Page 22 of Red Dragon’s Flame

“Fuck,” Michelangela said, still listening in on the captured headset. “They know we’re in the elevator. They’re coming up the stairs.”

The building was sixteen stories high, and they were only halfway to the top. How fast could these people move?

“Did they say which stairwell?”

“East.”

He looked down at Shadow again, at Brock who was already growling and flexing his fingers, the tips of his wolf’s claws appearing and receding. At Michelangela, whose gaze was steady, but who was his responsibility.

He couldn’t take the chance.

He hit the button for the next floor.

“What are you doing?” Michelangela asked.

“Slowing them down.”

He reluctantly handed Shadow to Brock, finding he had a hard time letting go of her. All his instincts were screaming, Protect her!

But he had to protect them all.

Brock met his eyes. “I’ll take care of her.”

“We both will,” Michelangela promised.

He didn’t want them to have to.

They pressed themselves against the walls as the doors opened, Brock shielding Shadow with his body, but there was no one in the hallway.

Mikah stepped out of the elevator and the doors shut on his friends.

He ran for the east stairwell and pushed the door open a few inches, listening. There were at least half a dozen of them, in heavy boots like the dead human had worn, coming up fast.

He hoped there were none in the other stairwell, but he’d left the headset with Michelangela so she and Brock would have some warning if they were about to get ambushed.

As the soldiers rounded the corner of the stairwell on the floor below him, clattering upward, Mikah stepped out and leaned over the railing.

He sent a burst of stun magic right into them, bowling them over and sending them tumbling down the stairs, tangled together in a mess of limbs and guns and riot gear.

They’d been smarter this time, after what had happened to their friends—bringing more people and more protection.

But not smart enough.

He cast a spell shield throughout the entire stairwell, between them and him, and then began bounding upward, using his dragon strength and agility to leap from railing to railing, moving as fast as possible.

He heard the wolf snarls just before he burst out through the roof door. Brock and Michelangela were under attack.

Damn it all to hell, their enemies must have come up both ways after all.

He burst through the door. Brock could barely be seen, rolling in a flurry of fur and teeth with three or four soldiers. Michelangela was also in wolf form, standing protectively over Shadowfire and dodging bullets from another soldier, hidden behind an air vent.

Mikah’s heart lurched into his throat.

He bounded across the roof and dove on the gunman, slamming his head against the roof. He went limp. Mikah turned to help Brock—and froze.

Rising over the edge of the roof was a winged man wearing all black, a calf-length trench coat rippling in the breeze. The shiny black of his wing feathers glinted under the city lights. He was impossibly beautiful and yet utterly terrifying, and his eyes glowed eerie blue, like flickering electricity. He held some kind of crossbow—also black—and as he caught sight of Mikah, he raised it and shot.

His sudden paralysis shattered, and Mikah dodged barely in time. His dragon burst out of his skin, roaring, and sent a gout of fire at the winged creature, not caring who else in the city might see.