Page 42 of Draco's Fire

Rage simmered in Shayla’s veins. All she wanted was to tear this man to shreds, but she was as weak and ineffectual as a kitten in that moment.

Tyson lay unconscious in front of them; Shayla wished desperately she could reach out to him.

“It’s just too easy,” the attacker clucked, his eyes also cast down at Tyson. Quickly, his attention turned to Shayla and a devious smile spread across his face. Shayla realized—too late—that this had been a trap. He knew they’d come here; he was a step ahead of her.

He lifted his weapon again, and smacked it against Shayla’s temple with enough force that the whole world went dark around her immediately.

Twenty-Seven

Tyson

Tyson snapped awake, his head swimming. Even though he was conscious, his head felt heavy still. Then he saw why. There was a needle in his arm, and blood flowed out along a plastic tube. He couldn't see how fast, but it looked like the blood bag he was being emptied into was rather full.

It might not even have been the first one. In his other arm was an IV drip. It was a clear solution. The contents could have been simple saline or deadly poison. He did have any way of knowing which it was. The way his head felt made it especially hard to concentrate.

He tried to move to tear the needles out of his arm, but his hands, feet, and chest were bound by leather straps.

He needed to move. Needed to get out. But even though he knew he was in danger, he was having trouble keeping a thought in his head.

Is the IV a sedative?he thought to himself.

He closed his eyes to concentrate, trying to collect his thoughts, but almost got pulled into unconsciousness again. He snapped back to his best approximation of being aware of his surroundings. He needed to get off this exam table. He needed to get the needles out of his arms. He needed to find Shayla.

Once his mind summoned her, he was thinking clearer. The leather straps would tear like tissue paper if he shifted. The transformation began as his skin took on a white shade.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You wouldn't want to crush your lady love."

Tyson recognized that taunting voice. It was the shooter. As much as he didn't like taking advice from people trying to kill him, the bastard was right. Tyson looked about the best he could, but he couldn't see either Shayla or the source of that voice.

It could have been a lie. The room might have been big enough for him to transform, maybe. But if Shayla were in here, she wouldn't survive.

"What the hell do you want, you sick mother fucker?"

Tyson's voice was seething with his anger.

"To murder all of the freaks, of course. And the name is Dain, though I could get used to sick mother fucker. Has a certain ring to it," Dain said. He spoke in the same self-assured tone he used when Tyson confronted him in the woods. He felt like he was in complete control of the situation and wanted to gloat.

Unfortunately, he was right. Dain was in control of the situation. At least for now. Tyson kept trying to focus and think of a plan to get out of this without crushing Shayla. But even that consideration was starting to seem distant as more of his blood drained out of him.

Then a gaunt face with a prominent nose, black hair, and cold dark eyes stared down at him. It was Dain, unmasked. Then Tyson realized who he was. The name and the face brought about the required clarity. It was Gil's adoptive father.

"You know what's sort of funny? Is that you could have ended this so much sooner if you just stopped being such a fucking coward. You're too scared to fight. And that's why you'll lose."

"Eat shit. You're the coward who hid behind a mask," Tyson said.

"Oh, that's fucking rich coming from the likes of you. Isn't that what you abbies do every day—what you did for thousands of years. You walked among us, pretending to be human so you could stalk us like prey." Dain backed away from him but kept speaking.

"That's the problem with you all. You can make yourself look human. It makes you seem sympathetic to some. But you also have powers beyond anything a human could dream of. But that's all going to change. I'm going to level the playing field."

Tyson could hear something moving, metal against metal. Then Dain approached him with a small scalpel.

"I'm going to figure out what makes you tick and then make sure the humans have the upper hand when it's time for war."

Tyson didn't know what Dain was planning on doing with the scalpel, but he did know he wasn't keen on finding out. He struggled slightly. He could shift, maybe partway. It was difficult, but it would snap his bonds. Then he could throttle this man or just immolate him. The thought stung Tyson worse than the scalpel might have.

Again, he could hear the screams of his past coming up to meet him for even contemplating the murder. There had to be another way.

"We’re not looking for war," he said.

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