Kill Shot (31 page)

He appeared to my left and wasn’t large,
maybe a few inches taller than me, but he was thick across the
shoulders and chest—built like a brawler. His jeans were old and
torn, his white T-shirt ragged and stained with blood. He gave me a
feral grin as he stopped at the edge of the garden path.

I answered his smile with one of my own and
leaned against one of the stone arches, enjoying the theatrics. His
smile dimmed a little when he saw I wasn’t as afraid of him as he’d
hoped I’d be. I held the weapon I’d brought out with me in my left
hand so it was hidden behind the railing.

It wasn’t long before the others appeared out
of the trees and joined the first. There were five in all. Maybe
half of the original group who’d attacked the woman last night. I
recognized their scent. There had been others with this group when
they’d killed the woman, but those Drakán had moved on.

I was looking specifically for one of my own
clansmen. Each clan had a unique scent—ours smelled of clean rain
and damp forest—and I’d recognized it immediately around Jillian’s
body. It was the reason I’d been able to see Jillian’s death in my
vision, even though she was from a different clan. I’d kept that
information from Cal.

There was only one female in this group, but
she was the one I focused on. I’d seen a little girl once holding a
doll with blonde curly hair, blue eyes and rosy cheeks—the
porcelain of her complexion so pale and flawless it seemed as if
even the slightest touch would cause her to shatter. That’s what
this woman reminded me of.

Sapphires the color of the deepest part of
the ocean were embedded in her human skin—up her arms and across
her collarbone—and a single winking jewel glittered above her left
eyebrow like a beauty mark. This only happened to those dragons who
slept on top of their hoard in human form. It’s why we were never
able to wear jewelry—our human forms absorbed the jewels. It was
just another way for us to keep our treasures close.

The female hoarder stood in the center of the
group, slightly in front. Two other males—one as dark as onyx, the
other as pale as buttermilk—flanked her left side. Their power was
minimal. The last male was almost as old as the female. But not
quite. The only difference was his clothes were pristine, his face
calm, while dried blood and mud covered the others. This male stood
in the rain eerily still, his dark hair plastered around his face
and his eyes knowing. He gave me a slight bow with his head, and it
was then I knew he had psychic abilities—pitiful as they were. He
was practically an open book. But I could use him.

It was situations like this one where I
thought our laws kind of sucked. I couldn’t kill them just because
I knew they’d killed one of our own. Legally, I had to file a
warrant with the Council and wait for it to go through. The only
way I could kill them today was if they moved to attack me
first.

“You guys are pretty far from home,” I called
out.

“And your welcome is quite disappointing.” It
was the female who spoke. Her accent was thick and Slavic.

I cast my psychic power from my body and read
them all quickly. The woman was obviously from the Russian clan,
but what had me worried was that the other members of the ragtag
group were representing three other clans—the Romanians, the
Belgians and the Irish. Our clans had been feuding since the
Banishment, and I had no idea why they were working together
without animosity now. They thought of themselves as a unit—a
family. And for some reason, I couldn’t siphon the reason they’d
joined together from their minds. All I could read was that they
needed me, and if I didn’t cooperate, then I had to die.

“You made a mistake last night,” I said. “You
shouldn’t have killed her. And you definitely shouldn’t have been
stupid enough to leave enough of her body behind so I could find
her. Now I have to kill you.”

The brawler to my left laughed thin and high,
and the insanity of it raised chills on my arms. “You think you can
kill us, Enforcer? You’re outnumbered. And we have powers you could
only dream of.”

It was my turn to laugh. “I don’t think so.
You’re the pawns. Who’s your Master? None of you has the power to
breathe fire.”

The brawler took a step forward, his anger
making him stupid.

“Bartolomé,” the female said harshly. “Stand
down and follow orders.” Bartolomé stepped back, but he didn’t like
it.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I’m here to ask you to join us,” the female
said. “When the time for battle comes, you don’t want to be on the
losing side.”

“And let me guess, it would help to have a
psychic with my abilities on your side to even the odds a
little.”

“It would,” she acknowledged.

“You already have a psychic.” I gestured to
the quiet male with them. “You don’t need me.”

“Christos’ powers are dimmed in comparison to
yours. Your mind is virtually untouched. Unexplored. Our Master can
help you. You’ll be one of the most powerful Drakán to walk the
Earth.”

“You still haven’t told me your Master’s
name.” I was stalling. It was hard to ignore the rush that the
promise of so much power would bring me. My dragon nature wanted to
take their offer and never look back. The human in me kept a more
level head. “I’d like to know who I’m working for.”

“His name is unimportant. You only need to
know that there is no other of our kind who holds more power. He
will be king.”

“Tell your Master his arrogance looks like
ignorance when he sends five children to the house of Alasdair. You
are all foolish for following someone who holds so little value
over your lives.”

They all moved at once, closing the
half-circle they’d formed as they pressed in on me. My finger
tightened on the weapon I held. I knew I’d get no help from my
family for this battle. Erik wouldn’t know we were under threat
unless they broke into the house, Cal was probably still asleep,
and Alasdair would never help me. He would probably dance on my
ashes if I died.

“Our Master will not like to hear your
decision,” the female said. “Maybe we can change your mind.”

I waited patiently. All it would take was one
of them to lose control. “You’re all traitors to your Archos. No
better than cowards.”

Bartolomé growled low in his throat and
rushed me, his hands shifting into sharp claws. It was all the
excuse I needed. I pulled the trigger of the crossbow and watched
as he crumpled to the ground with a howl of pain.

The cold numbness took over my mind as I
faced Christos—the other psychic—and enveloped him in my power. The
others didn’t get a chance to react. Christos turned and faced the
remaining three, his eyes wide with fear. The others looked at him
in confusion. He wasn’t in control of himself anymore. He belonged
to me. He pushed his arms out into the empty air in front of him,
and his friends went flying backwards toward the trees. The
dark-skinned male hit against a tree so hard that the base of it
cracked in two, the echo deafening as it toppled to the ground.

“Kill them both,” the female screamed.

I came at them with a vengeance. I was going
to get hurt, but I was going to take as many as I could down with
me. The female came up on me fast, her fists a blur as she struck
at me, but I was able to dodge the blows. Something grabbed me from
behind, and I struggled against the tight grasp fiercely. I didn’t
see the female strike, she was too quick, but I felt the sudden
pain in my chest. Something inside me tore—muscle and cartilage
that ripped away from bone. If someone hadn’t been holding me in
place I would have crashed into the side of the house. My vision
greyed, and my heart stuttered.

Despite the damage to my body, I knew I had
to think or die. A calm overtook me, and I sent waves of pain, as
fierce as knives, into the one who had me trapped in his arms. He
let go of me and dropped to the ground, clutching his head between
his hands.

The rain sizzled off my skin so steam rose in
a cloud around me. I was pissed. And now I was through playing.
Christos was no longer of any use to me. His head lay detached from
his body a few feet away, his eyes still panicked and his mouth
opening and closing as he gasped for air that wasn’t there. The two
men that were left moved closer together and turned to face me. I
didn’t have time to reload the crossbow, so I threw it to the
ground.

I charged with a blur of speed at the
dark-skinned male. My hand shot out, and I felt the give of flesh
as I pierced through skin, muscle and bone. My fingers ripped out
his heart, and I held the pulsing organ in my hand and squeezed it
to dust. He collapsed at my feet, but his friend took the
opportunity to tackle me to the ground.

My hands were slicked with blood and kept
slipping off his skin as I tried to find something to grab on to.
We rolled through puddles and mud, exchanging blows, until I
finally wiggled around and embraced his middle with my legs. I tore
him in two with the strength of my thighs and tossed the pieces
aside.

I was covered in blood from head to toe as I
stood and faced the last dragon. The female.

“Tell your master I refuse his offer to join
him. I don’t play with cowards. I kill them.”

She nodded her head in submission and shifted
into her dragon form, her clothes tearing at the seams as her body
elongated and her bones seemed to turn to liquid. The sapphires
encrusted in her human skin glittered across her pale belly like
beautiful chain mail. She was icy blue, fragile, like spun glass.
But the brief glance of teeth and talons I got before she flew away
were anything but delicate.

I walked over to the one called Bartolomé.
The stake in his chest protruded grotesquely. His eyes were open
and confused, but the fear was there. I barely spared him a glance.
I snapped his neck and took his head before he could draw any more
strength to heal himself. We’d have to burn them all.

Drakán blood dripped from my body, and I
stood in the rain for a few more minutes, my face tilted up toward
the sky to let some of the blood wash away. I closed my eyes and
pushed my senses outward, making sure everything was as it should
be. My internal injuries were already healing, but my breath still
came in shallow pants. I was going to be sore for a couple of
days.

A colorful streak flew from the trees and
over my shoulder, landing in front of me. She was long and sleek in
her dragon form—one powerful muscle—her scales luminescent and pale
pink. And familiar. It had been a long time since I’d seen her.
More than fifty years.

The dragon slowly transformed until a woman
stood before me. Her nakedness went unashamed, and her body was the
palest marble, the blue of her veins visible beneath the delicate
skin. Her face was smooth and unlined, her hair so blonde it was
almost white. But her eyes were those of an Ancient—dark blue and
clear like a deep lake.

“Hello, Aunt Calista,” I said as the tension
built between us.