Page 41 of Dragon’s Rebel

Chapter 18

Thorne’s blood was burning. Lava flowed through his veins, burning him from the inside out. His nerve endings were overloading, snapping and popping with electricity. All his muscles seized, again and again.

For an eternity, all he could feel was pain.

Then he felt a huge, dark presence in his mind. Vyrkos, the Draken Lord. The serum was trying to force his body to Change, but the magic of Vyrkos’ godlike command was holding him in dragon form.

Science vs. magic. It was killing him.

He reached out for something—anything—to hold onto. To his surprise, he felt a faint comforting presence, like a hand on his shoulder.

The dark power in his mind made his body seize again, trying to shake off that presence. Thorne fought the darkness, trying to stay still, trying to keep it near him. The word came from deep inside him.

No, that couldn’t be right. He tried to make sense of it through the haze of pain. He was Draken; his mate must be Draken. Whatever this presence was, it wasn’t Draken.

GET RID OF IT,the darkness commanded.

Then the pain took him again, so hard and so long he had to float away from his body to escape it.

He was a young dragonling, just gaining his wings. He was flying after a cluster of other young Draken, desperate to keep up, but he was too small.

Whispers and sneers. Half-breed. Wild Dragon.

Finding his tiny hoard ransacked, fouled by dung.

His father, large and stern, telling him to keep in the background. Behave with dignity. Stop begging for attention.

His father sitting with him before the fire in his lair. Teaching him to read the Draken language. Practicing spells.

A flash of pride when Thorne did one right, immediately followed by that stern, dispassionate stare. “Do it again.” Do it better.

It was never enough. And yet he spent years—centuries—chasing that elusive look of pride.

The pain hammered at him.

He was older, an adolescent, watching the Guardians train. Following them, imitating them. Hiding in the back of the cavern when the true Draken young were instructed, hearing about the great responsibility they carried.

Protecting the world.

Telling his father he wanted to be a Guardian, and hearing his harsh laughter. “You can’t be a Guardian. Only Draken can be Guardians.”

And then he was older. Centuries older, and there was fire and lava, and a Draken Lord rising.

Mount St. Helens erupting. The Draken Lord Zavrek breaking free. The Guardians fighting. Dying.

The fire was all around him, burning his flesh, melting his bones.

Not fire.

The serum. He was dying.

He reached out once more, looking for something to hold onto.

Rebel rode out the seizure, clinging to Thorne’s neck. Thorne’s pain rocketed through her, as if their nerve endings were connected.

She relived scenes from his childhood along with him, feeling the shame, the frustration, the fury, and above all, the loneliness. The knowledge he’d always be different, always be on the outside.