I twisted, catching him with my tail, and sent him crashing through the wall of a building. The ground below fractured under the impact.
Two more dived from above.
I rose to meet them, wings pumping once, twice, taking one head-on. The collision shuddered through my frame. I forced him back with my sheer mass, jaws snapping inches from his throat, while turning my neck to loose fire at the other. Flame washed over his side. He spun away, scorched and smoking.
I tracked the ground even as I fought. Artemis. I kept my body positioned between her location and every angle of attack.
Another slammed into me from behind. We hit the ground together, tearing through fencing and asphalt. I forced him down, pinned him, and struck hard enough to leave him still.
Three left.
They spread out, trying to draw me upward again. I refused the bait. I drove forward instead, forcing them back toward the storage structures, keeping the fight close where I could control angles and distance.
One lunged low. I caught him mid-charge and drove him straight through the weakened roof of the original building.
We hit the ground hard as debris rained down around us.
The structure began to fail.
I surged up through the collapsing interior, fire burninghotter now, sharpened by clarity and rage. This was not about territory. This was not about dominance.
This was an execution attempt.
They wanted to erase whatever Percy knew. They wanted me gone—dead.
I would not allow either.
Two came at me together, coordinated, angling for my wings. I folded one partially, took the hit across my side, then turned and unleashed fire in a wide arc.
Flame filled the space, consuming dust and debris.
One fell hard and stayed down. The other veered away, wounded and retreating.
Movement below caught my attention. Too close to the section of the storage unit where Artemis should be.
No.
I pivoted, heart slamming, just in time to see another dragon drop low through the collapsing interior, jaws opening toward the wreckage where I’d told Artemis to stay.
No.
I dived.
I hit him hard, driving my shoulder into his chest, but the angle was wrong. His weight slammed into me, momentum carrying us down into the shattered concrete. Steel bent around us. Something snapped in my wing, and the jolt of pain stole my focus.
He pinned me, claws locking into my scales. His jaws snapped inches from my throat as he presseddown, forcing my head sideways into the debris. I tried to force fire out of my throat, but his crushing weight made that impossible.
This was bad. This was very bad.
I twisted, forcing space where there was none, but my injured wing dragged uselessly against the floor. He reared back, and I could feel fire building in his chest—the pressure, the heat gathering for a point-blank strike.
The storage room groaned, walls shuddering, shelves collapsing inward.
Artemis burst out from behind an overturned couch, eyes wide but steady, hauling a red fire extinguisher with both hands.
“No,” I tried to shout.
She leapt onto the couch, using it as leverage, and shoved the nozzle directly into the dragon’s open mouth.
