Page 36 of Draco's Fire

Tyson

“Good work, everyone. Let’s keep the momentum going. Be sure to give the band their forty-five-minute heads-up. Next speaker starts in five,” Tyson said. He pointed one of the assistants toward the makeshift preparation area on the edge of the stage.

The event was shaping up to his satisfaction so far. They had an excellent team and a just cause. He allowed the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth to settle in—for a short time, at least.

HOPE’s message was a vital one and he hoped it would go a long way toward fostering greater understanding between humans and metahumans. His expression straightened back to neutral. Though optimism would always be worth nurturing, it didn’t mean he’d succumbed to complacency.

From the second he’d stepped on the grounds that morning, Tyson’s attention had been almost evenly divided between the business of the rally and anticipating the violence threatening to break it. So, when a cadre of armed PEACE agents converged on him at the same moment he spotted a disruption on the perimeter, he wasn’t caught unaware. Tyson acted without hesitation.

“Make yourself useful and haul ass. You’re needed out there,” he called out as he dodged his wannabe protectors and vaulted off the stage. He didn’t care the slightest bit if they answered. All he really needed them to do was stay the hell out of his way.

Tyson sped in the direction of the commotion, pushing through the crowd with single-minded purpose. He believed in his cause and the course his life had taken—none of that had changed. But neither he nor his people were prey.

It stops now.

Screams pierced the air and he had to shove through a thickening stream of people busy fleeing from its point of origin. The panic had an obvious ripple effect. People scattered in its wake—shouting, crying, running in all directions.

It was chaos.

Tyson picked up speed as best as he could as he wove through the throng. In the process he lost track of the agents trailing behind but dismissed the hint of concern that nagged at him. They were professionals. He may not love PEACE but he couldn’t deny they knew their business.

And he reluctantly admitted, so did he.

Transformation felt natural—his dragon form was always with him. Consciously unleashing the violent parts of his nature required something different. It hurt in ways that ran far deeper than he normally cared to go.

Past horrors reared up from memory to slash through his self-control. He slammed them away with a flex of hard-won willpower. The present mattered above everything else.

He had people to protect. He’d claimed this space, at least temporarily, as his own.Rule number one for healthy living should always be: don’t fuck with a dragon’s territory.

A pocket of space yawned open about forty feet ahead, and Tyler threw himself toward it. All awareness of the world around him shrunk down into a single point of laser focus. His pulse, already quickened, raced faster.

A downed agent lay still and silent on the grass. Shayla stood nearby, fully engaged with an armored enemy. She looked gloriously fierce in her element.

Now that he was on the edge of the actual fray, poised to join in, he discovered a moment of joy. Tyson was helpless against the surge of pride he felt at the sight of his fated mate in battle.Light him up, gorgeous.

As if in response to his silent support, a blaze of power manifested between her hands. In a heartbeat it grew almost painfully bright and he could barely see her. As she launched the massive bolt of arcane energy, she shouted, “Take this, you bloody rat bastard!”

The massive bolt of arcane energy streaked forward. It crashed, landing dead center into the man’s chest. Tyson’s muscles tensed, ready for a detonation of force that, for all he knew, might be capable of leveling the surrounding area.

The magic sputtered and sparked as it played across the surface of the man’s armor. Then, like dishwater sucking down a drain, the light dimmed and disappeared as the armor absorbed every lick of it. The killer coolly stood his ground, apparently both unaffected and unphased by the attack.

What the fuck? That shouldn’t be possible.Tyson froze in disbelief.

The killer took a step forward. It was an oddly jaunty move, like he was strutting onto a dance floor. He let loose an off-key peal of laughter. It was muffled, but the contemptuous delight it projected came through loud and clear.

An answering cry of shock, dismay, and outrage escaped Tyson’s throat. The enemy ignored him, but Shayla’s gaze flickered in his direction. Though the lapse lasted only a fraction of a second, it was enough.

A thrill of fear blasted through him, cold enough to stop a heart. Tyson’s sense of time drowned into slow icy sludge even as adrenaline rocketed through his body. His thoughts scattered in the barrage of competing input.

The killer advanced on Shayla. In three more quick steps he reached her, and in one continuous motion he raised his weapon and smashed the buttstock into her head. She dropped.

“Takethat, you freak abby bitch,” he said. Bitter notes of hatred coated the man’s words like a slick of rancid oil.

Tyson’s torpor finally broke. He began to shift, welcoming the might and power of his dragon form. This fucker was going to burn.

Though the change occupied almost all his attention, he dimly registered the sight of the man turning his weapon in his direction. The killer took aim. And shot.

The missile easily closed the distance. He’d been an easy target and the enemy’s aim was true. Tyson had no time to do anything more than coil his muscles for a flight that had no hope of taking off.

---