Chapter 17 #2
“What’s the matter, Klauth? Don’t think the heir apparent will win?” Magnus says with a laugh that carries cruel amusement.
“I don’t think anyone can stop her if she goes on a rampage,” Thauglor says grimly, then looks at Inara standing in the ring with the confidence of someone who doesn’t understand the danger she’s in. “It’s your funeral, girl.”
“Raven, don’t,” Mina pleads, stepping directly in front of her daughter. Raven just smiles—and it’s the most unsettling expression I’ve ever seen on her face. Empty. Predatory. Wrong.
“I am not forfeiting my mate to her. There is no way in Tiamat’s name I will ever allow that to happen.
” Raven’s voice is too calm, too controlled, like a string pulled to breaking point.
She looks at Finlay with sudden intensity.
“If I lose control, get me out of here. Take me back to where my dreams led me.”
There’s genuine fear in Raven’s eyes. Not fear of dying or losing—fear of what she might do, what she might become.
Raven takes off running and shifts mid-stride. Her enormous dragoness explodes into existence with a sound like a building collapsing, blocking out the afternoon sun and casting the entire field into shadow. The ground trembles beneath the force of her transformation.
Inara has a sudden look of genuine fear in her amber eyes as understanding finally dawns.
She shifts quickly and goes immediately on the attack—probably hoping to end this fast. She blasts Raven with a massive cone of fire, the flames so hot I can feel the heat from here, and I hear myself screaming my mate’s name.
Raven takes a direct hit, fire engulfing her entirely. Then the other two gold dragonesses—who had no business being here—joined Inara in attacking Raven, all three breathing fire simultaneously.
“Why isn’t she fighting back?” Hemlocke yells over the roar of flames, his voice cracking with panic.
It’s now I notice something crucial—the fire hasn’t hurt her at all. The expected smell of burnt flesh and charred scales isn’t there. Instead, I catch the scent of cinnamon and smoke—Finlay’s signature. Slowly, I turn and look at Finlay, and the bastard actually smirks at a time like this.
“I gifted her my feather and my immunity to fire,” he explains with insufferable calm, shaking his head as he watches the four dragons in the air.
“I warned Inara not to mess with Raven...” Finlay turns to look at Magnus with cold satisfaction.
“I suggest you call your three females off before my mate goes on the attack. Which, by the looks of it, shouldn’t be much longer. ”
Inara makes the catastrophic mistake of charging toward us on the ground, probably trying to draw Raven away from witnesses.
Raven turns with predatory focus, and I look directly into her dragon’s eyes—and they are hollow.
Empty. Void of recognition or mercy. It’s not my mate in control anymore.
Her dragoness has taken the driver’s seat completely.
She swoops down with terrifying speed, and her massive, taloned hand comes out like a striking snake.
She grabs Inara by her dragon’s throat, the golden scales crunching audibly in her grip, and climbs vertically with her prey trapped in her talons.
The other female screams—a sound I didn’t know dragons could make.
“Shit...” I look at my bond brothers and physically pull them aside, away from the carnage about to unfold.
“That look can’t be good,” Keir says as he watches the other two gold dragonesses attacking Raven as she flies. They’re clawing at her wings, her sides, her face—drawing blood that steams in the cold air.
Raven reaches out with her other hand and grabs the second female with casual ease, leaving only one circling her like an overgrown gnat desperately trying to free her companions.
“It’s not her anymore—her dragoness is in complete control,” I say low enough for only my nest mates to hear, my voice tight with fear.
“What do we do?” Hemlocke asks, his magenta eyes wide with the same terror I’m feeling.
“Finlay and I will follow her. You two guard the egg,” I order, falling into combat leadership automatically.
Just as Finlay and I move toward the flight field, we hear the distinctive hiss of Raven’s breath weapon activating.
She bathes the third dragoness in acid—that viscous green liquid pouring from her throat like a waterfall.
The other dragon dissolves, literally melting in mid-air, reduced to steaming goo in a matter of seconds.
The corpse doesn’t even look like it was a dragon anymore before it hits the ground in a spreading puddle of organic matter.
We take off running without a second thought, shifting mid-stride. Our priority is singular: get Raven away from the populated areas to reduce the death toll when she finishes with her current victims.
Over my shoulder, I can see Thauglor and Klauth launching into the air to follow us—their massive forms blotting out sections of the sky.
It’s got to be worse than I initially thought if those two ancient dragons are joining this pursuit.
The fact that even they look concerned makes my stomach drop with dread.