Page 11 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

R iven

My finger rests against the trigger, muscle memory from a thousand kills guiding the familiar weight. Three hundred meters of elevation advantage. Clear sight lines. Wind negligible. Even accounting for target movement, this shot is well within my capabilities.

The job should be simple. One squeeze. One body. One less problem for whoever’s paying the Guild’s rates.

My hands shake.

Fuck, Riven.

Dragon fire races through my bloodstream, every nerve ending singing. The compulsion that’s been gnawing at me transforms into something that burns. My trigger finger trembles against cold steel.

What the actual fuck?

Through my scope, the target stands calm in the staging area’s center. Kieran Asguard. High-value elimination. The kind of contract that will fatten my bank account.

Take the shot. Take the fucking shot, goddammit!

But I don’t.

My breathing stops entirely when I take in the sight of her standing there. Bold. Defiant. Vulnerable.

Every muscle in my body locks solid. The rifle wavers in my grip as I watch her move.

And God, how she moves… Shadows slither around her feet, responding to emotions I can read in the fluid grace of her motion. Moonlight catches copper threads in her hair, and my chest seizes.

My scope brings her face into sharp focus. She’s… beautiful. Wide forehead, porcelain skin. Copper-flecked eyes that burn with intelligence and emotion. The determined set of her jaw. The way she carries herself—

I need to stop staring.

The target is still standing there. I track his movement, adjust for wind variance, try to regulate the ragged sound escaping my lungs.

Breathe in…

Breathe out…

Breathe in…

Breathe. In.

Just fucking breathe, dammit!

They’re talking… arguing, from the looks of it. The armed guards still surrounding them.

Take the shot now. Clean elimination while they’re distracted. Get out before anyone identifies the shooter.

My crosshairs settle back on the target’s center of mass. Standard protocol. Simple execution.

Do the job and get out.

But my finger won’t pull the trigger. All I can think of is that they have her surrounded. Assault rifles aimed at her.

Her voice carries across the distance—small, confused. I don’t like that at all.

He turns to her, light catching his face. Features like hers, but more masculine. They’re related, no doubt about it… twins? What are the odds?

I lower my rifle, shake my head, wipe my eyes with the back of my arm, before focusing again.

This is un-fucking-believable.

He’s talking some more. Whatever he’s saying is upsetting her because those dark shapes are twisting, joined by fire, though I can see she’s restraining it. Dragon, yes. But something more.

What the hell is she?

“Why?” she chokes out.

He says something to the guards, then adds, “I’m sorry, Iris.”

Iris.

Her name fits like a missing piece slotting into place in my soul.

My crosshairs drift between the target and the operatives surrounding her. Clean shot on the primary objective. Mission parameters satisfied. Get out and collect payment.

Finish the job. Walk away. None of your business what happens to her after.

But I can’t. I fucking can’t. She doesn’t deserve this. I don't know how I know it; I just do.

My finger settles against the trigger. Target acquired. Perfect conditions.

The lead guard shifts position, rifle trained on her chest. Professional stance. Finger on trigger. Ready to fire on command.

This is wrong.

Another operative flanks left, cutting off potential escape routes. They’re not taking chances.

Not my problem. Complete the mission.

But my crosshairs drift from the target to the guard closest to her position.

What the hell am I doing?

Everything I’ve been trained for, everything the Guild has drilled into me for years, screams to eliminate the primary target and get out. Mission first. Always mission first.

But she’s in trouble if I don’t act.

My dragon blood burns hotter, responding to something I don’t understand. Some primal recognition that goes deeper than programming or professional obligation.

Take the shot. This isn’t your fight.

My head pounds at the debate within me. Beyond, the voices continue to flow as the pair argue until there’s no sense in fighting anymore.

“Take her!” Asguard commands the guards, a sharpness in his voice igniting something in me.

Motherfucker!

Heat explodes through my chest. My trigger finger shifts involuntarily from the target to the closest operative.

“No!” Her voice cracks. Desperate. She’s shattered, and it rips my goddamn guts out.

The guard reaches for her abruptly. Fear darkens her expression. Or is it sorrow? Maybe both.

Now or never.

She gathers herself, as if to fight back. But even as a dragon, she’s outnumbered by heavily armed men. She doesn’t stand a goddamned chance. Best-case scenario, she’s going to get hurt. Worst case…

My sights lock onto the guard’s chest.

What am I doing?

I squeeze the trigger.

The rifle kicks against my shoulder. The subsonic round hisses through the air. Hundreds of feet away, the operative drops instantly, assault rifle clattering across concrete.

Perfect shot.

And I just violated every protocol I’ve ever followed.

She spins toward the fallen guard, shadows exploding around. Scales flicker along her arms like liquid metal. Her eyes blaze like gold. Every movement transforms into a dance that makes my blood sing.

Dragon heritage surfacing. But those shadows…

The primary target—Kieran Asguard—staggers backward, shock replacing calculation on his features. First genuine emotion I’ve seen from him all evening.

Good. Fucker.

I work the bolt, brass casing ejecting in a bright arc. Chaos erupts as everyone dives for cover, shouts ringing out, shots punching through the air.

Two down. No going back now.

Muzzle flash and sound signature mark my position. The remaining operatives scramble for cover behind equipment crates, shouting coordinates.

They know there’s a sniper. Position compromised.

I low-crawl along the ridge line fifty feet north. Loose rock skitters down the slope, noise lost in gunfire erupting from the compound.

Should be extracting. Should be running. Should be anywhere but here.

She takes cover behind a shipping container, shadows pooling around her. Those dark tendrils move with purpose, reaching toward threats with uncanny intelligence.

What is she? Dragon, yes. But that shadow manipulation…

Through my new sight line, I track a third operative circling behind her position. Range: two-fifty feet. Moderate crosswind.

Why am I still here?

More heat signatures emerge from the main compound. Reinforcements. At least eight additional contacts moving fast toward the staging area.

This is about to become a war zone.

I lead the third operative by three feet, account for bullet drop, squeeze the trigger on my exhale.

The shot takes him high in the chest, spinning him around before he collapses behind a generator housing.

Three down. Still too many left standing.

Searchlights sweep the ridge line, hunting for my position. I chamber another round and settle into a new firing position.

Professional assassin. Following orders. Completing contracts. That’s who I am.

Then why does this feel like the first honest thing I’ve done in years?

She breaks from cover, moving through shadows that seem to mask her completely. For a moment, she disappears from sight entirely.

She becomes shadow. Invisible.

That’s how she got in.

My crosshairs find the target easily. Range: six hundred feet. Clear shot. Perfect conditions.

One last shot. Mission complete. Extract and disappear.

I could still get away from this. The Guild would never ask questions.

But she’s running straight toward eight more armed guards positioned around the compound entrance.

She’s going to die.

The crosshairs drift from the contract target to track her movement.

Not if I can help it.

I systematically pick off the guards blocking her path. Each shot creates safe passage through what should be a killing field. My reload is mechanical while my mind races.

A lifetime of Guild training. Thrown away for a woman I don’t even know.

But I know enough.

The remaining guards adapt, using proper cover and suppressing fire. They’re learning my moves. This won’t last much longer.

Through the scope, Asguard makes a break for the main compound. Running from madness he created. Abandoning her to face consequences alone.

Coward.

My crosshairs find him again, but she emerges once more, shadows streaming behind her, chasing him toward more danger.

Still trying to save someone who proved he’s not worth saving.

I swing the rifle toward the compound guards instead.

She comes first.

When did that happen? When did she become more important than the contract?

More guards pour from the compound. I methodically eliminate threats, creating her path forward. Professional protocol dissolves into single-minded purpose.

My ammunition runs low. Doesn’t matter. I’ll use the knife if necessary. Bare hands if it comes to that.

Whatever it takes.

She reaches the compound entrance. Three guards remain between her and the building.

I take them down in rapid succession—headshot, center mass, flank intercept.

The rifle clicks empty.

Done with long-range. Time to get personal.

I draw my sidearm and start moving down the ridge toward her position. And with each step forward, I realize that everything I was before tonight dies here. Something else begins.

She disappears into the compound, still surrounded by shadow.

Whatever that something else becomes, it starts with keeping her safe.

I holster the pistol and break into a run, abandoning cover and concealment.

Mission parameters? Fuck the mission parameters.

Twenty yards from the compound entrance, I pause. Listen. Shouts echo from inside the building.

She’s in there. Facing them alone.

I check my weapons. Knife. Pistol. Emergency blade in my boot. Inadequate for what’s coming.

Doesn’t matter.

The compound door stands open. Darkness waits beyond.

I’ve never walked away from a mission before.

Fuck it.

I step inside.