My stomach churned, and I shook myself angrily. Stop it, Dante, I told myself. You’re being ridiculous. There is nothing to fear.
Setting my jaw, I walked across the room to the table. A box cutter lay on one of the packages; I snatched it up and, without hesitation, slashed the blade down the center of the cardboard. Within the box was another, even smaller box, and I cut that one open, too.
As I pulled back the flaps, the smell of smoke and charred things wafted up, making my stomach turn again. The container was filled with clothes, sealed in plastic and neatly labeled, but the stench of smoke still clung to everything. The fabric was burned, singed and in tatters, but I knew that wasn’t enough reason for it to have been taken from the scene. Setting the bags on the table, I examined them carefully and finally saw why these pieces of clothing had been removed.
Not only were they singed, but several of them had been ripped apart. A few had puncture holes left from pointed fangs and talons, the fabric around the holes stained dark with blood. Evidence that not only had these clothes, and whoever had been wearing them, been burned, they had been savaged, as well.
Torn apart by dragons. My dragons. The vessels I sent to destroy the town.
I stared at the ravaged piles of fabric, forcing myself to acknowledge what had happened. Massive death and destruction, blood and pain and fear, by my hand. I hadn’t set the fires or torn into those humans myself, but I had given the order. The vessels were my tools, as surely as a gun or a blade, and I had used them for slaughter.
Sacrifice is necessary.
I knew that was true. I knew everything we did was for the good of our race. And the vessels were our most powerful force to date in the war with St. George. With them, we could finally start to turn the tide, strike a real blow against our ancient enemies. Numbers had always been our weakness, not enough bodies to fight back against the Order, and every loss we took was devastating to our entire race. The vessels would change that. Without them, we would still be heavily outnumbered and outgunned. Without them, St. George would still be pushing us toward extinction.
But there was a difference between sending the vessels into war with genocidal, highly trained soldiers who hated our kind and normal, everyday humans who didn’t even know about dragons. And there was a large distinction between attacking heavily armed and armored humans and those sleeping peacefully in their beds. That community hadn’t stood a chance. They hadn’t even known what hit them before they were dead.
What will Ember think of this? What will she think of you?
I smiled grimly. I knew what Ember would think. She would be horrified, appalled. She would call me all kinds of terrible names. And she would be right. I had chosen this course, for the good of our race and our people. She would never believe it, but I was still doing this for her. For all of us.
And though I would never admit it out loud, I was doing it for myself. I was almost there. I was closer to my goal than ever before, but I wasn’t there yet. Just one more step, I told myself. One more step to the top, and the thing I desired most.
Freedom.
Silently, I made note of everything in the box, recording it all carefully onto my tablet. More would be arriving soon—more containers full of burned clothes, blood, ashes and death. I would inspect them, as well, before they made their final journey to the Vault, but I had seen all I needed. Now I had to wait and trust the Elder Wyrm, as I always had. We would make our race powerful again. Together, we would not only bring our species back from the edge of extinction, we would make certain neither St. George nor any other humans ever threatened our survival again.
By any means necessary.
*
The rest of the day passed in a blur of cataloging, meetings, phone calls and more meetings. I deliberately kept busy, using work as a shield against my own thoughts. The only annoying thing was the aura of fear and tension that continued to linger throughout the day, putting everyone around me on edge. Still, I remained past business hours, staying at my desk when most other employees had gone home. By the time I made the final call to Talon HQ and hung up the phone, the sun had set and the offices were empty.
With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair and looked at the clock on the wall, both relieved and dreading that the day was almost done. My two bodyguards hovered close, silent and protective, even though there was no one else around. I spared them a glance and frowned slightly, realizing I didn’t even know their names.
“Time to go, sir?” one of them asked.
I let out a long breath and stood, rubbing tired eyes. “Yes,” I answered simply. “Call for the car. Tell it to wait for us in the parking garage.”
“Of course, sir.”
We walked back through the empty building, down silent, deserted hallways, and took the elevator. The doors opened into the underground garage, mostly empty but for a few cars still parked in their reserved spaces. I spotted our vehicle and began a brisk walk toward it. Shadows closed around us, and my shoes knocked quietly against the concrete, echoing the sudden thud of my heart.
I held my breath, but we reached the car without incident, making me slump with relief. One bodyguard opened the passenger side door, and I slid into the backseat as the door closed behind me.
“Hello, Dante.”
My heart stood still. Ember sat across from me, her eyes glowing a hard green in the shadows of the car. As I stiffened, the locks slammed into place with a loud click, and my sibling raised a black handgun and pointed it at my face.
PART II
The Wyrm Turns
DANTE
Last summer
“Ember, when did your parents die, and what was the cause of death?”
I could feel Ember’s impatience from the other side of the seat, in the way she reluctantly tore herself from the window, in the annoyed look she shot our escort, Mr. Ramsey. Even with my headphones on, I knew what she was thinking. She was dying to get out, practically bursting at the seams with eagerness.
“Ember, did you hear me? Answer the question, please.”
Ember sighed. “Joseph and Kate Hill were killed in a car accident when we were seven years old,” she said, sounding like she was reciting a line from a play. I suppressed a wince at how stiff and flat her voice was, but Mr. Ramsey didn’t seem to notice.
“Go on.”
“They were going to see a Broadway musical, West Side Story, and were struck by a drunk driver on the way home,” Ember continued in that same bored monotone. “My brother and I went to live with our grandparents, until Grandpa Bill developed lung cancer and could no longer take care of us.” She kept talking, but her gaze strayed out the window again, at the ocean just beyond the glass. I knew it was killing her, being this close, yet not able to touch it.
Hang in there, sis. We’re almost there.