Page 72 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

The mine manager was talking to the men, gesturing towards Emon. Obviously, that was his cue to go over and shake their hands, accept their thank-yous, make all the right noises.

But he was bone-tired. Soul-tired. Could he get away with being grumpy and standoffish, and not accepting thanks? The aloof Lord of the Draken?

Because not having to talk to anyone would be pretty welcome right about now.

The mine manager was looking hopefully at him. Right. Everyone wanted to meet the Darkwing Dragon, who, to their surprise, had turned out to be somewhat friendly and had not eaten even one person.

But before he could take a step, a voice echoed faintly in the back of his head. Emon? Emon, can you hear us?

Mayah?

Kind of. It wasn’t, though. This had an echo of Mayah’s mental voice, but it wasn’t her. And they’d never been able to communicate from this far away.

The mine manager was walking toward him. Emon put up a hand sharply, stopping the man in his tracks. He turned away, blocking out everything else.

Who is this? Emon demanded.

It’s Tristan. Mayah and Brock are boosting the signal.

Emon hadn’t even known that was possible. Is Mayah all right?

For the moment, Tristan said. But I think we’re under attack.

Fire blazed through Emon. Who? Who dares? His voice thundered through the connection.

We don’t know. Early this morning, Mayah had another one of her nightmares. Mina, Brock and I came to help her. While we were here, someone locked us in her room and sealed it with a spell. And they’d put some kind of collar on her, too—she can’t Change, or use any of her powers.

Emon closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His dragon wanted to bust out right now and start flaming things—anything—but he had to stay calm.

It wasn’t a military attack, or they’d be dead. And they’d have heard shots. Had the person looking for Ragnor’s research finally made his move?

What about everyone else? he asked. Trish? Noah? Grange? The staff?

We don’t know, Tristan said again. They’re not with us.

At least no one’s hurt, Emon said. He had to hold on to that.

So far, Tristan said. He paused, then added, I’d like for you to keep thinking that’s a good thing, but… this isn’t the first time someone’s tried to get their hands on Brock and me. Because of our special abilities. And a dragon—especially an Al-Maddeiri dragon…

He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish.

Cages. Experiments. Fucking Gen-X. It was going to start all over again. Someone was going to try to take his sister away, and Brock and Tristan with her.

Taking care of his sister was the only thing Emon had never failed at. He couldn’t fail her now.

I’m coming, he said. Hang on.

He waved the mine manager over and told him there was an emergency at the castle. “I’ll be back as soon as I can to clear the road.”

Without waiting for a reply, he ran a few steps to give himself room, burst into dragon form, and launched himself into the sky.

As he flew, he called out to Trish. He knew it was stupid; they’d only ever talked mind-to-mind when they were right next to each other. The chances of her hearing him at this distance and being able to project her thoughts back to him were less than zero.

But he had to try.

Mayah and Tristan and Brock were valuable targets. Trish was not. If this was Gen-X, or someone like them, Trish would be nothing but collateral damage to them.

Trish! he called out, as loudly as he could. Layla! Trish! Can you hear me?