My throat felt tight as I watched him climb to his feet, keeping weight off his left leg. Blood had already soaked his jeans, and his bearing was rigid with pain. The Patriarch advanced on him slowly, his expression triumphant, his blade coming up for the final rush. I trembled and clenched my fists, feeling claws start to poke through my skin, the breath in my throat start to burn.
“Ember.” Riley’s fingers closed on my arms from behind, his voice full of warning. “Steady, Firebrand,” he whispered. “Don’t do anything reckless. We can’t go in there, no matter what happens.”
Rage flared, but before I could say anything stupid or accusatory, he added, “And no, I don’t want him dead, so don’t even think of throwing that that in my face. I am fully aware of what is at stake. But if we go in there, we’re not only forfeiting the battle, we’re showing St. George that dragons can’t be trusted. That we’re the soulless, evil monsters they believe us to be. And then the war will never be over.”
“I know,” I choked out, watching the Patriarch taunt Garret one last time, wanting nothing more than to lunge between them and take whatever killing blow was coming. “Dammit. I know I can’t help him.”
“Don’t look,” Riley murmured, squeezing my arms. “Turn away if you have to, Firebrand. I’ll tell you when it’s over.”
I shook my head. Though my insides felt like they were being shredded, I wouldn’t turn from him now. If the Patriarch killed Garret right in front of me, I wanted to see it. I wanted to remember this moment, because when it was over and we’d all left this arena of slaughter, I was going to hunt the Patriarch down and turn him into a pile of ashes. And no guards, rogue dragons or army of dragonslayers were going to stand in my way.
The Patriarch lunged, swinging his blade at the wounded soldier, and I flinched. But Garret moved with shocking speed, ducking under the blow and cutting at his opponent in return. The Patriarch blocked the sword but, amazingly, was knocked off his feet, sprawling to his side in the dirt and salt, the blade sliding from his grasp. Garret instantly followed his advantage, placing the blade against the man’s throat and demanding his surrender.
The Patriarch snarled his refusal. Holding my breath, I watched Garret raise his sword to execute his opponent, but hesitated as the Patriarch’s desperate voice broke the silence, yielding the fight at last.
Garret staggered back, lowering his blade, and my heart lurched into motion again. It was over. He was alive, and we had won.
“Son of a bitch,” Riley muttered, and I heard the faint smile in his voice. “The bastard pulled it off.”
Pulling free, I started across the arena, calling out to Garret. He turned, a smile breaking over his face as he saw me. Behind him, the Patriarch stirred, and I saw the glimmer of raw hatred in his eyes as his arm reached to the small of his back and drew out a pistol. My heart lodged in my throat as he pointed it at the soldier.
“Garret, behind you—!”
A shot rang out as Garret turned, the report echoing over the empty flats. I tensed, ready to Shift and fly at the Patriarch with a roar, but even before the first shot died away, five more boomed into the silence...as Tristan drew his gun with blinding speed and fired, point-blank, into his former Patriarch.
The Patriarch jerked as the bullets tore through him. He swayed and collapsed facedown in the salt, the gun flopping limply in his grip. Blood pooled from beneath his chest, staining his uniform and the ground crimson, as the leader of St. George twitched once, then was still.
Ignoring them all, and what that would mean for everyone, I rushed to Garret. He was still on his feet, gazing at the fallen Patriarch with a slightly dazed look on his face. One leg was covered in blood, and the back of his shirt was completely red, soaked through. He looked a bloody mess, but he was still on his feet.
“Garret.” Carefully, I slipped my arms around him, trying to be gentle and take some of his weight, when all I wanted to do was hug him in breathless relief. He gazed down at me, and his eyes were distant and glassy, making my insides clench with alarm. “Hey, you okay—?”
I froze as my hands touched something warm and wet below his ribs. Pulling it back, I saw that my palm and fingers were covered in blood. Heart in my throat, I looked at his side, where a dark red stain was spreading rapidly over his shirt.
Garret shuddered, and collapsed in my arms. Numbly, I lowered him to the ground, cradling his head and shoulders, as blood continued to pool from his side and drip to the salt. So much. There was so much blood. More than I ever seen in my life.
“Ember.” Riley’s fingers closed on my arms from behind, his voice full of warning. “Steady, Firebrand,” he whispered. “Don’t do anything reckless. We can’t go in there, no matter what happens.”
Rage flared, but before I could say anything stupid or accusatory, he added, “And no, I don’t want him dead, so don’t even think of throwing that that in my face. I am fully aware of what is at stake. But if we go in there, we’re not only forfeiting the battle, we’re showing St. George that dragons can’t be trusted. That we’re the soulless, evil monsters they believe us to be. And then the war will never be over.”
“I know,” I choked out, watching the Patriarch taunt Garret one last time, wanting nothing more than to lunge between them and take whatever killing blow was coming. “Dammit. I know I can’t help him.”
“Don’t look,” Riley murmured, squeezing my arms. “Turn away if you have to, Firebrand. I’ll tell you when it’s over.”
I shook my head. Though my insides felt like they were being shredded, I wouldn’t turn from him now. If the Patriarch killed Garret right in front of me, I wanted to see it. I wanted to remember this moment, because when it was over and we’d all left this arena of slaughter, I was going to hunt the Patriarch down and turn him into a pile of ashes. And no guards, rogue dragons or army of dragonslayers were going to stand in my way.
The Patriarch lunged, swinging his blade at the wounded soldier, and I flinched. But Garret moved with shocking speed, ducking under the blow and cutting at his opponent in return. The Patriarch blocked the sword but, amazingly, was knocked off his feet, sprawling to his side in the dirt and salt, the blade sliding from his grasp. Garret instantly followed his advantage, placing the blade against the man’s throat and demanding his surrender.
The Patriarch snarled his refusal. Holding my breath, I watched Garret raise his sword to execute his opponent, but hesitated as the Patriarch’s desperate voice broke the silence, yielding the fight at last.
Garret staggered back, lowering his blade, and my heart lurched into motion again. It was over. He was alive, and we had won.
“Son of a bitch,” Riley muttered, and I heard the faint smile in his voice. “The bastard pulled it off.”
Pulling free, I started across the arena, calling out to Garret. He turned, a smile breaking over his face as he saw me. Behind him, the Patriarch stirred, and I saw the glimmer of raw hatred in his eyes as his arm reached to the small of his back and drew out a pistol. My heart lodged in my throat as he pointed it at the soldier.
“Garret, behind you—!”
A shot rang out as Garret turned, the report echoing over the empty flats. I tensed, ready to Shift and fly at the Patriarch with a roar, but even before the first shot died away, five more boomed into the silence...as Tristan drew his gun with blinding speed and fired, point-blank, into his former Patriarch.
The Patriarch jerked as the bullets tore through him. He swayed and collapsed facedown in the salt, the gun flopping limply in his grip. Blood pooled from beneath his chest, staining his uniform and the ground crimson, as the leader of St. George twitched once, then was still.
Ignoring them all, and what that would mean for everyone, I rushed to Garret. He was still on his feet, gazing at the fallen Patriarch with a slightly dazed look on his face. One leg was covered in blood, and the back of his shirt was completely red, soaked through. He looked a bloody mess, but he was still on his feet.
“Garret.” Carefully, I slipped my arms around him, trying to be gentle and take some of his weight, when all I wanted to do was hug him in breathless relief. He gazed down at me, and his eyes were distant and glassy, making my insides clench with alarm. “Hey, you okay—?”
I froze as my hands touched something warm and wet below his ribs. Pulling it back, I saw that my palm and fingers were covered in blood. Heart in my throat, I looked at his side, where a dark red stain was spreading rapidly over his shirt.
Garret shuddered, and collapsed in my arms. Numbly, I lowered him to the ground, cradling his head and shoulders, as blood continued to pool from his side and drip to the salt. So much. There was so much blood. More than I ever seen in my life.
