My heart stops, panic rising like an avalanche—my next breath a cold blast that frosts my teeth.
The rider perched between its spread wings bellows at the beast to cast us in flames. Tokill. As if this dae hasn’t already chewed us to the bone.
“Get down!” I scream, spinning to face the dragon head-on.
Pyrok belts out something I don’t hear over my lilting beg for Clode to harden the air. To be bold and strong.
To blow me away with her fucking brilliance.
Above all, I challenge her tokeep
Kaan
alive.
She releases a giddy shriek, whipping around like she’s shaping the bars of a cage I beg her to fortify with all her might, flipping up my hood as I remind her of her beauty. Her fierceness. Her strength.
Flame bludgeons past the Moltenmaw’s piercing sabers, erupting toward us—
For a moment, I’m not here … but imprisoned beneath a mountain, heart in my throat, muscles tight. Preparing to be painted in flames by a male whose fingers are itched raw.
My hands thrust forward on instinct. Something I always wanted to do but never could—chained to a table while fire forged me into a monster. Something that claps me back to reality.
The dragonflame hits.
I’m quietly aware of the runes all over my hands and forearmsilluminating; a patchwork of radiant scars. A visceral ode to the many burns my flesh has swallowed over the phases. But only the cocoon of flames bear witness to my shame.
She’s doing it.
She’s holding back the dragonfire …
I stand strong against the eviscerating flood ricocheting off Clode’s sturdy barrier, singing impenetrable notes despite my frozen shock. Heat batters my face, sweat dripping from my skin, the taste of blood tainting every word that gusts off my tongue.
Clode releases a pained cry that slits into my soul—
The flames ease in unison with the dragon’s gusty overtake. Clode’s cage gives way, crushing me with a swell of smoke.
I choke breath, eyes burning. Turn to see Roan and Pyrok still crouched over Kaan’s limp body, coughing, looking at me with expressions akin to horror. Something that was bound to happen sooner or later.
“How did—” Roan swallows, straightening his spectacles. “How did you do that?”
“Told Clode how spectacular she is,” I rasp, then wobble, batting the air. “Neverunderestimate”—cough-cough—“the power of a good compliment.”
The distant thunder of boots thumping stone is the only warning I get before somethingpingsin the distance. There’s a painful pinch in my right thigh, silencing Clode’s pissed-off, pained melody.
Iron pin.
You asshole.
Snarling, I turn to see a contingent of Bothaimian guards charging through the alleyway toward us, sprinting past peels of mist and smoke.
Weapons drawn.
Teeth bared.
Necks tensed with the promise of songs I won’t be able to combat. Fuck it.
“Get him out!” I roar to the others behind me, stalking forward as I rip twin daggers from my sheaths. Toss them so fast my motions blur.
