Connor stopped short, taking her other hand and pulling her around to face him. Even in the darkness, his eyes seemed to glow as they found hers, locking on and refusing to let go. As he clung to her, she could feel the passion and strength streaming from his fingertips, electrifying her entire being as his emotions tangled with her own. The sensation was both exhilarating…and terrifying.
“That’s not going to happen this time around,” he told her in a thick voice, squeezing her hands so tightly she was half afraid he’d break her bones. “I may have gotten off to a rough start. I may have arrived late. But I have the egg. And I have you. And I promise you, Trinity, I will stop the dragon apocalypse. I will stop the Dracken.” He paused, then added, “No matter what I have to do.”
Chapter Eleven
“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Trinity announced as she pulled the torn screen door open. The bank had changed the locks when they’d foreclosed on her former home, but they evidently hadn’t bothered to check all the windows. She wasn’t surprised, not really. After all, there was nothing inside worth stealing. Just dusty furniture and even dustier memories.
She drew in a breath. The last time she’d stepped inside this house, she’d stumbled upon a nightmare, her worst fears coming true. This time things were decidedly less dramatic. The house felt more like an ancient crypt than a fresh grave. Caked with dust and draped with intricate spider webs, it was an empty husk of what had once been a home.
She could feel its emptiness hammering at her bones. But Connor said he wanted to make sure. He cased the house, first and second floor, gun raised and ready, as she waited by the back door for his okay. After determining that it was, indeed, as abandoned and vacant as she promised, he set down his gun and allowed his shoulders to relax. Trinity rummaged about to find a few candles and matches, and even scored an industrial-strength flashlight from the garage that amazingly still held some battery power. She spread the candles around the living room and removed the plastic covering from the faded flowery couch.
Connor watched her at her tasks, still looking a little uneasy. He’d changed out of his strange silver jumpsuit and now wore slouchy dark-rinse jeans, riding low on his narrow hips, and a tight navy T-shirt, stretching across his broad chest and bringing out the blue in his ever-glowing eyes. Trin had to admit, for a guy from the future, he was pretty hot. If only she could snap a quick pic and text it to Caitlin. Of course, explaining how she met him might prove a bit difficult.
She shook her head. Get your mind out of the gutter, girl, she scolded herself. After all, he was here on a mission to save the world—not hook up with the locals.
That said, the guy from Terminator did manage to find the time…
“So you used to live here?” Connor asked, completely oblivious to her ridiculous thoughts, thank God. “It’s strange we have no record of that.”
“I wasn’t here long,” she admitted, sobered by the question. “My mom bought the place to convince the judge I’d have a quote—” she made rabbit ears with her fingers “—stable home environment.” She screwed up her face. “What a joke that was. Didn’t last long enough for the first mortgage check to cash.”
Connor regarded her solemnly. “Is that when she died?”
“When she blew her head off, you mean?”
He winced. “I’m sorry.”
She waved him off, not wanting to deal with the pity she knew she’d find in his eyes. It was bad enough to be back here in the first place. Everywhere she looked—everything she saw—a bitter reminder of that other Christmas Eve two years ago today. That fateful afternoon when she’d danced home from school with light steps and a happy heart. Eager to get the party started. To celebrate her first real Christmas in her first real home.
From now on, things are going to be different, her mother had promised. From now on, we’ll be a family.
But that, it had turned out, had been just another one of Mom’s fantasies.
“It’s amazing they managed to get all the brains out of the carpet,” she muttered, kicking the obviously bleached-out rug with her toe. The shotgun had made quite a mess—in fact, if it wasn’t for her mother’s bloodstained bunny slippers still stuffed on her feet and the emerald ring on her finger, she probably wouldn’t have even recognized the corpse sprawled out on the living room floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Connor’s cringe and immediately wished she could take back the vulgar words. After all, it had been her idea to come here—not his. And there was no reason to lash out and punish him for what her mother had done to her. Over the last two years, she’d tried to forget it altogether, to block out the memories and move forward with her life best she could. But being back here, at the scene of the unforgivable crime, was proving too much, especially with her nerves already stretched so tight.
“She was sick,” she found herself saying, surprising herself as the words spilled from her lips. She never talked about what had happened with her mother. Not to Caitlin. Not even to her grandpa. He’d tried to get her to talk about it, of course, even sent her to shrinks they couldn’t afford to help her release what she’d bottled up inside. But it had been no use. She’d never been able to voice the betrayal and hurt she’d experienced on that devastating day—the day she’d realized that all the promises in the world meant nothing and the only person she could truly trust was herself.
“Not physically sick,” she continued in a rush, twisting the ring on her finger forcefully. “I mean, she heard…voices…in her head. Sometimes they were so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.” She pressed her palm against the wall, hanging her head as she remembered. “They told her to do things. Things she never would have done otherwise.”
Like abandon her only daughter without even saying good-bye.
She trailed off, uncomfortably reminded of her own voices—the ones she’d heard back in the museum and at her grandpa’s house. Was it just a coincidence? Her mind playing tricks? Or had her mother’s illness been lurking inside of her all along? Waiting for just the right moment to dig its sharp talons into her consciousness and rip out her sense of reality?
I’m nothing like Mom. I’m nothing like Mom. I’m NOTHING like Mom.
She shoved off the wall, plopping down on the couch and scrubbing her face with her hands. “Anyway, that’s when my grandpa took me in. He didn’t have to. But he knew how miserable I’d been in foster care over the years when my mom was in and out of hospitals, and so he somehow convinced the judge to award him custody.” She gave Connor a sad smile. “And we became a family. Just the two of us.”
And then I yelled at him, she added to herself. I basically called him a fool for wasting our money on some useless artifact.
But it wasn’t useless. And she was the one who’d been a fool.
She glanced out the window, unease knotting her stomach. Where was he? Why hadn’t he called? Had the blood on the knife been his? The fact that the agents were looking for him meant, at least, they didn’t have him. But what about these Dracken people? Could they have captured him somehow? And if so, what would they do to him? Would they hold him captive until she agreed to turn over the egg?
“I just hope he’s okay,” she said quietly. “I can’t stand thinking about him out there somewhere, all alone, maybe in trouble. It just makes me feel so helpless.” Her voice cracked on the last part as she fought back a sob.
For a moment she just sat there, staring out the window, not knowing what to do, what to say. Then, to her surprise, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Connor reaching out, without a word, gathering her into his arms.
Her first instinct was to resist, to pull away. To put distance between herself and this stranger. After all, she wasn’t the type of girl who just fell into a guy’s arms at a moment’s notice, no matter how hot they might be.
Yet she was so stressed, so frayed, so at her wits’ end. And his arms were so warm. So gentle and comforting. An embrace for her tired soul to melt into. She found herself
relaxing, resting her head against his chest, breathing in his warm, rich scent. As he stroked her head with careful fingers, she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against her ear.
“I’m sorry, Trinity,” he said so softly she could barely make out the words. “No one should have to go through something like that.”
She gave a choking laugh and pushed herself off the couch, out of Connor’s reach, stalking to the other side of the room, trying to ignore her pounding heart. Seriously, what was wrong with her? She paced the room, her nervous steps eating up the distance between walls, feeling embarrassed and awkward and not knowing what to say. Here Connor was, trying to save the world from a dragon apocalypse, and all she could do was babble on and on about her pitiful life story. As if it would matter to him in the least. So her mother died. Big deal. His whole freaking world had died. Hell, he probably only hugged her in an effort to get her to shut up for three seconds, so he could get back to the mission at hand.
She turned back to him, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to pull herself together. To appear strong and in control. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. Trust me, it’s not something I normally do. Even with people I know.” She scanned the room, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “I guess it’s just this place—filled with empty promises and broken dreams.”
Connor was silent for a moment, regarding her with serious eyes. At last he spoke. “The Surface Lands can be like that for me.”
“The Surface Lands?” she repeated, cocking her head in question, more than grateful for the sudden subject change. “What are the Surface Lands?”
“That’s what we call the world aboveground where I come from,” he clarified, waving an arm around the room. “You know, where the dragons rule. Every time I head up there—on mission or whatever—I feel like I’m stepping into a graveyard.”
“You mean because of all the people who died in the apocalypse?”
“Because of my father.”
His voice was gruff. Brittle. As if it hurt to say the words out loud. And they sent a startling revelation straight to her core. He’d lost someone too. Someone he loved. His family had shattered, just like her own. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so pathetic for spilling her secrets, for accepting his comforting hug. Because, she realized, he wasn’t looking at her with pitying eyes like the rest of them did. He was looking at her with understanding.
“Was he…?” she started to ask, then trailed off, not knowing how to voice the question.
“Burned alive by dragon fire?” Connor finished for her. Bitterness flashed across his face. “Yes. It’s a common way to go in my world.”
She waited for him to continue, but he fell silent instead, probably as uncomfortable as she’d been sharing such intimate details with a practical stranger. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that she’d never betray his secrets or mock his pain. But she stayed silent, thinking perhaps it was too much, too soon. The near-death experience and mad escape for their lives had stretched her emotions taut as piano wires. But that didn’t mean he felt the same.
“He was a Hunter,” Connor said at last. “A Dragon Hunter, just like me. He was good too. Maybe the best ever. Until…” He trailed off again, silent for a moment, then shook himself. “In any case, that’s the kind of senseless death I’ve come back to prevent. If I succeed in my mission—and I don’t intend to fail,” he added, giving her a fierce look, “the Scorch will never take place. And dragons will be gone for good.”
The fire in his eyes and the fervor in his voice sent a chill down to her bones. He was so passionate, so determined—especially for someone so young. Completely unlike any of the boys she knew from school. They were all too wrapped up in sports or video games or the latest viral something-or-other to hit the interwebs to concern themselves with the atrocities of the world. Never mind muster up the energy to do something about them.
But Connor was different. The travesties he’d witnessed had made him strong, not scared. Determined, not demoralized.
“Tell me about this Scorch,” she requested, wanting to hear him talk more, to unravel the secrets of his strange, futuristic world—and maybe a few about himself. “What was it like? I’m trying to picture it, but all I can think of was this really bad movie I saw once.”
Connor seemed to consider this for a moment. “If you want, I can show you,” he said at last.
“Show me?” She squinted at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
At first he didn’t answer. Outside she could hear the wind whistling through the trees, announcing the encroaching storm. A coyote howled mournfully across the plain, echoed by a few neighborhood dogs. But inside the house, the silence was thick and suffocating as she waited, on the edge of her seat, for what he was going to say.
Finally, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I think it’s the only way to do this. Otherwise, it’ll be just words. You’ll never truly understand what it was like. Why this is all so important.” He gazed at her, his eyes darkening with emotion. “But I warn you, it’s not an easy thing to see.”
She squared her shoulders, not sure what she was agreeing to. But she’d come this far already—and she wanted him to know that she could be brave too.
“Nothing has been easy since I met you,” she declared, drawing on all her remaining bravado. “Why start now?”
“Right.” Connor gave her a wry look. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He reached out, taking her hands in his own. She felt something hard and cold between them and realized he’d placed a sapphire-colored gem into her palm. She stared down at it, wondering what it was for. Before she could ask, Connor closed his eyes, his face glowing with concentration as he squeezed her hands tightly in his.
A moment later the gem began to heat in her hand, hotter and hotter, until she was sure it would catch fire and singe her skin. Panicked, she glanced up at Connor, but his eyes remained closed and lips pressed firmly together—as if nothing was wrong. And so she forced herself to ignore the burn, closing her eyes and readying herself for anything.
But nothing could prepare her for what she saw next.
Chapter Twelve
The world was on fire.
At least that was Trinity’s first thought as she opened her eyes. No longer safe and sound in her mother’s old house, she found herself standing in the center of Old Oak Grove’s town square, an inferno raging all around her, as far as her eyes could see. White-hot flames licked at shops and restaurants while bright orange fire devoured the trees. Smoke, thick as pea soup, flooded the streets, as desperate, human-shaped shadows flew past her, stumbling in a frantic attempt to reach safe ground. Sobs echoed through the air, competing with children’s screams, and the marble fountain in the center of the square violently boiled over.
“Connor?” she cried, trying to peer through the smoke. “Are you there?” Her voice was raw and hoarse, and her lungs burned in protest as she waited for his reply.
But there was no reply. No answer to her calls. No sign of the time traveler who’d sent her to this hell on earth.
She was alone.
How could he do this to her? Just dump her here at the end of the world—with no explanation as to what she was supposed to do? Where she was supposed to go? Was this simply a vision of an event that had already taken place? Or had he actually sent her forward in time? Was she safe and sound in her former home, still gripping Connor’s hands? Or was she really here, her life in danger?
An inhuman screech ripped through the air, shattering her questions and rendering her immobile. At the same moment, the smoke seemed to sweep away in a gust of sudden wind. Gathering all her courage, she dared to look up, just in time to see the shadow of a giant serpent swimming through the sky, its wingspan so vast that, for a moment, it blotted out the sun.
A dragon. A giant dragon. Whirling above her, beating the skies with its leathery wings, its tail snapping back and forth behind it. From where she stood, she cou
ld just make out the thick red scales, the impossibly long claws, the razor-sharp teeth, the black, vacant eyes. It was both impossibly beautiful and exquisitely terrifying, and Trinity found she couldn’t look away.
The beast turned on a dime—shockingly graceful for its gigantean size—and landed on a nearby church steeple. As Trin watched, breath in her throat, it slowly pulled back its massive head, opening its mouth with a long, loud hiss. A blast of fire shot out and she leapt back, just in time, as it rained down onto the town square, only inches from where she’d stood. Heat slashed at her skin, drenching her in sweat.
Get out of there, Trinity! Now!
She started to run—down the street, through the alley, over the bridge. Screams assaulted her ears as she leapt over charred lumps she didn’t want to identify as human and her nose was assaulted by the smell of burnt flesh. It was all she could do not to stop and puke her guts out. But to stop was to die. So she kept moving.
Bursting into a vacant lot, she heard a cracking sound above. She looked up, her eyes locking on a burning roof, reaching the point of collapse. She leapt back, but found she couldn’t dodge the fiery chunk of wood flying at her face. Instinctively she put up her arm as a shield. As the wood hit her hand, she shrieked as the flames seared her skin.
Cradling her burnt hand, she bit back the pain, reassessing her surroundings. The collapsed roof prevented her from going any further forward. And the way she came was no longer an option. As she desperately tried a few doors—all of them locked—her eyes fell upon a small hole—a drainage ditch, large enough to crawl into. It looked dark and dank, the kind of place filled with rats and snakes, but she dove in anyway, splashing through the murky water, ignoring the putrid smell, thankful to be out of the fire’s path.