Page 37 of Draco's Fire

The dart struck and it lodged in the meat of his neck. Tyson stared at it for a second, dumbstruck, as it quivered with the residual energy of its forward motion. His shift halted and retreated in the space of a breath.

His human form took the full brunt of the effects. His veins swelled all over his body like the enveloping roots of a banyan tree. Pain seared through them, devouring almost all thought.

He was a dragon and he knew fire. Fire had always been like a best friend, a lover—like the core of his being. The fire raging through him now was nothing like he’d ever known.

It was agony incarnate.

He had lived over a thousand years and had remained stoic through countless injuries. The burning, relentless, inferno of pain torched almost every atom of resistance into ash. Only one tangled image—a melding of remembered touch, sight, sound, and deep emotion—held on through the firestorm:Shayla.

A scream tore out of his throat, raw and guttural. It was followed by another and another. He screamed until his vision grayed at the edges.

A distant part of him noted when the killer melted into the growing mob. The mass of people sealed off the escape route as neatly as if it had been all part of the plan all along. And maybe it had been—the chaos of crowds can be perversely predictable.

The torment wracking his body twisted to a new height and Tyson couldn’t fight another moment longer. His hoarse screaming finally stopped as he crumpled to the ground. Darkness—ever eager and always ready—took him.

Twenty-Four

Shayla

Her heart was in her mouth as she watched Tyson scream in agony. Everything was happening too fast. People were screaming around her. Everyone was running for their lives. She heard gunshots, and everything moved faster.

Her eyes were unable to focus on anything. Her mind focused on Tyson.

They rushed him to the hospital, and he shook uncontrollably in the ambulance. His eyes squeezed shut, and pure torment crossed his face.

Shayla was inches from bawling, seconds from falling apart. The doors to the ambulance swung open, and they pulled Tyson out, pushing him on a stretcher into the hospital.

Shayla stood frozen, and her mind was working like a blurry picture. The doctor said something, but she didn't hear it. The nurses yelled, but the words didn't reach her ears.

She looked down at her hands. Everyone was scrambling, and it soon turned into a bloody massacre to get out. Blood coating her fingers, staining her palms red. Her outfit was covered with blood splatter, and her lips tasted tangy.

"Shayla." Her head snapped up, taking Gil in. He looked just as worried as she was but more put together. He was covered in blood.

"The doctors are asking you a question."

She blinked, pulling her gaze towards the sole doctor that stood a few feet away. He looked at her with a concerned expression.

"It came out of nowhere." She felt her voice crack, and she tried to harden it. "If we don't figure out the antidote, he's going to.." She couldn't finish the sentence. She just thought about her own touch with death, and she could hardly keep her fear contained.

Gil ran a hand through his hair and swallowed, "We will use your lab."

Gil grabbed Shayla's arm, and they headed inside. She was shocked to still hear Tyson groaning in the room next to them. Gil pulled the doors open to the right, stepping into a spacious lab room.

"We need to start working on an antidote for him."

Shayla nodded, her eyes drifting over towards the door where she knew Tyson was across the hallway. She knew he was in pain and that she was unable to stop it. She had failed to stop any of this.

She felt tears build up, and she quickly wiped her eyes. She needed to focus. If she wanted to save his life, crying about it wasn't going to help him.

She shook her head, going over everything she'd ever been taught. She thought of her chemistry classes in high school and her training with PEACE. Her mind was going a mile a minute when everything seemed to freeze.

"Wait." Shayla looked at Gil. "What if we are looking at this wrong."

"What do you mean?" He had already pulled on a lab coat and pulled out several vials.

"Looking to figure out an antidote could take forever. You never know the exact ratio to give someone, and if you did, it's still like a thirty percent chance it's right." She remembered some of her training, and she knew that this wasn't going to save Tyson.

"What do you want me to do then!?" Gil asked, his voice rough. "I'm not fucking sitting on my hands and feet and going to just fucking watch my friend die."

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