Page 80 of Just Dare Me
Jay is motioning silently for everybody to clear the street, to take cover in the nearby buildings, when a shadow passes quickly over the crowd before streaking down the street toward the RenCen. Hundreds of eyes turn up to the sky, where—I shit you not—a big-ass black dragon, huge as a house, drops into a dive straight at the hellhound.
I’m not gonna lie. My jaw drops as hard as any of these humans. I’ve seen way more than my fair share of the underworld’s mad, bad, and dangerous, but I never dreamed I’d ever see a dragon. It’s rare enough just to know of one. And I do know this one—it’s Nick Gorgeous, of course.
He dive-bombs the hellhound, spreading his wings at the last possible second and leading out with his taloned feet.
“Nick!” Nora screams with worry.
The impact of the tackle shakes the ground. Dragon and hellhound tumble over each other, biting and clawing, crashing through the visitor’s lobby of the RenCen, then chasing each other back across the street, blowing out second- and third-floor windows of the hotel with lashing tails and streams of fire.
The monster mash moves toward us. A spell of frozen disbelief and awe is broken. The crowd stampedes, trampling cars and police officers and each other, desperate to clear the street. Jay helps injured people into a nearby deli.
I don’t move a muscle. Rooted to the spot, a quivering leaf clinging to a branch in the direct path of a tornado, I watch the battle not with hope but with certainty that Nick can win this fight. Or maybe it’s a certainty that if he can’t, nobody can.
The dragon charges at the hellhound, relentless and dominating, raking talons across the dog’s face, opening deep gouges in its black flesh. Lowering his head, Nick rams the beast in the chest, spearing it with two massive horns. The hound is pinned on its back, scraping with its claws, but unable to penetrate the dragon’s thick scales.
Nick twists his head, gouging deeper into the demon’s chest. I’ve all but called game over on the match when the hound convulses, its mouth erupting with yellow-green fire. The dragon rears back with a piercing cry.
Delirious with fright, Nora again screams out to Nick as the hellhound, now released, presses the dragon back with a concentrated beam of green death. Nick throws a wing up as a shield, but is still forced back, bellowing in pain. He stumbles, scampers away, then flees into the sky, forcing news helicopters to scatter. The hound unleashes a victorious roar to the heavens.
Arael Moaz, East Side demon horde master, warmonger, and mythic-powered hellhound, now has free reign over the city of Detroit. Nothing and no one to stand in his way.
Except me.
I don’t mean to do it. It’s fear—not bravado—that keeps me standing alone in the middle of the street. It’s not defiance but the delay of shock that paralyzes me, fastens my eyes on the back of its head.
He can feel it, too. Slowly, the hound turns, provoked by what it must think is ridiculous-but-pesky defiance, the way a human becomes irritated by a gnat.
And then a funny thing happens. An incredible thing. The longer the beast stares into my eyes, the more threatening steps it takes toward me, the more I myself start to feel that thisperceiveddefiance is becoming the real thing. Otherwise, how could I maintain this eye contact? Why am I not cowering back or turning away?
I know why. It’s because of my circle—that tiny sphere of ownership, which for so long only encircled myself, then grew to include Jay, then again to envelop my closest friends and family. Powered by a dominance that seems to have endless strength and power to claim beyond any distance or border, my circle suddenly swells to impossible proportions. It now matches the boundaries of my heart, which are vast but clearly defined by one word, and that word is Detroit.
There’s no holding back now. There’s no catching this tiger by the tail before it reaches the demon dog, and so I simply let it go. I glare into those cataract eyes and let my challenge be felt. It’s not audible, and yet it screams these three words: DETROIT. IS. MINE.
Arael Moaz hesitates. The hound breaks from my stare to glance up to the sky, where the black dragon circles. Then back to me. The dog bares its sharp, jagged teeth in a demonic snarl, then spins and bounds away.
Challenge accepted. The chase is on. I lunge into my Crap-pile, slam the door, jerk the shifter. The passenger door flies open. Nora drops into the seat.
“Not a chance!” I shout.
“Not a choice!” she counters.
I don’t have time to argue, because here comes Jay, running toward my car. I’m willing—I even expect—to give my life for Detroit, but I can’t do that if Jay’s with me. I hit the gas, leaving him screaming in my rearview mirror. After one last, lingering look at him, I tighten my grip on the wheel and push the gas pedal to the floor.
“This was Director West’s plan all along,” I tell Nora as we slide around corners and dart between crashed cars. “She wanted to unleash Arael Moaz, then take him down in front of everybody, so the public would see we’re on their side. Nick’s here to finish the job. He was in on it!”
“You’re wrong! He knew nothing about this.”
“Then how’s he here at just the right time?”
“Because I texted him.”
“After I told you not to?”
“It’s a good thing I did. We can’t do this without Nick. But he’s saying he can’t take another hit from that green fire.”
“Wait, you can hear him right now?”
“Not very clearly. He’s too far up.” She leans forward to look up through the windshield. Nick’s dragon follows our course.
