Dakota spotted them coming and ran toward them. With the loss of Kai, Dakota had moved up to train as a Death Dealer, at Jackson’s request. He now served as Jackson’s partner and protégé. The younger boy vibrated with energy. This would be his first retrieval, and his dark eyes shone with excitement. “Hey, Jackson.”
Elijah shot Dakota a quick frown of disapproval at the familiar greeting.
Jackson bit back a smile.
Dakota had been his best friend since they were kids, hundreds of years. There was no way he was going to bow or address Jackson as King Maynard in any other than the most formal of circumstances. Nor did Jackson expect him to.
Elijah on the other hand…Well, Elijah stood firmly on tradition.
The men came to attention at his arrival. They stood, helmets in hand, and awaited their orders. Twelve men all together. Twelve Death Dealers. His team. All of them had more experience than him, though none had trained harder or for more situations, and yet he would lead them. He would be responsible for them. Success or failure would fall squarely on Jackson’s shoulders. It was a heavy burden in addition to the responsibility for every inhabitant of the kingdom he now ruled. A small throb started at the back of his eyes. He struggled to ignore it and focus on Elijah’s words.
“You will intercept a small military plane, force it down, and return with its occupants. There should be eight men all together. The plane is equipped with guns, which shouldn’t be a problem for you to avoid. Once you have the plane on the ground, I’ll be able to tear it open so you may retrieve the men. They will also be armed.” He studied each of their faces, his gaze lingering for a moment on Dakota. “Any questions?”
When they shook their heads, Jackson nodded, and they dispersed and headed for the pens. He approached Dakota. “You know what to do?”
Eagerness lit his eyes. “I’m good.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I do have a question, though. If Elijah can rip the plane open, why can’t he just crash it and…well…you know…the occupants would perish in the crash?”
It was a good question, and it pleased Jackson he’d thought to ask. No one outside of the Death Dealer squad knew anything about what they did or how they worked. Dakota had received his battle training with the Cymmeran Guard—and he was an exceptional soldier—but he had no specialized training to be a Death Dealer. That knowledge would all come from first-hand experience and training with his squad.
“When we retrieve subjects—” People. “—from the human realm, their bodies must be intact for them to be re-born in our realm.”
Dakota frowned. “So how do we…you know.”
How do we what? Jackson pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes. Commit murder? He let his hand drop to his side. “Ideally, a straight shot through the heart, but if that’s not possible a head shot will suffice as well.”
An image came unbidden. Ryleigh, hidden beneath a chair, her hand clamped over Mia’s mouth, flames and smoke surrounding them. Her eyes filled with fierce determination to keep her sister safe. She should have been nothing more than a target. Yet he’d been unable to take the shot. Had failed to achieve his goal.
What if the same thing happened again? He’d been alone last time, able to make the choice to abort the mission at the last second and face the consequences. This time his entire team would be standing behind him. What if he choked? Couldn’t complete the mission? Again.
“Jackson.”
Startled by the volume of his demand, Jackson turned to face Dakota. He hadn’t even realized they’d stopped walking.
The other boy stood staring at him, scowl firmly in place.
“I’m sorry. I guess my mind wandered. Did you ask me something?”
“I said, will I be expected to make a retrieval this time?”
“No. Probably not for a while yet. You will observe and watch our backs. You may engage in battle if there is one, just make sure you stay at my side no matter what. Even during the simplest mission things can go wrong.”
Dakota nodded, his expression serious. Good. He wasn’t taking it lightly. Even though retrievals were fairly routine—the thought of Ryleigh laying into him for thinking so casually about ending eight men’s lives battered him—you never knew what would happen.
“Ride safely, my friend.” He clapped Dakota on the back before they separated and walked to their pens.
Jackson approached cautiously, making sure Ophidian knew it was him.
The dragon snorted. A puff of black smoke shot from each nostril.
“Hello, boy. Are you ready to ride?”
When he lowered his head in invitation, Jackson climbed the black scales and swung onto the dragon’s back. He slid carefully between the two large, curved spikes protruding from the back of Ophidian’s neck and secured the strap behind his back. With a firm grip on the spikes, he squeezed his legs together until the slim, sleek dragon lifted into the air. His smooth undulations maneuvered them through the stable and into the night sky.
Dakota took his place slightly behind him. The remainder of the Death Dealer squad followed in pairs in their traditional formation with Jackson now at the point.
At least this was a role he was prepared for, a role he had trained his entire existence for. Light poured down from the multicolored stars, but none of it reflected from the black dragon or his rider. The dragon’s scales and the Death Dealer’s armor absorbed the light, assuring a glint at an inopportune moment wouldn’t give them away. Jackson shifted his weight to the right.
Ophidian’s response was immediate, as if man and beast were one.
The compact, solid muscles flexing beneath Jackson lent him confidence. Energy flowed through him. The thrill of the hunt charged through his veins. A pang of guilt followed. Jackson cursed. His role as a Death Dealer was the only absolute certainty he had amid a sea of confusion, insecurity, and fear. Damn Ryleigh for taking that from him. She didn’t understand. She wasn’t from his world. How dare she judge him?
A space of intense blackness opened before them. Jackson’s heart rate kicked up as he embraced the jolt of adrenaline that rushed through him. He leaned forward, laying his upper body against the dragon’s neck. They tore through the portal at lightning speed.
Once through, when the stars around them all shone white, he lifted his head. His gaze met the pilot’s look of sheer terror. He jerked Ophidian hard to the left, barely avoiding a head on collision with the aircraft. He’d overshot the target, had opened the portal a few seconds too late. His mind had been too pre-occupied, thoughts of Ryleigh consuming him. He circled around, a tight loop to be sure his team had all avoided catastrophe. He knew better, had been trained to go into battle fully focused. No matter what. He blanked his mind, shoving everything but the mission at hand brutally aside. His men were once again perfectly aligned. They circled the aircraft.
Flashes of gunfire lit the night. The dragons easily avoided the shots. Human limitations were no match for the speed and agility of the dragons. The Death Dealers dove directly toward the windows. Retreated. Dove again. Pulled back. Several of his men rose above the plane.
The soldiers pressed their faces against the windows, trying desperately to keep track of the strange creatures they wouldn’t understand.
Jackson and his team worked methodically to force the plane toward the ground.
The pilot resisted.
A huge gust of air slammed downward, and the plane lurched and dropped. Jackson smiled. With Elijah helping them force the plane down, it shouldn’t take long. Jackson rounded the front of the plane.
The co-pilot held a handset against his mouth,