The Last Dragon Shifter

Chapter Thirty-Three

As they sat on the tram, Naomi crossed her arms and threw him accusatory stares. "How many secret hideaways in Legacy do you have, anyway?"

"That's none of your business."

"Since I'm your guard, I think I should know about your possible exit strategies."

"Fine. There's one in my room. Another on the first floor. Across from the infirmary, the hallway with all the sculptures of past deans."

"Okay. And why is this concert important to you?" Naomi asked.

"It just is."

"So you can 'escape'? You can be Max again and risk all our lives? AGAIN."

"I didn't ask you to come." Malcolm narrowed his eyes.

"How could I not? It's my job!"

Their bickering came to a halt as Roland cleared his throat.

"This is our stop," he said, eyeing them uneasily.

Naomi stayed close on the prince's heels as they came out on a street in a sketchy part of town. It was littered with tattoo parlors and rowdy bars. The air held the musty odor of too much cigarette smoke, old beer, and (probably) excrement left behind by drunken patrons.

She hated this already.

"Where are we?" She squinted, trying to spot a street sign.

"Anarchy Alley," Lark piped up. Catching Naomi's disapproving look, she shrugged. "Hey, I didn't pick the name."

Instead of complaining further, Naomi kept her attention focused on Malcolm and her surroundings. They walked past several seedy establishments until they turned a corner and came upon what looked like a vacant warehouse. However, the thumping beats and noise from inside signaled it was anything but empty.

It was far too easy to get through the front door. No identification was needed, and to her chagrin, they strolled right in. The chaotic sounds intensified upon closer range, and across from the large crowd and stage, a bar took up the back wall. Alcohol and pumped-up music fanatics didn't seem like a good idea, but again, she had no control over it. In the shadowy interior, flickering lights lit up some scenes while leaving other sinister corners yet to be discovered. It all added to Naomi's growing discontent.

What she was determined to control was Malcolm's beeline for that caged-off area—one where way too many people were jumping around like they'd lost their minds.

"Where are you going?"

"Thrash ditch!" Roland whooped in response, raising his hands in the air.

"Thrash ditch? More like pit of hell." Naomi grabbed onto Malcolm's arm. "I can't let you go in there."

"If you want to 'protect' me, I suggest you come. Or can you not handle it?" Malcolm wrestled out of her grip and started through the crowd.

"We can do it too. You've got me, which means we've got this," Lark yelled and guided Naomi through the flailing bodies, keeping Malcolm in sight. As they entered the "ditch," she almost lost him but retained her equilibrium by grabbing onto the back of his shirt.

"You're going to want to drop that leash," Malcolm shouted at her over the chaos. Shaking out of her grip, he began to dance or...whatever this was.

As Naomi soaked in the scene, she wanted to like it. But the crowd was scarily worked up and the body heat made everything and everyone hot and sweaty. On top of that, the so-called "music" was horrific. It mostly consisted of loud riffs, shrill beats, and of course, griffons screaming at the top of their lungs. The whole point of sonic music was for the listeners to get lost in the sound of griffons using their battle cries. The sub-genre was full of lyrics that literally made your body pound with pain.