Page 8 of Dragon’s Rebel

Rebel began turning the pages. Picture after picture of dead dragons. Sometimes in dragon form, sometimes in human form. Rebel stared at her. “Jesus fuck, Tempe!”

“I can’t help it,” her sister said helplessly. “It’s what I see.”

Rebel wanted to kill whatever fate had decreed that her sister should live with these kinds of visions—this kind of fear.

And the belief she could change them—which meant the constant responsibility to try.

“Do you see how it happens?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

Rebel studied the pictures again, one after the other. There were never any wounds—just dead dragons. “Some kind of magic, maybe?”

Tempest nodded. “I keep thinking Corwyn is going to come back.”

“He can’t get in here,” Rebel said. “This lair has the best wards in the world.”

Tempest said simply, “He got in before.”

“That evil motherfucker Silas got in,” Rebel reminded her. “Because he disguised himself as Jack Harper and we brought him in. Corwyn was just connected through the idol.”

That still infuriated Rebel. Sure, Jack was an addict and a petty criminal and kind of an asshole, but he and Rebel had once had a relationship, and she cared about him.

She wondered sometimes what had happened to him. Silas had used him as a human puppet and avatar, with a spell that literally ate away his body, before finally taking on Jack’s form. It didn’t seem like he could possibly still be alive, but she liked to hope he was.

Somewhere far, far away from here.

She squeezed Tempest’s hand. “We’re not going to make that mistake again.”

But Tempest didn’t seem to be listening. Her fingers moved over the last drawing, lingering on Tyr. Rebel wondered what was going on there.

Tyr was all in on the Destined Mate thing, but Tempest was playing it close to the vest. Rebel was keeping a close eye on Tyr, but as far as she could see, the most pervy and dirty-mouthed of the dragons was being a perfect gentleman.

Or maybe Tempest was only interested in him as a science experiment.

Her sister said, “I’m scared, Rebel. I can’t find a way to make it different.”

Rebel looked at the picture again, and felt cold in the pit of her stomach. All the dragons. Zane with his cake obsession and adoration of Blaze. Tyr, with his love of stories and legends and dick jokes.

And Thorne.

She said to Tempest, “I have to do this job. We have to turn him human—finding the Seals might depend on it.”

It also might depend on her being his mate, but she shoved that thought away.

There was always an exit.

“But tonight, Thorne’s coming with me. So whenever this is going to happen—if it’s going to happen—it’s not going to be tonight. Because there have to be three dragons here for it to come true.”

Tempest tried to smile, but she only managed to make one corner of her mouth turn up. Rebel moved over and pulled her into a hug.

“It’ll be okay,” she said, as she had hundreds of times before. Worse times than this. “We can beat anything, you and me. And after this job is done, we’ll figure this out.”

Tempest hugged her hard. “Be careful, Reb.”

“Always. You know I’m indestructible. And I’ll have a dragon with me.”

But she held onto her sister a little longer. Tempest was grown up now—twenty-two—but Rebel still felt sometimes like she was a little girl. She’d been protecting her sister for so long.

Nothing would ever hurt Tempest again.

Not evil sorcerers. Not dragons. Not anything.