power than I did. Yet, I had enough power to create the magic ink that is now hiding you from Mulk’s scrying eyes.”

  Liam looked off into the distance, forehead creased. “We have life, and we have consciousness, and what a powerful tool that has been in the evolution of humans and Dragonsouls. We can think. We can enjoy. There is such magic in that. We find pleasure in sex, yes, but also in coffee, as your barista friend can attest to. And there is the power of friendship, in a good meal, in the sweat of work. Sex and killing are easy ways to refuel our souls, but you need to remember, all life is filled with Animus. There is such joy in the magic of the moment—this moment, where you and I use words to discuss ideas and power. We don’t know each other. Only we do. We all are so connected.”

  Steven couldn’t help but feel he was having a very Dagobah moment. Only his teacher wasn’t Yoda, but a seven-foot-tall Viking dragon. He thought of the meditation pose, and he thought that was the secret to focusing his mind enough to pull in Animus from even the most mundane things. It would require a ton of practice, though. Maybe that’s why most Dragonsouls chose to have an Escort and engage in battle. In the end, it was simply easier.

  “Why don’t you have an Escort?” he asked.

  Liam set his cup down. “Another blunt question. Well, I suppose I can give you answer, though I don’t necessarily need to because in the end, it’s my business and not yours. In short, I had an Escort a half-century ago, and we were strong, and our love was deep. Before Cassius Pine and before Cornelius Craygore, the previous Rocky Mountain Dragonsoul Prime murdered them, and to tell you the truth, I haven’t had the heart to do much of anything since. I slew the Prime. I could’ve been the Prime. But I found all of it insipid. I’ve come to enjoy my solitude despite the Animus that friendship can give us. Being alone is a dangerous business. Once one gets a taste for solitude, nothing else will do.”

  “I’m sorry,” Steven said. “That sucks. I think all of this fighting is pretty stupid as well, but my father, Stefan, he made it clear he wanted me to play the game. To become a Prime. To bring revolution. Though I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not really sure what that means.”

  “Revolution,” Liam mused. “It’s a big, bloody word that is as much about sorrow as it is about change. I’ve seen revolutions come and go. Mostly, it involves murderers and idealists trying to bring order to chaos. Perhaps the vibrancy at the heart of life doesn’t care about order. Or maybe there is a pattern to the chaos we can’t see.”

  Mouse came out with a mug as big as her head. She sat down heavily on the table next to them. She gazed out through heavy eyelids, barely open.

  “Good morning,” Steven offered.

  She held up a wait a minute finger. “Not yet,” she growled. “You just keep on talking and ignore me, and I’ll ignore you. Once the coffee hits me just right, I might be able to do the word thing.”

  Steven patted her leg. She grabbed his hand and put it on his own lap. So, no touching either. Okay.

  He turned to Liam. “So, Liam, I need help with my Exhalant ability. We need to know why our shields failed against the Terror Trio—at least in our first fight against them. I’m also not one hundred percent sure how the level things work, either. Oh, and then we need help finding the two lost Drokharis spell books. Finally, I also want to know more about this ancient Dragonsoul you spoke of. If he had anything to do with my father’s murder, I need to know.”

  Liam frowned, and his eyes went distant. “Old Matchstick. Yes, we’ll get to him.” The Yellow Ronin looked scared, which put a chill in Steven.

  But Steven went on. “Last, but not least, we need a plan to kill Rhaegen Mulk. We might be hidden for now, but our families aren’t. He’ll use them against us, and we can’t have that.”

  “No, you can’t,” Liam said, nodding sagely. “You have quite the list.”

  Mouse sighed. “And their combat abilities suck ass, Liam. They need a full-on boot camp, and they need it like yesterday.”

  “We fought well enough to kick your ass,” Steven said. His annoyance and defensiveness were back in full force.

  Mouse, instead of taking offense, grinned at him. “Oh, Steven Drokharis, I like it when you get all fiery.”

  “Fire,” Liam said. “Let’s start there.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Aria and Tessa stumbled out the door to the porch, literally. Both looked mussed, their hair wild. A red blush painted both of their cheeks. Steven knew exactly what they’d been doing, and part of him regretted leaving their bed. Bacon was good, but that good? He thought about it. And regretted nothing. Though he would have to satisfy his other hungers later.

  When Tessa saw the coffee cups, her eyes brightened. “Mr. Strider, you wouldn’t mind if I used that amazing espresso machine, would you?”

  “It’s Liam,” the Yellow Ronin said, waving a hand through the air as though to fend off the offensive formality. “Feel free. I have various beans in the freezer and various milks in the refrigerator. The machine grinds automatically.”

  “I prefer to grind my own,” Tessa said. “Do you mind?”

  Liam stood. “I do not mind at all. I will show you where all the supplies are.”

  The two left. Aria snuggled in close to Steven. She definitely smelled like sex and that put a rise in him. He checked his skill tree.

  He still had Animus from his kill the day before, but also, the sleep, the breakfast, and even his conversation with Liam had added to his supply, though it was far less than a battle or a round in the sack would offer. Still, he marveled at what that might mean.

  He had access to the Inferno Exhalant and so he should be able to breathe fire. Why couldn’t he? Maybe he wasn’t as powerful as he thought. Mentally, he went through the other Exhalants. They were pretty straightforward. He’d experienced Toxicity firsthand, and he still remembered how the ArcticWind had nearly killed Aria. The initial icy blast was bad, but the cold effects lingered afterward, almost like a poison.