Standing, I nodded to the human assistant and walked toward the huge doors of Elder Wyrm’s office. I couldn’t think like that anymore. I wasn’t eleven years old, desperate to prove I was worth something. I wasn’t the pathetic, overlooked twin of the Elder Wyrm’s daughter. No, I had proved myself, to all of Talon, that I was worthy of my heritage. I was the Elder Wyrm’s right-hand man, the one she trusted with Talon’s most important campaign.
And someday, if everything worked out, I would lead all of Talon. Someday, this would all be mine. I was close, so very close, to achieving what I’d set out to do all those years ago. I couldn’t falter now.
The enormous wooden doors to the CEO’s office loomed above me, brass handles glimmering in the light. I didn’t knock or wait for the Elder Wyrm to call me in. I simply opened the doors and entered.
The Elder Wyrm was sitting at her desk, manicured nails clicking over the keyboard as her eyes scanned the computer screen. Her presence still filled the office, massive and terrifying, even though she wasn’t looking at me. I walked quietly across the room and stood at the front of the desk with my hands clasped behind my back. Having an open invitation into the Elder Wyrm’s office was one thing. Interrupting the Elder Wyrm, without waiting for her to acknowledge your presence, was another. I was heir to one of the largest empires in the corporate world, but she was still the CEO of Talon and the most powerful dragon in existence. Not even the son of the Elder Wyrm was exempt from protocol.
The Elder Wyrm didn’t say anything or look up from her task, and I waited silently for her to finish. Finally, she clicked the mouse button, pushed the keyboard tray beneath the desktop and looked up at me. Her green-eyed gaze, identical to Ember’s and my own, pierced the space between us.
“Dante.” She smiled and, unlike that of many other dragons who could only imitate a smile, hers seemed genuine. Of course, that was what made her so dangerous; you never knew if what she was showing you was real or not. “Good to see you again. How was your trip back?”
“It was fine, ma’am. Thank you.”
She nodded and rose, gesturing to the duo of chairs in front of the desk. I sank into one obediently and crossed my legs as the Elder Wyrm came around the desk to pin me with her stare. The weight of her gaze was suffocating, but I settled back with a calm yet expectant expression, careful not to show any fear.
“Plans are in motion,” the Elder Wyrm said, and her low voice sent a shiver down my spine. “Everything is nearly in place. There is just one thing missing now. One last thing we must take care of.”
My heart beat faster. I could guess what that final piece was. Of course it would be her. Even now, she didn’t realize her importance.
“Ember Hill must be retrieved,” the Elder Wyrm went on, her tone becoming frighteningly intense. The hairs on my arms rose, and something inside me shrank down in terror as the Elder Wyrm speared me with that terrible gaze. “It is imperative that she return to Talon. No more mistakes. This is what we are going to do...”
He’s gone.
I knelt in the salt, holding Garret’s motionless body in my lap as the sun climbed slowly over the flats and tinged the desolate landscape the color of blood. The soldier’s face was slack and pale, his skin still warm as he bled out in my arms. Around me, there were flurries of frantic movement, voices shouting, questions that might’ve been directed at me. But nothing seemed real. Garret was gone. I had lost him.
“Shit, he’s bleeding out fast.” This from Riley, kneeling on the opposite side of the soldier, holding a bloody cloth to his side. “We can’t wait for an ambulance—he’ll be dead in two minutes if we don’t do something now.”
“Here,” gasped another voice behind me. Tristan St. Anthony, Garret’s former partner and a soldier of St. George, dropped to his knees beside Riley. He carried a large plastic box and yanked the lid back, revealing an array of bandages, gauze and medical supplies. “I can do a transfusion right here,” Tristan said, pulling a long, clear tube from the bottom of the container, “but I don’t have the correct blood type. His body will reject it if it’s not a match.”
“What does he need?” Riley growled.
“O positive.”
“Shit.” Reaching into the box, Riley pulled out something that glittered metallically in the cold light. For just a second, he stared at it, as if trying to come to a decision. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and sliced the scalpel blade across his arm, right above the bend of his elbow. Blood welled and ran down his skin, and my stomach lurched.
Tristan’s eyes widened. “Are you—”
“Shut up and stick that tube in his arm before I regret this even more.”
Tristan scrambled to comply. Riley stood, holding the other end of the clear plastic, shaking his head. “I fucking can’t believe I’m doing this,” he growled again, and shoved the end of the tube into his bicep.
A dark stream of red ran from his arm, twisting lazily through the plastic, inching toward the dying soldier. Fascinated, I stared at the crimson stream, heart pounding, until Riley’s voice snapped me out of my numb daze.
“Don’t just sit there, Firebrand! How about you start patching him up before he starts leaking my blood all over the ground?”
I jumped, but Tristan was already moving, pulling out disinfectant, bandages and a needle and thread with grim determination. He glanced up, dark blue eyes meeting mine, and I saw the raw emotion behind his careful soldier’s mask. A lump caught in my throat, and I gently lowered Garret to the ground, then accepted the supplies thrust into my hands. For the next few minutes, we worked to keep the soldier we loved from dying on the barren flats outside Salt Lake City, while Riley loomed over us both, connected to Garret by a thin stream of red, his expression like a thundercloud.
Whoa, getting light-headed here.
I swayed, gritting my teeth, as a wave of dizziness washed over me, making me stagger back a step. Thankfully, Ember and St. Anthony, still bent over the soldier, didn’t seem to notice. They’d patched up his many wounds, either by wrapping them in gauze or sewing them shut, and he now lay between them on the salt flats, still as death and nearly as white as the ground beneath him. I looked at Ember, at the tear tracks staining her cheeks, and wondered if she would cry for me if I ever bit the dust.
“He still alive?” I asked gruffly.
The other soldier of St. George felt his wrist, then nodded once and sat back on his heels with a sigh. “Yeah,” he answered in an equally brusque voice. “For now.”
“Well, that’s good. I’d hate to be getting this nauseous for nothing.” I watched him carefully remove the tube from the soldier’s arm and tape the final wound shut. The end of the tube dropped to the ground and leaked my blood all over the salt.
“You should go,” St. Anthony said in a low voice, not looking at me. “Get him out of here. Before the rest of the Order shows up.”
I nodded wearily. “I’ll call Wes,” I told Ember. My human hacker friend waited on standby, ready to speed to our side if anything went wrong. I’d say this classified as very, very wrong. “He should be here in a few minutes.”
She nodded without looking up, her attention riveted to the soldier,