Page 8 of A Dragon's Desire (The Pretern Wars 2)

But the wind stole the sound as he tumbled down, down, down.

Only a couple of the men he’d served with even watched and none tried to help.

There were all busy staring in terror at the outline of a beast so massive, it seemed to blot out the entire sky.

“The dragon,” somebody said.

Adam fired, then fired again.

Somebody else down the line sited on the beast’s hide, the scales glimmering gold even in the poor light. As it grew closer and closer, Neil, a former sharp-shooter who’d served in Vietnam, locked on the monster.

“I got it,” Neil said.

He fired, lip curling as he anticipated the spray of blood.

The dragon’s mouth gaped open, spitting fire. Then, with an aerodynamic grace that should have been impossible for something so large, the creature angled its body and swept down, then up, so close, they felt the wind from its passing.

“Watch ou—”

The warning was cut short, the men ducking lower as the dragon’s tail lashed out unexpectedly, striking the face of the mountain and sending large chunks of stone and debris crashing down before the big lizard started to climb back into the sky.

“What...the...fuck...”

The man who’d been following up behind Adam collapsed against the wall, his knees weak.

“Oh, shit! Rand!”

There was no answer.

They’d been cut off from their leader, the trail before them buried under stone, dirt and debris.

Bud, the de facto leader with Rand out of reach and Joe lying dead somewhere fall below, spun around and pointed back down the trail. “Fall back! We ain’t staying out here for that thing to come back and take another shot! We’ve already passed a couple of caverns on this trail. Start...oh. Oh, fuck...no! Adam!”

Adam half-turned, his face already deathly white. He lifted a hand to Charlie Osteen, the next in line behind him, clutched at his shirt.

Shouts, screams rose up as the wide, gaping slice across Adam’s throat spurted out more blood while the young man tried to speak.

“Adam...” Charlie said in a weak voice. “Oh, fuck, no...”

Adam, eyes already going dull, sank to the ground, unable to reply. He was dead in less than a minute.

THE THUNDER HAD ALREADYdied down, although the driving rain did help muffle some of the pathetic, mewling cries Sorin heard from the men he’d seen on the mountain’s steep trail.

If they’d left him alone, they could have kept on their merry way.

They didn’t so some had died.

Nobody lifted a weapon to a great dragon and lived.

He should have just burned the lot of them to nothing but ash and bits of bone, but that strange magic still called to him.

And it was close. So close.

Not wanting to send the magic’s bearer scrambling for cover—or a weapon, he searched for a spot where he’d be hidden from view by anybody on the path, from either side, and then he plummeted.

The rain pounded down but he ignored it, focusing on the traces of scent he could pick up. Blood. Fear. Burning wood—

Frowning, he flew above the trail and peered over, saw the tree that had been struck by lightning. It still burned and the dry shrubbery around it smoked, not yet giving up despite the pounding rain.

With a simple flex of his magic, the fire died, leaving nothing but smoke and the skeletal remnants of the tree. Part of him thought perhaps he should have let it burn. If those sorry mongrels still struggling along the path burned to death, that would be fewer humans preying on their own kind, and on any magic-bearing creature.

But fire rarely behaved and could too easily spread out of control. Since he wasn’t going to linger and monitor the progress, it was best he douse the flames there.

Task done, he adjusted his flight path for the trailhead, following that tantalizing magic, the tug in his gut a visceral, demanding thing.

What was it calling to him?

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