Chapter 13
Wren
I’m running away as fast as I can when someone grabs me from behind, lifting me off my feet. All I know is that they’re big and seriously strong.
It’s one of them.
“No!” I scream, kicking and thrashing. My heel connects with something solid. He grunts but doesn’t release his hold on me.
“You Mainland bitch!” he snarls in my ear. “You think you’re helping us? You’re poisoning us. You and all the other humans working for them. You’re the enemy.”
“I’m not—” I gasp, clawing at his arms. My nails rake across his skin, but he just tightens his grip, crushing the air from my lungs. “I’m just doing my job. I’m—”
“Your job?” He laughs, and it’s an ugly sound. “You’re pumping that shit into our veins. Just another Mainland puppet.”
“That’s not true.” Panic floods through me. These shifters are completely deranged. Don’t they understand that the vaccinations save lives? That without them, Hemorrhagic Fever could wipe out everyone on this island?
“Let me go!” I scream, fighting harder. My feet kick uselessly in the air. He’s carrying me toward the clinic entrance. Inside, Sally’s eyes are wide with terror.
She slams her hand against the lock mechanism. There is a heavy click of the deadbolt sliding into place. She drags a sofa in front of the door as we arrive there.
Thank goodness.
The male holding me lets out a roar of frustration. He shifts me in his arms, and I get my first good look at him. He’s bald, with mean, cold eyes. There is a scar running down the side of his face.
He charges at the clinic door with me still in his grip.
I scream as we hit the glass. The impact jolts through my whole body, rattling my teeth. But the door holds.
“Sally!” I cry out. “Call for help!”
Sally fumbles with her phone. Her hands are shaking so badly that she nearly drops it.
I wriggle and kick and try to make the deranged shifter’s life more difficult. The male pulls back and slams into the door again. Crap! He’s going to break the glass.
“Stop it.” I’m sobbing now, still fighting him, even though I know that escape is useless. He’s too strong. Way too strong. “Please, just let me go!” I wriggle.
“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to us,” he snarls. “All of you are.”
Over his shoulder, I see Grim. My heart clenches at the sight of him. He’s surrounded by seven or eight males now, all of them armed. They’re beating him down. I watch as a chain wraps around his ankle and yanks him off his feet.
“Grim!” his name rips from my throat.
Then he’s on the ground. They’re kicking him. Hitting him with clubs and chains.
No, no, no.
This can’t be happening.
Grim rolls, barely avoiding a boot to his face. He grabs someone’s leg and pulls, bringing the male crashing down. But there are too many of them and only one of him.
They’re going to kill him. I scream bloody murder. I’m angry and so very afraid.
He looks at me. Our eyes meet for a second, and then he looks at the shifter holding me, and they narrow with rage.
One of the males kicks him in the kidneys; another is about to kick him in the head.
Then his whole body convulses, and for a second, I am sure that he is dying. Instead, his body starts to expand.
Holy freaking shit.
I’ve heard about this. Seen videos during my training. I’ve even seen dragons from a distance…always from a distance. Nothing could have prepared me for witnessing one of them shift in person.
Grim’s bones start to crack. The sound is horrifying – like branches snapping. His back arches, his spine elongating, reshaping.
I’m frozen, watching in horrified fascination as scales push through his flesh. They’re black as midnight.
His face contorts. His jaw extends, teeth becoming fangs. His beautiful dark eyes glow with an inner fire.
Wings burst from his shoulder blades. They unfurl, massive and leathery, blocking out the sun.
The males who were beating him scatter, their weapons clattering to the pavement as they run.
And then there’s nothing human left. Just a monster. A crazed beast. Terrifying, but magnificent.
Where Grim stood moments ago, there’s now a dragon.
His head is gigantic, with horns that curve back from his skull. Bright blue stripes wind down his neck, along his sides, making patterns that are beautiful.
He’s easily the size of a city bus. Maybe bigger.
The male holding me stops trying to break through the clinic door. His arms go rigid around me.
“Shit,” he whispers. “Shit, shit, shit. What the fuck is he doing?” Louder this time.
He renews his efforts, slamming his shoulder against the door with frantic desperation. The glass cracks. Not much, but enough to send a web of fractures spreading across the surface.
I can’t take my eyes off Grim’s dragon.
His head swivels, those glowing eyes scanning the parking lot where shifters that were once beating on Grim are now scattering, desperate to get away. The whole transformation only lasted seconds, even though it felt like a lifetime.
One of the shifters makes a break for it, sprinting toward the street.
Grim’s dragon moves with terrifying speed. His jaws open, and fire erupts from his throat.
The flames are white-hot, so bright I have to squint against the glare. They engulf the running shifter before he makes it three steps.
His scream is cut short.
When the flames die down, there’s nothing left but ash.
Another male tries to run. The dragon’s tail whips around, catching him across the chest. The impact sends him flying. He hits a parked car twenty feet away. The car’s door crumples inward. The male slides to the ground and doesn’t move.
“We have to get inside,” the bald shifter holding me mutters. “We have to get inside now, or we will die.”
He backs up a few steps, then charges the door again with all his weight. The cracked glass gives way with a sharp explosion of sound. Shards rain down around us as we crash through.
Sally screams. She’s backed herself against her desk, phone still clutched in her hand.
I look back at Grim’s dragon through the shattered doorway.
He’s tearing through the parking lot like a force of nature. Two more of the anti-vaxxers are hiding behind a truck. Grim grabs the entire vehicle in his massive claws and tosses it aside like it weighs nothing.
The truck flips end over end, crashing into a light post. The post snaps, sparks flying as the electrical lines tear free. The truck lands upside down with a tremendous bang, its alarm blaring.
The two males scramble out from their hiding spot, running in opposite directions.
Dragons aren’t allowed to shift without supervision. Without a rider bonded to them to help maintain control. Or, at the very least, multiple dragons with their riders present to contain them if things go south.
They have to apply to shift and may do so once a week, but only under supervision. Not like this. Never like this.
Dragons are feral. Everyone knows that. It’s why the mind-bonding system exists in the first place. I don’t know much about it, only that it’s necessary.
Without control, without someone to rein him in, Grim could kill everyone here. And a lot more people before anyone manages to stop him.
And if he somehow makes it off the island? If he reaches the Mainland? Mr. Greenberg’s words echo in my mind.
Except Grim isn’t infected with Hemorrhagic Fever. He’s just shifted. But the result could be the same. Devastation. Death on a massive scale.
Grim’s dragon has cornered another male behind a dumpster. He’s toying with him, batting at him with one massive claw like a cat with a mouse. The male is screaming, begging for mercy.
There’s a definite sound of a car engine and a vehicle rounds the corner, driving down the street toward the clinic. Just an ordinary sedan. Someone going about their day, completely unaware of the nightmare they’re about to drive into.
Grim’s dragon lifts his head. His glowing eyes lock onto the approaching vehicle.
Crap!
“Grim!” I scream his name without thinking. “Grim, no! Stop!”
I’m elbowing the bald shifter, fighting him with renewed desperation. My elbow connects with his ribs. His jaw. He grunts but doesn’t let go.
“Shut up!” he hisses in my ear. “Do you want to die? You’ll draw his attention, and then we’re dead.”
“Grim!” I scream again, louder. “Don’t! Please don’t!”
His dragon takes a step toward the car. Then another. His wings spread wide.
If he flies off, it’s over. There will be mayhem before they stop him.
The car slams on its brakes and starts reversing, tires squealing.
Grim’s dragon opens his wings fully and lets out a screech that makes my eardrums throb. It’s the sound of rage and fury and mindless destruction.
The car is reversing fast, but not fast enough.
“Grim!” I scream again. I drive my elbow back as hard as I can into the bald shifter’s stomach. The air rushes out of him in a whoosh.
His grip loosens.
I wrench myself free and stumble forward, nearly tripping over broken glass.
“You’re crazy!” the bald shifter shouts at me. “You have a death wish!” he shouts after me as I run toward the parking lot. Toward the dragon.
“Grim!” I shout. “Stop, please. It’s me. It’s Wren.”
Grim’s head swivels, and his eyes find me. They’re filled with intelligence and rage.
I freeze; my heart is pounding so loud inside me it drowns out everything else.
Every instinct inside me is screaming at me to turn and to run. To do it now.
But I don’t move.
Everyone knows not to turn your back on a predator. Running triggers the hunt instinct. As kids, we used to hike in bear territory. My dad drummed it into my brother and me to never run. Play dead if you have to, but do not run.
Stand your ground.
So I stand.
He takes a step toward me. Then another. Each footfall shakes the ground beneath my feet.
Craaaap!
What have I done?
The car takes advantage of his distraction and races away, disappearing around the corner. The sound of its engine fades.
Good. At least they are safe.