Page 4 of Tater
The dragon stretched, eagerly. “Let me out.”
“Not yet.”
Branches clawed overhead as she veered off the main road onto an old service trail that cut through the woods. Mud splashed on the tires that were fighting for grip. The Hades Hellhounds didn’t hesitate — they followed, shouting, laughing, guns flashing dull red in the storm light.
One pulled alongside her, close enough that she could see the grin behind his visor. He raised the pistol.
Ren leaned hard, and slammed her boot into his side, she felt him spin out and vanish into the dark with a crash of metal and curses.
“Next mother fucker,” she hissed.
Two more closed in. Ren could feel their heat, and their hatred. The dragon’s voice drowned out the storm. “Now.”
She let it out.
Fire crawled out from under her skin, bright veins across her arms. The next bullet that hit her flattened against invisible scales and dropped smoking into the mud. Ren’s vision sharpened — every raindrop a slow, perfect bead. The world narrowed to breath, heartbeat, target.
Ren twisted in the saddle and exhaled a stream of white-hot flame.
It wasn’t enough to torch the forest — just a whip of fire that caught one Hellhound’s front tire. Rubber shrieked. His bike skidded sideways and slammed into a tree.
The rest scattered for half a heartbeat, then regrouped. Wolves around a bigger predator.
That was when she saw the van parked sideways across the trail up ahead — no lights, doors open.
Ambush inside the ambush.
The dragon snarled. “Trap.”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “Figured that out.”
She dropped gears, let the rear tire slide, aimed for the narrow gap on the left. Something metallic flickered — wire, stretched between trees. Too late.
It caught Her front wheel. The bike pitched. The world flipped. Ground, sky, ground.
Pain exploded through her shoulder. The dragon’s roar filled her skull. She hit the mud hard enough to knock the air out of herself. The bike crashed somewhere behind.
Boots thudded closer. Voices. Laughter.
“Well, look what crawled outta the myths,” one said. “Prez’s pet lizard.”
Ren rolled to her knees, spitting blood, hand finding the knife at her boot.
Five shapes circled. One had a crowbar. One carried chain. Another still had the pistol.
“Let’s see if she bleeds gold,” the one with the chain said.
The dragon rumbled low. “Show them.”
She stood.
Rain steamed off her. Heat rolled through the clearing. Their laughter faltered as the fire lit beneath her skin again, bright cracks of light tracing her arms.
“Run,” she said.
They didn’t.
She moved.
