I descend the stairs, reach the ground floor, and head for the service exit.
Too late. The hall ahead fills with Syndicate operatives. Seven of them in full combat gear. Weapons raised.
“Commander Allon,” the lead operative says. “Stand down. You’re under arrest for treason.”
I assess quickly. Seven armed operatives. Me carrying a dying girl. Nowhere to dodge. No cover.
“Stand down,” the operative repeats. “Last warning.”
I shift. Dragon rising fast. My body expanding, wings bursting from my back. Scales form across every surface. Kaylin is safe against my chest as I complete the transformation.
Fire erupts from my jaws. Superheated flame that fills the hall. Walls shatter around us, masonry flying like shrapnel. The operatives scatter. Some too slow, their screams cut short.
I launch forward, using my bulk to smash through their line, claws rending armor and flesh. Tail striking. Wings buffeting anyone close.
One operative gets behind me and empties his magazine into my back. The bullets penetrate scales. Pain. Blood. But not enough to stop me.
I swing my tail and connect with his torso. He flies into the wall. Doesn’t get up.
Two more operatives ahead. Blocking the exit. I charge, shielding Kaylin. They fire. I feel impacts, but my scales deflect most of the rounds.
I hit them like a battering ram. They go down. I’m through.
The service door is ahead. I smash through it, metal and wood disintegrating. Outside, I’m met with early evening air. Freedom is so close. But more guards are converging. Ten. Fifteen. Coming from all directions. And two of them shift.
Dragons. One copper-scaled. One black. Both smaller than me but trained and coordinated.
I set Kaylin down carefully behind cover. She needs protection. I need freedom to fight.
The copper dragon attacks first, breathing flames. I dodge. Return fire. Our flames collide mid-air in a superheated explosion. The black dragon comes from my left, talons extended. I meet him with my own. We grapple, claw against claw, scales scraping, both drawing blood.
The human operatives are spreading out, using the dragon fight as cover. Flanking. Surrounding.
I break from the black dragon, breathing fire in a wide arc. They scatter, but they’re using cover. Professional defensive approach.
The copper dragon dives from above, raking across my back. Deep cuts. Pain. More blood. I spin, catching his wing with my tail. He spirals. Crashes. Doesn’t stay down long.
Through the bond, I feel Nadia. She’s fighting too. Drawing more guards away. Giving me this opening. Fear pulses through the connection—not for herself. For me.
Can’t let her down.
More Syndicate guards arrive. Twenty. Twenty-five. A mix of human operatives and two more dragons shifting.
Four dragons now. Plus armed humans. Too many even for me.
The black dragon hits me from behind, tearing into me. I roar. Twist. Throw him off. But he’s ripped scales. Blood is flowing.
A rocket-propelled grenade streaks past my head. Too close. The explosion rocks me. I land hard, using talons and tail and fire. Physical combat mixed with flame. Rending armor. Breaking bones. Burning flesh.
But there are too many. They’re not trying to kill me. They’re trying to capture. Subdue. Heavy nets deploying, electrical discharge weapons crackling.
I’m taking damage. Blood flows from dozens of wounds. Wings torn. Scales cracked.
Dragon claws cut deeper than bullets.
The copper dragon pins my right wing. The black dragon goes for my throat. I’m going to fail. Then I hear them. Howls. Multiple. Coordinated. Pack song.
Wolves explode from the tree line. Large. Fast. Moving as one.
