Taryn sucked in air, greedy to catalog every ugly inch, but there was another scent that crashed through the smoke and blood.
Mint.
A bad, raw odor, a chemical brain-burn that made every dragon want to puke. It got up under the scales, clung to the nose, and was so thick it nearly masked the rest of the evidence. This was the first time I’d encountered it as a dragon, and damn. It really was horrible.
Chance glided in slowly, wary. He arced around the property once, wings slicing the cold, scanning for trouble. Nothing moved, except the smoke eddying up from what had to be an overcookedfireball on the porch.
I kept three lengths behind him, Taryn's joy curdled a little by the stink, but still burning to get closer, to see what had happened.
We landed at the edge of the clearing. The change back was messy. My scales were singing, my bones aching from the magic, but I managed. I dropped onto the gravel, sweat already cooling in the wind, my heart roaring.
Chance scanned the property, eyes still rimmed in gold. Xavier shifted and went inside the cabin.
Damon circled the yard perimeter, methodical as a bloodhound, eyes flicking over every divot and scrap of evidence.
The bodies weren't moving, but I couldn't take my own advice and stay away.
The nearest man, face mashed into the dirt, blood pooling at the ear, was William. I knelt, maybe five feet back. The world spun, but not because of the blood. It was the look on his face, as though he was saying, “What the fuck happened, and why am I so dead?” The bastard wasn’t smirking anymore.
I wanted to puke. But then I thought of my girls, and the feeling twisted into something ugly and sweet at the same time.
Chance drifted closer, said nothing. He just watched me.
I made myself look, then I stood up and backed away, not trusting my knees.
A phone started warbling inside the cabin.
The sound set every hair on my neck up, like we'd just tripped someone's last defense.
Chance was first up the busted steps. He scooped the phone from the battered side table inside the door, and checked the glowing screen.
"Amy from High School," he read, voice dry as ash.
He squinted at the contact, then held the phone up for Xavier to see. "It’s mom's number."
"Cute," Xavier muttered. "This hunter hid Aunt Livia's number as a decoy."
I asked anyway, "So where's this Kira?"
Damon's laugh was short and mean. "Evan got here first."
I ignored him.
The phone kept buzzing. Chance powered it off and pocketed it.
Damon grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped the doorknob, not bothering to explain.
"Evan and Kira aren't here.” Xavier pointed with his chin at the carnage. "Evan must have caught them setting up a mint perimeter. They were strung out right here, prepping for a takedown, it looks like. They only got off one shot, through theporch. The rest appears to be hand-to-hand. My guess is Hanlon tried to use the SUV as a shield. Didn't work. We’re going to have to cover this up. We need to make it look ugly, but not supernatural. It looks like the gas line's a little loose. Once we torch it, all this will go boom, and nobody will know hunters fought a dragon here."
"Neighbors?" I asked.
"Nothing for miles. Even if the sheriff dispatch gets a call, it'll just be us and the cleanup crew."
Chance absorbed that. Then he turned to Damon. "You good?"
Damon bared his teeth, more wolf than dragon for a second. "Peachy."
They did the forearm clasp, grab, flex, mutual backslap, like they'd just finished a playoff game. I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars.
