Taevas set his jaw. Acting now would be a death sentence. He had to wait. Hehadto.
His gaze swept across the yard to the treeline where Monty had emerged from. Alashiya had counted three men, Sergei, and Monty. There was always the chance that reinforcements were going to be called, but his gut told him that those men were on their own. An easy number to handle in his hardier form,certainly, but not impossible on two legs. He just had to get eyes on all of them. Especially Sergei.
Come on, you son of a bitch.
Another figure slipped from the trees, this time from a little farther away. Gun in hand, they circled the house before meeting up with Monty, who emerged from the side door. Another figure carrying a gun walked quickly to meet them at the door. They said nothing, but Monty made several clear gestures toward the trees.
One of the new men nodded once and backed toward the trees again, his gun raised. He wasn’t gone long. Less than a minute later, Sergei followed him back out into the yard.
The moment the big dragon was free of the greenery, his wings sprang out to mantle around his shoulders. He stalked toward the house a lot less quietly than the humans had. Shrouded in darkness, he appeared less like Jaak and more…
The rattle of cuffs. A starchy pillow under his cheek. Sharp, searing pain in his wings. A huge shadow, blurred and dark, gesturing furiously in his direction.
He’d been sure before, but now there was no doubt in his mind.
Taevas watched the group move back toward Alashiya’s house for a moment longer before he slipped deeper into the forest. He’d spent days learning the almost invisible trails his Chosen had so gently laid over her years walking the land. It turned out that even the featherlight footsteps of nymphs would eventually leave a path. He gratefully followed them around the back of the barn.
First, Sergei would want to confirm Taevas had been in the house, then they’d look in the barn — which meant that Taevas didn’t have long to make it to the car.
Just as he thought, they’d left one man to guard the new, mud-flecked SUV. The man stood by the driver’s door, his stance military-straight and gun at the ready. No doubt he was the get-away driver.
Taevas held still in the shadows a few yards away from theguard and tested the air. Without much of a breeze it was difficult to get a good lock on his scent, but there was the faintest hint of ozone in the air.
Witch.
There was no time to wonder who he was or what Sergei was doing with one witch, or perhaps three. That would have to be worked out later.
He weighed his options. Fighting witches was tricky work. On one hand, they were small, weak, and could only protect themselves in one shape. On the other, it was almost impossible to tell what kind of abilities they were hiding by sight and scent alone.
For all Taevas knew, the witch might’ve been nearly powerless.
He could’ve also had the ability to stop Taevas’s heart with a single touch, or rip open the fabric of the universe to drag him back into captivity before there was a chance to struggle.
As he’d learned in the war, there was no one-size-fits-all way to fight a witch, but the best bet would always be surprise. If this plan stood even half a chance of working, then he didn’t have another choice, anyway.
Soundlessly propping the shotgun against a tree trunk, Taevas stooped low to pick up a dusty stone. Not knowing what his opponent was capable of, Taevas couldn’t risk relying on Alashiya’s wards to shield him from view, so he had to be careful to remain out of sight when he tossed the rock into the trees far to his left.
The guard’s gun came up instantly. He swung to the side and peered into the trees from over the hood of the SUV.
Taevas leapt.
The gun was his first priority. His left hand went for the barrel of the bolt rifle at the same time that he kicked one knee out, sending the guard stumbling. Unable to completely dislodge the guard’s grip, Taevas slammed butt of the rifle into his nose.
Blood splattered the side of the SUV. They grappled for the gun for too long.
A crackle of electricity built around the witch. The man’s eyes, utterly devoid of feeling, went white with violent power. Dragons could take a lot, but the kind of voltage a powerful witch packed made even the most dangerous lightning storms look like child’s play. He’d seen what could happen when the unwary tangled with a witch and had no interest in being cooked alive.
The witch reached for Taevas’s bare shoulder and only just made contact as his head was slammed against the bloody side of the SUV. Bone crunched under Taevas’s grip. When he went limp, he was tossed aside with a grunt.
Their scuffle lasted less than a minute, and the guard had only touched him for a second or two, but damage had been done. Taevas bit back a howl of pain as the skin on his shoulder bubbled. Ripping the gun away from the guard’s hand, he stumbled back and shook his head hard.
There was no time for pain.
An examination of the guard proved mostly useless. He was dressed in basic hunting gear, but had nothing in his pockets. No tags, no tattoos. The only interesting things about him was that his hair was shaved close in a soldier’s style and that he wore a plain gold chain around his neck.
A dragon who looks like Jaak and a handful of witches. Did he hire mercenaries?
Pulling some old, salvaged cord from his pocket, Taevas quickly bound the man’s wrists to his ankles before dragging him into the bushes. He’d probably live, but Taevas wasn’t particularly concerned one way or the other.
