"She has finally accepted her true self," the woman observed, contentedly.

"Aye, and 'tis about time." The man leaned back in his golden chair, lifted his goblet, and peered over its rim at the raven-haired woman . "Her father was a fool to stifle her abilities for all those years."

"Nay, not a fool; only a loving father, concerned for his daughter's safety."

"She will need those powers soon."

"Aye, very soon."

FORTY-ONE.

Dragon scream pierced Adrian's heart. A wail of pain, of warning and rage swept through his mind and brought him to his feet. He knew L'sira needed him. Now!

Instinctively he answered her, his human voice becoming dragon scream in that instant. He waited for an answer, but all was silent.

His scream jarred Tempest from a sound sleep.

"Adrian?" She searched the silk-lined chamber for her husband, finding him standing tensely beside their bed, staring at nothing. His face was pale, and his hands shook.

Adrian bellowed again, beginning with a low growl, rising in pitch and volume until Tempest had to cover her ears. Fear coursed through her, centering in the pit of her stomach. At that moment she feared him. For the first time she realized what she had done. This was no ordinary man she had married, had given her body and soul to, but a dragon. She had known he was a dragon, accepted that he was not like other men, but the reality was far different from just knowing. Dragons were fearsome beasts, capable of hurting her, nay, capable of crushing her into oblivion.

The sudden silence was almost more deafening than his screams. She stared at him, afraid she would see him change, become a dragon. But he did not; he was still her beloved Adrian.

"We must leave," he said hoa.r.s.ely. He picked up her gown and handed it to her, waiting impatiently for her to don it.

"Hurry," he added, "there is not much time."

She did not bother with her chemise or stockings but slipped the gown over her head and turned for him to b.u.t.ton the back.

He finished quickly and pulled one of the long silk streamers aside to leave.

"Adrian." She stood beside their rumpled bed, hands on her hips. "You have forgotten something."

"What? We do not have time, Tempest. We must hurry."

His face showed his impatience, although he spoke calmly.

"Your clothes," she said. "You cannot go off without your clothes."

"Clothes," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Always clothes. 'Tis all you humans think about."

"Nay. 'Tis not all we think about, dearest. But 'tis necessary if you are not to be scratched by branches and chafed by riding the horse. You will not be of much use to anyone if your bottom is sore from riding."

He growled with impatience but quickly yanked on his breeches and tunic.

"Now can we leave?"

"Aye. But why must we hurry? Where are we going? What has happened?"

"Woman," Adrian growled impatiently, then sighed. "My mother is in trouble. She called to me. I know no more than that. Now can we go?"

They did not speak on the ride to the cottage. Adrian feared what he would find when they arrived, and Tempest was worried about his fit of temper and more than a little afraid to question him about his strange actions. She worried about Lysira. Was she all right? What about Tristan and Marisa...and Damien?

Silence met them as they rode into the clearing in front of Lysira's cottage. Tempest gasped at the scene before her.

Damien was lying on the ground near the forest path; Lysira sat beside him, cradling his head in her lap. He was splattered with blood, but she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, so she knew he was alive, although badly hurt.

They quickly dismounted and ran to help the older couple.

"Mother?" Adrian touched Lysira's shoulder, but she did not move nor answer him. Her eyes were locked with Damien's, and he could feel the power flowing between them.

Damien's eyes closed, and he gasped as his body sagged into unconsciousness. Lysira sobbed and looked at her son.

"I cannot do it. I do not have enough power this time." She lowered her head and wept, her sobs shaking her slender body.

"I cannot live without him."

Tempest knelt on the ground beside Damien and took his limp hand in hers. "Damien," she called softly. "Come to me."

She reached out and took Lysira's hand.

"You must help me, Lysira. We can do this together."

"Mother?" Adrian's voice cracked with emotion. "I know the bond you have with Father, for Tempest and I have the same bond. She is my mate. You must trust in her healing. She has dragon power now." He stroked Tempest's hair as she looked up at him in surprise.

"You knew?" she asked. "You felt it, too?"

"Aye," he answered with a tight smile. "I felt it."

Lysira took Tempest's hand. "My daughter," she said, "help us." She closed her eyes, trusting, loving, feeling the power course through her body as Tempest channeled it. Healing power flowed through her and into her beloved.

Damien opened his eyes. "'Sira," he said. "What..?"

"Hush, my darling." Lysira put a finger to his lips. "Let our new daughter do her work."

Tempest tapped into her newfound power, drew it up from deep within and let it flow into Damien. Her body trembled with the effort, but she did not cease the healing. He must be saved. She watched as his bleeding slowed, then ceased oozing from his many wounds. She felt his strength return, felt his wounds began to close, to heal.

She could do no more, for her own strength was failing.

She sighed and leaned back against Adrian. Just a moment to rest, she thought, then...Tris...Marisa! Where were they?

"Adrian? Where are Tristan and Marisa?" Frantically she looked around the oak-lined clearing. "Where are they?"

"The cottage," Lysira answered. "'Twas Sardon. I do not know if they are still alive, Tempest. I could not help.

I...Damien was so badly hurt...I..." A tear slid down her cheek.

Tempest embraced her and kissed her cheek. "I understand,

Lysira, for I love Adrian as you love Damien. I do understand.

Stay here with Damien, for he will be too weak to move for some time yet. I will find Tris."

Tempest and Adrian found Tristan sitting on the steps, holding Marisa in his arms. They, too, were splattered with blood. Marisa clutched feebly at his b.l.o.o.d.y shirt; her eyes were closed, her breathing labored.

Tristan looked up at his sister, his face stark with fear.

"Tempest," he gasped weakly, "you must help her. The babe...I cannot lose them." Blood poured freely from a gash in his head, and his white shirt was rapidly turning crimson. His face paled, and he visibly grew weaker, yet still he implored Tempest to save Marisa.

"Tris!" Tempest cried. "G.o.ddess, no. Please..." She knelt by his side. She knew she had only enough strength to, perhaps save one of them. Tristan-her brother-she could not let him die! But he loved Marisa. She carried his child. She slowly reached toward Marisa, then hesitated as Tristan gasped with pain.

"Nay..."

The faint whisper stayed her hand. Tempest looked into Marisa's open blue eyes, finding the answer to her dilemma, seeing that gentle soul ready to take flight.

Marisa looked at Tristan, a soft smile crossed her face as she spoke her last words. "Tris...I love you..." A soft breath escaped her lips, and she was still.

"Marisa!" Tristan's wails filled the glen as he clutched her to his chest, rocking and keening in anguish. "Marisa..."

Suddenly his sobbing ceased, his arms and body grew lax and he slumped over his dead wife.

"Tris, please do not die. I cannot lose you. Tris," Tempest cried. But her brother did not respond.

She had to save him, had to find the power somewhere within herself. "Adrian." She reached for his hand. "Help me."

"I cannot give you power, little witch," he said softly, "but I can give you strength and all my love, if that will help."

They carefully removed Tristan from the step onto the ground. His breathing was labored, his face pale and waxen.

Tempest held Adrian's hand tightly and laid her other hand gently on Tristan's chest. She once again searched for power, searched to the center of her soul and found a tiny spark. She nurtured that spark, held it, fanned it, felt it blossom like a blood-red rose. She felt it began to flow, up, out, to her heart, into her fingertips. She let it go, let it begin the healing process for her brother. She felt the sapping of her strength but would not stop. She could not let him go. 'Twas not the time for his death. Tristan had only twenty-two years, too young to die, too beloved.

"Tempest," Tristan moaned. "'Tis a small wound, little sister. Do not use all your power. Please... I will live. Sardon..." His eyes closed in pain.

"Indeed, witchling. He will live only if I deem it."

"Sardon!" Adrian released Tempest's hand and rose to his feet. "I will destroy you for what you have done this day."

"Will you?" Sardon mocked as he sauntered out of the cottage. "What can you do against me, hatchling? You cannot even change to your true form. How can you hope to defeat me?" He lovingly caressed the opal ring on his finger as he spoke.

"I have human hands that can crush your scrawny neck,"

Adrian bellowed as he gathered himself to leap at Sardon. He could not move. His body would not obey his commands. He struggled, felt his muscles strain, but he could move only his eyes. He was powerless. His mind called to his mother, and her desperate answer brought terror into his heart.

A'dryan... Sardon has us in his power. We cannot aid you.

Despair washed over Adrian as he watched Tempest rise to confront Sardon.

"h.e.l.lsp.a.w.n!" she hissed. "Release him from your ensorcelment!"

"Nay," he said, smiling lazily. "He is like a bothersome gnat, my dear. I shall make you my mate while the pup watches."

"Never." She launched herself at him, hands raised. "I would die ere such an atrocity happens."

She hit him hard with her body and tried to claw at his face, but it was like hitting a wall of stones. He easily caught

her wrists in his powerful hands, pinned them behind her back and pulled her to his chest.

Magnificent, he thought, her anger makes her eyes glow almost golden. Her struggles felt good, her fear would feel even better, but her defeat would feel best of all. He would take her.

Here. Now. While the hatchling watched. He bent to kiss her.

Tempest struggled to break free, but he was too strong. He smelled of decay, and her stomach rebelled. She swallowed, fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. Then he kissed her. His breath smelled like rotten carca.s.ses, even worse than his unwashed body. His tongue pressed against her lips and forced its way into her mouth. It tasted blood-salty, milk- soured, spoiled-meat-rotten.

Adrian's anguished mind screamed in agony at the scene unfolding before him, but his struggles were in vain. He could not close his eyes, could not look away, could not protect her.

All he could do was moan with helpless frustration.

With one hand, Sardon held Tempest's wrists behind her back; she struggled harder but to no avail. He ripped her beautiful wedding gown, and she felt his hand on her bare breast. His hand felt cold and clammy, his thumb, as it rasped across her nipple, felt like wet sandpaper. He pulled her even closer and deepened his slimy kiss. His tongue probed wildly.

She gagged. He released her lips and bent to her breast.

Hot, wet acid filled her mouth, and she could no longer control her body as the contents of her stomach spewed over his head and onto his shoulders, dribbling down his chest.

Tempest giggled hysterically at the look of disgust on his face as he raised his dripping head and glared at her.

Sardon released her hands and pushed her violently to the ground. "b.i.t.c.h," he screamed as he wiped futilely at the vomit.

"You will die for this!" He kicked her hard in the abdomen, then grasped her hair and jerked her back to her feet.