My own beast suddenly warns me:I sense a dragon.
This is an unwelcome possibility.
Dragon shifters are rare and well-hidden. One of the last known populations of dragon shifters exists in Philadelphia, and according to the assassins, they don’t have an aura. They’re secretive and nearly impossible to identify.
That would fit with my inability to sense anything from this man who calls himself Abel.
I’m about to demand more answers from him when sudden movements from both sides of the table draw my attention. It seems that two board members have decided to use the distraction of Abel’s appearance to their benefit.
The witch on my right-hand side points her wand at me, shrieking a spell, her voice so shrill that I can’t make out her words, but I have no doubt about her intentions.
She wants me dead.
At the same time, the warlock nearest to me also shouts an incantation, his black wand outstretched.
I launch myself into the air, halfway across the table, my reflexes carrying me out of the paths of both spells in a heartbeat.
The warlock’s spell crashes into the wall near the door, where the wood sizzles as if it were hit by acid. The witch’s spell also flies wide, and she can’t utter another before my claws slice through her throat.
I whirl back to the warlock, but Abel is already moving.
He leaps upward, his brown wings thumping out from his back, leathery and wide.
I’m ready for his attack, but with a single sweep, he shoots across the distance between himself and the warlock, grabs the man’s head, and twists.
Thecrackof the warlock’s breaking neck seems to wrench the other board members out of their shock. Each of them jolts toward the walls at their backs, their arms raised and palms out.
There is not a claw, tooth, or wand in sight now.
I narrow my eyes at Abel as he folds away his wings, holding them at his sides.
Then, very slowly, he takes a knee. “Oliver’s reign is over,” he says, casting a pointed glance at the other board members before returning his attention to me. “Striker Draven, you have my loyalty.”
Blood drips from my claws onto the table where I crouch.
Slowly, I return to the floor and raise myself tall.
I wish I could take Abel’s pledge at face value, but I can’t. He killed the warlock, but I can’t be certain of his real intentions until I know more about him.
For now, I keep him in my sights. “If any of you feel differently,” I say. “Speak up now. I’ll let you leave.”
The other board members shuffle and glance at each other.
It’s clear they don’t believe me, but there isn’t much I can do about that.
“Or stay,” I say, allowing another dangerous smile to cross my lips. “But be aware that I will demand complete loyalty.”
I take my eyes off Abel to consider each of the remaining four supernaturals, who continue to press themselves against the walls.
My voice lowers. “Follow me, and I’ll make you rich. But betray me, and I’ll hunt you down.” I pause, allowing my claws to sharpen again. “Now, what do you choose?”
10. STRIKER DRAVEN
The tension within the room rises as the remaining four board members take glances at Abel and then the bodies of their fallen comrades.
I prepare myself for more bloodshed.
Even though I’ve had enough of it.
