Читать книгу Lost Princess - Dani-Lyn Alexander - Страница 8

Ryleigh stepped back and swung the heavy sword. A second later she lay flat on her back staring up at the elaborately carved, domed ceiling. Again. She lifted her head.

Jackson straddled her hips. The jerk wasn’t even breathing hard. “Too slow. Try again.”

She let her head fall back and closed her eyes. Try again? Was he trying to train her to fight or kill her?

His weight lifted off her. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t.” She coughed and rolled onto her side.

“You have to.” He stood over her, hand extended to help her up.

Ignoring the proffered hand, she climbed to her feet. “Ugh…”

Jackson smirked. “Are you ready?”

Since every muscle in her body screamed in protest, including the ones in her face since she’d spent so much time clenching her teeth, she did her best to glare at him. She could only hope he got the hint.

His laughter indicated he might not fully understand her frustration. Then again, it could also mean he understood perfectly and simply found her prolonged torture entertaining.

“Okay.” He held his hands up, palms toward her, his laughter fading to an amused smile. “Why are you having such a hard time with this?”

Ryleigh opened her mouth but bit back the sharp retort. Fire burned through her shoulders. “I think maybe the sword is too heavy.”

Jackson frowned. “Hmm…”

“Every time I swing it over my head, it feels like something’s pulling in my shoulders.” That was an understatement. Each time she lifted the heavy, ornate sword, her shoulders and upper back screeched in agony.

“Wait here.”

As he walked away, she studied the way the dark jeans clung to the muscles in his thighs until the door fell shut behind him. Then she sighed. The thought of dropping to the mat and laying still for a while appealed to her…until she remembered she’d only have to haul herself back up again. Instead, she hobbled to the other side of the room and lowered herself gently into a chair. Clasping her hands together, she stretched them out in front of her in an effort to ease some of the stiffness. No good. Crossing her arms to stretch her back did little to ease the tension in her muscles either. She cautiously rolled her shoulders, the stab of pain coming even sooner than she’d expected.

The door opened, the wood screeching against the stone floor.

She couldn’t take any more.

Jackson crossed the room, a large pouch cradled in his hands. Curiosity chased away some of her self-pity.

“I was saving this for something special, but it’s probably better if you train with it now anyway. So…” He knelt before her and laid the pouch across her lap. “Open it.”

She untied three leather cords and spread the cloth apart. The sword was much thinner and lighter than the one she’d been training with but just as long. She fingered the purple and clear jewels, similar to amethyst and diamonds, adorning the handle of the delicate sword, ran her fingers carefully up the blade. “It’s gorgeous.” Beside the sword lay a long strip of dark purple leather.

“I had it made special for you. It’s much lighter, so it should be easier for you to work with.”

She gripped the handle and lifted it above her head, then faltered at the twinge in her shoulder and lowered the sword to her lap.

“Here. Let me help you.” Jackson took the sword and put it back on the cloth, lifted everything from her lap and laid it all on the floor. Then he stood and moved behind her.

The pressure of his fingers against her neck sent a new wave of pain crashing through her. She started to shy away, but he only increased the pressure.

The muscles beneath his fingers tingled. Warmth heated her neck, spread steadily down through her shoulders and upper back as his attention moved lower. The pain dissipated, leaving her muscles warm and supple. Flexible.

She relaxed into his gentle touch. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

“Now that I’m no longer banished and stripped of my powers, I’m able to heal you.”

Heat spread through her.

“You have no idea how badly it hurt me to leave you suffering when you were injured in the earthquake.” He moved his magic hands lower down her back. “You’ll have to start trying to heal on your own at some point, though.”

Ryleigh ignored the statement, not yet ready to contemplate she might actually have special powers too. She let her head drop forward as he played his fingers up and over her neck. A small moan of pleasure escaped before she could stop it.

He jumped back. “Does that feel better?”

The loss of his touch left her empty, and she ached for the flow of energy to return. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side. “Wow. That feels amazing.” She turned on her chair to say thank you, but stopped short the instant she faced him.

Heat filled his eyes.

He tucked a few strands of long blonde hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. His fingers lingered along her neck, tracing a line over her frantically racing pulse. He leaned closer, his gaze locked on hers, the intensity burning through her.

She tamped down the flare of desire.

A small groan escaped Jackson as his eyes fell shut an instant before his lips gently caressed hers. He slid his hands around her back and pulled her up from the chair and into his embrace. His lips crashed down on hers, eagerly devouring her.

She gripped his shoulders, savoring the feel of his hard muscles flexing beneath her hands. Her legs weakened, threatened to collapse. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly as he deepened the kiss.

Chanting filled her mind. A chorus of voices. Beautiful. Intense. Ancient. Meaningful.

Jackson moved his hands up her back, gripped her upper arms and…shoved her forcefully away.

She opened her eyes as she stumbled back and grabbed the chair to keep her balance.

Jackson stood, head lowered, tremors wracking his body. She took a step toward him, but he held up a hand to keep her back.

“Jackson?” Until now, he’d fought so hard against the compulsion to claim her. “Jackson?”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. “It’s all right. I stopped myself in time.”

Squeezing her eyes closed for a moment, she struggled for control. She wasn’t yet ready to be claimed by Jackson, didn’t even fully understand the concept or the meaning. He’d explained it to her, said it was simply a promise to be together forever. But forever in Cymmera meant just that, since its inhabitants were close to immortal and could only be killed by an instantly fatal wound, one that wouldn’t allow enough time for the recipient to heal himself. She opened her eyes. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Just…let’s move on.” He averted his gaze and retrieved her things from the floor. “Come here.” He lifted a belt made of dark purple leather.

She hesitated, unsure he’d fully regained his senses.

He rolled his eyes. “I said it’s fine now.” She waited through the conflict blazing in his eyes. “I’m okay. I promise.” His tone softened. “Come here.”

She approached slowly. She loved Jackson, of that she was certain, but she wasn’t yet ready to make such a huge commitment, not only to him, but to his kingdom as well. If she allowed him to claim her, she’d be his for eternity. She wouldn’t be able to live in her realm, couldn’t stay with her sister, since Mia wasn’t yet strong enough to live in Cymmera. She’d be expected to rule at his side, become his queen. No. He couldn’t claim her. She wasn’t yet ready to accept his reality. She tentatively touched his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jackson.” Would her desire for him ever become so strong she’d surrender?

He covered her hand with his own. “I know. It’s all right.” The hint of a smile touched his eyes. “Most of the time.”

Ryleigh laughed, her nerves strung taut, wondering how long Jackson would be able to respect her decision.

He pulled her hand away, pressed his lips to her fingers, then stepped back. “Here. Let me put this on you.” He inhaled deeply and held his breath as he reached behind her and weaved the belt over her shoulder and around her waist then buckled it at her right hip. At her left hip, hung a sheath. He retrieved the sword and handed it to her.

A rainbow of reflections emanated from the stones. “It really is beautiful, Jackson. Thank you.” His answering smile brought a wave of relief. He seemed to have his emotions back under control. She slid the sword into place. It felt…right. She couldn’t help the grin that escaped. “I love it.” She moved to the center of the mat and pulled the sword from the sheath. She practiced a few times, sheathing and unsheathing it, before running through her warm-up routine. Sweat sprung out on her forehead, trickled down her back. “This is so much better.” The work-out felt good…hard…but good. Her muscles flexed smoothly, tension creating a dull ache, but none of the intense pain the heavier sword had brought.

“All right, let’s try practicing some—”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty.”

Ryleigh hadn’t even heard the seer approach. “Hi Elijah.”

“Miss Ryleigh.” He lowered himself to one knee, folded his hands across the other knee and bowed his head in the traditional greeting for the king—and queen.

Heat crept up Ryleigh’s cheeks. She’d finally gotten him to stop addressing her as your highness—with the threat of leaving and never returning—but no matter what she said, he still insisted on greeting her properly.

Elijah’s blue eyes, a stark contradiction to the dark, almost black, eyes of the other Cymmeran men she’d met, usually held only kindness and compassion. Now, something darker filled them. Something cold.

A chill raced up her spine.

He approached Jackson. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for intruding, but I must speak with you immediately. I assure you it is of the utmost urgency.”

Jackson propped his hands low on his hips, a sure sign he was agitated. “What is it, Elijah?”

Elijah cleared his throat and continued to stare at Jackson. “I wish to speak with you in private, sir.” His gaze flickered briefly to Ryleigh, before darting back to Jackson.

Ryleigh started to back away. “Oh…uh…sorry. I’ll just—”

“No.” Jackson stood his ground, his posture rigid. “Ryleigh will one day be queen. You know and respect that, Elijah. I don’t understand your desire to exclude her from a conversation.”

Elijah exhaled slowly, his expression finally softening. “Sir. I mean no disrespect.” He turned to Ryleigh. “Your high—”

The glare she aimed at him stopped him short.

“Uhh…Miss Ryleigh. Forgive me. I assure you, I have the utmost respect for you.” He bowed his head. “It’s just…well…” He looked back at Jackson, his hands fidgeting wildly. “It’s a sensitive subject, sir.”

“Speak freely, Elijah.” Jackson’s expression softened. “This is ridiculous. You’re my friend, Elijah. Come in, sit down, and tell us what’s going on.” He gestured toward the chair. “It’s obvious something’s wrong. Is anyone hurt?”

“No, no. Everyone is fine. I’ve had a vision, sir.”

Jackson stilled.

Elijah waited until Jackson motioned for him to continue but made no move to sit. With one last glance at Ryleigh, Elijah straightened his spine. “Very well, sir. You must assemble the Death Dealers to retrieve the occupants of a human aircraft.”

Shock held Ryleigh’s tongue.

Jackson frowned. “Do you have the necessary information?”

She stared at Jackson. No way would he—

“I do, si—”

“You can’t be serious.” The sound came out too shrill, and she worked to lower her voice. “You’re not actually going to kidnap more humans, kill them, and bring them here?”

No one answered.

“Right?”

“Look, Ryleigh. If Elijah says it’s necessary, it is.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She glared back and forth between the two of them.

Jackson’s expression was hard, his eyes holding none of the turbulent emotion she’d become accustomed to.

Elijah looked apologetic, but no less determined.

“I can’t believe you’re even considering this.”

“There is no other way, My Princess. I’m sorry.”

How dare they? Who did they think they were? “Are you going to at least try and transfer them without killing them?”

Elijah’s shoulders slumped. “Look, Miss Ryleigh, you must accept that it’s just not possible.”

“But I was able to open a portal here, and Mia transferred through just fine.” Something niggled at the back of Ryleigh’s mind. She tried to grab hold of it, but it was gone.

“With all due respect…” Elijah bowed his head—his formal behavior grating on Ryleigh’s last nerve—before continuing. “You and Princess Mia are both of Cymmeran descent, being descendants of King Raya, and even so your sister became very weak and had to be returned to her own realm to heal.” He pressed his fisted hands against his eyes, clearly distressed. “I assure you, I meditated on this for a very long time, too long, really, even after I was quite certain. If there were any other way, I would try it.”

“All right, why don’t we calm down?” Jackson held up his hands. “What else can you tell me about the vision, Elijah? Anything?”

Ryleigh backed off.

“Not much, I’m afraid. There is a small military team. Eight men. They are flying on an aircraft and must be retrieved.” Elijah rubbed his hands over his face. “Look, Jackson.”

Surprise slammed through Ryleigh. He never addressed Jackson by his first name. At least, she couldn’t remember him doing so since Jackson had taken his father’s place as king.

“You must move quickly.” He turned to Ryleigh. “If it makes you feel any better, My Princess, these men are going to die anyway.”

“How can you know that?” She choked back the anger, struggled for control. “There’s no way you could know that.”

Elijah gripped her ice-cold hands in his, sending a flow of warmth through her. “I promise you I am quite certain of that. I’m sorry, Miss Ryleigh. If there were any other way, I would take it. I can’t tell you why, but we will need these men. They are to play a crucial role in our kingdom’s future.” He held her gaze, his eyes stormy, turbulent, troubled. Then he released her hands and returned his attention to Jackson.

“If you do not intervene in time, the plane will be brought down in enemy territory. The men will be captured, tortured severely, and killed. Their bodies will be…displayed…as a warning. We won’t be able to retrieve them once any of that happens. That plane must be brought down, its occupants retrieved and transferred to Cymmera, before it reaches its destiny. You must hurry, Jackson. We’re running out of time.”

“Very well, Elijah. Thank you.”

“What?” Ryleigh gripped Jackson’s arm. “You’re not seriously thinking about doing this.” Ryleigh held her tongue while Elijah bowed before quietly retreating and leaving Ryleigh alone with Jackson. With the prophet gone, surely she could talk some sense into Jackson. Maybe he was just humoring the seer, didn’t really plan on following through with the plan. She took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Waited.

When Jackson turned to face her, she searched for the good humor, or the sarcastic grin she’d gotten used to. His expression was rock hard, deep lines bracketing his mouth. He was every bit the warrior. Her hopes fell.

“I must go.”

“What? Aren’t we going to talk about this?”

“No.”

She had to stop him. “I thought I was the queen, and we were supposed to rule together.” Even she had to cringe at that statement.

Jackson’s posture remained rigid as he simply lifted a brow. “Look, Ryleigh. I have to go. Now. It was a huge concession for Elijah to offer as much information as he did. His visions are…private, for lack of a better word. He doesn’t share them. He either can’t or won’t for fear of negatively affecting the intended outcomes. Fate, if you will. We can discuss it more when I return.” He turned and walked away, effectively ending their conversation.

Oh no. He did not just dismiss her. She rushed after him. “Don’t you walk away from me, Jackson.”

He kept walking.

“Get back here. We are not done with this.”

He reached for the elaborate iron door handle.

“If you walk out that door without finishing this conversation, I’ll…I’ll…” She lowered her voice as he pulled the door open. “I won’t be here when you get back.”

He paused, door held open wide.

“And I won’t return. Ever.”

He straightened his shoulders, strode purposefully from the chamber, and let the door fall shut behind him.

* * * *

Jackson shoved his feelings ruthlessly aside. He’d spent hundreds of years without emotions, he’d be damned if he’d let them rule him now. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls of the empty hallway, beating at him, reminded him of what it was to be truly alone. His heart ached to return to Ryleigh. To beg for her understanding and forgiveness. To plead with her to wait for him to return so they could talk.

Urgency pushed him forward. Whether it was his own sense of foreboding, or the stern warning from Elijah to hurry, he had no idea. He wished fleetingly his father was still there to make this decision, but he didn’t let the thought linger. King Maynard—the true King Maynard—was gone, and no amount of wishing would bring him back. Too bad Jackson was such a poor substitute. He shook off the self-pity as he shoved the door open and stormed toward the stable. What choice did he have?

“Hey, Jackson. Wait up.” Dakota Knight jogged to catch up, then fell into place beside Jackson as he continued on his way to the stable. “What’s happening?”

Obviously Elijah had called the Death Dealer team to order but hadn’t told them what to expect. Great. Jackson would have to bring them up to speed before they could leave. “I’ll go over it once we all meet. No sense repeating it twice.” He pulled open the door and held it for Dakota to precede him.

“I heard Mia’s back?”

Jackson shot him a grin.

Dakota’s cheeks, already ruddy from running in the cold, reddened even more. “Uh…and Ryleigh, I mean.”

“Sure you did.” He punched his best friend in the arm. “I’ll meet you at the pens.” Jackson pulled aside the curtain to his dressing cubicle and took a lit lantern from a hook beside the entrance. He let the curtain fall shut behind him.

After hanging the lantern beside the long table against the back wall where his equipment was laid out, Jackson ran a hand along the smooth black breastplate he’d worn so many times, had worn into battle the day his father was killed. Only then, there had been no symbol covering the breastplate. It had simply been the smooth black armor of a novice, even though the Death Dealer ceremony had been completed in private, and he’d already worn the mark of the Death Dealer and the future king on his arm.

He traced the pattern now adorning the breastplate. The primitive, tribal design surrounded two crossed swords set in the exact center. The mark of the Death Dealer, the warrior he’d trained for hundreds of years to become. Similar to the tattoo covering his upper right arm and shoulder. Only the breastplate didn’t bear the red slash through the center that would tell the world he was the future King of Cymmera. A pang of grief shot through him. No. Not the future king. The king.

He tamped down the insecurities threatening to drown him. Regardless of Ryleigh’s feelings, this was the right choice. The only choice. He stripped off his jacket and sweatshirt and hastily pulled on a thin, long sleeved, black shirt before pulling his long hair back into a tail at his nape and tying it with a thin leather band. He strapped the breastplate into place, secured the arm-guard to his left forearm, and slid the finger tab onto his right hand. Once the high, armor plated, black boots were fitted over his black jeans, he slung the bow and quiver onto his back, shoved a dagger into each of the casings on his boots, and sheathed his sword at his hip.

At the sound of the alert calling the Death Dealer team to action, he tucked the ornate black helmet beneath his arm and strode resolutely toward the pens. There would be no turning back.

Elijah met him before he reached the others, acknowledging him with the traditional greeting before his expression softened. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” He lowered his gaze, hoping Elijah didn’t catch the lie.

“Very well, sir.” He only hesitated another moment before dropping the subject and moving on. “Would you like me to brief the men directly, or give you the necessary information?”

“Nah. You can do it. No sense wasting time.” Jackson clamped his teeth tightly together as the two covered the remaining distance to the pens, checking the urge to ask Elijah if he was sure about retrieving these men. If he wasn’t absolutely certain, he would never have come to Jackson. Especially after he was mistaken about Ryleigh. Questioning his vision would serve no purpose but to hurt the sensitive man.

Dakota spotted them coming and ran toward them. With the loss of Kai, Dakota had moved up to train as a Death Dealer, at Jackson’s request. He now served as Jackson’s partner and protégé. The younger boy vibrated with energy. This would be his first retrieval, and his dark eyes shone with excitement. “Hey, Jackson.”

Elijah shot Dakota a quick frown of disapproval at the familiar greeting.

Jackson bit back a smile.

Dakota had been his best friend since they were kids, hundreds of years. There was no way he was going to bow or address Jackson as King Maynard in any other than the most formal of circumstances. Nor did Jackson expect him to.

Elijah on the other hand…Well, Elijah stood firmly on tradition.

The men came to attention at his arrival. They stood, helmets in hand, and awaited their orders. Twelve men all together. Twelve Death Dealers. His team. All of them had more experience than him, though none had trained harder or for more situations, and yet he would lead them. He would be responsible for them. Success or failure would fall squarely on Jackson’s shoulders. It was a heavy burden in addition to the responsibility for every inhabitant of the kingdom he now ruled. A small throb started at the back of his eyes. He struggled to ignore it and focus on Elijah’s words.

“You will intercept a small military plane, force it down, and return with its occupants. There should be eight men all together. The plane is equipped with guns, which shouldn’t be a problem for you to avoid. Once you have the plane on the ground, I’ll be able to tear it open so you may retrieve the men. They will also be armed.” He studied each of their faces, his gaze lingering for a moment on Dakota. “Any questions?”

When they shook their heads, Jackson nodded, and they dispersed and headed for the pens. He approached Dakota. “You know what to do?”

Eagerness lit his eyes. “I’m good.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I do have a question, though. If Elijah can rip the plane open, why can’t he just crash it and…well…you know…the occupants would perish in the crash?”

It was a good question, and it pleased Jackson he’d thought to ask. No one outside of the Death Dealer squad knew anything about what they did or how they worked. Dakota had received his battle training with the Cymmeran Guard—and he was an exceptional soldier—but he had no specialized training to be a Death Dealer. That knowledge would all come from first-hand experience and training with his squad.

“When we retrieve subjects—” People. “—from the human realm, their bodies must be intact for them to be re-born in our realm.”

Dakota frowned. “So how do we…you know.”

How do we what? Jackson pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes. Commit murder? He let his hand drop to his side. “Ideally, a straight shot through the heart, but if that’s not possible a head shot will suffice as well.”

An image came unbidden. Ryleigh, hidden beneath a chair, her hand clamped over Mia’s mouth, flames and smoke surrounding them. Her eyes filled with fierce determination to keep her sister safe. She should have been nothing more than a target. Yet he’d been unable to take the shot. Had failed to achieve his goal.

What if the same thing happened again? He’d been alone last time, able to make the choice to abort the mission at the last second and face the consequences. This time his entire team would be standing behind him. What if he choked? Couldn’t complete the mission? Again.

“Jackson.”

Startled by the volume of his demand, Jackson turned to face Dakota. He hadn’t even realized they’d stopped walking.

The other boy stood staring at him, scowl firmly in place.

“I’m sorry. I guess my mind wandered. Did you ask me something?”

“I said, will I be expected to make a retrieval this time?”

“No. Probably not for a while yet. You will observe and watch our backs. You may engage in battle if there is one, just make sure you stay at my side no matter what. Even during the simplest mission things can go wrong.”

Dakota nodded, his expression serious. Good. He wasn’t taking it lightly. Even though retrievals were fairly routine—the thought of Ryleigh laying into him for thinking so casually about ending eight men’s lives battered him—you never knew what would happen.

“Ride safely, my friend.” He clapped Dakota on the back before they separated and walked to their pens.

Jackson approached cautiously, making sure Ophidian knew it was him.

The dragon snorted. A puff of black smoke shot from each nostril.

“Hello, boy. Are you ready to ride?”

When he lowered his head in invitation, Jackson climbed the black scales and swung onto the dragon’s back. He slid carefully between the two large, curved spikes protruding from the back of Ophidian’s neck and secured the strap behind his back. With a firm grip on the spikes, he squeezed his legs together until the slim, sleek dragon lifted into the air. His smooth undulations maneuvered them through the stable and into the night sky.

Dakota took his place slightly behind him. The remainder of the Death Dealer squad followed in pairs in their traditional formation with Jackson now at the point.

At least this was a role he was prepared for, a role he had trained his entire existence for. Light poured down from the multicolored stars, but none of it reflected from the black dragon or his rider. The dragon’s scales and the Death Dealer’s armor absorbed the light, assuring a glint at an inopportune moment wouldn’t give them away. Jackson shifted his weight to the right.

Ophidian’s response was immediate, as if man and beast were one.

The compact, solid muscles flexing beneath Jackson lent him confidence. Energy flowed through him. The thrill of the hunt charged through his veins. A pang of guilt followed. Jackson cursed. His role as a Death Dealer was the only absolute certainty he had amid a sea of confusion, insecurity, and fear. Damn Ryleigh for taking that from him. She didn’t understand. She wasn’t from his world. How dare she judge him?

A space of intense blackness opened before them. Jackson’s heart rate kicked up as he embraced the jolt of adrenaline that rushed through him. He leaned forward, laying his upper body against the dragon’s neck. They tore through the portal at lightning speed.

Once through, when the stars around them all shone white, he lifted his head. His gaze met the pilot’s look of sheer terror. He jerked Ophidian hard to the left, barely avoiding a head on collision with the aircraft. He’d overshot the target, had opened the portal a few seconds too late. His mind had been too pre-occupied, thoughts of Ryleigh consuming him. He circled around, a tight loop to be sure his team had all avoided catastrophe. He knew better, had been trained to go into battle fully focused. No matter what. He blanked his mind, shoving everything but the mission at hand brutally aside. His men were once again perfectly aligned. They circled the aircraft.

Flashes of gunfire lit the night. The dragons easily avoided the shots. Human limitations were no match for the speed and agility of the dragons. The Death Dealers dove directly toward the windows. Retreated. Dove again. Pulled back. Several of his men rose above the plane.

The soldiers pressed their faces against the windows, trying desperately to keep track of the strange creatures they wouldn’t understand.

Jackson and his team worked methodically to force the plane toward the ground.

The pilot resisted.

A huge gust of air slammed downward, and the plane lurched and dropped. Jackson smiled. With Elijah helping them force the plane down, it shouldn’t take long. Jackson rounded the front of the plane.

The co-pilot held a handset against his mouth, his lips moving frantically as his eyes darted everywhere.

No matter. Elijah was one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. There would be no back-up. Nor would there be a mayday call. Or any other sort of communication.

Another blast of air hit the plane. It tilted on its side, but the pilot recovered before it rolled over. Elijah had to take it easy. They needed the plane intact.

The pilot dove. He landed smoothly on a paved but pot-holed road through the desert. Apparently he’d decided to give up the fight. At least in the air.

Jackson doubted these men would just go willingly, but they were smart enough to realize they couldn’t outmaneuver dragons in the bulky aircraft.

The small group of men came out shooting.

Ophidian dove toward a man at the front of the group.

The soldier sprayed the entire area with gunfire. A few shots hit Jackson’s leg. No big deal. No way could bullets penetrate Ophidian’s scales or Death Dealer helmets and breastplates. His heart and head were protected. Any other injury would begin to heal on its own long before Jackson ever returned to Cymmera.

Ophidian weaved his way carefully through the darkness. He closed in on his target.

Jackson pulled his sword from the sheath.

The soldier held Jackson’s gaze. He had to know what was coming—Jackson had just flown through a hail of bullets without even flinching—yet his stare stayed strong.

Respect blossomed in Jackson’s chest, surged through him. This man’s strength, courage, and pride would make him a great warrior.

Jackson stayed his course. Calm. Steady. Focused. His heart ached.

With his gaze locked on Jackson’s, the young soldier held his ground and continued to fire.

Jackson lifted the sword. He was almost on him.

A fierce determination to defend himself and his companions burned in the man’s eyes.

Closer.

A twinge of regret nagged at Jackson. He ignored it. “I can’t apologize for what I am, Ryleigh.” The gunfire and men yelling diminished, faded to the back of Jackson’s mind. His vision tunneled. Nothing else existed in that one instant in time.

A fraction of a second.

Jackson’s sword found its mark.