“Come on,” he said, motioning to the approaching horde. His blood-soaked tail lashed and bit like a whip behind him.
The pack stepped closer. Their teeth were bared and their black claws extended. Not caring if he died tonight as long he took a few of these bastards with him, Declan stepped forward to meet them head-on. He stumbled over heavy feet. Frowning, he looked down. The remaining armor scales on his lower body receded. Then his tail, the only weapon left in his arsenal, shrank back into his body.
The silver, he realized. Its poison was draining his dragon power.
As soon as the thought came, his body screamed in pain, his side and back burning as if someone held a blowtorch to his skin. Cupping the wound, he pulled back a bloody hand.
Another shot fired. Instead of more silver bullets, a heavy net collapsed atop him, dragging him to the ground. The instant his cheek hit the dirt, feet and fists rained down on him. With the net tying him up, all he could do was shield his head with his forearms and wait.
“Enough!” At a female’s order, the soldiers backed up a step.
The Queen.
It had to be her. At the thought, an icy shiver passed through him. A rational part of his brain had known she would come for him if he didn’t kill her first. Knew she would take her vengeance against his kind out on his flesh—his soul.
Well, he thought, grabbing a fistful of net. He wasn’t going without a fight.
With a roar, Declan looped the thick cord around his wrist and pulled, taking several of the horde to their knees. Jabbing a fist through the mesh, he seized the nearest soldier by the throat and squeezed.
“Dammit, Ivan. Hold him,” a strong female voice ordered.
At her command, a boot rammed his jaw. Declan flew back, his chin kicking the ground in a teeth-shattering blow. Groaning, he spit out a mouthful of blood and pushed himself up, his head lolling in the direction he’d last heard the woman’s voice.
The first thing he focused on were boots—spike-heeled, patent-leather, knee-high stripper boots, wrapped around a pair of slender legs that seemed to go for days. Declan lifted his chin and wrenched his swollen eye wider.
The female stood with one hand propped on black-leather-clad hips. The wind whipped thin blond hair around her—a delicately framed waist, bound in a leather corset that would have given any fetish kink an instant hard-on.
When his gaze finally reached her face, he noted she examined him with black eyes as cold and immortal as his soul. And that she was much too young to be the Queen.
“Where is the crystal?” Her smooth words held a faint trace of a Russian accent.
Not the Queen, but definitely of a noble caste. Declan grinned through bloodied lips.
At his smile, a dainty line furrowed her brow, and she cocked her head to the side. For a moment, she reminded Declan of a confused puppy. Until she raised a sawed-off 12 gauge and one black eye stared down the barrel at him.
“Tell me where it is and I might let you live, Derkein.”
“It’s gone,” he said with a chuckle. “You have nothing to take back to her. You’re as dead as I am.” The vixen’s onyx eyes flashed silver before she drove the butt of the gun down to his face. He was still smiling when she pistol-whipped his nose and the world plunged into darkness.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-6099-7
Dragon Warrior
Copyright © 2010 by Meagan Hatfield
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