Page 4 of Rook (Dragon Brides #11)

This was a mess.

Rook shot flame at the nearest fugitive. Fire roared from his palm in a bright, searing arc that split the darkness and threw wild shadows across the trees.

But the man was a skilled wielder, quick and practiced. He caught the attack with his own fire. The two flames collided, hissing and twisting in the air before sputtering out with a sharp, acrid pop. The smell of scorched bark rose around them, thick and bitter, clinging to Rook’s tongue.

Even with the recent rain, if they fought fire for fire in those woods, there would be a conflagration.

Flames would leap from pine needle to moss, racing through the undergrowth until the whole forest was a blackened scar.

He could already feel the heat building in the air, a warning that pressed tight against his skin.

Damned flammable planet.

The trees there burned too easily. The air was too dry beneath the canopy.

The fugitives seemed to sense the same danger.

They moved with a strange, predatory grace, slipping between the trees with the silent confidence of men who had spent too long on the run.

Rook watched one of them flare his hands, conjuring a quick flash of fire that spun between his fingers like a coin.

It was a taunt, a show of power meant to distract.

Another let out a low, rasping laugh, the sound curling around the trunks and echoing in the growing gloom.

The tallest of the group, broad-shouldered with a scar running from his jaw to his temple, lifted his chin.

He met Rook's gaze, his yellow eyes shining in the dusk, and tipped an invisible hat in mockery before melting back into the gathering darkness.

The others followed suit, their movements efficient and practiced.

One flicked his wrist, sending a spark whistling through the air before vanishing behind a fallen log.

Another stepped backward into the shadows, the fire in his palm shrinking to a pinprick before it winked out.

In less than a minute, the entire group was gone. The forest swallowed them. The only sign of their presence was a faint crackle in the underbrush and the lingering scent of burned resin.

Rook cursed as the last one disappeared. He could give chase, but he was no fool. He would not run into an ambush. There had been at least a half dozen in the attack, and no doubt more were waiting.

Slavers didn’t work alone. They traveled in packs, covering each other’s backs, always ready to spring a trap.

His paperwork hadn’t mentioned it, a typical bureaucratic oversight, but he recognized two of the men from past run-ins.

The one with the scar had a reputation for cruelty and cunning.

There were only so many reasons dragons might come to Earth to regroup.

The planet was rich in minerals, yes, but nothing so rare it couldn’t be found elsewhere in the galaxy.

People, though.

People were always worth something to slavers. Humans who had no idea the universe teemed with predators who would use them up and discard their withered husks were easy prey. They fetched a high price on the black market.

He closed his eyes for a second, listening to the faint echo of the fugitives’ laughter. Slavers. He’d known it as soon as he saw their eyes, their posture. Too confident, too cold.

And the woman, Sasha, was somewhere in those woods, more vulnerable than anyone. She’d run off on her own, panic and survival instinct driving her deeper into the dark. She didn’t know what hunted her, not really.

He spared a glance for the human the slavers had murdered.

Now, he was nothing more than blackened bones, dragon fire having devoured everything within him.

In another few minutes, he’d just be dust. The faint, sickly-sweet smell of fat and flesh burned to nothing hung in the air.

Rook pressed his lips together, jaw clenched.

Another crime to add to the slavers’ tally.

He turned away, refusing to linger. More lives were at stake than a fool who’d sold out his own kind for a handful of credits.

Rook spared one last glance down the slavers’ path, his senses straining for movement.

They wouldn’t leave the planet just because they knew he was hunting them.

Besides, they couldn’t leave until the planetary convergence in six days.

The window for transit was narrow, dictated by the complex dance of stars and gravity wells. Until then, they were trapped there.

So was Rook, for that matter.

He listened for signs of Sasha. The woods pressed in close, shadows thickening as the last light faded.

Darkness was falling, the kind of black that swallowed sound and blurred the edges of everything.

The wind had died, leaving the forest heavy and silent, broken only by the distant call of an owl and the soft drip of water from branches overhead.

He summoned flame and held it before him, a pale orb hovering above his palm.

The fire flickered, chasing back the dark, but it wasn’t enough.

The trees hunched close, their trunks swallowing the light, and every branch seemed to move with a life of its own.

He moved slowly, his boots squelching in the damp moss, eyes straining for a flash of movement, an echo of breath.

His instincts raged, screaming at him to find her. To protect her. He wasn’t sure what else.

There was a pull in his chest, sharp and insistent, that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the strange, electric awareness he’d felt from the moment she crashed into his life. His hands tightened, the flame in his palm flaring brighter.

He caught up to her at a small stream, the water rushing over smooth stones in a quiet, bubbling song. She crouched on the far bank, eyes wide and wild in the firelight. When she saw him, she jerked upright and hurled something dark his way.

Rook dodged, his body moving on instinct, but as water rained down over him, cold and sharp, soaking his collar, he realized it wasn’t a weapon.

It was a canteen. The cap clattered across the pebbles, rolling to a stop at the edge of the stream.

He squashed his fire, letting the light gutter out, and held his hands up in what he hoped was a gesture of surrender. The world snapped back to near darkness, the only illumination a thin silver band from the rising moon and the gleam of the stream at his feet.

Sasha was panting, her shirt smudged with dirt, her hair coming out of its tie in wild, tangled waves. Her cheeks were streaked with grime, and a scratch high on her jaw was bright with fresh blood. She looked wild and beautiful, as fierce as any creature he’d ever hunted.

And that was certainly not the time to notice.

His dragon didn't give a damn about timing.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears.

A low, electric awareness vibrated under his skin, a restless heat that made his palms itch.

His eyes traced the curve of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

She was a mess, but the wildness in her eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw sent a surge of protective possessiveness through him.

“You’re one of them!” Her voice hit him like another splash of water, cold and accusatory.

“I assure you, I am not.” He took a step closer, careful to keep his hands up, palms open and empty. She held her ground, feet braced on slick river stones. Probably because another step back would put her in the stream, and he doubted she’d risk a tumble with him so close.

“You … How did you … What’s going on?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t back down. If she had another canteen, he was certain he’d be doubly soaked.

“I am sorry you have been mixed up in this,” he said. “Those men are slavers from my home planet. I am hunting them to bring them to justice.”

“Planet?” Her voice rose with disbelief. “You’re a freaking alien? But you look …” She trailed off, her eyes raking over him, searching for something otherworldly.

He would have shifted forms if he had the space or the time.

He refrained from summoning fire again. She’d seen it once.

She knew. She just had to get over the shock.

He felt a pang at revealing his secret, but he had little other choice.

Unlike the slavers, he wasn’t going to murder a witness. Who would believe her, anyway?

“You are in grave danger,” he warned. He let the words hang, heavy and honest.

She stared at him, every muscle tense. “How can I even understand you if you’re from another planet?” Her suspicion was sharp, but underneath it, he heard the tremor of fear.

He tapped a spot behind his ear, then under his throat. “I have translators. So do the fugitives. They are common for intergalactic travelers.”

“Intergalactic. Oh my god.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, fingers trembling. The moonlight caught the edge of her jaw, the scratch there dark and vivid.

He needed to keep them moving. “You are in danger,” he repeated, his voice more urgent. “Those men will either kill you or try to capture you. I give you my word as a Dragon Lord that I will not let that happen.”

She stared at him, blinking rapidly. Each breath quickened, fogging in the cool night air. “Lord? As in, what, god?”

“Do you not have lords here?” He was sure he’d read something about them on this planet, though his dossier had been scant.

“I guess in England. Not here in America.” She straightened, shoulders squaring, breathing growing steadier. “So you’re saying there are a bunch of asshole slavers in these woods and you’re chasing them.”

“Yes.”

“Erik was their guide.”

“How do you know that?” He stepped closer, the question clipped and direct.

“Because I overheard them. And they gave him money. I thought it was drugs, but this is even worse. You need my help.” Her tone shifted mid-sentence, from outrage to something almost businesslike.

That brought Rook up short. “Excuse me?”

“You’re stumbling around these woods like a confused CEO from the city on a weekend getaway with his mistress. I practically live in these woods. If you want to find these fuckers, you need my help.” She crossed her arms, daring him to argue.

Did he? Rook thought he’d been doing fine on his own. But he didn’t want this woman wandering alone, not with slavers still out there.

His gaze dropped to her hands. They were still shaking, just a little, but her grip was steady. A stubborn fire burned in her eyes, the kind he’d seen in warriors who refused to surrender. He felt the pull again, low in his gut.

He could agree to this, at least until he could find a safe place for her.

“I accept.” He kept his voice low and measured, but a note of finality in it brooked no argument.

For a moment, they just stood there. The stream rushed between them, and the forest crowded close and silent. The moon climbed higher, silvering her hair and throwing his shadow long and thin across the water.

She nodded once, sharp and determined. “Good.”

He found himself smiling, just a little, despite everything. There was more steel in this woman than in most soldiers he’d met.

Rook stepped across the stream, his boots splashing in the cold water. She didn’t flinch when he closed the distance, just watched him with wary, unblinking eyes.

“We need to move,” he said quietly. “If they regroup, they’ll come for us.”

“Then let’s go,” she replied. “But you’re following me this time."