Ven bolted. His dragon legs were strong. He could easily outrun Grald. Ven made a dash for it, digging the clawed toes into the floor and leaping off them, the powerful thigh muscles propelling him across the vast hall toward the door.

He could outrun the lumbering human. But he could not outrun the dragon.

Grald had begun to shed his human body even as he shifted Ven’s attention away from him and to the tomb. Short human arms, with their soft and flabby flesh and grasping, stubby fingers, began to elongate and grow strong and powerful. Scales ran over the flesh like gleaming quicksilver, hardening and protecting. Sharp claws replaced puny nails. The dragon’s clawed hand reached out and caught hold of Ven’s foot and tripped him up, sent him crashing heavily onto his stomach.

Confident he was free, Ven had not expected to be grabbed from behind, and the shock when he felt himself yanked off his feet was paralyzing. He had no time to break his fall, and he slammed into the floor hard. The impact knocked the breath from his body. His chin hit the floor with brain-jarring force that drove his lower jaw into his upper. His mouth filled with blood, either from biting his tongue or from teeth knocked loose or both. His head throbbed with pain and there was a buzzing in his ears. His vision blurred, tears sprang to his eyes.

Dazed, Ven tried to scramble to his feet, only to be slammed down once more.

The dragon held his prey pinned to the floor, pressing him to the stone, as Grald continued to undergo his transformation, crawling and squirming his way out of the human body like a maggot crawling out of diseased flesh. The emergence from the human form required time, but Grald had time.

As he had told Ven, no one could hear him. No one could help him.

Except his magic-wielding brother . . . and he was far away.

23

EVELINA CLUNG TO HER LOVER. SHE HAD NEVER KNOWN PLEASURE like this and, even as they relaxed after their love-making, she kissed his neck and bit at his earlobe, when a shout cracked like thunder over them both.

Marcus stood naked by the side of the bed. His torso and arms were still covered with fading red blotches. His eyes were wide and wild, his face pale and blotchy and terrible. He stared straight at Evelina and her lover.

Jorge shoved Evelina off him and leapt to his feet in the same motion, dumping her onto the floor. He grabbed at his trousers, which were down around his thighs. Yanking them up, he hastily began to stuff himself and his shirt back into them.

“Fight!” Marcus cried, his fists clenched. “You have to fight.”

“I’ll not fight you, Your Highness!” Jorge gasped. “Oh, sweet blessed saints! You a prince! I’ll be drawn and quartered and my head hung up on spikes!”