“Will you surrender, Vandawolf?” Catalina asks, her expression increasingly dark. “Or will we find out if you can survive a fight with athunderof dragons?”
By a thunder, I think she means the whole group.
Certainly, each dragon is shifting where they stand, baring their teeth at me, their scales gleaming.
Their riders all step forward, flicking their gloved hands in the air, at which blades of varying lengths form.
I consider my chances and rank them low.
As fast as I am, surviving a fight with dragons would never be easy. Blackbird can’t get in close. And the sky continues to flickerwith lightning, threatening another downpour and, most likely, another swarm of monsters.
What’s more, the longer I’m separated from Asha, the angrier I become.
She brought peace to my heart. She made me whole. She gave me back my life and my mind and my future.
Now, she’s been taken from me.
Thaden Kane has her.
And these… fucking dragons… are responsible for that.
Graviter Rex may as well have delivered her to darkness.
For the last ten years, I made sure I was always two steps ahead of everyone else, assessing my moves and countermoves, always prevailing, always achieving my goal, even if I experienced losses along the way.
But I didn’t intend to survive beyond making Asha a hammer.
Nothing I do will be according to plan now.
It’s time to make it up as I go along.
I extend my claws and bare my teeth, satisfied when my canines grow sharp enough to rip out throats.
I stare down at the small army of humans and dragons I’m facing.
Fuck them.
If they want a fight, they’ve got it.
Chapter 26
Just as I prepare to leap forward, a slender figure appears in the corner of my vision.
I recognize her instantly, and that makes me freeze: Petra.
She’s the daughter of Nero, the leader of the metalworkers who led the attempt to kill me outside this very wall.
I’m not sure if she’s here to finish the job or to defend the city.
She’s wearing the armor of the Wasteland Warriors and carries a sword at her back and a dagger at her waist. Her oval face is pale, and her lips are set in a determined line. The streaks of dark purple in her hair that mark her profession as a healer appear blood red under the crimson sky.
I’m baffled that I didn’t sense her presence sooner, let alone detect her approach.
Where did she come from so suddenly?
My focus shifts to the weapon she’s holding in her hands, and my concern only grows.
It’s a crossbow, and it’s loaded with an iron bolt that’s tipped with a glistening, crimson powder.
