The compound was half-destroyed; the Phoenix had done his work well, and the zoo had been scorched to the earth in many places; no full cages remained. The arboretum was crumbling. The lawns that had been so tidy and well-groomed when Mal had last been here, many years ago, were overgrown.
There was a beaten-down area in the center of the zoo, the grass trampled to brown.
Mal circled it curiously, then reconciled it with the Civil Guard report he’d intercepted the week before; this would be where the fighting ring had operated, pitting Grant Lyons in a handicapped revenge match.
With wingbeats that raised dust, Mal found the sturdiest of the remaining walls and perched.
He shifted back to human.
From his vantage point, he could see the encroaching rainforest. The rain must not be as frequent here; it seemed less vividly green than the jungle that ringed the resort.
He gave a casual murmur and gestured. Energy overlaid his sight once again.
This was a passive spell; he didn’t wish to further muddy the evidence, or cause more damage inadvertently. He paced to one end of the wall and stared down at the burned zoo. Traces of the Phoenix’s magic teased at the edges of his vision, and Corbin’s contaminated power was like a distasteful oily smear over the entire area, rainbow hued with the flavors of the mythic shifters he and his followers had been draining.
Corbin, Mal thought in disgust. Corbin could be the cause of this disruption. With his ham-handed, stolen magic, he might have disturbed the carefully laid spell.
Mal could tell, just from the evidence left, that Corbin had been loud, unconstrained, unrefined. But it didn’t feel... focused. He’d been a child with a canon, so self-absorbed and noisy that he probably hadn’t even realized there was anything beneath the island.
Beneath him, the ground suddenly rumbled, and the trees shuddered. The wall he was on even swayed for a moment. Then, as quickly as it had come, the earthquake was over, leaving Mal coursing with adrenaline.
He centered himself, once the earth stopped moving and he was sure the danger had passed.
Curious, his dragon said as an understatement. His voice had a current of worry, which was itself worrisome. Mal’s dragon was a well of confidence and apprehension rarely intruded from that quarter.
Mal gathered himself and shifted as he leaped from the wall, a strong downbeat of his wings bringing him into the air over the compound.
He flew back to the resort following the east coast, over the primitive airstrip, along the winding road to the resort.
After the abandoned and destroyed Beehag property, the resort was like a gleaming jewel, beautiful and perfect. But Mal’s dragon, for once, was not interested in beauty; he was focused on the low building at the top of the resort with the open courtyard.
Our mate, he insisted. We have to get her away from here.
With effort, Mal kept him from landing at Scarlet’s office and trying to force her into fleeing with them. We have some time, he reminded his dragon. And he already knew that trying to force Scarlet to do anything was a losing game.
Not much time, his dragon countered unhappily. She is our treasure. We must get her off this island.
Chapter 6
Scarlet glared out over the resort through her office window after she righted the pots that had toppled in the brief earthquake. Tyrant jumped up on the pillow she kept there and Scarlet petted her absently.
She couldn’t feel Mal, which meant he wasn’t at the resort, or anywhere on her half of the island.
That should be a good thing, she reminded herself. Maybe he’d packed his bags and flown home, knowing a losing battle when he faced it.
But she’d seen the amusement in his eyes, and the determination. She already knew he wasn’t going to give up that easily.
Her traitor body still remembered the feeling of his hand at her waist and her fingers remembered the muscles under his dress coat.
Mal...
That was her problem. She was thinking of Mal, when she should be thinking of Mr. Moore. Mr. Moore was a voice on the phone that never came with good news. Mr. Moore was the lawyer who tried to buy the resort out from under her with drug dealers and mercenaries. Mr. Moore was the one making offers too good to be true for whatever nefarious purpose he clearly needed the resort for.
Mal was a different kind of problem altogether.
Tyrant reached a paw up for Scarlet’s hand and extended her claws just enough to prick skin.
Scarlet obediently resumed petting her.