There Rizzaget was, the picture of indolence, his body an arrangement of unfeeling muscle and not an inch of humility to be found on him.

I couldn't help the severe scowl that formed on my face as I replied tartly, "Because you nearly rob me of every currency – except for the one which I can actually give you at the time. You want more time? Then I'll give you years of my life. You want youth? I can always hand it to you on a silver platter. Whatever it is that you ask for, you'll hold out your hand... and I'll supply it. Magic and money are inconsequential to you because you dominate those fields, Sorcerer."

His popularity with both Magic Blood nobles and human upperclassmen in various cities, even in the most far-reaching regions had made it possible for him to enjoy his successes, without the drawbacks of prejudice that our kind usually faced. It also helped that he was a suave, passionate individual who'd earned every bit of his renown by accepting the clients that were known to have the most 'impossible' requests.

"You're not wrong. It is the way of business, I'm afraid." He yawned.

I jumped out of bed and stalked towards him, anger, fear and paranoia crawling through my skin as I asked him, "What did she promise you in exchange for healing me?"

But the infuriating Sorcerer only stood up and dusted his hands on his leggings, stating that, "I'm afraid that's private information between me and my client, Ms... actually, now that I think about it, you've never told me about your maiden name before, have you? And you were born before Magic Bloods had integrated into society, so you didn't need secondary titles back then, did you? Interesting."

I ground my teeth together and looked around the room, hating how his eyes followed my visual path. So keen and observant.

"Where am I, Rizzaget?" I demanded, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

It looked a bit too impersonal to be his own room. Dull, dry, browns coloured the wooden furniture and patchy ceiling. A dingy wardrobe sat in the corner, scratches covering its surface and a desk with a vase was flush against the wall. Minimal with a homey feel, but I still felt swallowed by it.

"Heathen's Lodge." He answered brightly.

"You're a sick, twisted bastard."

Heathen's Lodge – The communal, well-loved humping grounds for the lower class that had probably seen more use than a brothel. It was highly distinguished, sorely used, in desperate need of repair and hygienic cleansing... and for someone like me to burn it to the ground.

Rizzaget began walking around me in a circle, his voice a mere, taunting whisper in my ear as he voiced, "No more than you are for spending your free time with a Dragon Faerie."

My face contorted into something fierce as I felt my ivory claws jut out of their own accord and then I moved, free and spirited as the wind, slicing into his chest.

He staggered back into the bed, clutching at the wound, shock and laughter oozing from him in waves. It didn't stop. But then my sister just had to blow into the room, shattering the wildness of the moment.

I was...

I was destruction. I was chaos. I could have torn the world asunder.

No, I was wrong. Everything I'd felt up until then was a mere drop in the ocean, because when I saw her chest with mirrored scratches lining her upper torso, I nearly brought Blackswallow City to its knees. I could have buried this town in dirt and soil and rubble and grass.

We would have been in a grave of mud and worms... all because of my emotional fragility.

My sister gasped, "Doralis... Please. Calm down, let me explain."

Horror was a violent entity eating away at my soul, crushing my insides into tiny pieces. What could I do? Nothing at all. The answer tumbled around with accelerating speed throughout my mind, into a dark place of sorrow and shadow, because I knew it deep down in my bones.

I'd done this to her. I'd hurt my sister.

Somehow Anixae's life was intimately tied to Rizzaget's and the sheer terror, the unknown of what this meant... It had sunk its teeth into me, latching on with a ferocity I couldn't withstand.

Rizzaget smirked as he raised himself on his elbows, the shoulder-length strands of his hair spilling like liquid firelight down his green combat garb, and he looked like a shrewd prince – a mocking one, if anything.

"I thought you might appreciate this little twist." The Sorcerer said at last, when I continued to say nothing in response to this revolting revelation.

My hands worked over my sister's wound, doing nothing. I couldn't speak.

I'd been rendered speechless.

Anixae breathed, taking my hand away from her chest, her blood gushing out all over her clothes. She'd been wearing a different dress, but now it was ruined. The mark of my claws had torn it, the bodice ripped clean through, exposing the padding of her garments. She must have run straight to this room in a hurry.

Finally, gathering enough air into my lungs, I said hoarsely, "I-I didn't know, I'm sorry. But why, Anixae? Why?! Anything else, you should have given anything else."

Rizzaget cracked his neck and stood up, bored from my little spiel. He came around and smacked his hand against my sister's chest in a non-fondling way, infusing pulse after pulse of healing magic into her skin. It was a rough process and she looked skittish, uncomfortable at first.

After a minute, he tore his hand away, revealing smooth, healed skin and he rubbed his own chest, as a way of checking that everything was perfectly fine. But I still had the urge to twist his neck and tear him limb from limb and if it weren't for Anixae's hand upon my own, pulling me away to the side of the room to hug me, I would have drowned in my sheer incompetency.

We drew apart and I shivered, unable to bear what had just transpired in this room.

She shook her head, a single tear falling past her cheek before she wiped it away, an apologetic look forming on her face. I wouldn't let her voice it, though; I couldn't let her take responsibility when it was my fault that she'd had to save my life.

I pinched her chin between my fingers and gave her a stern look. I whispered in a low, encouraging voice, "We cry because joy commands it. Physical pain wills it. You'll not do it for lesser beings like me, or him, or unless your heart needs emptying of sorrow. Understand me?"

She sucked in a breath, but then forced herself to stop the shudders wracking her small frame. I turned my head in small, slow contractions, an arctic look aimed toward the Sorcerer now leaning against the wall, observing us.

If I ever found a way to end this contract... Rizzaget La'Barrier was a dead man, that much was now scored into his headstone.

He just topped killing Balthazar in my list of murdering priorities. In my long, dreary life, that was an extremely hard thing to do. But for him? I'd make an exception.

"Dryads aren't built for violence. It is not in our nature to deal out death. You understand this, Sorcerer?" I said, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper.

I was quiet. So quiet, in a way I'd never been before.

"And yet you make the best assassins, I've heard." He replied, inspecting the walls of the room, unbothered.

"That is not what we were born to do! Rizzaget, you fool..." I shook my head and sighed, "You won't like where this takes us. I don't forget offenses very easily. When you live for as long as I do, it's all I tend to think about. Grudges keep me going, actually."

"Come, come. We both know that underneath that indefensible layer of mud you fancy hiding under, deep down you're just as feral and depraved as all the other Magic Bloods. And Dryad or not, your magic is what I aim to utilise."

I unravelled his words, one at a time. Turning a bemused smirk at him, I outwardly rejoiced in the way he’d inadvertently thrown me enough information to screw him over.

"Let me guess... The Sorcerer has suddenly found himself in a compromised situation that he can't barter himself out of and that’s why he needs our help.”

A terse nod was all Rizzaget could give and then he wiped his nails on his shoulder pads. Disinterested? No, because I could feel his damning energy reaching out, trying to gauge my emotional temperament.

I added testily, “And let me just say... It must be quite the sordid entrapment for you to be ensnaring two Dryads – the sheer desperation speaks for itself. And what unearthly power could move you to such lengths? That you would make a life-bond with Anixae and incur the wrath of her... violently motivated sister."

He moved in lazy steps toward me, drawling, "You may be familiar with her. In fact, very, very familiar."

Something about his snarky overall inflection was positively brimming with pitch-black connotation.

"A girl - Rizzaget, really? Someone of the female variety has brought the famous Sorcerer of Blackswallow City to his knees? Who do I have to thank for that hard-won achievement?" I chuckled.

"Let's just say, you have something in common. You share a dwelling. Possibly parents. Lineage. And you call her 'sister'. She's your third and final cogwheel in the machine and I have a bone to pick with her, Doralis."

My eyes bulged and I nearly knocked into Anixae, who'd moved at the same time as me.

"What did you just say?" I snapped at him.

"I'd very much like to have words with your eldest. Galadryn has become a recent thorn in my side. You two look shocked, I must say. Perhaps you weren’t aware of her shenanigans, then?"

Anixae and I hadn't laid eyes on Galadryn since she'd left our cottage three weeks ago.

"Speak plainly. What exactly do you want from Galadryn?"

He cocked his head to the side, listening. I thought he was going to reply, but then he shoved through Anixae and I, heading towards the door. Not one to be ignored, I followed doggedly on his heels, the hallways of the lodge already bursting with morning daylight – lending sight to what should have stayed hidden... like the blood and the dirt and the dripped secrets of the lovers who'd once come through this building.

I didn't want to see the messy hallways, the stains that covered every surface, but marching out of the establishment was indeed a process that had to be done on two legs and with eyes wide open.

Anixae nearly jumped every time we walked by rooms with thumping, groaning sounds, pleasurable noises echoing out of them. Rizzaget pretended not to hear them, just swiftly proceeded to dash down the staircase that led out of the building.

I was grateful when we at last met clean air, the Heathen's Lodge nothing more than a dirty daydream at our backside that I hurriedly stepped away from. We walked into the town square, keeping a brisk pace, but Rizzaget said nothing, only looked determined to find his store amongst the madness of people.

"Any minute, your Dragon is going to drop a building on our heads, and you – Doralis – are going to convince him to stop getting his wings in a twist. Understand me? And then we need to have a little talk with him." He didn't even look back over his shoulder as he spoke, just continued walking.

Anixae looked sideways at me, baffled and a little bit amused.

"Did he just say... your Dragon?" She grinned, hustling after him.

I scanned the bright, blue sky, searching for a dark, ominous speck that would ruin my day. Nope – nothing seemed to spark feelings of hatred. He wasn't here. The Sorcerer was wrong.

"Balthazar is not my fucking Dragon, Sorcerer." I threw at Rizzaget, weaving through a bunch of humans who were standing around a meat stall.

We were on the verge of being separated and yet I managed to keep pushing on, my eyesight staying firm and loyal to the pair that had wondered to the edge of the market.

As I wondered on my lonesome, I noticed that an odd throb in my left shoulder beginning to grow conspicuously like a toothache. At first it had begun as a soft sensation in which I was religiously predisposed to ignore, but then I stuttered to a stop, my heart palpitating wildly. My instincts promptly flaring, I spun on the spot, feeling irrational at once and unexpectedly invaded by a presence.

No, this couldn't be —

There was a searing heat drilling down upon me and for a second, relief clouded my judgement; The irreverent gaze of the person up high could only belong to one person and one person only because of the bird’s eye view. It was the eyes of a being so powerful, so intrusive and decadent and destructive that no one else could match it.

I tilted my head up, the sun pouring into my eyes the longer I stared at the distinctive shape hovering amongst the clouds.

I was forced to crane my neck up in order to keep an eye on him.

"Bastard." I breathed, watching the wings of the Warlord protract gracefully from his shoulder blades, the majestic arc of his generated winds blowing away the tornado of dark magic he'd emerged from.

Something that looked like a gigantic rock loomed between his hands – it hovered between his palms, lifted by airy magic – and he seemed to be waiting for the right time to release it on this town.

I was watching with wide eyes, and I scratched my chin in both wonder and horror. "Rizzaget... was half-right. That's not a building, though." I stated.

"Oh, so you're alive." Balthazar said, sounding somewhat amazed. "Our disconnect was brief, but I felt your heart stop. It also occurred to me that this town was utterly disgusting and a waste of space on the map... I thought I should reorganize it in the event of your death. And take it over."

"Warlord, you are holding a piece of rock. There are innocent women and children down here. Magic Bloods, too. Get rid of it."

"If you say so." He tumbled it sideways, letting it slip from his fingers...

Screams erupted all around me, a choir of chaos that could have shattered my eardrums.

It had plenty of time to freefall, but I still couldn't believe that he'd done it. He'd thoughtlessly let it go, had allowed it to get so close to the ground before deciding to swoop down and pluck it from mid-air.

It hadn't hit the cobbled ground at all, and it hadn't shattered on top of any buildings or innocent townsfolk, but I'd still wanted to stab him in the throat. Our tenuous truce with the humans of Blackswallow was already so fragile and then he'd gone and flaunted this act of foolishness?

I shook my head, aghast, as he lowered himself into the town square, surrounded by dozens of pale, surprised faces, the rock laid at his feet, forgotten. Humans in mixed towns either revered him or stayed out of his radius and the ones in Blackswallow – despite the turmoil in their eyes – couldn't help but edge into his peripheral, the wings projecting from his back catching their interest.