Once he had paid for his purchases, he headed back outside. “Are you ready to…?” He started to say, but then realized Trin’s grandfather was no longer leaning against his car. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen at all. Connor’s gaze darted from one end of the street to the other, anxiety prickling at his skin. He tried to tell himself that the old man had probably gone to find a bathroom or something—his bladder was beyond useless at his age. But as the minutes ticked away, that idea started to seem more and more unlikely.
Charlie? He reached out, grimacing at the effort. His spark was so low at this point it wasn’t even funny. Where’d you go? Are you okay?
I’m fine! Grandpa’s excited voice shot through Connor’s head a moment later. I met some guys—they know where she is! They’re going to take me to her!
Connor tensed, warning bells clanging in his head. No! he cried. Wait for me. Don’t go anywhere until I get there.
It’s fine, Connor. They’re real nice fellas. They’re going to—
His send stopped abruptly, as if the connection were severed by a knife. Fear throttled Connor as he tried to find the old man with his mind. But it was as if a brick wall had slammed down between them.
Flecking hell. What had he been thinking—leaving him alone like that? Trinity had told him her grandpa was gullible, but he didn’t think even he would be so stupid as to go off with a bunch of strangers alone. Evidently he underestimated the man’s determination to find his granddaughter at any cost.
Suddenly Connor heard a cry—an old man’s cry of pain—echo through his head. He sprang into action, racing down the street in the direction of the sound. Stomach churning, he pushed past curious bystanders, not bothering to apologize, as his pulse drummed out his fear.
This couldn’t be happening. Not after he’d promised Trinity he’d keep her grandpa safe. If he couldn’t come through with that, how could he expect her to trust him with anything else? And it wasn’t just that, either, he admitted to himself. He’d grown fond of the crotchety old geezer in the last few days. He couldn’t let anything happen to him.
He swung into an alley and stopped short, dropping down behind a trash compactor at the sound of men’s voices. Peering around, he froze as he saw Trinity’s grandpa surrounded by a group of thugs who were glaring at him menacingly. The old man’s face was awash with confusion and fear as he looked back at the men.
“I don’t understand,” he babbled. “I thought you were going to take me to my granddaughter.”
“Oh, we’ll take you to Trinity all right,” one of the men said with a nasty sneer. A scar slashed across his cheek and, from the way the others looked to him, Connor figured him the leader. “You’ll make a good dinner for her dragon.”
Connor stifled a groan. He’d been praying this was just some kind of robbery—a group of street rats taking advantage of an old man. But no, these men knew about Trinity and they knew about her dragon. Which could mean only one thing.
They were sent by the Dracken.
Oh, Trinity, he thought. Be careful who you trust.
Grandpa’s face paled. He made a move to escape, but the men grabbed him, yanking him back. One slammed a foot into the back of his knees, sending him flying forward. The other clubbed him across the face, hot blood splattering as his nose burst open. A third drew his gun, shoving the barrel up against the back of his head, execution style. Connor cringed.
“No!” The leader wrestled the gun away from his buddy, giving him a scolding look. “Darius says we have to make it look like a heart attack.” He peered down into Grandpa’s terrified eyes with a mocking grin. “You’ll be a good old fart and come along quietly, now won’t you?”
“Why are you doing this?” Trinity’s grandpa cried, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks, mixing with the blood.
The Dracken mercenary didn’t answer. But Connor didn’t need him too. In fact, it all made perfect sense. Grandpa was Trinity’s only family—the only tie she had left to the outside world. Cut that tie and she’d have nothing left except them and the dragon and their empty promises to save the world. She’d be completely under their control.
It was the perfect plan except for one thing. He wasn’t about to let them get away with it.
His mind raced for a plan. This is what he’d trained for, why they’d sent him here in the first place. But he hadn’t bargained on being so weak—practically out of spark. Group pushes were tricky at best, even at full energy levels, and he was running on empty. But he had to try. He couldn’t take on five armed men by himself. Closing his eyes, he pulled deep within, drawing up all his reserves, not holding anything back.
You’ve got the wrong guy.
He opened his eyes, scanning the group, praying they’d heard him and would obey. But they were busy dragging Grandpa to his feet and shuttling him to a nearby van with blacked-out windows. His push hadn’t affected them at all.
Connor tried again.
The cops are on their way. You need to leave. Now!
Icy pain stabbed his skull and he nearly passed out from the effort. But when he opened his eyes, he realized it was all for nothing. The men kept at their tasks, as if nothing had happened.
He gripped his head in his hands, trying to think past the pain. This was not going well. A few more minutes and they’d be gone—Trinity’s grandpa never heard from again. He watched, helpless, as the old man struggled uselessly against his captors. From this close proximity, he could feel Grandpa’s terror and confusion as if it were his own. He certainly was a strong sender. Maybe one of the strongest Connor had ever met, save for Trinity herself.
That’s it! The idea struck him like a lightning bolt. If he could get Grandpa to help him, maybe their combined spark could complete the push. He didn’t know if the old man could focus past his injuries, but he had no other options and they were running out of time.
To me! he sent out. I need as much spark as you can spare!
He watched, praying for some reaction, some clue to tell him Grandpa had heard him and would obey. For a split second, he thought he saw something in the man’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. Still, he had no time to send again. He had to hope for the best.
Pushing past the pain in his skull, he closed his eyes one more time. Drawing his energy into a tiny, bright white ball and thrusting it as hard as he could.
You’ve got the wrong guy. Walk away now. The cops are almost here.
He fell back, seeing stars, unable, for a moment, to even move. His legs and arms were Jell-O and his stomach swam with nausea. Still he watched, waiting. Praying. They’d almost reached the van. If this hadn’t worked, it was all over. It was too late to try again.
For a moment, he saw no sign. Then one of them looked up.
“I don’t think we have the right guy,” he said.
“What?” the leader lashed at him. “What are you talking about? Of course it’s the right guy.”
“No,” his buddy agreed, looking at Grandpa, his face awash with confusion. “I don’t think it is.”
“Do you hear sirens?” added the third man. “I think the cops are on their way.”
The leader’s face twisted in rage. “You morons. What’s wrong with you? There’re no sirens. And no cops either. Now get him the hell in the van and let’s get out of here.”
But the men had already released Grandpa, the old man collapsing unceremoniously down onto the pavement. They looked at one another, fear clear in their faces, then rushed to the van, jumping in and closing the doors behind them. A moment later the engine roared to life.
“What are you doing?” screamed the leader. “Get back out here! Get him in the van!”
But his cries were for nothing. And the vehicle soon sped away. Connor let out a silent cheer. Now it was one on one. Even in his weakened condition, he liked those odds. Too bad his gun was back in the car—that would have made it almost easy.
“Aw hell,” the leader was growling, watching the van disappear around a corner. Then h
e turned back to Grandpa. “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol. “Guess I have no choice now.”
This was it! Connor dove in, throwing himself on top of the man. The gun went off with a loud bang and for a split second Connor thought the guy had missed, that the bullet had rang out into thin air. But then he felt a warmness soak his arm, followed by a stabbing pain. No such luck.
But he had no time to consider the extent of his wound. Instead, using his good arm, he managed to wrestle the gun from the mercenary’s grip, tossing it away. Then he clamped his fingers around the man’s neck, squeezing as hard as he could. The man struggled, kicking and gasping, but Connor had him well pinned.
“This is for Trinity!” he growled, digging his thumbs into the man’s sunken flesh. “This is for my dad!” He dug in harder, finding himself oddly enjoying the terrified bulge in the man’s eyes.
“Connor, stop! You’re going to kill him!”
He felt a hand grab his injured arm and he screamed in agony as the pain exploded all over again. But the jolt was enough to break the spell. He loosened his grip, looking up to see Trinity’s grandfather looming above him, a scared but determined look on his wrinkled face.
“Come on,” he hissed. “We have to get out of here.”
“Wait,” Connor said, his soldier training conquering his raging emotions. “I need to get information from him first.” Ignoring his throbbing head, he plunged into the unconscious man’s mind, gasping at what he found inside.
It was ugly—black and decrepit and rank. Smelling of death and decay. The Dracken had evidently chosen their mercenaries well. There was no pity in this man, no sense of humanity. If he had ever lived and loved and hoped and dreamed, all of that had died out a long time ago.
The ugliness made Connor’s stomach turn, but still he pressed on, crawling through the darkness until he finally reached the small nugget of information he needed. He yanked hard, grabbing it and securing it into his own consciousness. Only then did he allow himself to pull back. Once he was out, his stomach wrenched and he vomited, the ugliness spewing out in black pools onto the pavement.
He looked up, staring blankly at Grandpa, all his energy expended. The old man grabbed his good arm. “Come on,” he pleaded. “I can hear sirens. You’ll be no good to her if they lock you up.”
Connor forced himself to his feet. He glanced at his arm, horrified at the blood soaking through his shirt. Cradling it against his chest, he ran after Grandpa, back toward their car and away from the scene of the crime.
When they reached the outskirts of town, Connor finally allowed himself a much-needed breath. His arm throbbed, his head felt thick and dizzy. He was losing too much blood, he realized vaguely.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Trinity’s grandfather said, glancing over at him with concerned eyes. He didn’t look in much better shape than Connor felt. His nose had swollen to twice its size and blood had crusted on his unshaven chin. They made quite a pair, he thought grimly.
“I’ll be all right,” he assured the older man, reaching into his bag and pulling out his precious burn salve. In addition to soothing burns, it did a good job of closing wounds and preventing infection. He winced as he forced himself to smear the salve over the spot where the bullet had hit him. Thankfully, it appeared to have gone right through. He wouldn’t have to dig it from his skin.
“I’m sorry, Connor,” Grandpa said, watching him with dismay clear on his face. “I should have never taken off on you like that. I was just so hopeful that they really knew where she was.”
“They knew,” Connor replied grimly, relaxing against the back of the seat. The burn salve was doing its job and the pain was thankfully subsiding a bit. “Believe me, they knew. And now, thanks to you, so do we.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Are you there, girl?”
Caleb had to duck as he entered the low-ceilinged cave, narrowly missing a hanging stalactite. Blinking, he peered into the darkness, searching for something Fred shaped.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
He took another few cautious steps, careful not to step in a hole. Even here in the Nether, where dragons no longer had to worry about predators, the beasts gravitated toward hard-to-reach places—preferring dark, dank crannies to flower-strewn fields where they could more easily stretch out and worship the sun. Lingering instinct from the old days, perhaps, when they would hoard huge troves of treasure, deep in their lairs, safe from even the cleverest of thieves. Some dragons—the really old ones—still kept the tradition, manifesting shiny gems and glittering gold anytime they had the spark. Fred, on the other hand, preferred treasures of a more edible sort.
A bellowing roar echoed through the cave and a moment later Caleb found himself almost knocked over by a rampaging beast. His rampaging beast. He laughed as a solid snout rammed into his chest, tickling him as it sniffed at his various pockets.
“Hey, hey! Put that thing away!” he protested, playfully shoving the dragon’s nose. “You could hurt someone with that, you know.”
Fred snorted and twin puffs of smoke twined from her nostrils as she gave Caleb an offended look. He rolled his eyes. Dragons. “Don’t you even think about getting huffy with me,” he scolded, wagging his finger at her, “or you won’t get what I brought you.”
Fred’s eyes widened and she stumbled backward so fast it made Caleb laugh out loud. “Thought so,” he said with a nod. As Fred watched him, he closed his eyes, envisioning a large chunk of horsemeat—one of his dragon’s favorite foods. (Not that Fred was all that picky.) At first nothing appeared and he could hear his dragon’s impatient panting beside him.
“Hang on, girl,” he promised, sucking in a breath and pushing again. “Just one more…”
The horsemeat fell from the cave’s ceiling—smaller than he’d aimed for and a bit rotten from the smell, but Fred didn’t seem to mind. She attacked the flesh with gusto, smacking her lips in appreciation between bites. Once it had been completely consumed, she gave Caleb a baleful look, batting her eyes and lolling her giant tongue.
“Are you kidding me?” he scolded, forcing his laughter at bay. “That last manifest nearly killed me. Have some mercy on your poor Guardian. Besides, you keep eating like that and you’re going to get fat.”
It wasn’t strictly true—in the Nether, Fred could look svelte or swollen, depending on her mood—but Caleb had been harassing her about her caloric intake since they’d first met in the real world and old habits died hard.
“Are you ready to fly?” he asked. Flying was the one thing Fred liked better than eating. Or at least she pursued both with equal gusto.
Sure enough, the teal dragon bobbed her head excitedly. Then she glanced behind Caleb, her golden eyes searching.
He looked over his shoulder. “What?”
Did you bring my namesake?
Caleb groaned loudly. Not again. “Are you going to ask me that every time I come visit you?” he admonished. “I’m beginning to get a complex. And she’s not your namesake anymore either. We talked about this. You’re called Fred now, remember?”
Fred is a silly name for a dragon.
“Well, you’re a pretty silly dragon, so it works out just fine,” Caleb retorted, feeling his face heat. He hadn’t been prepared when Trinity had asked him his dragon’s name back at Dracken Headquarters and had blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Because the alternative—to admit whom he’d really named his dragon after—well, that would be beyond embarrassing. “In any case, no, I didn’t bring her. Sorry I’m not enough for you.”
He meant it as a joke, but the words came out more bitterly than he’d intended. Fred seemed to hesitate. You like her. You’re happy when she’s here.
Ugh. Maybe going off the food conversation had been a mistake. He closed his eyes, tried to manifest something else for his dragon to eat, but it was no use. His spark had gone out. And it would be
hours, maybe days, before it regenerated. Opening his eyes again, he caught Fred giving him a disapproving look, but brushed her off.
“Look, Trin has more important things going on right now,” he told his dragon. “She and Emmy have a lot of training to get through. You remember how brutal training can be. Trin doesn’t have time to come to the Nether. She’s got things to do in the real world.”
And you do not?
Caleb flinched at Fred’s pointed question. Seriously, for a ridiculous, food-obsessed reptile, his dragon could also be startlingly perceptive at times. But what could he say? That he was hiding out in the Nether to avoid the mess he’d created in real life?
He should have never kissed her. That was his first mistake and probably the stupidest thing he could have done. She was a legend. A leader. The Fire Kissed, for God’s sake! She deserved a match of the highest order. A real man with character and integrity and power.
And what was he? Nothing. Nobody. Just a petty criminal from Strata-D—not even his own family wanted him around. He wasn’t good enough for someone like her. He wasn’t even worthy of licking her boots to clean them.
And yet…
His mind flashed back to her hands, gripping him tightly and pulling him close. Her heart matching the erratic beats of his own. The look in her eyes, the catch of breath at her throat, her soft, silky skin melting against him—he’d lost himself in the fantasy of it all. And as her lips clung to his as if her life depended on it, he’d allowed himself—for one precious moment—to believe she could see beyond what everybody else saw. Just once, he wanted someone to look up to him.
Instead her dark eyes gazed upon him with apology. With…pity.
Anger rose as he remembered that look. Shards of glass, tearing into his soul as she yanked herself away. She’d had excuses, many, many excuses. But the truth remained the same. She only felt sorry for him. The boy with the dead dragon.