by Shea Berkley
“Do you want me to stay?” The hope in his voice tempted her to say yes, but having a dragon running amok was a problem she had to fix, and fast.
She bit back her desires and sighed with a heart full of regret. “Your grandmother would not be pleased.”
“I know, but—”
Her lips seized his again, and she let herself fall into the feelings only he could stir. It was hard to pull away, but she did. “I’ll be fine.”
She placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him into the hall. His eyes were glazed with passion and edged with disappointment.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she begged. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She closed the door and placed her forehead on the cool wood. She hated lying to him. If only she could trust him not to take Blaze back to Teag—but she couldn’t. Once in Teag, Dylan would stay and try to fix everyone’s problems. They’d let him, even if it killed him. She wasn’t about to let their selfish nature destroy him. She had managed to convince Dylan that her father would take care of everything. She could only pray she was right.
The scurry of feet rattled the roof slates, and she overheard Dylan’s grandpa loudly grumble about raccoons on the roof again and his wife telling him the problem could wait until morning.
Kera pushed away from the door. Not this problem.
It took her only a few seconds to re-dress, and as she climbed out the window and saw the destruction Blaze had already accomplished, she remembered her father’s warning. Everything would change now that Navar was dead.
The only change she could see was the reappearance of a dragon to the human realm. She worried her bottom lip and gazed toward the barrier. Why hadn’t anyone tried to stop him from coming through?
A more disturbing thought fired her imagination in ways she didn’t like. First the monster and now Blaze. What else had crept unseeing into the human realm?
Accident of Fate
“Good morning, Dylan,” Grandma’s cheerful greeting slams into my ears.
What is it with old people and getting up early?
I dig my head deeper into the pillows. “Not now, Grandma.”
“Yes, now, Dylan.” She pulls the covers off, exposing my bare back to the cool air. Goose bumps rise. I’m still not used to Oregon’s cool mornings. It’s summer—where’s the ninety-degree weather, or is it always this shy of downright cold?
I throw my arm behind me and rake my hand over the covers, trying to pull them back.
“Oh, no you don’t. Up. Grandpa has plans for you, and don’t ask me what. I have no idea, which usually means I won’t approve.” She paused. “Should I be worried?”
I push myself to my elbows before I look at her. “I’m a problem, Grandma. We’re down to that whole drastic measures thing.”
She ruffles my bedhead, but her eyes crinkle with concern she can’t hide. “Everyone goes through trials. If your grandfather says he knows how to help you, then—” She bites her bottom lip, worrying a tooth mark into the pink skin. “We should trust him.”
Yeah, confidence oozes out of her.
“Then again,” she mutters, “your grandfather is a very creative man. Maybe I’ll have a talk with him before you go.”
She gives me a weak smile and leaves. I can just imagine what she’ll say to Grandpa. “Don’t break our new grandson, George. He’s still recovering.” There’ll be a long pause and lots of facial movements stressing the word recovering.
In her eyes I’m fragile—still broken.
I push to a sitting position, dig my elbows into my knees, and curl my fingers through my hair. I’m like a rope that’s been tugged too hard and the fibers are beginning to snap. I don’t want to admit it, but Grandma’s right, though not in the way I think she thinks.
I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. I can actually feel the rot of death eating at me. How many people can you kill in the name of war before you’ve crossed the line into murderer? All the screams and the horrified faces as they realized they were dying won’t go away. Crushed, burned, stabbed, and beaten—the images are a part of me now.
“I did what I had to do.” My voice is weak. Shaky. I’m not sure I’m convinced.
I can’t stop wondering if Leo blames me for his grandfather’s death. I do. He said the funeral was nice. Everyone showed up, even Carl Delgato, Jason’s bully of a dad. He went straight for the liquor afterward. No one blamed him at the time. Jason had just been declared a runaway, but all Carl could see was his son’s opportunity to get a college wrestling scholarship going down the drain.
Time has a way of working for or against you. In a surprisingly short time, Leo has proudly accepted his grandfather’s heroism and Carl’s disgust with his son has turned to bitterness, while my frustration at knowing something is wrong with me, but not knowing what, climbs. We’re all living in a mess I created with varying degrees of success…or not at all. Somehow, I’ve got to clean it up. But how? That’s the mind-bender I’m dealing with.
An image of Jason, his lips blue, his skin waxy, flashes in my head. I killed him. I killed Pop, Leo’s grandfather. Not by my own hand, but by dragging them into my problems, my obsession to be with Kera. If I had known they’d die, I would never have followed her. I would’ve let her go and insisted she stay away.
My gut twists, calling me out for the liar I am, and the first part of me laughs at my dishonesty. I like being a first. I like the power, the way it hums under my skin. I’ve only begun to know what all I can do. It’s scary but exciting.
And that’s the problem.
I’m ashamed. How can I ever allow myself to be happy, to finally take pleasure in who I really am, when I’ve caused so much pain?
Somehow I’ve got to make it all right. Whatever Grandpa’s got planned, I’m all in. No matter what.
I shove to my feet and quickly dress. I’m down the hall to the kitchen in no time, feeling leery and depressed, and angry that I’m feeling leery and depressed.
Grandpa’s gruff voice floats in from the back porch. “I won’t hurt him. Not much.”
“I mean it, George. I forbid you doing anything that’ll harm him.”
“Woman, I’m not taking him in front of a firing squad, but I can’t promise you he won’t come away with a few bumps and bruises. Hell, if you saw what he did in that forest before that thing showed up, you’d ban him from the house.” Grandpa’s sandpapery voice suddenly skids to a halt, then charges into overdrive. “Now don’t you go looking at me like I’m keeping secrets. He’s the same boy who needs your tender care. And I’ve got—”
“What did he do?” Her voice slices into his sentence with cold precision.
“I-it wasn’t so bad. A mite dangerous... Listen, his powers are growing faster than his brain. I’m just going to give his brain a little jolt so it’ll catch up, is all. He’s all for this. I’m not forcing him.”
I go to the screen door and lean against the doorjamb. Grandma sees me, and her smile is tinged with irritation. “Well, it seems I’m the one who’s going to have to trust the pair of you to behave yourselves.”
Grandpa yanks the screen door open and jerks his thumb toward the side of the house. “Truck.”
With a quick tip and swallow, I empty my glass and hand it to Grandma. “Where’s Kera?”
“Last time I saw her she was heading over to Leo’s. Something about asking him a question about an animal she found.”
A heavy sigh escapes Grandpa, and he glares at me. “Did you tell her?”
“Not yet.”
Since Kera’s been here, she’s gotten in the habit of rescuing mice, rabbits, and even a skunk.
Grandpa’s big hand rubs the back of his neck. “That girl needs to focus on rescuing non-vermin.”
“It points to a kind heart,” Grandma says.
“And I’m sure while people are fighting off the plague she’s bound to set off, they’ll be praising her kindness.”
“Now sweetheart…”
; He nudges me down the porch steps and toward the truck parked alongside the house. “We’re off to the Cavanaughs’.”
“Good God, George!” Grandma’s hand flutters up to her throat. “That family is—”
“Exactly what he needs, so no fussing,” Grandpa calls over his shoulder. “We’ll be back for lunch. Remember what we discussed. Stay out of the woods. No use inviting trouble. If you need anything, call Reggie.”
As I round the truck, I see Reggie toting a shotgun as he herds a group of sheep down the dirt road behind the house. Since the incident in the woods, he’s kept his distance, wanting nothing to do with the freak that I am. Lucky me.
Grandma moves to the end of the porch and grips the railing. As I pull open the passenger-side door, she calls, “Have a good—” She stops, and a worried frown mars her forehead. “Well, do your best, Dylan.”
What is she so upset about? I feel a rush of heat climb up my suddenly tight neck, like she’s telling me I’m too stupid to know I’m about to do something really dumb. Grandpa doesn’t seem fazed. Whoever the Cavanaughs are, they can’t be all that bad if Grandpa trusts them.
I get in, and she turns a hot glare on Grandpa. “I’ll have words for you when you get home, and don’t think I won’t.”
He opens the driver-side door, and as smooth as a carnival hawker says, “I prefer kisses, but your words are nearly as sweet.”
Grandma rolls her eyes at Grandpa, and he slips in and slams the door. With a quick twist of the key he never bothers to take out of the ignition, he starts the truck.
Our eyes meet for a brief second before I stare out the front window and nod. “Nicely played, Grandpa.”
As we roll forward, a quick, deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “She acts like I annoy her, but she loves pretty words. Remember that, boy. If you ever get in trouble with a woman, get to talking sweet at her and she’ll forgive nearly anything.”
I arch my eyebrow in doubt. His advice sounds too easy…and if I’ve learned anything lately, Kera is anything but easy. I like it that way.
We tear out of the yard and down the road. Grandpa’s got a lead foot and a taste for sixties rock music, and not the good kind, which he sings along with as he drives. Fifteen minutes later, we pull into a yard that’s more used car lot than front lawn. Grandpa stops his truck and points to a 1938 Dodge pickup. “You don’t see one of those every day. They got it in yesterday. It’ll be a beauty when the boys clean it up.”
We get out and make our way through the trucks. Most are rusted boxes on wheels. I’m scared to touch one, and I’m getting a little queasy standing in the middle of them. “This is great, Grandpa, but you know exposed iron and I don’t mix.” Being around this much exposed iron is like shoving a rusted stake into my heart. Most of these trucks aren’t viable transportation options at this point.
“Right, right.” He hustles me along, but his eyes brighten with envy. “Look at that one. 1956 Ford F100 Big Window. And a 1940 GMC right behind it.”
“Awesome. Can we hurry?”
We cut around the house and see a huge garage. The sound of unvarnished iron being pounded into submission stops me. “Grandpa, are you trying to kill me?”
“We’re not going in there. We’re going over there,” he says, pointing to a barn in the distance.
When we get closer, the doors shove wide open, and a guy in a drab khaki shirt, camouflage pants, and khaki jump boots stands with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair is buzzed close to his scalp in a be-all-you-can-be cut that only hints at its dark brown color. His gray eyes stare me down under his lowered brows. “He’s bigger than I expected.”
Grandpa looks past the guy and into the barn. “How you doing, Wyatt? Where’s Reece?”
“Out obsessing over a new girl.” Wyatt circles around, giving me a brief inspection. “So, you have an anger problem.”
It’s a statement of fact, not a question. Grandpa’s obviously told him about me. How much, is the real question.
I try not to fidget under his stare. “You could say that.”
His face contorts into a mixture of annoyance and disgust. “I hate bullies.” He moves right into my face. “You’re not one of them, are you?”
I don’t like people getting into my face. I stare back, seeing the black of his pupils contract and expand like a junkie on a meth high. My jaw tightens and the muscles in my arms stiffen.
Grandpa’s big body moves between us. “When will Reece be back?”
Wyatt’s narrowed gaze gives me another once-over, and when he looks at Grandpa, he visibly relaxes. “Soon. He said you wanted a hose. Over there.”
As Wyatt trots inside to a storage room and starts pulling stuff out, Grandpa grabs my arm and pulls me inside the barn. It smells like old dirt and fresh hay. I thumb over toward GI Jackass. “What’s with him?”
“Don’t mind Wyatt. He’s a good guy.” We reach the hose and he picks it up. “I guess Reece recruited him to help train you.”
“Fantastic, and what are they training me to do?”
With a twist of the pressure nozzle, water shoots out of the end of the hose and across the barn floor. Grandpa grins. “Not light up.”
A knot in my stomach grows. “They know about me?”
“If you control yourself, and if I’m quick enough with this hose, they won’t.”
Oh, this is not a good idea. “They’re gonna freak.”
“Ready?” Wyatt says, standing in the midst of a pile of stuff.
“He’s ready,” Grandpa calls back.
Wyatt shakes his head. “Sorry, sir. I need to hear it from him. I’m not interested in helping someone who doesn’t want it.”
“I promise, he won’t accuse you of abuse when all’s said and done.”
I turn my head back and forth between the pair. “Why would someone do that? What exactly are you going to do to me?”
“Teach you to control your temper by means of repetition.”
All the tension leaves my body and I laugh. “What, every time I get angry I’m going to recite my times table?” I turn to Grandpa. “That’s a great solution.” The sarcasm in my voice isn’t hard to miss.
“This isn’t a babysitting service. You game or not?”
The guy’s getting a little testy, and I’m not fond of testy dudes, but then a flash of Kera’s horrified expression comes to mind. “I’m ready.”
“Then let’s get loaded up.”
From out of the pile he pulls out a backpack. I have a sinking feeling his idea of repetition involves a bit more physical endurance than I was expecting.
I hesitate, and Grandpa twists the nozzle, shooting a quick stream of water at me. When I look back, he grins and winks. “Start trusting. I’ve got you covered.”
Good Intentions Go Bad
Wyatt jerks the cinches to my backpack until the straps are snug against my shoulders. He then slips an identical pack onto his back. Something shifts inside mine, but I don’t have time to give it much thought because he launches into a mini lecture. “You’re here to learn control. To discipline your actions. The thing about control is that it’s elusive until you figure out it’s all mental.”
“So we’re going to sit cross-legged on the floor and repeat positive affirmations?”
Wyatt smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Note taken. He doesn’t have a sense of humor. “This is a training camp. When I’m home on leave, I help Reece train fighters. MMA, boxing, jujitsu. I’m not going to ask you to do anything I don’t ask any one of our boys to do. This is our one day off. Don’t make me regret helping you when I could be helping myself to some fun down at Dirty Joe’s Day and Night Club.”
I nod, but I’m still not sure what he’s got planned. Not until he pulls me outside to a pile of rocks. He turns me around and starts loading them into my pack. The weight pulls at my shoulders and ribs. He secures the load and moves to face me. “Give me grief, there’s room for more rocks, got it?”
I tuck my fingers in the st
raps and adjust the weight. “Got it.”
“All you have to do is keep up.” The guy flashes me a grin.
Grandpa calls me over and tests the weight strapped to my back as he watches Wyatt doing who-knows-what outside. “He’s not messing around.”
I’m beginning to get the feeling I’ve fallen into my own rabbit hole to hell when Grandpa grabs the water hose and soaks me down until my boxers stick uncomfortably to my legs. “That should keep the sparks away until you get back. If you feel the need to light up, get the hell away from him, got it?”
“This is lame,” I say, standing in a puddle of excess water. “How’s this supposed to help me?”
Grandpa shakes his head and steps back. “Careful, son. Confidence is knowing you can do something and get it done. Cockiness is showing you’re too stupid to know when you’re in trouble. You’re verging on cocky, boy.” Grandpa nods toward Wyatt. “He trains hard-core for fun.”
I shrug, not worried at all. “I’ve got more speed in me than he’ll ever possess. I’ll be back before my clothes start to dry.”
“Just crossed over into cocky,” he mutters. His fingers grip my shoulder, digging into my muscle. “Do this human, Dylan. No powers. Prove to me and to yourself what kind of man you really are.”
Wyatt appears near the barn door, notices my wet clothes, and shakes his head. “I’m not even going to ask. Come on, kid. I’m not holding your hand through this. Either you want it or you don’t.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns and runs off.
He’s tapped into my main problem. I don’t want to be out of control, but half the time my powers appear without me ever calling on them. Ever since I came back from Teag, I’m plugged into the earth like wires into a grid. I’m not just freaking myself out, but everyone else around me.
“I’ll do it human.” The promise is out before I can stop it. I’m terrified. There’s no way I can keep it.