I almost dismiss the idea, more likely to end up splattered on someone’s windshield than I am to get a driver to stop and let me hijack them, but then I see another lirocar speeding up the flyway, headed right for me. In a split second, I decide splattered against someone’s windshield is a more humane way to go than what the drakes will do to me when they find out what I am.
Abandoning all good sense, I dart out into streaming traffic. Bellows of objection and frightened screams fill the air along with the whoosh and mechanical shudder of air-brakes being engaged as drivers try to avoid the lunatic who just ran out into the flyway.
I have half a second to regret my decision as a small aircar barrels toward me, our collision imminent. I don’t close my eyes, I stare death right in the face as it shrieks toward me. Finality is a blink away when, out of nowhere, a wall of wind slams into the car, sending it hurtling away at the same time someone tackles me from behind.
I’m pulled against a hard chest as massive arms wrap protectively around me. My unwanted hero and I go tumbling, momentum churning us around and around. But I don’t feel the pavement bite into me like it should, and nothing else gets past the crush of muscle and sinew that’s encircling me. Whoever grabbed me takes the brunt of our careening crash before we finally skid to a stop.
Noise and chaos erupt all around us, and I find myself splayed on top of a dark, menacing nightmare. Jet black scale armor comes into focus as I try to catch my breath. Then I see the tactical bands on the mountain’s arms. Bands with symbols signifying that the imposing monolith under me is a member of the Royal Wing.
Under his inky armor, a dragon mark of onyx fire crawls up an alabaster throat that’s expanding and contracting quickly, its owner breathing hard. Angry. The tips of the dragon mark’s black flames frame a sharp masculine jaw that’s brandishing a hint of dark stubble. Full lips, a perfectly straight nose, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen glare up at me.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” the dark menace growls, his bright blue eyes like two hard gems sparkling with disapproval.
“I had a craving for road pancakes,” I rasp, trying and failing to push away from him.
Two massive hands anchor my hips in place and keep me from moving away. The drake sits up and it forces me to slide down his impressive torso into his lap where I try and fail again to scramble off of him.
“Why didn’t you shift? You could have been killed. And for what? We’re not trying to hurt you.”
“Oh, right. Was I supposed to get that message before or after all of you started chasing me? That’s not exactly an invitation for tea and cookies.”
“No, just road pancakes, it seems,” he grumps, his gargantuan arm muscles flexing to keep me in place when I try to wiggle away again.
“Let me go,” I demand, all too aware of our compromising position and the distinct lack of clothing over parts of my body that are in direct contact with parts of his. Stradling the enemy is not how I’d prefer to die.
“Why? So you can display your complete lack of survival instincts and run into oncoming traffic again?”
“Aeson, are you okay?” a male demands as he comes running over. He’s all tones of brown, his carob-colored armor, his tan skin, his dark chocolate hair, everything except for his hazel eyes which lean more moss green than brown.
“I’m fine, Jori. Take her,” the Aeson brute orders, lifting me off him and handing me to Jori like some naughty pest he just found rummaging through his garbage.
Jori looks slightly apologetic as he takes a hold of me. Thankfully, I’m set on the ground next to him instead of thrown over his shoulder or some other equally barbaric thing. Aeson pushes off the ground, dusting himself off and running a hand through his short black-brown hair. I take that opportunity to twist out of Jori’s lax hold and make a run for it.
Jori barks out a warning, but I only manage four strides before skidding to a stop. Like Scorch mirages come to life, more than a dozen drakes surge toward me, forming an impenetrable ring of scale armor and bulk. Dark jewel tones of armor draw my eye, and I quickly catalog what kiths they could belong to as I spin, desperate for a way out or a weak link that will lead to one. The drakes anticipate my efforts and rush to close ranks, penning me in but not coming any closer and risking what might happen if I feel cornered.
A lirocar sets down on each end of the road, bookending the standoff and leaving me nowhere to go.
I’m trapped.
A warning growl rises in my chest as I back away from the drakes all around me.
“Come now, Frills, is that really necessary?” the blond I bumped into earlier asks as he steps forward.
“Frills?” the redhead with the battle braids questions. I think his name was Ogdan.
“The little minx tried to tell me she was a Frilled Lizard,” the blond announces, and several chuckles move around the ring of drakes.
My gaze narrows at their easy banter. Apparently, my life teetering on a knife’s edge is no big deal to them. Then again, did I really expect anything different from The Horde?
“Maybe sheisa Frilled Lizard. I don’t smell a dragon,” a male with dark skin and eyes observes, and then all of the dragons cornering me pull in a deep breath, scenting me.
Apprehension tightens my chest. If they index my scent, it could be bad for the others. For the first time in my life, I wish I were a thoon and could spray a terrifyingly offensive musk at anyone who got too close, just like the floppy-eared desert rodent I learned to avoid growing up.
“Definitely doesn’t smell like a dragon, but that won’t stop you from trying to talk her out of her skirt,” another male teases, and I tense.
“Enough!” a resonant command sounds from behind me. Aeson, the dark storm who tackled me, strides forward, and the others shut their mouths and straighten up. “This is neither the time nor the place. Themystery meatwill be escorted back to the rally point, and First Flight will decide what to do with her from there. Fall out.”
My head snaps in Aeson’s direction.
