Chapter Thirty-Seven. When You Can’t Just Watch
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
WHEN YOU CAN’T JUST WATCH
JAMES
Poachers climb out of the crashing waves in curses and insults. On the rocks and beach saddled Sprinters wait for their riders.
“Damn brat.” The leader, who taunted us, hauls himself out of the water.
“We can’t find Denvers,” another man yells.
An unmoving body lays among the gold Farren dropped at the cavern entrance. My insides turn. He wasn’t fast enough. Then something even sicker intrudes on my thoughts. One less threat.
The leader ditches his mask and bright blond hair snags my attention. I knew that voice sounded familiar. Art Whimbley, lead scaler for my father. He watched as my father broke my arm. Didn’t shout, didn’t object, but smiled as my bones snapped.
“Denvers knew the risks. Now go! Get her,” Art commands his fellow drenched men. I wonder how many more I know, how many I’ve worked beside? Nausea turns my stomach. The descaling team have always scared me. You don’t go into the profession unless you don’t mind pain, seeing it, inflicting it.
In all the chaos I’m forgotten. But also, Farren might be right.
They don’t know about the hatchlings. All three are still back in the tunnels, hidden in stone and darkness.
Well trained by our hide-and-seek games, I know they won’t be coming out for a long time.
I slide off Hort. Maybe I can stop all this.
As the men leap onto their dragons and Art wrenches his mask back on, I call out, “Don’t move.”
Art swivels, considers me. “Young Murphy,” he drawls. “I was hoping I was just seeing things.” He shuffles, water dripping from his black clothes and silver-metaled chest plate. “Why don’t you not move. This isn’t your fight and you don’t want it to be.”
At this, I do stop. His tone has lost the threatening edge he had with Farren. He wants me to lay down and with a sickening thud I know why.
“My father sent you,” I say.
His head tilts and Art smirks.
“Call this off and you can have all this.” I wave to the gold at my feet. “Abandon my father’s plans and take it.”
“And what if we already have?” He turns for his dragon.
His words don’t make sense. But I don’t have long to process them before he’s jumping onto his Sprinter.
I should fly in the opposite direction to the wedding.
The scalers’ backs are to me, the golden giant flying through the air a perfect distraction.
I know this. As veterinarians to these magnificent creatures we can’t let fear stop us from intervening, we can’t sit by, and we can’t just watch.
Neither can I, not with nine men tearing through the sky after Farren and Nity. Not when she needs me.