Page 5
Chapter 5
I EXIT THE HALLWAY THAT leads to the bathrooms and step out into the main part of the bar. Instantly, I know something is wrong. The quiet murmur moving through the previously rowdy space has the hair on the back of my neck rising. Carefully scanning the crowd, I notice that they’re all staring at something outside, and I have a sinking suspicion I know exactly what it is.
Maneuvering myself until I’m able to peek between two tense patrons, I see what’s set everyone on edge. A matte black lirocar is floating just outside the building. If there were any doubt as to who’s inside, the flags with two intertwined dragons surrounding a singular flame are a dead giveaway.
I’d love to see the look on the faces of the doubting women from the bathroom. I bet the friend claiming she saw dragons earlier is feeling smug as shit right about now.
Alarm seizes every muscle I possess as I study the hovering vehicle. Ren was right, lirocars really do look like fancy airboats with a stabby front end. I try not to panic, reminding myself that freaking out will get me nowhere.
Hurriedly, I scour the interior of the bar for another exit. I know there is one at the end of the hall by the bathrooms, but I’d bet the other stabby airboat the haters in the bathroom were talking about is parked back there. I know if I were trying to corner prey, the back exits would be the first thing I’d cover.
The lirocar hums with magic as it sets down on the pavement out front, and four doors immediately slide open.
Instantly I freeze, and despite my best efforts, panic starts to win.
My pulse thunders in my ears.
Wasps riot in my stomach.
My even breaths become faster and faster.
I try to get a hold of myself, to not let fear override me. A lesson everyone in the bar could heed judging by the reek of terror that’s now overpowering this place. It’s clear I’m not the only one who thinks dragons equal death.
That’s when it dawns on me. Maybe I shouldn’t be fighting back the dread…maybe I should be encouraging it. And not just mine, but everyone else’s. Because if there’s one thing you can count on when it comes to the Arcane, it’s self-preservation.
A large boot-clad foot steps out of the lirocar outside, followed by a toned calf and thick thigh covered in black scale armor. I don’t wait to see which giant of a drake the leg is attached to. Instead, I open my mouth and let loose a terrified bloodcurdling scream.
“They’ll burn us alive! Everybody run!”
The bar explodes into action, and I’m a little shocked that my impromptu Hail Mary is actually working. Screams and the sounds of splintering wood and shattering glass fill the air, and like a herd of frightened lemmings, the crowd writhes and surges as people scamper for a way out. I’m enfolded into the distressed crowd as another group of Arcs shove down the back hallway behind me in search of an escape. The front door of the bar crashes open, and a flurry of fearful patrons pour out onto the street.
Barked commands to stop pepper the panic, but there’s no stopping the flood of terrified people and their all-consuming desperate search for safety. Cool evening air washes over me as I ride the tide of alarm out of the bar. Outside, everyone branches out into different directions, and I run with them, rapidly trying to figure out where to go.
Unfortunately, the scared citizens of Lairwood have one up on me, because they have homes and other places they can flee to, whereas I have shoes that are too big, scrubs that are too small, and zero options.
My gaze catches on the bright white Lairwood Memorial emblazoned on the chest pocket of my top. I might as well be holding a flashing sign that says Here I Am! while doing a little jig for attention under a spotlight.
Shit.
I need to ditch these scrubs.
Veering to the right, I stay on a main road, running down the street while I look for a shop or someone drying some clothes out on a balcony I can steal. At first, other pedestrians are confused by the swarm of runners coming at them, but all it takes is a few horrified shouts of “Dragons!” and the panic catches like a brush fire.
Clothed mannequins in a window catch my eye like an SOS flare going up in the middle of a moonless night, and I race across the street toward the store. The buzz of an engine and accompanying hum of magic immediately remind me of why it’s stupid to dart out in the middle of a flyway. Instinct screams a warning and I leap back just in time to narrowly miss being decapitated by a speeding ourocycle. The rider swerves belatedly and then recovers, yelling something at me I can’t make out thanks to his helmet, but I don’t get the impression he’s asking if I’m okay.
More carefully this time, I pick my way across the road, avoiding any more idiotic mishaps before tumbling into the clothing shop, breathing heavily and looking like I’m stricken with terror.
“Dragons,” I shout in warning. “We need to hide!”
My fearmongering isn’t as instantaneously effective as it was in the bar, and the two shop clerks stare at me like I’m crazy, while a handful of customers look from me to the workers and back again, confused. Thankfully, that’s when a crowd of people outside go screaming by, and everyone in the store finally stirs with concern.
A shop worker hurries over to the front windows to see what’s going on, and some of the patrons drop the clothes they were looking at and start to leave. I just keep repeating “Dragons!” and “Everyone hide!” until I whip up an appropriate amount of panic. Meanwhile, my gaze is spinning as I assess what clothes I can quickly grab and slip into.
I almost groan when I realize I’ve stumbled into what looks like a high-end store. Everything is the structured, overexaggerated, stiff crap favored by Arcs with too much money and not enough sense. Nothing looks practical. It’s either straps that barely cover anything or square shoulders with other geometrically shaped sleeves, and bottoms that flare out wider than I am tall.
Finally I spot a light gray sleeveless top with a cowl big enough that I could pull it over my hair, and I yank it from a hanger. A matching skirt is on display just below the tops, and I waste no time grabbing it too. I slink toward the dressing rooms, but a worker is hurrying everyone out of the individual stalls. I debate just grabbing the clothes and making a run for it, but I need to actually be wearing them if they’re going to work as effective camouflage.
The other shop employee is frantically shutting and locking the display cases around the register, and it takes me half a second to decide fuck it . I duck down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible and kick my stolen shoes off before scrambling to get out of my pants. I tug the skirt on and then rip off my top just as someone comes sprinting down the aisle. She almost trips over me but luckily catches herself and continues to dash for the door, fear encouraging her to focus on getting out of here and not on the weirdo stripping in the middle of the store.
I pull the top on, straightening as I kick my discarded clothes and footwear under a table. My eyes rapidly search for replacement footwear as another customer rushes by, and I tug my new clothes in place. The top is tight and shorter than it looked, cutting off above my waist. The skirt sits low on my hips and doesn’t leave much to the imagination, but it at least drops to just above my knees, and there’s give to the fabric so I can move in it.
I just spot a wall of fancy heels and shoes when someone slams into me from behind. I catch myself on a display and turn to find the worker who was clearing out the dressing rooms.
“What are you doing?” she snaps.
At first, I think she’s referring to the stealing that’s currently going down, but she’s flushed with fear, and her eyes keep darting to the windows at the front of the store and then back toward a door that’s marked Employees Only .
“You can’t stay here. You have to get out,” she continues, confirming that she just wants me gone so she can go too.
“I can’t find my shoes,” I whine, a little too dramatically, but she’s thankfully unfazed by my crap acting.
She takes one look at my bare feet and grabs a pair of black boots from a display, chucking them at me. “Those should work. Now leave!”
Well okay then. Don’t need to tell me twice.
I speedily buckle the boots on and grab a pair of sunglasses from a rack, slipping them on as I race for the front door. The worker standing there doesn’t say shit to me as she frantically waves me out, pulling the door shut behind me and promptly locking it. I’d be offended by the way they just threw me out if it wasn’t exactly what I needed to happen.
The commotion on the street seems to have calmed slightly, so I keep my pace brisk but not urgent. I smoothly pull the cowl of my newly acquired top over my head, making sure all my bright hair is tucked back and hidden. I round a corner and then another, breathing easier with each block I put between me and the shop and the bar.
I’m tempted to try to find somewhere I can hide and hole up until the mayhem passes, but my gut is telling me that’s not a good idea. I’m up against a skilled tracker, judging by how quickly The Horde found me at that bar. I thought I’d given myself a bigger lead, but I need to be even faster. Maybe I can—
“Oof,” I grunt as I slam into what feels like a hard wall.
Hands catch my shoulders as I stumble back, but I’m quick to slap them away as I catch my footing.
“Watch where you’re going,” I warn whoever just bodychecked me.
“With all due respect, you ran into me,” a deep, amiable voice counters.
Warning pits my stomach, and I look up…and up…and up before landing on the probing stare of the brick wall I just crashed into.
Oak brown eyes sweep over me, set in a face that’s too pretty to belong to the monster standing in my way. A faint breeze plays with a few strands of his sun-bleached blond hair, and I don’t need to see his dragon mark to know he’s the one controlling the element that’s suddenly teasing around us. I also don’t miss how he’s using that same ability to pull in a good whiff of me.
His brown eyebrows furrow with curiosity when he doesn’t seem to smell what he expects, and he tilts his head like he’s perplexed.
“What are you? I’ve not come across your scent before.”
I will my heart to beat steadily in my chest, and keep my breathing even, calling on every ounce of training and experience I have in getting out of sticky situations. This drake is a Channeler not a Thrasher. There’s still hope I can walk away from this.
“Frilled Lizard,” I answer, stepping to go around him and doing everything in my power not to groan and roll my eyes at myself.
Frilled Lizard? Really, Ever?
Of all the options I’ve rehearsed and used, I had to go with the one that was only supposed to be a running joke between me and my Flight.
“Frilled Lizard?” the drake repeats, stepping in my way again so I can’t move past him.
His scale armor looks black in the shadows of the small side street we’re on, but I suspect it’s really some dark shade of green or blue, as Channelers typically sport armor in one shade or the other. I don’t see any evidence of weapons strapped to him or tucked anywhere on his body, not that he needs them when he is one big, giant weapon.
Another drake appears from a side alley less than two dozen feet away. He’s, of course, just as big as the one in front of me, but this one has long red hair that’s pulled back in battle braids. His gray eyes are shrewd as he looks around. They must be canvasing blocks one by one.
Please don’t be a Thrasher. Please don’t be a Thrasher.
Red spots Blondie and starts moving toward us. Once more, I try to move around the Channeler, only for him to block my way again. I bite back an annoyed sigh as I return my attention to the big blond fucker, my features a mask of indifference while my insides are liquifying with dread.
“Can I go?” I huff at the Channeler. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”
His brown eyes narrow slightly at that statement, and I internally want to kick my own ass.
“Who said we’re looking for anyone?” Blondie asks, studying me a little too closely for my liking.
I roll my eyes, then realize he can’t see it behind the dark lenses I’m wearing. The sun’s set just enough that eyewear really isn’t necessary anymore, but I’m hoping the walking talking brick wall doesn’t think twice about it.
“Why else would The Horde be here?” I counter.
The gleam of suspicion in his gaze dims as he looks me over and scents me again. My logic seems to register to him, supported by the way I look and the fact that I don’t smell like a dragon.
Did the hospital not explain that fact to them?
The redheaded male is less than ten feet away, and the need to be on the move before he fully closes the distance hammers my insides.
“Besides, I just saw someone else in armor like yours chasing a woman in blue scrubs with orange hair,” I supply, pointing over my shoulder at the main road. “She looked scared,” I add as the drake’s focus snaps to the road behind me.
I try not to hold my breath as I wait the second it takes for Blondie to take my bait, but my heart kicks up against my will when he steps around me, all his attention back on the beloved hunt and not on our trivial exchange.
“This way, Ogdan,” he calls to the other drake, and I refuse to track them with my eyes as they start to jog down the lane, my existence all at once long forgotten.
It’s almost impossible not to run, knowing two members of The Horde are less than ten feet away, but somehow I keep my strides unhurried as I continue with my nonchalant skedaddle. I’m almost to the mouth of an alley half a block down when a command comes from behind me.
“Stop!”
I dare a glance over my shoulder and immediately regret it when I see Blondie and Red swiftly marching back in my direction.
“Take your glasses off and pull your hood down,” Red orders, his stern face now locked on me and teeming with indictment and a hard glint of determination.
Fuck.
With zero hesitation, I dash for the alley, sprinting with everything I have down the darkening narrow path between tall buildings. Behind me, the pounding footfall of the drakes drowns out the frantic cannon fire of my pulse. They shout commands at me that I ignore, and quickly relay their location to someone else, calling in reinforcements.
I run full out, winding down thinning lanes and barreling around corners, but the two big bastards keep on me. I rip the glasses off my face so I can see better, and my cowl slips off my head, letting my flame-colored locks stream behind me like some taunting flag to a pair of enraged bulls.
The drakes announce my description to whoever is on the other line of their coms, and when they get confirmation that I’m who they’re after, their pace alarmingly picks up like they were taking it easy and toying with me before.
As I tear down another back way, the foreboding I’ve been keeping at bay crests when I see a two-story metal fence cutting off the far end. The drakes behind me slow a little like they expect me to realize I’m caught and give up, but a little chain link obstacle won’t be my downfall.
I leap for the barrier, trying to get as high up on the fence as I can before I start to scramble up the rest. One of the drakes curses, just as a lirocar speeds to a stop on the other side of the barrier I’m scaling. A large body slams into the chain link below me, and I almost lose my footing.
“Give it up now, lass. We’ve got you surrounded,” Red barks as he climbs after me.
I’m tempted to flip him off, but instead I flip myself over the top of the metal fence. The bottom of my skirt catches on the sharp tip of a link and rips up the side, but flashing a little cheek is the least of my problems right now.
I don’t even pause as I use the fence for leverage and leap onto the roof of the floating lirocar now below me. More swearing explodes at my back, and I scramble to keep my footing on the slippery surface of the fancy floating airboat. I slide down the dark windshield, picking up speed as I ride the sleek aerodynamic shape of the matte black car until I reach the front where the vehicle comes to a sharp point—allowing it to cut through air like a hot knife through butter.
The car starts to drop, clearly trying to land, but I have no illusions that whoever is driving is trying to help me get down safely. No, whoever’s inside wants out, and the doors probably won’t open while the vehicle is suspended midair.
Gravity continues to work in my favor, and I slide right off the front of the lirocar and land on the ground with a pained grunt before pushing myself up and bolting away.
I want to crow with elation that my body isn’t giving out on me yet. I know the healers went to work fixing everything they could—and I’m currently feeding off of straight adrenaline and fright—but I’m not a fraction as bad as I was when I was running from the blood brokers before, and that feels like a miracle.
The alley I’m in spits me out onto a larger main road, and I race down the sidewalk, dismissing shops and restaurants as places I could slip in to try to lose The Horde. I spot an airtram down the way but quickly reject the slow floating public transport as a getaway car. If I could steal an ourocycle though…
I almost dismiss the idea, more likely to end up splattered on someone’s windshield than I am to get a driver to stop and let me hijack them, but then I see another lirocar speeding up the flyway, headed right for me. In a split second, I decide splattered against someone’s windshield is a more humane way to go than what the drakes will do to me when they find out what I am.
Abandoning all good sense, I dart out into streaming traffic. Bellows of objection and frightened screams fill the air along with the whoosh and mechanical shudder of air-brakes being engaged as drivers try to avoid the lunatic who just ran out into the flyway.
I have half a second to regret my decision as a small aircar barrels toward me, our collision imminent. I don’t close my eyes, I stare death right in the face as it shrieks toward me. Finality is a blink away when, out of nowhere, a wall of wind slams into the car, sending it hurtling away at the same time someone tackles me from behind.
I’m pulled against a hard chest as massive arms wrap protectively around me. My unwanted hero and I go tumbling, momentum churning us around and around. But I don’t feel the pavement bite into me like it should, and nothing else gets past the crush of muscle and sinew that’s encircling me. Whoever grabbed me takes the brunt of our careening crash before we finally skid to a stop.
Noise and chaos erupt all around us, and I find myself splayed on top of a dark, menacing nightmare. Jet black scale armor comes into focus as I try to catch my breath. Then I see the tactical bands on the mountain’s arms. Bands with symbols signifying that the imposing monolith under me is a member of the Royal Wing.
Under his inky armor, a dragon mark of onyx fire crawls up an alabaster throat that’s expanding and contracting quickly, its owner breathing hard. Angry. The tips of the dragon mark’s black flames frame a sharp masculine jaw that’s brandishing a hint of dark stubble. Full lips, a perfectly straight nose, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen glare up at me.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” the dark menace growls, his bright blue eyes like two hard gems sparkling with disapproval.
“I had a craving for road pancakes,” I rasp, trying and failing to push away from him.
Two massive hands anchor my hips in place and keep me from moving away. The drake sits up and it forces me to slide down his impressive torso into his lap where I try and fail again to scramble off of him.
“Why didn’t you shift? You could have been killed. And for what? We’re not trying to hurt you.”
“Oh, right. Was I supposed to get that message before or after all of you started chasing me? That’s not exactly an invitation for tea and cookies.”
“No, just road pancakes, it seems,” he grumps, his gargantuan arm muscles flexing to keep me in place when I try to wiggle away again.
“Let me go,” I demand, all too aware of our compromising position and the distinct lack of clothing over parts of my body that are in direct contact with parts of his. Stradling the enemy is not how I’d prefer to die.
“Why? So you can display your complete lack of survival instincts and run into oncoming traffic again?”
“Aeson, are you okay?” a male demands as he comes running over. He’s all tones of brown, his carob-colored armor, his tan skin, his dark chocolate hair, everything except for his hazel eyes which lean more moss green than brown.
“I’m fine, Jori. Take her,” the Aeson brute orders, lifting me off him and handing me to Jori like some naughty pest he just found rummaging through his garbage.
Jori looks slightly apologetic as he takes a hold of me. Thankfully, I’m set on the ground next to him instead of thrown over his shoulder or some other equally barbaric thing. Aeson pushes off the ground, dusting himself off and running a hand through his short black-brown hair. I take that opportunity to twist out of Jori’s lax hold and make a run for it.
Jori barks out a warning, but I only manage four strides before skidding to a stop. Like Scorch mirages come to life, more than a dozen drakes surge toward me, forming an impenetrable ring of scale armor and bulk. Dark jewel tones of armor draw my eye, and I quickly catalog what kiths they could belong to as I spin, desperate for a way out or a weak link that will lead to one. The drakes anticipate my efforts and rush to close ranks, penning me in but not coming any closer and risking what might happen if I feel cornered.
A lirocar sets down on each end of the road, bookending the standoff and leaving me nowhere to go.
I’m trapped.
A warning growl rises in my chest as I back away from the drakes all around me.
“Come now, Frills, is that really necessary?” the blond I bumped into earlier asks as he steps forward.
“Frills?” the redhead with the battle braids questions. I think his name was Ogdan.
“The little minx tried to tell me she was a Frilled Lizard,” the blond announces, and several chuckles move around the ring of drakes.
My gaze narrows at their easy banter. Apparently, my life teetering on a knife’s edge is no big deal to them. Then again, did I really expect anything different from The Horde?
“Maybe she is a Frilled Lizard. I don’t smell a dragon,” a male with dark skin and eyes observes, and then all of the dragons cornering me pull in a deep breath, scenting me.
Apprehension tightens my chest. If they index my scent, it could be bad for the others. For the first time in my life, I wish I were a thoon and could spray a terrifyingly offensive musk at anyone who got too close, just like the floppy-eared desert rodent I learned to avoid growing up.
“Definitely doesn’t smell like a dragon, but that won’t stop you from trying to talk her out of her skirt,” another male teases, and I tense.
“Enough!” a resonant command sounds from behind me. Aeson, the dark storm who tackled me, strides forward, and the others shut their mouths and straighten up. “This is neither the time nor the place. The mystery meat will be escorted back to the rally point, and First Flight will decide what to do with her from there. Fall out.”
My head snaps in Aeson’s direction.
Mystery meat?
The cocky smile stretched across his face heats my blood, and I force myself to pull in a deep breath to calm the rising tide of anger simmering in my gut. Unfortunately, the overwhelming stench of male dragon does nothing to soothe me, and the growl still reverberating in my chest grows louder.
“I think she likes you, Aes,” Jori quips, moving closer despite my body language and snarl warning him against it.
He reaches for my arm like he expects me to offer it up for the taking, so I grab his wrist and yank him forward and down so I can knee him in the face. Unfortunately, my strength is waning and he’s huge, so my knee never connects with anything vital, but he does stumble a bit, and that feels like some sort of victory. Small as it might be.
“She’s a spicy lizard,” Ogdan whistles, approaching from my other side. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, lass, but one way or another, you are coming with us.”
There’s a lilt to his voice that speaks of a world long forgotten. A place of fairy rings and fair folk and an island once painted in innumerable shades of green. One that’s now nothing more than ash and rock. There was a wyvern I once knew who sounded a lot like him. She told the best tales about the old worlds and the times before.
“What’s the easy way?” I ask with a glare before once again glancing around, hopeful for some surprise way out. There still isn’t one.
The impenetrable ring of dragons has dispersed, but I’m boxed in by a wall consisting of Aeson, Ogdan, Jori, and Blondie, whose name I haven’t heard yet. Other drakes have taken it upon themselves to direct the traffic we’re disrupting to move around us, while people are standing on the sidewalks watching what’s happening. However, as soon as they spot any approaching drakes, they scramble off, their curiosity instantly cured.
“The easy way is I ask you nicely, and you do as you’re told,” Ogdan answers smoothly.
“And the hard option?”
A smile teases one corner of the large male’s lips. “I ask you nicely, and then I make you do as you’re told.”
I take a moment to weigh my options. I’m tempted to choose the hard way. If it would gain me anything other than embarrassment, I just might—for no other reason than to be a pain in the ass—but my adrenaline is crashing and my limbs already feel the toll of my mad dash through the city streets.
I want to fight, but I’m not stupid. For now, the drakes aren’t trying to kill me, which means I should save my strength for when that changes…because it most definitely will, and probably soon.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5 (Reading here)
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
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- Page 47