Page 29 of Draco's Fire

Shayla didn't know if the gun had jammed or if he was out of ammunition. It really didn't matter one way or the other. She had him dead to rights. She stepped over the log, raising her hand, the bolt of energy slowly swirling into existence.

He'd tried to kill Tyson, the man she loved, and she wasn't going to let him escape. But she wanted him to know a fraction of the fear she'd felt when she saw that Tyson had been shot.

But that fear might be to her advantage. It was only a brief pause as she shifted gears. She held the energy, now fully formed in her palm. At this range, there would be no way she could miss. He'd be dead, just as she would have been if the gun had fired.

"Who sent you?" she asked, her tone icy.

He paused like he was assessing his situation and then said, "Why should I think you aren't going to just kill me as soon as I tell you?"

"You can take the chance I'm feeling merciful today, or you can die by fae magic." She started walking towards him, raising the bolt above her head. "From the way I've heard people scream, I'm going to assume it's quite painful. Now, tell me—"

She felt her ankle catch something. All too late, she realized it was a tripwire. One mechanical click had saved her. This one was going to end her.

When she heard it, she thought that was it. She thought she was going to die from some sort of mine, but instead of being consumed by fire and shrapnel, she was covered in a thick gray cloud. Had something misfired or was this just meant to be a smoke bomb to give the sniper time to escape. She coughed slightly, waving the gas away from her.

When the air cleared enough, she could still see him on the ground.

"What are you—" she had started to ask, but then she felt it. It began as small prickles across her skin. It rapidly went from a tiny, almost tickling sensation to an itching. The man smiled just as the feeling switched from irritation to pain. It felt like searing hot needles were stabbing her on any bit of exposed skin. Iron.

She'd tripped some kind of anti-fae trap. As she felt the iron burn against her skin, eyes, and throat, she realized too late that she'd underestimated her opponent. She gasped for air, but that only drew the iron particles deeper into her lungs.

They'd had cover in the house. She should have waited for backup, but she hadn't been thinking about that. She'd been thinking that someone shot the man she loved, and they would have to answer for it. She'd been rash, and it was going to cost her her life and very likely Tyson's.

Stupid people made dumb decisions, and she was stupid in love.

Nineteen

Tyson

Tyson saw the fog and knew that it had to be Shayla's doing. It was just the wrong time of year for thick, low-lying clouds like that. The only option had to be fae magic.

He felt the change start as his body rapidly grew massive. His skin became scales, the armor he'd take into battle. His hands became claws, the weapons he'd used to tear his enemy apart. That was, of course, if he didn't simply burn him alive, spewing flame from his elongating jaw.

His wings sprouted from his shoulders. They would carry him swiftly to his target, where he'd break his vow and slaughter whoever had dared attack him and put Shayla in danger.

He started to beat his wing and snarled in pain. The transformation had done very little to heal the bullet wound. Instead, where his wing met his shoulder, the bone was broken. Even if he had wanted to push past the pain, the wing wasn't working.

He'd have to stick to the earth. Tucking his broken wing against his body as best he could, he raced across the ground closing the distance between him and the edge of the forest the fog had been covering.

He heard the sound of gunfire and could see the bolts of energy that Shayla was using against her attacker. Peering through the trees, he saw her trying not to get pinned down. She moved better than some soldiers he'd fought alongside.

She had a sense for battle that many would envy. He continued surging along the ground, closing the distance between them, but there was a faint trickle of hope that she would be able to save herself.

But that hope was tinged with guilt as he realized he was asking her to bear a burden he didn't want to. If she did, he'd still have to deal with the nightmares he'd have from digging down into his killer instincts, but those were problems for later.

But then he saw the cloud surround Shayla, and everything shifted. He was nearly there, and the same eyes that had let him see almost every person he'd burned alive showed the look of pain and horror on her face. Something was very wrong.

Ignoring the pain it caused his wound, he trampled through trees. Rearing up, he felt the flames build deep in his chest.

The shooter held up his hands and said, "Burn me, and she dies. I have the cure."

Tyson swallowed back the flames and lowered himself until he was nose-to-nose with the man.

"Explain. Quickly."

"She tripped a smoke bomb laced with iron particles. Right now, she's dying. But I have a bottle of medicine that will save her. It'll neutralize the iron attacking her body."

"What's to stop me from biting your head off and taking it off your body?"

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