Art swivels, considers me. “Young Murphy,” he drawls. “I was hoping I was just seeing things.” He shuffles, water dripping from his black clothes and silver-metaled chest plate. “Why don’tyounot move. This isn’t your fight and you don’t want it to be.”
At this, I do stop. His tone has lost the threatening edge he had with Farren. He wants me to lay down and with a sickening thud I know why.
“My father sent you,” I say.
His head tilts and Art smirks.
“Call this off and you can have all this.” I wave to the gold at my feet. “Abandon my father’s plans and take it.”
“And what if we already have?” He turns for his dragon.
His words don’t make sense. But I don’t have long to process them before he’s jumping onto his Sprinter.
I should fly in the opposite direction to the wedding. The scalers’ backs are to me, the golden giant flying through the air a perfect distraction. I know this.As veterinarians to these magnificent creatures we can’t let fear stop us from intervening, we can’t sit by, and we can’t just watch. Neither can I, not with nine men tearing through the sky after Farren and Nity. Not when she needs me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTWHEN FLYING FOR YOUR LIFE
FARREN
Like bugs to a flame, the men swarm Nity and me. A Rimback has the muscle and the power, but Sprinters always have the speed. My five-minute head start narrows to nothing as bronze and copper dragons fly into my peripheral. Trying to flank us. Or not trying. Flanking us.
I could fly toward the wedding, confirm everyone’s safety, and get help. But as much as I don’t want to be alone in this, going anywhere inland will put more lives at stake. Besides, like with a tournament, water doesn’t kill like rocky cliffside. I’m already unsteady enough, clinging onto Nity’s back.
A tranquilizer shot from a crossbow zooms past me. We curve downward. A grappling hook tries to weave around Nity’s legs. We dart upward. The biggest net I’ve ever seen blankets the sky. I stand, remove a forearm of gold and shoot the metal upward like a knife. The silver-lined netting sags and falls, cut in half. They’re literally throwing every poacher tool in existence. Somehow, we aren’t tied up yet.
And somehow, I haven’t fallen off.
Then the spears start.
Nity’s wings work double time. I duck my head and lay across the knife-likescales beneath me, my fingers straining and aching as I try to hold on as she rolls. A torrent of metal cascades upon us, mostly hitting her hind legs and tail. All bouncing off her gold.
Then a voice from below bellows the words I feared the most. “Aim for the chest! She’s shedding! Aim for the chest.”
They’ve seen her bare spots. They know she’s vulnerable. And if they’re smart, they’ll also know—
“That means we’ve got some baby golden dragons to find, men,” the leader calls out.
Whoops erupt around me like dogs hungry and excited for the chase. My every muscle feels like a snarled rope, twisting and clenching. My throat in particular chokes on the knot clogging my airway.The babies. They know about our babies.
Something thumps beneath me and Nity curves upward like… like she’s been hit in the stomach.
Wings fold in on me and I know what Nity plans next. “Nity, don’t dive. I won’t be able to—”
She dives. I close my eyes and focus on holding on for dear life. Shrieks engulf the air beneath me as Nity takes her talons and scrapes a copper Sprinter down their wing. Metal grinds, flesh rips, and I’m suddenly staring at a wing so shredded it’s practically gone. They fall, both dragon and rider, a tumbling mess of metal and blood. The rider who spotted her shedding, he’s gone…
Eight. Now it’s eight to one.
As Nity spreads her wings to catch the air to stop her sharp descent, spears shoot at us from the side. I sit up and twirl their spears back at them. When that’s not enough, I stand. Every weapon, every metal thrown our way I craft. This is what humans were meant to do when we learned how to control a dragon’s metal. Not steal from dragons. Not kill dragons. We were supposed to be their partner, fight alongside them. This is why the bond was created.
Without my glasses my awareness for every metal and metal-coateddragon heightens, a sixth sense only amplified by my bond with Nity. Her power is unimaginable and I’m wielding it.
I redirect a silver spear meant for a killing blow. Throw it into the ocean where they belong. Three more stream from my right and I block them all. One I catch and hurl back toward the closest poacher to my right. Metal fastens around the man’s torso and then I connect it to the pommel of his saddle, anchoring him face down on his dragon.
Seven to one.
Another spear is thrown, this one right at me, and Nity’s wing raises, bashing the weapon out of the sky. In the next stroke, she whacks outward at the poacher with the sharp tips of her wing like the edge of a sword. He flies from his seat with a spray of blood and a scream. He’s dead. I’m so scared I’m not even distraught. Self-preservation encases me like metaled scales. But dread washes over me knowing what this means, what italwaysmeans when a dragon hurts a human.
The leader rises into my line of sight. The only silver-plated Sprinter among them. “Bring her down,” he demands. “Kill her before she kills any more of us.”