Page 25 of Feathers and Scales

The chiming of his phone made him sigh.

“Why did you steal Johnathan’s SUV?” Percy’s voice boomed over the vehicle’s speakers. At least Johnathan had learned his lesson and brought a larger vehicle.

“I wanted to do some sightseeing…alone.” Daxton followed the GPS and turned right onto another highway lined with evergreens.

“This is a blatant undermining of my authority. I’m nullifying your Right of Passage.”

Shit.“One chief to another, give me time. I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.”

“Out of my hair? I have little of that left. My men are on their way now to forcibly remove you from my territory.” Percy ended the call.

Cursing, Daxton swerved. Tires screeched as he made his next turn. He set his watch on a countdown, and panic squeezed his throat. If he was lucky, he had a few hours before Percy’s men found him. He’d have to be luckier to find her first. The leather of the steering wheel protested under his grip.

He tried countless times to track her through their connection, but he always hit an impenetrable barrier. Whatever she had done to block him, it was a solid wall he wanted to claw through.

“Your destination is on the left,” the GPS announced.

He squinted to find an opening within the tree line. At the base of the mountain, tucked behind the foliage, lay a small two-car garage.

Not wanting to alert anyone to his presence, he drove past it and parked on the gravel shoulder. He grabbed the Centurion journal Izzy had given back to him, shoved it in his pocket, and got out.

Making his way to the garage, his steps sprang over the spongy needles littering the ground. He used his Insight to detect spirit energies. No one was around. He crept forward to a window on the side. Through a thin layer of dust, he made out the shape of a black luxury sedan. To the left, a parked motorcycle.

A familiar Kawasaki Ninja.

His scales twitched, sending an itchy sensation across his body. Ever since she’d run away, his dragon tore at his brain, wanting her, creating a dull ache in his head. The feeling was tolerable near her, but insufferable away from her. The link stretched taut between them.

Following the structure to the corner, he searched for tracks or disturbances in the surrounding foliage. Circling to the back, he spotted a jagged gap between some shrubs.That’s an interesting path.At the opening, a thin and well-worn trail, like what a deer would make, continued into the coniferous forest, rising up the mountain.

Or maybe it’s the path of another creature, injured and frightened.

Under the shadows of the trees, he walked the trail, which widened and became steeper as he traveled farther into the woods. On his next deep breath, he took in the fresh mountain air. Traces of exhaust lingered.

He paused. The scent made little sense.

Tracks appeared in the mud from a grooved treading, singular tire, a dirt bike. A common vehicle found in dragon territories for the terrain. He smiled as his dragon prowled near the surface of his mind. He jogged, laboring as he followed the tracks uphill. They’d probably ditched the motorcycle for a more convenient form of transportation up to a hidden location.

The excitement from the chase laced his bones.

As he followed the zigzagging path, his leg muscles protested, sweat dripped into his eyes, and his lungs burned for air. Reaching semiflat ground, the sight before him made him pause.

An imaginative architect must have built the two-story cabin perched on the mountainside. The massive stone tower dominating the back center matched the tone but seemed out of place. For as secluded as the house was, the solar panels on the roof probably helped with energy, and the conifers surrounding it offered wind protection. Tall, wide windows added an extra touch.

He took a deep breath and opened his Insight.

The air tasted like a light tremor of purity and metal. The link relaxed as if his proximity lessened the strain on it.

His lips curled around a relieved smile.She’s here.

Pain grew behind his eyes. Hisdragon tried to break free. She hid somewhere within, and nothing would prevent him from reaching her. He bounded up the stairs to the porch. Only when he faced the door, leg raised to kick it down, did he figure he should try to act civilized.

He rang the doorbell.

The chime sounded like a dinner bell to the hunger building inside him. Footsteps thudded toward the entrance.

“You’re here early,” a male voice with a familiar Cockney British accent said as the door swung open. Glazed doughnut half raised to his pasty white face, his gaze landed on Daxton, widening like the devil himself stood at his doorstep. Simon froze in recognition.

This was the lanky man that took Izzy from him. Fire tinged with protectiveness burned through his mind, and his dragon instincts reigned. Daxton’s fist launched. At the last moment, he reeled back, and his fist connected with the door frame.