Pursuing Flight: A Dragon Spirit Novel: Book 4

by C. I. Black

God damn it. Nero bolted after her, sending his wind behind them to cover their backs.

  She slid over a debris-strewn desk and dove for the closest guy, who jerked his weapon down and scrambled to draw his Taser.

  I was right. She grabbed the barrel of his gun, smashed the pipe against the man’s face, and yanked the weapon from his grip.

  The other two men aimed, ready to fire at Nero, but he sent a blast at them and heaved their hands up, throwing off their aim.

  More gunfire exploded behind him. Another bullet pounded into his back, cutting through the almost-healed wound in his chest with searing pain. His knees buckled, and he swept wind around himself to catch his balance.

  Nero? Becca’s fear and pain flooded him, making his wind waver.

  He staggered, re-caught his balance, and rushed around the desk. I’m fine. Just keep going.

  The back door is straight ahead. She smashed the pipe against her guy’s head a second time then dropped the pipe, switched her grip on the gun, and fired at the other two men in the office, forcing them to tuck tighter behind their cabinets.

  The back door stood partially ajar, with a toppled shelf and a fallen I-beam between them and escape. Nero gusted wind at the cabinets and smashed them into the men ahead of them, while Becca fired behind him into the boiler room. It was as if she’d known who he was going after and acted to cover his back. Of course, she could have known. She was in his head, an agonizing presence squeezing his essence so tight it was hard to keep his wind activated. Hell, it was hard to even breathe.

  Get the door, she said, and he knew she meant with his wind.

  Duck.

  She dropped to one knee as he seized the rusted metal security door with his magic, wrenched it off its rusted hinges, and tossed it behind him at the men coming from the boiler room. Someone screamed. More gunfire exploded.

  “I said don’t hit the girl!” someone yelled.

  Pain burned through Nero’s skull and his wind faltered. Even if they got out of the building, they still needed to get away long enough for Nero to summon a gate. What he needed was for them to get out and for his wind to have enough power to pull the roof down behind them.

  He hissed his power word, hoping to build up more magic, but it flickered, a whisper of wind trailing around his hands, and the agony in his head grew. Becca’s hold was too tight. She had to let go. Just for a second.

  But the voices. They’re so loud. I can’t—

  Please. Just get out the door and let go for a second.

  She gave a tight nod and ducked under the angled I-beam. Nero raced after her and yelled his power word, praying the force of the call would help him summon and hold onto his magic.

  Just a few more feet. Becca was now framed in the doorway with a pale snowy yard beyond that sparkling in the moonlight.

  The cabinet closest to him heaved aside, and one of the men jerked his Glock up and fired.

  Becca gasped as searing agony shot through her chest and Nero’s.

  She stumbled. Oh, God. And collapsed in the snow just outside the door.

  No. Mother, no. Nero’s pulse skipped a beat. She’d been shot. She was down. He was going to lose another inamorata and before he’d even had a chance to get to know her.

  Rage roared through him, and his wind erupted over his hands with a ferocity he hadn’t known was possible. He bolted out the door, grabbed Becca, and slammed his magic into the office. It hit like a tornado into the two-story addition on the back of the factory, sweeping debris and furniture and broken glass into a slicing, piercing, crushing vortex.

  The men inside screamed, tossed with the furniture, slammed into the walls and ceiling like toys, until a deafening crack cut through the roar of the wind and the outside wall of the addition collapsed, pulling it down along with part of the main brick wall.

  Nero dropped to the ground and ripped open Becca’s bloody coat. Blood stained the front of her hoodie, the tear above her left breast ragged. He pressed his hands to the wound but knew applying pressure wouldn’t stop the bleeding if the wound was a through-and-through.

  She gasped for breath, her eyes wide, her thoughts an incoherent whirl in his head.

  “Hold on.” Please, Mother. Hold on.

  But they both knew the shot was fatal. Blood already pooled beneath her, seeping a wide swath over the hardened snow, dark against its brilliant white. She was losing too much too fast. The bullet had to have severed an artery. If she was a dragon, she’d survive. If she was a true human mage, she’d survive. But she wasn’t either, despite what her miraculously healed bones suggested. He had to have been mistaken about that… or it was the new intake’s magic… or something.

  Right now, all he knew was that she was human, with a bit of magic. Not nearly enough magic. And in the flash of a heartbeat, a split second of knowing her, his soul had picked hers for eternity. He could try to deny it all he wanted, but that wouldn’t change the truth. She was his inamorata.

  The myth about there only ever being one might be a lie, but it had taken him almost two thousand years to find another. He couldn’t go through that again. Mother, please. I can’t.

  Cold seeped through their mental connection. Becca’s breath gurgled, and blood bubbled over her lips.

  There had to be a way to save her. There had to.

  Now you’ll be safe, she thought. It can mean something. “I die, your kids are safe.”

  But the price was too high. His soul was already shattering, howling with desperation. If he lost it, his puzur wouldn’t be safe. He wouldn’t be able to protect them. He couldn’t even protect his inamorata.

  A scream tore from him. He couldn’t face the desolation of losing an inamorata again. His chest burned, and his heart and soul squeezed in anguish. There was no purpose without her. And yes, it didn’t make sense, he didn’t know her, and she didn’t love him back. But being inamorated didn’t make sense. It wouldn’t matter if she despised him. His soul had picked. She was his match, his destiny. And she was dying in a frozen parking lot, her blood oozing hot between his fingers.

  She didn’t deserve this. Not with everything she’d already survived. Mother, if he’d just gotten shot instead. He could heal this. Hell, even if the impossible happened and his soul magic couldn’t heal the wound, at least she’d be alive. At least she could have had the life Zenobia’s dragons had tried to take from her. If she could just survive this, she’d overcome the soul sickness. Raven would help her. The puzur would take her in. She’d be all right. They had to get back to the house. Anaea could rebirth Becca, like she’d done with Ryan.

  He pressed a hand to the ground beside him, hissed his power word, and summoned a gate.

  More blood bubbled over Becca’s lips and her thoughts shuddered, turning to fog in his head. He could feel her soul weakening.

  Come on. Come on. The gate was forming so slowly. Each second drew into an agonizing eternity.

  She wasn’t going to make it. And even if they could get to the house, there was no guarantee help would arrive in time. He was going to lose her. Mother. This wasn’t going to work. There had to be something else he could do. Some way he could save her. Some way he could take her suffering.

  An inferno erupted in his chest. Agony screamed through every cell in his body as the flesh and sinew in his back and chest over his heart burst, as if a bullet had torn through his body, but no one had fired. White lightning shot through him, stealing all thought and breath. There was no up or down, no frozen parking lot, no cold. Only agony, and Becca screaming in his head.

  24

  Darkness surrounded Becca, thick and consuming, but still the voices howled in her head, Nero’s strongest of all. He was going to lose her. He couldn’t lose her. He—

  She jerked, and her back hit something hard as heat enveloped her. Except her back couldn’t have hit something. She was already lying on the ground. Outside. In the cold.

  No. Not outside. There was a ceiling with a light fixture above her. Her thoughts st
uttered, her mind and body filled with a searing agony, while the voices howled.

  Nero screamed and collapsed unconscious on top of her. Someone yelled.

  She had to protect them. Get them out of wherever the hell they were. She heaved him over and yanked up her stolen gun. Raven, Diablo, and another man — God, he was huge and looked like a Viking, but was dressed in a well-tailored suit — sat around the table in the kitchenette in Nero’s transition suites.

  Diablo stood and his chair clattered over. “What the hell?”

  “Oh, my God.” Raven scrambled toward them. “What happened?”

  “We—” Shot. I was shot. But— Becca could breathe, when moments before she couldn’t. The pain in her chest wasn’t the agonizing fire of before, either.

  Nero gasped and blood pooled beneath him and around her knees.

  “How—?” It didn’t make sense. But he’d been shot. “He said he could heal it. He said—” She ripped open his coat. Blood soaked his dress shirt. She ripped that, too, revealing a gaping wound over his left pec. “Why isn’t he healing?”

  “He should be. He shouldn’t be unconscious.” Raven grabbed a fistful of napkins from the table and pressed them against Nero’s chest. Just like how Nero had applied pressure on Becca’s chest.

  Her thoughts snapped, sending shards of agony slicing into her head.

  She’d been shot.

  In the chest. Above the heart.

  Her pulse beat faster, and the voices in her head roared louder.

  “Diablo? Why isn’t he healing?” Raven asked.

  “I don’t know.” Diablo vanished with a whoosh. A fraction of a second later with another whoosh, he reappeared in the hall and pulled a medical kit and an armful of towels from the cabinet.

  Becca couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t focus her thoughts.

  Right above the heart.

  She clawed at her hoodie. There was blood on her clothes. There was a hole. There was—

  “I was shot,” she gasped.

  “She’s human,” Raven said.

  “Let me look,” the big blond guy said. He knelt beside her, but she hadn’t seen him move. Had he gated liked Diablo? She hadn’t felt the air gust. No, time had jumped. Darkness flashed in her head. More thoughts snapped into shards and more voices clamored to be heard.

  Another whoosh and Diablo was back, kneeling beside Raven. “He’s barely breathing. He should have healed enough to be conscious.”

  “But I was shot.”

  The blond guy grabbed her hands and drew her focus. Grey. His name was Grey, but she had no idea how she knew that.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Above the heart.”

  His gaze dipped to the hole and the blood soaking the front of her hoodie. She’s a sorcerer?

  “Nero said I wasn’t.” No, that wasn’t right. “He thought that? I can’t—” God, it was so hard to think.

  “What happened?” Grey’s grip tightened and his eyes narrowed. He was dangerous. A dragon. A monster… not a monster… not—

  “I—”

  “Tell me.” Tell me. Now.

  “Grey.” Raven replaced the napkins against Nero’s chest with a towel. “Stop.”

  A tremor shook Becca and the voices turned to hisses. Something is wrong. I don’t know how to save him. I can’t lose him. I have to know what happened. She’s done something to him. She’s killed him. She—

  “I didn’t. He said he could heal. He was fine. Then I was shot, and he started screaming about losing another one.” She rammed her foot into Grey’s side, wrenched free from his grip, and scrambled to her feet.

  Another what? Raven asked. “Lose another mage?”

  “I don’t know.” It hurt to think.

  Grey stood, and Becca’s pulse beat faster. The pulse she wasn’t supposed to have.

  “I won’t let you take me back. I’m not going back.” The gun lay a few feet away.

  “You’re not going back,” Raven said.

  “Lose another what?” Grey tensed, his muscle bunching and straining against his dress shirt.

  More tremors clawed through her and agony sliced in her skull. It hurt to think. Everything hurt. Her chest burned and everything within her was screaming. “He’s supposed to be healing.”

  “Lose another what?” Grey asked again.

  “An inamorata,” Diablo said. He’s God damned inamorated with a soul-sick human.

  “A what?” Raven’s gaze leapt to him. Holy Mother.

  An inamorata? “He’s taken on her injuries,” Grey said.

  “You can do that if you’re inamorated?” Raven jerked her chin at Diablo. “Help me roll him. I want to check his back.”

  Another tremor shook Becca and she hugged herself. Somehow he’d taken it from her. The hole in her chest. Certain death. God, he was going to die, and it was her fault.

  “How the hell can a soul bond transfer an injury?” Diablo growled as he helped Raven roll Nero on his side.

  “As far as I know, it’s only happened once, and that was before the Scourge.” Grey shifted closer to Becca.

  She jerked back. “I didn’t know. He shouldn’t have. I—” The shakes increased, making her teeth chatter. Magic. He’d saved her with magic. Impossible magic. And now she was going to be the reason someone else died.

  “If he’s inamorated and you were shot, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.” Raven shoved Nero’s jacket off his shoulders to expose his back. He would have died for her. I would have lost him. Mother, please. Why hasn’t he healed this?

  “I didn’t do this. I didn’t make him—” He didn’t know her, but he’d die for her? That didn’t make any sense. Magic didn’t make sense. But the monsters had possessed magic.

  Fucking soul bond. Something like this was bound to happen sooner rather than later. The thought sliced through her, but she couldn’t tell who thought it.

  “Will he heal this?” Raven asked. She grabbed a pair of scissors from the first aid kit and cut open the back of Nero’s shirt.

  “He will,” Grey said. “But because it’s a magical transfer, it’ll be slower than normal.”

  “As slow as you?” Diablo asked. We have to keep her here. Ensure Nero’s safety.

  “Does anyone heal as slowly as I do?” Grey rolled his eyes. “His soul magic is working double time, first to keep the wound from reforming in her and then to heal the injury.”

  “I think the bleeding might be slowing down.” Raven ripped open a sterile wipe and dabbed at Nero’s back.

  “He’ll be okay?” Please, he had to be okay. Becca had no idea what she’d do if he wasn’t.

  He won’t be fucking okay. He’s inamorated, Diablo growled.

  “I don’t know what that means!” More pain sliced through Becca’s head and her legs buckled. Grey grabbed for her, but she wrenched out of reach. “He shouldn’t have saved me. I endanger everything.” It was like Afghanistan all over again. The Taliban had learned she’d been meeting with the village elders. She’d put all those people in danger, killed all those people in the market and all those children in the school tent, and had murdered Scott and Johnson and paralyzed Keller. All by taking her unit back to that village. Nero had children in his house, people he had to protect. She was broken and hunted. She’d made him go with her to find Werner, and it had been another ambush.

  The muscles in her chest and arms seized and stole her breath. Nero gasped, and his thoughts blasted into a scream of pain and desperation.

  Her knees gave out, and she didn’t have the strength to catch her balance. She fell to her hands and knees. His agony overwhelmed her and his thoughts howled, devouring all the other voices. She had to live. She was everything. He couldn’t lose another. Please, Mother, not another.

  “I didn’t ask you to save me,” she screamed at him. “You should have let me die.” Then she wouldn’t have to fight the voices and the memories and the terror. Her throat tightened. This wasn’t real. It was a nightma
re. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening.

  “Ah, fuck, she’s losing it.” Diablo vanished with the whoosh.

  Grey grabbed her shoulders. She tried to jerk away, but he held tight. “I won’t let you take me again. I won’t. You can’t.” She clawed at his hands. “Stay out of my head. It’s my body. My soul.”

  Grey heaved her around, planting her back against his chest, and wrapped her in a bear hug. Holy Mother, she’s soul sick. “Raven, what do we do?”

  Air gusted, and Diablo appeared beside her and jammed a needle in her shoulder. “Sedate her.”

  “No. I won’t go back. I won’t—” Weight rushed through her limbs.

  Another pinch in her shoulder.

  “A double dose?” Grey asked, his voice rumbling into her back, making the drug’s weight billow to her extremities.

  “Trust me,” Diablo said.

  Becca dragged her gaze to Nero. He groaned, opened one eye, and stared at her as if he instantly knew where she was.

  It’ll be all right, he thought. I’ve got you. You’ll be okay.

  But she could feel the insanity threatening to overwhelm her. He’d saved her with magic. Impossible magic. Those monsters in the cave had been real. Stanbury and her facility were real. It hurt to think about it. It would have been easier if it was just a nightmare and she could wake up. Please. She just wanted to wake up… or never wake up. Then he wouldn’t be in danger, and his kids would be safe.

  “You shouldn’t have saved me. You don’t know me.” I endanger everything. I don’t deserve to be saved.

  Yes, you do.

  Diablo turned to Nero and slid a third syringe into his shoulder.

  Just take a breath. You can handle this.

  I can’t. God. I can’t.

  Yes, Nero said, his thought soft and sure as unconsciousness started to flood through her. Just breathe.

  25

  Becca collapsed in Grey’s arms and Nero went lax in Raven’s. Diablo wrenched himself away from them to the far side of the kitchenette, his beast roaring and clawing at his insides. He needed to scream, fight someone, break something, anything to ease the raging emotions. For a second, when Becca and Nero had first appeared, there’d been a frozen moment of nothing, then a massive wave had exploded through him carrying her panic and desperation and pain. So much pain. It had only gotten worse when Nero had regained consciousness. More agony and heart-rending terror.