Page 30 of Under the Iron Sky

Soraya was sure things couldn’t get any worse—until the Demon stood from the saddle, the crimson at the very tips of his horns shining as though dipped in fresh blood, and began walking down the side of the dragon’s body.

He was coming for her.

Shit!

She pulled the control stick again. Nothing. She jabbed every button on the dash, turned every gear in the desperate hope there was please Gods something she could use to halt death stalking toward her.

All of it met with more cracking and the sound of metal groaning under the force of those giant jaws grinding her jet to scraps.

The Demon wove a hand through the air and the shattered canopy was torn away.

Now open to the elements, a bitter wind scratched across Soraya’s face like icy claws, pulling loose pieces of golden hair from her twist to lash across her cheeks like whips.

She’d thought each flap of the dragon’s wings was loud before, but they were near deafening without the protection of the canopy.

The Demon strode down the dragon’s body, connected to the saddle by what looked like a black chain clipped against his hip, his steps slow and unhurried like he was taking an afternoon stroll and not suspended dozens of miles in the air.

He crouched down by the torn lip of the cockpit, towering over her. Residual magic crackled off him like sparks of cold electricity as he grasped the hilt of the large onyx sword strapped to his hip and leaned in until they were almost nose to nose.

Close enough for Soraya to grasp that godawful helmet by a horn and tear it off his face.

Short, silvery gray hair like pools of moonlight, and eyes so gray it was like looking into the Iron Sky itself.

If this was the last breath she’d ever take, she was thankful that time seemed to screech to a halt just then, that she was able to see those eyes widen in surprise, and was close enough to see fear ripple across that icy surface like cracks in a frozen lake as she grabbed the small gun concealed against her thigh with her free hand, pressed it between his eyes, and smiled.

She was fine dying here, just as long as she dragged him to hell with her.

Time resumed as she pulled the trigger, much faster as if to make up for the pause in the world where only they’d existed.

Everything happened at once.

Light flared against the Demon’s skin.

The dragon shrieked.

Then the fangs that held her in the skies were gone and she was falling, tumbling toward the ground like a falling comet.

She could’ve sworn the jet shimmered with red light just before she hit the side of one of the mountains, bouncing once, twice, skidding so fast she left a wave of burning orange sparks in her wake. Metal creaked and cracked, and she ricocheted off what remained of the cockpit so hard her skull sang.

Pain.

Screeching.

Then stillness.

Burning smoke filled her lungs. There must’ve been a fire somewhere. Soraya wished she had the strength to care. Wished she could think through the deep ache spearing across her temple enough to unbuckle herself and escape. Her body was too heavy for any of that. Her eyelids felt like they were being pulled down, but just before she closed them, she saw a black shadow land by the wreckage of her craft, a figure with two curved horns sat atop it.

9

Soraya’s back was warm when consciousness found her again. It felt nice. Like she was lying on the sunbaked white sandy beaches of the Anabarian coast. She used to love her summers there with her family as a child.

Reality returned with the boom of large wings, reminding her exactly where she was.

On Black Shadow’s back.

With the Demon.

Keeping her eyes closed and her movements small, Soraya shifted experimentally. Nothing was broken as far as she could tell. Her ribs and shoulder were quite sore—though far less than they should’ve been considering the height she’d fallen from. Her toes flexed when called upon, as did all her fingers. Her weapons seemed to be gone—no surprise there—and when she tried to move her wrists …