Page 92 of The Prince of New York

“Damn, Ian. That’s impressive. How are you doing on the exertion front?”

“I’m fine. This isn’t nearly as much work as I thought it would be. The fuel is providing the energy. I’m just giving it direction. I’m going to feel it tomorrow, I’m sure—there are too many fire sources for me to control individually, so I’ve removed the leash.” I grimaced. “And the collar. My talent is wild and free right now, and I’ll worry about reining him in once he’s done hunting. And he’s pissed.”

“Because Madelyn and your children are nearby, and they might go after her and the others,” Eddie said in a subdued tone.

I nodded. “And we don’t know what their talent rating is, and this group hates those without demonstrable talents. At most, they’d consider them to be bargaining chips to get at me. Daphne and Madelyn would be safe enough. Zachmightbe safe enough if they view upper elite as valuable. But my little girls? They have no value to these scum. And Madelyn is only valuable because they understand my talent is a dragon, and he is second to none.”

“He’s really not. Your sister is strong, but this goes beyond anything we’ve seen in a flameweaver before. Perhaps Dennis,” Terry murmured.

“No, Dennis wasn’t really stronger than me. He was… broken. Dennis couldn’t accept the dragon, and the dragon did the only thing the dragon could to bring Dennis peace, and that was to let him go. They died because Dennis’s dragon was ultimately a being of mercy. Dennis couldn’t accept what it is to be a New Yorker. I’m a different breed of cat.”

“Your dragon clearly adores you, because I don’t even think there’s going to be soot stains on Will’s plane once you’re done here. Sure, he’s going to have a fight clearing her from salvage, but you’re not even melting the tires, and they’re designed to melt.” Eddie pointed at something out the window. “There are piles of clothes lying in literally burning flame, and they aren’t burning, Ian.”

“I wanted the evidence.”

Terry’s phone pinged, and he grimaced upon reading the scene. “Your sister is going to kill you personally when you get home. Someone has been taking pictures of your smoke dragons and cats, and she feels you have been holding out on her. She wants a shoulder dragon now.”

“She has rats. Tell her to give them little dragon wings, and they can be her shoulder dragons. I am not teaching her how to make shoulder dragons, especially not when pregnant!” I inhaled, forced myself to calm down, and added, “I did not know I could make shoulder dragons until just now.”

Terry chuckled. “I hope nobody tells her about the fire horses. She’s going to be inconsolable if she can’t make fire horses. But if that gets her to do her exercises…”

On second thought, teaching my sister how to conjure fire cats and dragons might prevent her from trying to light water on fire, as she loathed the other exercises we were supposed to do. “I’ll see if I can figure out how to teach her how to conjure fire dragons and cats if she forgives me for being shot.”

“Nobody has told her you were shot yet. I highly recommended against us telling her until later. Much later—after you’re done at the hospital later.” Terry regarded me with wide eyes. “How long does it take for you to recover from a gunshot wound?”

“As I have never actually been shot before, I don’t know.”

“Do you think we can hide this from your sister for that long?”

“I highly doubt it, Terry.”

“We’re all doomed.”

* * *

It tookan hour for my talent to root out and eradicate the terrorists at the airstrip, and I endured the wait sitting on a tack box Eddie had unbolted with some help from Terry and dragged over so I wouldn’t have to keep standing on my bad leg. Unbeknownst to Daphne and those with the truck, a grouphadtailed them, but the RPS agents in hot pursuit had witnessed my herd converge, crash their vehicles, and eliminate them with extreme prejudice.

If they had evidence, the horses had shown no mercy, and I understood why.

My talent understood what those terrorists had been after, and he meant to make it clear to the world that nobody would be touching our family, not on our watch.

Then, one by one, the motes of fire and light returned to the cargo bay before winking out, leaving trails of smoke and little else in their wake.

As Eddie predicted, the plane had emerged without even a hint of soot on its pristine surface. While the RPS agents mourned over the bullet damage, I expected Will would repair his baby while getting another one, as there was only one thing better than having the world’s best horse cargo plane, and it was having two of the world’s best horse cargo planes.

I dug out my phone, sighed, and dialed my sister’s number, aware she’d light my ass on fire if I didn’t call her promptly.

“Are you all right?” my sister demanded.

“For the sake of this discussion, can we better define what you are asking?” I asked, wondering how to tell her I’d been shot, it hurt like hell, and I was about to have a bad day.

The instant the adrenaline wore off, I expected I would be a hair from crying.

Pain sucked, and I wanted nothing to do with it.

“You are not dying.”

“I am not dying,” I confirmed. “I have done a few bad things, however. Remember when I slipped my leash before you went on your walk around the Royal States?”

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