Page 33 of Dragons' Mate
Brown banks. We swerve a blink before hitting the barrier. The world tilts beneath me, my breath hitching at the sharp change of direction—and then again as fresh horror of realization strikes me. This chase, it isn’t about me at all. I’m nothing but a pawn, a piece of bait intended to lure my packmates out of bounds. And once they cross that glowing divide, they wouldn't be able to return.
My suspicions turn to terrifying certainty as I watch Quinton's sleek, silver form hurtle towards the boundary. His momentum, his speed, it’s all too much. He is on a collision course with the divide, and there is nothing I can do but watch.
I can see the moment Quinton realizes his predicament. He screeches, desperately backflipping, his wings beating against the air with feral urgency. But it’s no use. He’s too close. Even I know it.
Just as my throat closes around a howl, a massive purple dragon streaks across the sky. Tavias. With a mighty roar, he crashes into Quinton, his body a battering ram designed to knock the silver dragon off his catastrophic course.
They collide with a thunderous crash and no grace, the impact echoing through the sky. Quinton careens off course, barely missing the boundary, while Tavias is spun away, his flight momentarily erratic before he regains control. Blood smears both the dragons’ shining scales.
Emboldened by his near-success, Brown twists in the air, turning his attention to his next target. Cyril. My heart seizes as Brown begins his fatal dance once again, his large form banking and swerving, each move designed to lure Cyril toward disaster.
My fear over my predicament morphs to fury at Brown’s plan. So he and his ilk think they can use me against my pack, do they? That I’m nothing but a lure on the end of a fishing pole? Ettienne might have predicted the others weaponizing me, but he forgot one thing. They all did: My males are my pack, and I am theirs. And there is strength in that. Claws in that.
I happen to be one of those claws.
"Hauck!" I shout over the wind.
Fortunately, the dragon’s hearing is better than mine and the golden dragon turns toward me, his emerald eyes meeting mine with that familiar twinkle that takes me right back to the time that dragon and I spent in the clearing. The one when I had run my hands over his scales and marveled at his beauty without a shred of fear, because I trusted him. I hope Hauck’s dragon remembers that day too, because I need him to return that trust now.
I call his name again and point beneath me.
Hauck dives down without hesitation.
That's my cue. Pulling out my toothpick of a dagger that Cyril mocked, I do the one thing no one sane should—I jam the sharp blade into the sensitive webbing between the talons holding me.
The dragon screeches in pain, his claws opening on reflex.
And then I'm airborne.
My stomach drops as I free-fall through the air, the wind rushing loudly in my ears. Just as the ground begins to loom in terrifying clarity, a streak of gleaming gold appears beneath me. Hauck's dragon, banking out of the clouds like the mythical creature that he is. His massive body glides smoothly under my plummeting form, aligning with my fall.
It happens so fast, so seamlessly, that it's almost surreal. The jarring impact when I hit Hauck, the rush of relief flooding my senses, the lurch of my stomach as my abruptly arrested descent is replaced with the smooth, undulating movements of dragon flight.
Grabbing onto the scaled ridges of Hauck’s shoulders, I throw one leg over to straddle him. His body is a solid mass beneath me, warm and very alive, the strong muscles flexing with each powerful wing beat.
Above us, echoes of battle roars reverberate through the morning air, followed by the fierce, almost rhythmic thuds of a violent skirmish. Tavias, Cyril and Quinton, doling out the consequences. If the vitriol I feel pulsating through the bond is any indication, the fight will end in blood. I crane my neck to look, but the motion unbalances me.
I feel it coming the moment before it happens. My grip fails, my body sliding back, back, back along Hauck’s spine, the scales of his back a slick slide beneath me. I struggle to grab hold of something, anything, but I’m no match for gravity and momentum. There's a moment of startling emptiness, the air rushing past me with a cool indifference, and then the world jerks back into focus as Hauck's talons close around me as if catching a sack of, well, turnips.
So much for making a respectable entrance back to the ground.
There is a small shaking sensation that gives me the distinct feeling that Hauck is… laughing.
I scowl at him.
Hauck snorts. Then his muscles contract and, before I can process it, I'm tossed back up, my body following the arc of his throw. The world spins in a wild swirl of color, a kaleidoscope of the sky, earth, and dragon. A gasp escapes me, half-surprise, half-exhilaration as Hauck comes up beneath me once more. This time, the jarring impact is familiar. I scramble for purchase, regaining my seat once more. My heart pounds in my chest like a wild drum before laughter ripples out of me, a wild and untamed sound that melds with the roars of the dragon battle above.
I’m flying. I’m bloodyflying.
And stars, I like it.
Catching on to my mood, Hauck takes us into a looping spiral, repeating the human catch and release procedure when I inevitably lose my seat again. We are about to go for another round when two dragons, one blue and one amethyst rise up on either side of us, their fury palpable as they guide Hauck and me down to the ground.
I try to look contrite as I slide down Hauck's leg as if it were a shiny long slide, but despite my best intentions my grin gives me away. There are flashes of light all around me, Hauck, Tavias and Cyril returning to their fae forms. I don’t ask where Quinton is. By the violence still echoing through our bond I suspect he is dismembering someone right now.
From the way Tavias is standing, he is of a mind to take similar action.
"I don't know which of the two of you I want to kill first." Tavias splits his growl between me and Hauck, who has his arm looped around my waist, the high from flight still clinging to us both like an intoxicating perfume.
