Page 120 of Cast By Flames (Dragon's Breath)
He shrugged. “I’m not certain what brought it to the battlefield, but I found it killing and eating Kandoran while watching over the slayer.”
“A loyal yet odd creature,” she said with a twitch of her lips.
Galadon snorted, thinking he and his mother could agree on that point. “Yes.”
Ujala’s hands continued to glow as she healed Rayna’s internal injuries. “So, you and the fierce horse saved both slayers?”
“I suppose.” Where was she going with this?
A few minutes passed, and sweat began to bead his mother’s brows. “I’ve healed the worst of her injuries and feel reasonably confident Rayna will survive. She won’t return tobattle tomorrow night, but perhaps the night after that. It’s good her partner will be alive to fight with her.”
Ujala implied he only helped Hugo for the female slayer’s sake, which was true.
“You should stop if she’s healed enough,” he said, though he didn’t like seeing Rayna’s abdomen remaining open. He couldn’t imagine the pain she must feel even while asleep. Her scrunched brows and clenched fists gave him some clue.
Ujala shook her head. “I’ve got to close the wounds most of the way if she is to finish recovering on her own. The severe blood loss has slowed her regenerative abilities.”
Galadon noted the slayer’s skin was still quite pale when it was usually sun-kissed.
“But she will live?” he asked.
His mother smiled at him. “Yes. You won’t lose her today.”
He worked his jaw, refusing to take the bait. “I will return to the fight then.”
Though he didn’t really want to go, it was best he did. Not only because he had no business hovering over the wounded slayer now that she wasn’t at death’s door, but also because they needed him out there battling the enemy. He had to keep his priorities straight.
“Take care, son,” Ujala said, wistfulness in her gaze.
They’d still barely spoken beyond when it was necessary. Galadon couldn’t forgive her for leaving him as a child with only the excuses she’d given upon her arrival with the Craegud. Heknew she’d corner him eventually for a lengthier talk, but at least it wouldn’t be now.
“Just make sure she lives.” Then he walked out the door, resisting the urge to look back.
Chapter 37
Miles
They trampled the ground, eyes rimmed in red as they moved with murderous intent. It was another wave of infected humans heading their way. Miles had served in Afghanistan with the Marines, but he faced a different level of evil in this war.
Their enemy didn’t fight for religion, freedom, or any notable cause—even an illegitimate one. They slaughtered their fellow humans because that’s what their masters told them to do, and they lacked a conscience to question it. Not once in the past two weeks had he seen them show signs of remorse, pity, or compassion. The only discernible emotions Miles had seen from them were anger or glee at harming those who stood against them.
Even when injured, they felt the pain but not the fear of further harm. They simply fought until they couldn’t anymore without food or water. From the stench of them, they didn’t stop to relieve themselves, either. He hated when they got too close.
The Kandoran scared the hell out of him, but not being able to stop them terrified him more. Humanity would be lost if their enemy won. Politics played no part in this war, only survival.
He braced himself for the onslaught. Bailey and Brody took down as many as possible, slashing their swords with ruthless intensity,butrelied on the human forces behind them to finish the rest. Miles didn’t know how the two slayers stood alone against such a massive wave.
He used to resent them for their abilities, but since the war began, his respect had grown. They never hesitated to put their lives on the line and always took on the most dangerous enemies to spare the more fragile human army. The pair could kill ten times as many as his team. Miles and his troops had to work together to stand a chance against far more powerful foes. They also tired more easily and had to rest more often, so they rotated during the night. The slayers rarely took a break except to urinate, and they usually just squatted next to a dead dragon for that.
“Get ready!” he ordered his squad of twelve.
They held shields before them side-by-side, taken from the local police station’s riot gear. He’d borrowed tactics from the ancient Greeks and taught his troops the phalanx when preparing for the war. It had made a difference in their survival rate, and those other squads who hadn’t adopted it did so after they saw how effective it was—though his guys were still the best. He’d only lost two guys so far since the fighting began a couple of weeks ago.
Each soldier held a spear in one hand and a shield in the other.
“Hold,” he said.
It wasn’t easy to do while watching the intelligent yet crazed Kandoran come at them. Not one of his men balked. Theystayed still until the enemy came within three feet of them, and then they thrust out their spears.
