Chapter Twenty-Five

Emma

O ne moment, I was opening my mouth to convince Rhyse to lay off the insults and avoid a fight between dragons, and the next, I was oceanside.

Everything was burning. People were screaming.

I looked up just in time to see a dragon swoop down, its wings of deep violet blocking out the sun. Not that it mattered. The beam of light that spat from its mouth impacted a group of soldiers, burning them alive.

A tank fired somewhere nearby, the concussive blast knocking me to my knees with a groan but not before I saw it hit the dragon. The impact spun the creature end over end, robbing it of height and forcing it to beat its wings to regain height and speed.

The victory was short-lived, however. As I ran across the street, a scaled head loomed large over a nearby building. The ominous blood-red beast clambered down the side of the building and approached the tank from the rear.

Claws dug deep into hardened battle armor, ripping the heavy combat vehicle to shreds in under a minute. The screams ended when the flames filled the interior.

"Fire!"

I yanked my head up as a squad of soldiers—well dispersed to avoid dragon fire—advanced on the beast. Most only had their personal firearms, but several were armed with grenade launchers. The concurrent blasts of the explosives drove the dragon off the tank and into the air away from the soldiers.

One of them ran at me, hauling me unceremoniously to my feet and pushing me in the opposite direction.

"Run!" he shouted, his face inches from mine to ensure I could still hear him. "Run, ma'am, now! If you want to live, run!"

So, I did. I ran. One foot in front of the next. That was the only thing I focused on. Running. Never stopping.

Then, suddenly, I was elsewhere. An encampment. Rows of tents. People straggling in. Many of them with blank looks on their faces. A mother and her daughter covered in dust. Families torn apart. A line for food.

A warm hand. A blanket. Promise of a better place.

Waking up not in a tent, but a trailer. There's a man in there with me. He's friendly. We smile and laugh. He touches my forearm. I'm not alarmed.

Who was he? My husband? A newfound love? I didn't know his name, but the memories cascading through me made it clear we were more than acquaintances.

"Emma. Emma!"

The sequences continued to play through my mind, dragging me back, over and over, even as a part of me recognized I was still on the beach.

I staggered to my feet, barely seeing Rhyse and the other dragons, Killian and his friends, whatever their names were. My vision was fading in and out, a mix of reality and the past I couldn't control. Grains of sand crunching underfoot were as loud as the sounds of bullets.

"Look at this fuckup," Killian laughed. "I can see now why you two are together. She's broken in the head, and you're just a crippled freak who—"

A brilliant blast of blue light shot forth from Rhyse, hitting the thick-browed dragonman in the chest, hurling him back. Sparks flew everywhere as he cartwheeled through one of the bonfires and bounced uncontrollably before hitting the ground and lying still a hundred feet away.

"Come on," Rhyse said, taking my arm and pulling me into the darkness. "Let's get you home."

"No," I said, trying to shake him off, not sure of anything.

My skull was ready to explode from the pounding of my brain as the scenes continued to play. Calling them memories was inaccurate. I had the scenes, but I couldn't recall the moments themselves. Had that truly happened? Or was I losing my mind, imagining the horrors of dragons?

"Emma, you're not well. Let me take you home."

"Rhyse!" a voice bellowed from behind us.

"Shit. Killian won't just stand around after that. We have to go." He switched directions, heading for the beach. "I'll float us out. You can stare at the stars. Rest. Recover. It'll be okay."

Water lapped at my feet as we entered the ocean, the waves crashing around us.

Killian once more howled at Rhyse, who urged me on. The waves were soaking the beautiful glani, sticking it to my skin as we walked out.

"Rhyse, wait," I half-moaned, still not fully in control of myself.

Images of fire and flame continued to pound the front of my brain, creating a splitting headache.

"We have to go, Emma."

"Wait!" I said more forcefully.

"We can't wait," he growled, pulling me up to my waist as another wave went by, bouncing me up and down as it passed before breaking closer to the shore.

Moving away, he shifted into his dragon form. I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get me to climb on so he could swim away, to a place of peace.

But when I saw his dragon form there in the water, yellow eyes all but glowing in the darkness, I couldn't see anything but the face of that dragon as it peered over the ruined building, evil in its eyes.

At that moment, Rhyse was the red dragon as it crept down the side of the building, claws smashing deep through the bricks, debris cascading down. He was the dragon. And I was the tank.

My next scream was muffled by a mouthful of water. I let it sweep me away, back toward shore.

"Emma!" Rhyse called, taking a step toward me, the waves crashing effortlessly off his dragon form.

Just like the bullets had been rendered harmless. Nothing had stopped them.

I turned for the beach, wading through the water. Behind me, Rhyse shouted once more. He came after me, splashing through the surf. At some point, he'd shifted back. His hand caught my arm, spinning me around.

"Hey, it's me," he said as I flung his grip free, staring wildly, seeing him but not seeing him as I struggled to cope with the cacophony of visuals and sounds in my mind. "Emma!"

He took my arm again when I didn't stop running away.

The dragons had me. They were going to kill me. Like the soldiers.

" NO!" I shrieked, whirling, and smacking him clean in the face with the palm of my hand. "Get your hands off me, you … you freak!"

The insult Killian had used came fresh to mind, and I hurled it without thinking.

Rhyse reared back, the green of his eyes turning hard as jade.

"Fine," he said coldly, shaking his head. "Have it your way."

From the shore came the sound of haunting laughter.

"I don't even care anymore," Killian called. "This is better than any revenge I could cook up. Good job, Rhyse."

I watched him go, struck not by the anger on Rhyse's face, but the pain.

" What have I done ?" I whispered to the empty sky.

My only answer was the sound of waves crashing against the sandy shore.