by Celia Kyle
She paused beside the little girl and ran her fingers through Violet’s blonde hair. Silky soft strands flowed like water through her digits. “I’m heading out, Vi. You should get back to Aunt Kate before she realizes you’re gone.”
“Nope.” Violet gave her a wide grin, a hole or two between her teeth where she’d lost a couple. It’d sent the Preor into a panic the first time she’d lost one. She’d darted down the hall, bloody tooth pinched between her fingers while she crowed with excitement. As if the tooth hadn’t been bad enough, her gums still bled as well.
She’d never seen so many scared males in her life.
“What d’ya mean, nope?” Hannah quirked an eyebrow.
“Aunt Kate is arguing with Argan and Radoo because if they don’t get off her ass—”
“Bottom.”
“She’s gonna cut off their wings and throw them from the top of the tower. But Argan and Radoo are trying to tell her she could never hurt them. When I left she said ‘just watch me.’”
Violet’s Aunt Kate had been raising a child with Pol Mutation on her own since Violet’s mother died, and well… she had her own way of doing things. Specifically, she did everything on her own.
“That means she’s gonna argue with them for a while. She won’t miss me until Ivoth and Elle say it’s time to go.” The cheeky grin Violet flashed had Hannah smiling in return.
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you can tag along.” She reached for the identipad to the left of the door. “You guys have a press conference this morning.”
A small tug on her shirt had her meeting Violet’s gaze. “You do, too.”
“No, sweetheart.” Her throat tightened and her vision got a little blurry. Maybe it was allergies. “I’ve got a shift at the diner.” Or she would when she arrived ready to work. “I’ll be there while you’re here.”
“But we all go together.”
Hannah turned away, pressed her thumb to the identipad, and the doors parted. The beach’s salty wind blew into the tower, air swirling around them and peppering their skin with invisible flecks of salt and sand.
“Go on back to Aunt Kate.” She nudged the little girl’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
Or never again. It all depended on what happened when—if—she ever returned to Preor Tower. Her emotions were too raw, too shattered, for her to even think straight. She simply needed out.
“But I want you to come with us.” Small fingers gripped hers, and Violet kept pace as Hannah stepped out of the building. “You always keep Brukr distracted so I can play with Triem. You hafta come.”
“I hafta, huh?” She grinned. She didn’t want to think about why she distracted Brukr. Or ponder the idea that he was distracted in her presence for the same reason she was distracted in his. “I bet you could get Aunt Kate to argue with Brukr, Radoo, and Argan.”
“I could.” Violet skipped at her side. She’d send the little girl back inside before she stepped onto the parking lot. Hannah just wanted to bask in Vi’s carefree joy for a moment longer. “I could…” Violet tugged on her hand and then pointed to their left. “Who are they? They’re waving. Should I wave back?”
Hannah’s body processed the scene before her mind caught up—as if bits and pieces of her remembered to be afraid of groups like those while others had forgotten what their presence meant. Goosebumps rose along her arms and then spread further, small, hard dots marring her skin. Then came the first shudder. That was followed by the first dose of adrenaline flooding her system. And finally, the truth hit her.
Hard. Fast. Deep.
“Hi!” Violet shook because she waved at the crowd so hard and shouted to be heard above the unending waves. “Are you here for a press conference? It’s not here. It’s at—”
“Violet,” Hannah took a step back and tugged on Vi’s hand, “Violet, you need to go back inside.”
“But I gotta tell them they’re in the wrong place.”
She shook her head, gradually backing away as the mass turned to face them. They were on the other side of the lot, a good distance from their position, but Hannah knew how fast a group of the crazed could move.
“No, Violet. Go to the door, get inside, and lock it behind you. Do you understand?” Hannah pulled on Vi again and gave her a firm squeeze. “Are you listening to me? Inside. Lock the door. Have Penelope summon guards, okay?”
The group was picking up speed and their shouts reached her, their crazed yells slicing through the wind with ease.
“But—”
Hannah didn’t have time to argue, but she couldn’t risk Violet getting caught outside either. She dropped to a squat and gripped Vi’s tiny shoulders. “Listen to me. Those are not good people. They’re bad and they want…” A piece of me. “I want you to go inside and get help, okay? You’ll be my own Preor warrior and rally the troops.” Closer, closer, closer… She could almost feel their breath on the back of her neck. “Go. Now.”
Violet didn’t argue anymore—she simply ran. Vi darted around Hannah and she rose to her feet, splitting her attention between the building behind her and the mass of bodies racing in her direction.
She picked out a few of the people in the group, recognizing them in an instant. They’d changed over the last five years, but they were still the same devoted followers—still the same half-mad group that’d chased her for most of her life.
Flashes of light came from within the rushing mass of bodies—reporters had followed them. She had not just one, but two of her most hated groups running in her direction. And they were running now. What’d begun as a timid walk—as if they couldn’t believe their eyes—had transformed to a race now that they knew she was there.
Hannah listened for activity behind her, counting Violet’s rapid steps and straining to hear the whoosh of the door opening and closing followed by two rapid beeps. Good girl. She’d gotten inside and locked things up tight.
These assholes wouldn’t get inside. They wouldn’t get their claws into anyone but… her.
She braced her feet shoulder-width apart and balanced her weight on the balls of her feet. She kept the rest of her body loose and relaxed yet prepared to jump into action, ready to defend or run, but not in a position that’d antagonize the group.
The first time she’d ever raised her fists to protect herself… A shiver raced down her spine, memories of more than one broken bone stabbing at her mind. Now she knew better. She remained actively passive and prepared.
The group grew closer, more into focus, and she wished she’d run with Violet. Except, running always made things worse. It stirred the worst of them to do things that gave her nightmares. The looks on their faces now were enough to haunt her sleep for years to come.
Demented. No other word for the gleam in their eyes. Pure, violent dementia.
Now was a hell of a time to realize that Eric was right and she’d not only been stubborn but also wrong. So very, very wrong. They’d been looking for her for five years, the zealots focused on nothing but finding Hannah, and it’d brought them to this cracked state. She didn’t just brace her body for the struggle to come, but braced her mind for the impending pain.
The shouts came, a name she’d left behind years ago screamed so it filled the air. “Hannah!”
“Hannah!”
“Hannah!”
Hannah, Hannah, Hannah…
She pulled her old expression out of its hiding place in the back of her mind, the one she’d perfected and honed. She couldn’t smile too widely, but she did have to smile. Her eyebrows couldn’t rise too high, but needed a graceful arch. Her eyes had to remain neutral—never show fear.
A hard-won truth—be pleasant but not welcoming.
Bright flashes blinded her, the photographers’ cameras catching still pictures while their small vid recorders transmitted the scene real-time. She didn’t recognize any local news reporters, but she wasn’t surprised. Cameramen and women did the field work, anchormen and women did the talking from the safety of their
studio.
Pleasant.
No fear.
She managed to maintain the balance, too. Right until that last second, her façade remained in place, an imaginary wall between her and them.
Except this time was different. The followers always crowded and jostled, but today…
Fingers clawed at her face, jagged nails scraping down her cheek, and a blazing sting grated on her nerves. Another hand grasped her forearm, squeezing tight. A third hand sank into her hair, tugging at the strands, and fisting the locks.
And pain.
Unfamiliar bodies pressed against her, pushing her from side to side while more and more people encircled her. Someone yanked on her hair, wrenching her head back, and she released a pained yell, the sound followed by a sob.
But she tried to retain her composure. Fighting made it worse. They fed on fear.
“The master’s child…”
“Hannah…”
“I must feed on your blood…”
“The life of the master…”
“Salvation in death…”
Those twisted voices stabbed at her as if they were knives, sinking deep into her stomach. The pain made her curl forward, muscles contracting to stifle the rising agony, and she managed to pull one hand free of one of her captors. That was when she realized it wasn’t voices that’d stabbed her—she’d truly been stabbed. Wetness coated her fingers, and she glanced down, staring at the spreading red stain as it crept across her clothing.
Another hand entered her vision, one gripping a red coated knife. Red—her blood. She followed that arm until she reached a shoulder, then the neck, and finally focused on her attacker’s face.
“Salvation,” he grinned, exposing half-rotted, black teeth, “in death.”
He moved to stab her again, but this time she grabbed his wrist and pushed him aside so the knife went anywhere but into her. Yet he still managed to scrape her side, slicing open her waist with that sharpened edge.
“Ahh!” She screamed with the new jolt of agony, and then… then she let her fear run free. She let it take over so that she was forced to release first one sob and then another and then… they continued.
They continued and seemed to drive the crowd even crazier.
Hannah, Hannah, Hannah…
They chanted her name like she was some god. A god they wanted to sacrifice on her father’s altar.
A different voice rose above the others, the deep baritone familiar even if he simple repeated the crowd’s chant.
“Hannah!” She lifted her head and scanned the crowd, struggled to remain upright while she sought… her savior? She hoped so. “Hannah!”
She swung her head to the right and met his gaze—worry, fear… regret?
She was the one who regretted her actions. Being locked in a mass of insane individuals was her fault and no one else’s.
“Eric,” she mouthed. The pain had stolen any ability to speak. Balls of agony consumed her world.
“Help,” she rasped, but she couldn’t hear her own voice. There was no way he did.
Eric pushed forward, shoved aside one cameraman, and elbowed a photographer. All the while she could hear his growled demands.
“Step aside.”
“Move.”
“Get out of the way.”
Hannah was woozy, blood continuing to pour from her wounds, and it pulled any remaining energy along with it, drawing her strength. She swayed slightly, just a gentle rocking, and she blinked her eyes—slowly, carefully. That simple action seemed nearly impossible, and she wondered if she could just lay down for a moment and take a nap. Not a long one, just a quick rest.
But if she rested would they kill her?
She was so tired—tired of running and hiding and the fucking gen mods that made her not her anymore. She hadn’t been her for so long.
Maybe it was time to just lay down. Maybe—
The roar ended it all. No, not just the roar. The roar and the fire. It burned so bright, red and orange licking at the air and scorching everything it touched. The flames danced around her, encircling her in a world of burning shades. They consumed skin and bone, each flicker followed by an echoing scream before the body—person—fell away.
She wanted to fall away, too. Would the fire do the same to her?
Still wavering on her feet, she carefully turned around, swaying left and stumbling right. She tripped… on her own feet? A body? She stared at the ground as it drew closer and closer, and then…
Strong arms. Callused hands. Heated skin. A scent she could never forget.
“Brukr,” she sighed and slumped against him. “Brukr.”
Chapter Eleven
If another dared look in Hannah’s direction, he would send them on their final flight. His dragon wanted him to destroy every being within sight regardless. The humans had frightened her.
No. More than frightened her. They’d harmed her. Brukr drew in another deep breath. His dragon snatched at the air, collecting bits and pieces to create more fire, while his other half sorted through the scents. Charred flesh. Melted asphalt. Burning electronics. He pushed those scents aside and focused on the one he sought.
Hannah’s blood. Her blood coating his own skin. Yes, tears flowed from her eyes, but he also knew that humans did not cry from their arms. She trembled, the action followed by a deep sob, and she leaned against him even more heavily.
Other cries filled the air, others begging for assistance, but Brukr did not wish to give them anything. Let Syh damn him for his heartlessness, but they’d harmed his…
He did not know what to call Hannah, but she was more than a friend of the Preor, more than his friend. She was simply more.
Sirens sounded in the distance, a rainbow of flashing lights atop hovocars and hovotrucks speeding down Tampa’s streets and quickly pulling into Preor Tower’s lot. They moved toward them, aimed at Brukr, and the dragon laughed at the humans. Did they try to intimidate a Preor warrior? With vehicles?
Impossible.
He gathered fire, pulling in the salty air, and he let the beast build layers of flames inside his chest. He let the ball grow larger and larger inside him, the warmth an old friend. He would destroy them before they could harm Hannah further. He would never let another hurt her again.
Movement to his right drew his gaze. A single human male pushed through the huddling mass of cowering humans. He moved beyond the outer edges and picked his way through the carnage. The human Eric. His dragon sneered. It did not like the human Eric at all. Not even as a meal.
Brukr spat a ball of flame at the male, the mass scorching the asphalt two feet in front of the human. It liquefied the material, a testament to his fire’s heat.
“Do not come closer, human Eric.”
Hannah whimpered and Brukr bent carefully to lift her into his arms. He pressed his lips to her forehead and trilled. His dragon’s song was meant for a dragonlet, but he knew of no other way to calm her. He did not have sweet words for her.
“You need to hand her over. The med teams will take her to East Fortuna Medical for treatment.” Eric stepped around the molten liquid.
Brukr blew fire at the male once more, destroying another large portion of the asphalt. “I said no.”
He did not want humans near her. Humans had harmed her. They no longer had permission to come near his… his fighter. She’d sent Violet to safety while she stood between the dragonlet and danger. “Shaa freem,” he murmured the endearment. Not a true endearment. It was not loving or tender yet, to him, it was. “Be well, shaa freem.”
The vehicles slid to a stop, the hovering cars and trucks swaying slightly before settling into place. The doors parted and humans flowed from the transports.
Brukr blew fire at them as well. They needed to understand that to approach him—them—was death.
The med teams were smarter than human Eric. They froze in place, some retreating to the transports. Eric attempted to draw near once more. Brukr wondered how the male had manage
d to live so long while being so stoo-pid.
Another gout of flame, the roiling ball of orange and red accompanied by a deep roar. “Retreat!”
Eric’s face reddened. If the male had been a Preor, Brukr imagined he’d been engulfed in flames by then. But Eric was not, so Brukr was not.
“Jarek, do something!” Eric shouted above the other sounds in the air, the crackling fires, the moans, the pleas for help.
Brukr glanced over his shoulder and spied the Esteemed Warrior approaching, his steps careful, his stride strong.
“Brukr, report.”
“Direct attack on a friend of Preor.” He wanted to call Hannah his female—even shaa freem would have placated the dragon—but he could not. “I defended as I vowed to do as an honorable warrior.”
Even if his honor was less than another’s, he still retained some.
“He killed fifty people, Jarek!” Eric attempted to shout over Brukr’s words. Attempted. Brukr shot another stream of fire at the male and made him scream like a frightened dragonlet.
He scanned his surroundings, his gaze picking out his opponents.
“Less than forty, Esteemed Warrior,” Brukr corrected. He would not claim honor for an act he did not commit. That had happened once but never again.
Jarek sighed and he turned his attention to the male. The older warrior ran his hand down his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You could not end the conflict in any other way?”
A small tremor from the female in his arms was answer enough. “No. Even now I am covered in Hannah’s blood. Those that still live are lucky they still breathe. I will hunt them later.”
Steps to his right, heavy thuds of the human Eric’s boots on firm ground. He gathered the fire without thought, beast anxious to rid the world of his annoyance once and for all.
He would not admit that jealousy played a part in his desire for Eric’s death.
“Jarek, you people—”
“Silence,” Brukr hissed and bared his fangs, the dragon pushing forward to lengthen them. It showed off as well, adding a taunt to the expression. Fire licked along his fangs, dancing up and down his long, sharp teeth.