The steady thump of steel-toed boots on concrete andthe charged atmosphere of soldiers on duty spoke of a place always ready for battle. The air changed again, carrying the mingled scents of oiled steel and gunpowder. Rows of stacked crates and armored lockers lined the walls, each marked with stenciled symbols denoting their contents: ammunition, rations or equipment whose purpose was left deliberately vague. A raised platform at the far end served as a command station, where a handful of grim-faced berserker officers oversaw wall-mounted surveillance screens.
Here, my warriors were not required to bow, only obey. Their main job was the security of not only the warehouse but guarding our human territory. “Any new sightings of the mortal?”
“Nein, Your Majesty,” someone called.
As I approached the armory, the throbbing in my neck erupted anew, exploding with such violence, it wrenched a groan from me. Something was wrong. Wrong with Locke.
Heart thudding, I grabbed a dragonshell blade, a weapon able to cause shifters great pain. Other shouts rang out, everyone eager to come to my aid as I headed for the exit. Once outside the compound, I took flight in a cloud of concealing smoke, letting the pull between us guide me, scanning…scanning…there! In a shadowed alley hidden from humans by thick dragon-smoke, ten shifters formed a circle around the human already cut and bleeding.
Taron. The bright glow in the pattern of blood splatter pulsed at full wattage again. And once again, it faded as I closed in. So, it glowed because we were apart and stopped when together, as if the light attempted to summon me?
Wasting no time, I tucked my wings to descend at top speed, arrowing toward the brewing fray. To Taron’s credit, he stood with absolute calm, reminding me of thundertrapped in a bottle. He clutched a dagger in one hand and an MP7 with a silencer in the other. An empty clip lay near his feet.
“Lorik sends his regards,” a grinning shifter said to him, wiping a golden drop of molten fire from the corner of his mouth with the tip of a claw. He stepped closer, his eyes, nose and lips beginning to glow bright red. He hadn’t yet noticed me. “No need to send a return message. I’ll relay your screams.”
“Doubtful, since you won’t survive the next five seconds.” Taron executed an expert and wholly otherworldly sneak attack, shocking me to the core. Though his body remained still, the ghostly outline of his arm moved, tossing a dagger. The blade appeared as transparent as he was, solidifying as it flew. It tore through the speaker’s chest, coming out his back—with his heart attached.
One down, nine to go.
Almost there… I let my wings dissolve, arrowing faster.
As the shifter toppled, dead, the others comprehended what just happened: their friend was killed by a human. They became fully dragon, clothing ripping, scales spreading, bones elongating and rearranging.
Boom! I slammed into the one closest to Taron, drilling the threat to the ground. He hit with such force and bellowed with such pain, I was certain I’d broken every bone in his body.
Whatever temporary shock I’d been under vanished. Harm my Locke? Never. “Die,” I growled, punching through the fallen shifter’s chest. I unfurled new wings, propelling myself to a stand with my opponent’s still-beating heart in hand.
The starting bell. Madness broke loose, the remaining shifters splitting up, half focused on me, half unleashingstreams of fire at the professor. I moved, covering Taron in a protective cloak of my wings.
Once the flames died, I attacked in turn, rage burning through the gelu root until none remained. A thick haze engulfed my mind, narrowing my world to my enemies. Nothing else existed as my body doubled in size, attempting to house the sudden explosion of power rushing through it. Clothing tore, several swatches of material falling away.
I ripped through the shifters without mercy. Slashing. Punching. Spraying my fire into throats unable to withstand my heat. Tearing out hearts. At some point, I’d acquired a sword. Then another. Off with their heads!
But why were there no more soldiers? I really, really wanted to kill more.
“Anyone else?” I asked oh so pleasantly. Perhaps horrifically so.
Dragon-berserkers landed around me, features quickly contorting with dismay.
Well, why not take them out too?
Except, there was a man. Separate from the dragons. He clutched two swords dripping crimson all over a soot-scorched pavement. I recognized him.
Oh, ja. Taron, in the flesh, no longer a ghostly illusion.
“Calm,” he said to me.
The word struck deeper than sound, sliding into my bones, silencing the endless roar. What didn’t die? The need to protect him. I pressed my back to his front. “No one touches him.”
Shock reverberated through the thickening crowd. Armed men and women I suddenly recognized. They had served me for years.
And my dragon had considered harming them? Igroaned. The berserkerage must have been strong. If not for Taron…
Inner shake.
“We won’t touch him, my queen. He’s yours,” Commander Hoffmann vowed.
The dragon inside me thrilled at the rightness of his statement, sparking apprehension in me. Taron wasn’t mine. Not now, not ever.
