Page 76 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

Rather than trying to dodge, he just folded his wings and dove, breathing fire. They scattered, getting off a few rounds before they made cover. One rifle bullet hit Emon in the flank, but he barely felt it.

his dragon said.

On it.

He strafed the roof with fire, catching the rifleman, who screamed as his uniform erupted in flames. The other guard had a magical heat shield. He aimed his launcher at Emon.

He couldn’t get out of the way in time. But instead of being hit by a grenade, it was some kind of spear gun, the spear sticking in his back next to his spine. Fuck. A toxin?

The spear broke off and fell to the ground, but he could feel part of the point sticking in his skin, burrowing inside.

He landed on the roof, sweeping his tail around and slamming the shooter into the parapet. He crumpled, unconscious.

And then Emon felt a shudder run through him, and suddenly he was human. His dragon roared, thrashing inside him, but he couldn’t get out. He reached for his magic, and couldn’t find it.

Fuck. Whatever was sticking in his back was some kind of inhibitor—and it must have been made specifically for dragons. Unfortunately the shot had been perfect—it was right where he couldn’t reach it.

Fine. Emon picked up the spear gun and threw it over the parapet. The rifle he kept. There was more than one way to deal with Gen-X.

Emon started down the stairs, his mind whirring.

If Grange had the King’s Key, he could make a portal to anywhere. But because of the way the castle was constructed, there were only a few places inside where a portal could be created, regardless of where it came from or where it went.

Limited portal access cut down on the invasions—but apparently, not enough.

The closest portal-friendly area was Ragnor’s old lab. He’d head there first.

There were four guards on the balcony that circled the lab, two on each side. Emon sneaked up behind the nearest one. It would have been a lot easier if he were cloaked, but that damn thing sticking in his back kept him from using any of his powers.

Luckily, he and Mayah had spent their childhood playing Draken Wars and sneaking up on each other in this castle. He knew all the hiding places, and all the tricks.

He sprang at the first guard and got him in a choke hold, cutting off his air. The man sank silently to the ground, Emon grabbing his weapon before it could make a clatter on the stone.

One down. He dragged the body off into the shadows and took his combat vest and helmet. From a distance, he’d look just like all the other guards.

The combat vest held spare ammo, flashbangs, and grenades. Nylon rope and a grappling hook, a knife, a few other goodies. Not as good as fire and lightning, but it would have to do.

He crept along the edge of the balcony, checking out the other guards. They were all splitting their attention between the entrances to the balcony, and what was going on below.

He could still see a shimmer of magic where a portal had been, but it was closed now. Temporary portals were one-way, so they had to shut it down before they could open another one to go back where they came from.

Near the portal was a large rolling cart, half-full of boxes. Several men in combat gear were carrying more boxes out of Ragnor’s study and stacking them on top of the others.

Fucking shit on piece of toast. They were cleaning out Ragnor’s research. All of it. He could not let that happen.

He started counting soldiers. Three up here. At least one outside the main door, by the staircase. Probably two. Four men standing guard inside on the main level, at least three carrying boxes. Grange, wherever the hell he was.

A minimum of thirteen enemy combatants, maybe more. And him with one rifle, no dragonfire, and no magic.

The odds didn’t look good.

And then it got worse. From one of the side doors, two more soldiers led out Mayah, Tristan, Brock and Mina. They were all bound in some kind of rope that glowed faintly in the dim light. Something else that probably inhibited magic, or mind powers, or both. Mayah had on a thick necklace he’d never seen before.

The collar Tristan had told him about. Like his inhibitor, it would bind her magic and her innate Draken powers.

Grange came out of Ragnor’s study, along with the most average, nondescript man Emon had ever seen. Brown hair, average height, average build, average face. Generic black suit. The only thing that stood out was his dark red tie.

Sixteen men, now. It was all Emon could do to keep from growling. They’d dared to touch his people. They were all going to die.