by Mari Mancusi
Scarlet found herself leaning into him, resting her forehead against his solid chest. “But I told her to,” she whispered hoarsely. “I mean, I was only trying to help. I thought…”
She trailed off, thinking not of Emmy this time but of her mother. Her pale face, covered in bruises. The broken glass door. Yet another instance where she’d tried to do some good but had only made things worse for everyone. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness washed over her.
“Look, I get why you did it, okay?”
She pulled away, surprised. Caleb met her eyes with his own glowing ones, staring at her so hard that she felt as if he was searching through her brain.
“You…do?”
He nodded grimly, releasing her and turning away, walking toward a nearby tree and leaning up against it, staring down at his feet. “I used to let her out too. Pretty much every night. I felt bad for her, you know? Cooped up in that icky barn, all day and all night, with nothing to do but watch videos? What kind of life is that for a dragon?” He shook his head. “I figured it was no big deal. I could keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t stray too far. And it was fine when she was younger. But now she’s going into puberty and she’s developed a real mind of her own…” He grinned ruefully.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Scarlet said with a small smile.
“Anyway, a few nights ago, I lost her. I guess that’s when she was off healing you. But Trinity discovered she was gone and realized what I’d been doing. She was…not happy, to say the least.”
Scarlet bristled as she thought of Trinity. “Yeah, well, she’s one to talk.”
“No, no,” Caleb protested. “She means well. Really. She’s just scared. She’s been given this overwhelming task of taking care of the world’s last dragon. And she’s trying to do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Which isn’t easy, as you saw tonight. We had a pretty decent setup at the old farmhouse. It’s going to be tough to find somewhere that nice again.”
“So you’re going to keep running then? When are you going to stop?”
Caleb gave her a wry look. “You’d have to ask the good twin about that. He runs the show. I’m just the comic relief.” He winked at her and she had to laugh.
“Seriously, how did you end up with the world’s last dragon?”
His smile faded. “It’s a really long story. And, to be honest, the less you know, the better. After we’re gone, you can go back home and forget you ever met us.”
His words sent a small ache through Scarlet’s bones. She hadn’t realized, up until that moment, that some part of her had been secretly hoping they’d invite her along for the ride. But that was ridiculous. Caleb might have understood why she did what she’d done, but Trinity was clearly not a fan of her work. And she and the good twin were definitely running the rodeo here.
Besides, she couldn’t leave her mother alone. Especially not tonight. Once the monster realized the dragon was out of his rifle’s reach, he’d head down to the pub to drown his sorrows. By the time he stumbled home, he’d be frustrated, wasted, and ready to take it out on his regular punching bag.
She could feel Caleb watching her again, his eyes filled with what looked like concern.
“What?” she asked, a little unnerved.
He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s none of my business.”
She was about to ask him what he meant by that. After all, he couldn’t have heard what she was thinking. But at that moment, there was a rustling at the cave’s entrance. They both turned to see the dragon emerging.
“Emmy!” Scarlet cried, rushing toward her. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”
But the dragon didn’t answer—simply spread her wings and pointed her nose to the sky. Scarlet’s heart leapt to her throat.
“Stop! Where are you going?” she cried. But it was no use. The dragon was already gone. She turned to Caleb. His pale face mirrored her own.
“Can you tell where she’s going?” he asked in a strained voice.
Scarlet drew in a breath, closing her eyes, trying to focus. Then she opened them again. “Yes,” she said.
“Then come on,” Caleb replied, grabbing her arm. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Fifteen
Trinity’s lungs burned as she raced after Connor back to where they’d parked the van, a thousand panicked thoughts invading her brain. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, she chanted over and over again in her head. You’re worrying over nothing. It’ll totally be okay.
But try as she might, all she could seem to focus on were the innumerable scenarios where it would not be okay, each more frightening than the next. A gang of redneck thugs, beating Grandpa senseless. Government soldiers, arresting him and taking him away.
No, she scolded herself as the van came into view. They’re only there for the dragon. They won’t care about him. He’ll be fine. They’ll leave him alone.
Connor tossed her the keys and she jumped into the driver’s seat. She revved the motor, and they pulled out onto the main road, heading toward the farmhouse. She glanced over at her passenger, who was staring straight ahead, out the window, his face tense and his shoulders squared. He was worried too, she realized, the thought not making her feel any better.
He caught her looking at him and quickly masked his concern. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he told her. “He’s a tough old geezer. He’s not going to get himself caught.”
She forced herself to nod and turn back to the road, flicking on her high beams to better see into the darkness. There were no streetlights in this section of town, and the bumpy vacant road seemed straight out of a horror flick. She half expected some inbred cannibal to leap in front of the van, brandishing a chain saw.
But the road remained thankfully chain-saw-massacre free, and soon the entrance to the ranch came into view. But when her headlights flashed onto the old wire gate, she realized it had been bashed open, possibly rammed by a large truck.
“They’re here,” she whispered.
Connor gestured for her to stop the van. He hopped out of the vehicle and went over to examine the gate. Then he beckoned for her to join him.
“We’ll walk from here,” he told her. “Just in case.”
She nodded, not wanting to think about what he meant by that. Suddenly, chain-saw-wielding cannibals seemed the least of her worries. Biting down on her lower lip, she instinctively grabbed onto Connor’s wrist as he started down the dark, dirt driveway that led to the farmhouse and barn. Connor, having lived most of his life underground, had far better night vision than she did, something that would come in handy right about now.
As they walked down the long dirt road, the crickets chirped merrily, oblivious to the tension in the air, but otherwise the night was as silent as the grave. In any other situation, Trin realized, it would feel strangely intimate: being alone together like this, in the dark of night, walking hand in hand under a blazing portrait of stars. In another world, it could have been a romantic post-game stroll. In another world, Connor would pull her toward him, tracing her cheek with his gentle fingers. He would whisper something about how beautiful she looked in the moonlight then press his lips against hers.
But this wasn’t another world. And they weren’t on some starry-eyed midnight stroll. They were on a rescue mission. And all their lives were in danger.
Connor suddenly jerked to the side, pulling her along with him, ducking behind an abandoned tractor about fifty yards from the house. She dropped down, watching him scope out the scene with a determined look on his face. His soldier’s face. Sometimes it was hard to remember that the same sweet boy who had bought her a hot dog at the game tonight while cheering on her team could so easily transform into a cold-hearted killer. She was glad he was on her side. Glad that he cared about her grandpa as much as she did.
“Can you feel him?” he asked, shooting her a sideways glance before returning to his surv
eillance. “Is he here?”
Trin pursed her lips, trying to still her whirling thoughts and concentrate on using her gift as a sort of psychic homing device to scan the area for Grandpa. She closed her eyes, searching for a sign of his spark.
“He’s here,” she affirmed, opening her eyes again. “At least I think so. I can’t pinpoint him exactly, but I feel like he’s near. Though…” She frowned worriedly. “He doesn’t seem to be moving.”
“He could be sleeping,” Connor replied in a clipped tone, as if unwilling to let her voice any other possibility.
“Yeah.” She forced a nod, trying to push down the encroaching dread rising within her. “He gets tired after a long hunt. He probably went to bed.”
Connor pulled his gun from its holster and gave her a succinct salute. “On the count of three, I want you to run to the house. I’ll cover you. Once you’re inside, I’ll follow.”
“Okay,” she agreed, hoping he couldn’t hear the fear in her voice. “Count me down.”
On three, she took off, running across the yard as fast as her feet would take her, forcing her eyes to focus on her destination rather than all the dark shadows looming. Her ears strained, listening for gunshots, though deep down she knew by the time she’d be able to hear them, it would be too late.
But thankfully the air remained gunshot free, and a moment later she was able to reach the relative safety of the house. She collapsed onto the couch, gasping for breath. Then she scrambled back to her feet just as Connor entered behind her, still brandishing his gun.
He gave her a small smile. “You’ve been working out.”
“Gotta keep my girlish figure.” She scanned the empty room. “Maybe Scarlet was wrong,” she suggested. Then she remembered the gate. “Or maybe they were already here and took off when they couldn’t find a dragon? I didn’t see any trucks parked outside.”
“True…” But Connor didn’t seem convinced. He cased the room, eyes darting to every corner. Trinity felt a chill trip down her spine.
“Grandpa?” she cried out, heading into the kitchen. She pulled a flashlight from the wall and flicked it on. “Are you here?”
But there was no answer. There was, however, a knapsack on the counter, Grandpa’s hunting bag, still packed with provisions. She frowned. He’d definitely returned from his hunt. So where was he now? Déjà vu gripped her as she remembered the last time she’d been in a house, looking for her missing grandfather. How innocent she’d been back then. How naïve.
“I’m going to go check the barn,” Connor said, peering out the window. “He might be cleaning his kills out there. You wait here, just in case.”
“I should go with you,” she protested. But he shook his head.
“Go upstairs and gather up whatever you think we can carry out of here. After this, we’re not coming back.”
His words sent an ache straight down to her toes. Not that she’d been attached to this house any more than any of the others they’d crashed at over the past three months. And yet the idea that they’d once again be forced to go, to leave everything they knew behind…
“Okay,” she relented. “But hurry. In case the men come back.”
Connor nodded then pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans and made his way out the front door. Trinity watched him exit and then headed to the stairs, taking them two at a time. There was only one thing in the house that she really needed, she thought. One thing she couldn’t live without.
Bursting into her bedroom, her eyes locked on the treasure in question—her mother’s music box—still sitting on the nightstand by her bed. She let out a sigh of relief, not sure why she’d been so worried. After all, it was only a treasure in her eyes.
She approached the box, pulling it into her hands, holding it against her chest. Had it really only been this morning that she’d woken and wound it up and let the princess twirl? After all that had happened tonight, it felt like a lifetime ago.
And soon it would feel like another life entirely. By morning, they’d be far, far away from here. Maybe at their destination. Maybe not even halfway there. Even the thought of traveling again filled her with exhaustion. And the idea that it would just keep happening—that they’d never find a place to stop for good. Never find a place that was totally safe…
She sighed. These were not thoughts to dwell on now. She glanced out her bedroom window, hoping to see Connor and her grandpa exiting the barn. Instead, her eyes caught a flash of light turning into the yard. She froze. Car headlights.
Panic rioting within her, she dropped to the floor, still clutching the music box under her arm. Peering out the window, she watched as the pickup truck with a dented front grill came to a halt outside the barn. Two men hopped down from the truck bed and two others got out of the cab. They were talking loudly and, to Trinity’s horror, heading straight for the barn.
Connor! Get out of there! she tried to send.
But they were already making their way through the front door and she knew there was no back way out. What would they do when they found him inside? Of course, they wouldn’t know he was involved, she told herself. Maybe he could bluff his way out. Connor was good at that kind of thing, and he also had his gift of persuasion if all else failed.
But they were drunk, Scarlet had said. Angry, looking for a fight. And he was the only one there.
She scrambled to her feet, out of the bedroom, and down the stairs, slipping and almost losing it in her haste to get outside. Grabbing on to the handrail, she somehow managed to keep her balance and dove for the front door. She wrapped her hand around the handle and pulled it open…
…only to find herself face-to-face with a grizzled, unshaven man in a cowboy hat and plaid shirt.
The man’s gaze leveled on her, his eyes sharpening in recognition. “You!” he cried. “You’re the one who—”
Trinity dove to the side, dodging him and running down the driveway as fast as her legs could carry her. Behind her, she could hear him swear loudly, and a quick glance told her he wasn’t going to be content to let her escape. She picked up the pace as best she could, hating that she was basically abandoning Connor to get away. But what else could she do?
Don’t be stupid, she could almost hear him say. Save yourself and Emmy if you can.
She almost made it all the way to the van. But before she could open the door, rough arms grabbed her, yanking her backward. She screamed, fighting him with all she had, but it did no good. He might be drunk and a little unsteady on his feet, but he was big, outweighing her by at least a hundred pounds. And as he dragged her, kicking and screaming back to the barn, it was all she could do to keep her grip on the music box.
“Let me go! Connor! CONNOR!” she cried.
What’s going on? Are you okay?
She startled as Emmy’s voice rose in her consciousness. Her panic must have been so high that the dragon had felt it from where she was in the woods.
I’m fine, she tried to push at Emmy. Just stay with Caleb. Do not come here under any circumstances.
The man tossed her through the open barn doors and she landed painfully in a pile of dirty hay mixed with old bones. “Look what I found,” the man said with a barking laugh as he stepped in after her.
She looked up, scanning the room until she found Connor. He was standing against the wall, his gun trained on the three rednecks…who had their own guns pointing at him. A real standoff, like you’d see in the Westerns her grandpa always liked to watch.
Somehow she managed to scramble to her feet, brushing the hay from her jeans. She could feel the men’s eyes fall on her curiously.
“You!” the one in the middle cried, repositioning his weapon from Connor to her. He had greasy, slicked-back, blond hair and a beautiful example of meth mouth. “I saw you at the stadium. You…you rode that…thing.” He spit out the word thing as if expelling poison. Trinity felt he
r hackles rise despite herself.
“Her name is Emmy,” she growled. “And yes, I rode her. So what?”
“Trin…” Connor said in a low warning voice. Don’t piss them off.
She knew he was right. But she’d also had her share of dealing with guys like this from her years spent in foster care. She knew that showing too much fear could be worse than not showing enough.
“Where is it?” the man demanded after spitting out a wad of tobacco. “What did you do with it?”
She stole a glance at Connor, who stood beside her looking cool and casual on the outside. On the inside, however, she could feel him working overtime, using his gift in an attempt to bend the men’s wills, wrestling them under his mental control. It was tough—even for those strong with the gift like Connor—to take on multiple minds at the same time, and they were clearly outnumbered. But she knew it was the only chance they had to get out of this mess. And maybe she could help.
“None of your business.” She clutched the music box so tightly her knuckles turned white. Forcing her mind to focus, she pushed the man’s mind as hard as she could.
Don’t shoot us. Walk away. Walk out of the barn and never come back.
“Oh it’s our business all right,” the man growled, resisting her attempt. He stalked over to her, grabbing her by the arm. She cried out in pain as his filthy, ragged nails dug into her skin.
Let me go. Walk away. Get out of here and never look back.
Pain stabbed at her skull, the side effect of using her gift. But she gritted her teeth and kept pushing anyway. After all, a headache was nothing compared to a bullet in the brain.
“You have five seconds,” the man added, pressing the gun against her head. The metal was cold and hard against her skin, and she could smell the reek of whiskey on his breath. It was all she could do not to cry out in fear.
“Five…four…”
You don’t want to shoot me. You don’t want to—