12. Vael-Torin
VAEL-TORIN
A tentacle slams into the earth inches from my left boot, spraying mud across my chest plate. I roll, my wings tucking tight to avoid the whip of another limb. This beast is a relentless machine of chitin and teeth.
My mind races as I circle the monster, searching for a weak point in its armor. This entire moon is a setup. The mad king must have somehow engineered this nightmare. He sent Draegons to be slaughtered for entertainment.
Pol’s father is an insane tyrant, and I owe his throne nothing but a blade.
He will get what he deserves.
The monster lunges, its mouth spinning like a meat grinder. I pivot, dodging the curved needle teeth by a hair's breadth.
Behind the tree line, Poppy is watching.
The thought injects a heavy dose of adrenaline into my veins. I want her to see my strength. I want her to witness the prowess of the warrior she claimed on the metal table last night.
The beast strikes again, faster this time. A row of teeth grazes the waist of the tech pants, shearing through the cloth. A fraction of an inch closer, and it would have torn my balls open.
That would be a true travesty, what with my mate finally within reach.
I catch my balance, planting my heels deep into the soil.
As the mouth comes down for a final bite, I reach up.
My talons lock onto the beast’s foul upper jaw.
I strain, my biceps bunching as I force the maw wide open.
I lean in and unleash the fire in my chest, pouring purple fire directly down its gullet.
It’s a rare thing for a Draegon to have the wildfire in this age, but it’s kept me alive for years, and it will again.
The beast stiffens.
Light glows through the cracks in its chitin before it collapses into the dirt, a smoking mountain of dead meat.
I step back, my breathing ragged as I wipe black slime from my jaw.
"Poppy," I call out, turning toward the brush. "The threat is handled. You can come back to me."
Silence answers me.
I frown, stepping into the thick foliage where I ordered her to hide. She is not there.
I look down, and my blood turns to ice. The sharp stick she wielded lies abandoned in the mud. Beside it, the moss is violently torn, deep grooves dragging backward into the dark canopy. A second, foul scent hangs in the air.
A heavy wave of intense shame hits me, so hard I nearly drop to my knees. Terror follows.
I am a warrior, trained and tried.
Yet I allowed a distraction to compromise my mate’s safety. How did this happen? Why did I let my guard down?
The shame burns away, replaced by a blinding fury.
I throw my head back and release a deafening battle cry that shakes the leaves above. Dropping into a low crouch, I begin to track her scent through the jungle.
I may not trust her yet, may not know her—but she is mine.