Prologue

13 Years Ago

Liz

 

Dragons were deadliest at dusk.

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And the late September sky was already awash in bruised hues, outlining rows of gnarled apple trees against the slash of dark horizon. Liz knew most people enjoyed the colorful blurring of day into night, but those same people had clearly never hunted—or been hunted—by dragons before. Sunset was when mottled dragon scales became nearly invisible in the riot of color. Somehow, creatures with wingspans larger than most commercial aircrafts were rendered almost undetectable.

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She was hot beneath her fatigues; sweat pooling at the base of her spine as she lay flat, propped up on her elbows, rifle pressed into her left shoulder. She had orders, like the half dozen other strike teams peppering the ridge overlooking the valley on either side of her. Whatever they were looking for tonight was supposed to be big—big enough to warrant pulling most of her class out of training for a rare demonstration. There hadn’t been a dragon sighting of this magnitude in over twenty years.

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She blew out a slow, measured breath.

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“We probably won’t see anything anyway,” Joe grumbled, his voice partially muffled by her headset but the listless tone unmistakable.

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She settled deeper into the shadow of the nearest apple tree, peering through her scope, ignoring the sour smell from rotting apples strewn about her. “You ok?” she asked instead. Her older brother sat just across from her, back pressed against some of the large rocks that formed their cover, headset and rifle laying placidly in his lap. His gaze drifted down into the valley too, but he didn’t look happy about it—also unlike him. Joe had been waiting for an opportunity like this his whole life, they all had. But his hazel eyes were faintly glazed with ... boredom? Worry? She was used to him being assured—the oldest, the best of them.

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Liz concentrated on her elbows sinking into the damp earth as she repositioned her sights, steadying her breathing. The orchard trees were getting murkier by the second between the dark and fog that seemed to be drifting in. She frowned. The fog was moving in fast.

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Too fast.

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Something snapped to their left, and their bodies simultaneously sharpened with motion. Liz swung her legs around and focused her rifle, wincing as her headset crackled to life. Her hand flew to her earpiece, silencing the static that flared painfully.

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She looked back. Her brother’s face had formed a sort of wordless question, eyes wide and mouth parted slightly. “Joe?”

He launched to his feet without a word—and without his gear—bolting through the tangle of branches behind them in a frenzied burst of motion.

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She didn’t wait.

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She should have waited.

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She ran, ducking beneath fruit laden branches and slipping on slick, smushed apple beneath her boots. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet. They were trained to cover ground quickly and quietly, but Joe was crashing through branches and trees. They might as well have been shining a spotlight on their location. It didn’t make any sense, and the full realization of what that meant slammed into her as she rounded the trunk of a particularly large tree and barreled right into Joe’s broad back.

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He'd left his headset behind.

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Siren Song.

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Only one kind of creature sent out a Siren Song, a thrumming that burrowed you’re your skull and robbed you of reason right before the kill. And he should have fucking known better, but now Joe was standing in the middle of a small clearing, face turned skyward, hazel eyes glazed. They’d always been decently matched for height and strength, but even as she tried bodily hauling him towards the tree line, he pulled away from her.

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“I’m here,” Joe shouted upward, the fog curling around them. “I’m sorry,” he said, but not to her.

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She tried again to wrestle him towards cover, ignoring panic sluicing through her at the noise, at Joe’s Siren-addled brain, at the way the orchard seemed to writhe around them with every sound they made.

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“Joe, it’s a Siren Song.” She raised the butt of her rifle, prepared to knock him out if it meant saving him—but then he was looking at her, eyes clear and confused.

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“Liz?” he asked hoarsely.

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She opened her mouth to respond. She never got the chance.

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Pain exploded above her knee as something sharp pierced her leg. Her vision went white – shit, shit, SHIT as she hit the ground hard and felt a sudden warmth saturating her pant leg. And she was bleeding …. dragging … dying … against pebbles and something was pulling her towards the trees. She writhed and clawed at exposed roots, but she couldn’t catch her breath—couldn’t catch hold of anything as her nails split and fingertips shredded.

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Blood streamed down her thigh and pooled at her stomach, fire streaking through her veins, as she managed to finally look down the snout of a dragon too large to have crept up silently behind her. But there he was, his dark scales streaked with her blood and his toothy grin clamped firmly around her thigh. Green eyes the size of dinner plates gleamed in the coming dark. Class 3. Young Male. Wingspan 30 feet. Controls weather patterns.

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Marbled wings aglow as she realized the orchard was not just filled with fog now, it was filled with fire. Bursts of dragon flame tore through the sky, shadows hovering at the treeline, and where were the bursts of returning gunfire? The Class 3 hoisted her up several feet into the air before she even had a moment to draw a dizzy breath, acid burning in her throat.

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She’d dropped her gun.

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She reached weakly for the Dragonsbreath grenade attached to her belt. Hand-sized teeth were sunk firmly into her leg as he beat his powerful wings and rose into the air. The dragon rumbled in his throat, but he hadn’t roasted her. Either he couldn’t manage a strong enough flame to reignite his sparks so quickly, or he didn’t want her dead … yet. She gasped as she tried to reach up and beat at his nose, shrieking as his bite tightened, blurring her vision.

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He rumbled a gurgle that almost sounded like laughter. She hung five feet off the ground—ten—as her grasping fingers finally closing around the grenade. Her hands shook as she met the Class 3’s glare—her fingers slick with blood as she yanked it free and pulled the pin.

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His green eyes narrowed.

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“Boom.” she hissed. All of her was screaming—burning—as she wrenched her arm back and hurled it towards his stupid grinning face.

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The grenade ignited in a brilliant explosion of neon fire, bowling through her like a wave. The blast wrenched her free of the Class 3’s jowls as flames shredded the side of his face, acid hissing as it burned through scale and bone and climbed up his spine. Dragonsbreath flame always smelt of burnt rubber, and her nose and throat burned as she dropped like a stone. She hit the ground with a crack that snapped through her skull, her limbs askew, chest heaving as her vision whitened. Nausea rose as she sucked in mouthfuls of air, her skin cold and clammy.

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And she lay there, chest heaving, arms outstretched. She watched as the Class 3 drifted in and out of focus, talons clawing frantically at the green flames still burning straight through his scales. The fire engulfing the orchard below illuminated the frantic beating of his wings, his agonized screeching splitting the night.

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It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.

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She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight. She lay gasping, aching everywhere—her ears ringing. She blinked once, twice, trying to clear her head. Her limbs were leaden, and her hazy vision was abruptly replaced by the alarmed face of her brother.

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“Liz? Liz?” His dark hair was askew, eyes wet and wide. She’d never seen him cry. His hand was heavy on her thigh, pinching and tearing; his face tightened in horror, “Your leg—” 

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She didn’t know specifics: specifically where she was hurt, specifically where fire coursed through her, specifically where residual Dragonsbreath acid was eating through her own clothing. Everywhere was pain and fire—acid and burning nausea building in her chest, and she would be sick ... she would be sick and—

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He pressed a finger to his mic to call for help. She wouldn’t be conscious for long. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, this time to her. She tried to clutch the hand that had wrapped around her own, his fingers tightening, and then there was another shattering roar, one she felt as much as heard through her entire body.

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He never saw it coming. 

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In one snap of too-large teeth, Joe’s entire torso disappeared in a maw that emerged from the fog and engulfed him whole. Dragon saliva hissed as it sprayed the ground, bones crunched wetly, warm blood sprayed her face. Teeth the length of her forearm, three times bigger than the Class 3’s, missing her by inches. Its immeasurable form darkened the too-bright sky—incomprehensible. Impossible. 

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 No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall what happened after. Did she reach for him? For her gun? Her radio? Did she scream? She must have screamed. Did she just lay there and wait to die? She wished she knew.

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Would it make a difference if she knew? 

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All she could recall was how her brother’s legs had dangled as they drifted, almost lazily, before disappearing into a muddied swirl of a sherbet-colored sky.

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She didn’t remember the moment when he ceased to be.

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She couldn’t seem to forget when she realized he was gone.