Lolita Lopez: Dead Sexy Dragon

Cora’s questions about his lack of claviger sprang to mind. She’d asked about his backup plans. Talk about prophetic…

His inner beast still considered Cora his one and only mate. Stig’s human mind tried to deny her but it was impossible. She’d walked out on him and yet he still loved her. No matter how far Cora ran, they were two halves of a whole. He’d die for her. In this, his beast was in complete agreement.

Stig snorted violently. His wings ached for release. He had to get free of his bonds. He had to save Cora.

Without a second thought, Stig called forth his fire-breathing ability and torched the chain attached to his left wrist. They superheated in an instant and scalded his leathery skin. The hide blistered around his wrist. He bit back against the pain. It was a small price to pay for Cora’s life.

By the time he reached the final chain, Stig’s limbs ached painfully. He didn’t want to think about how long it would take for the wounds to heal. He hoped they wouldn’t prove a vulnerability if he had to fight.

Finally, the last chain snapped free. The hot cuffs still burned his skin. A few links dangled from them like some kind of bizarre jewelry. Stig sucked in a cooling breath. As his lungs inflated, the acrid smoke cleared his nasal passages and throat. The taste would linger in his mouth for hours.

Stig raced upstairs, knocking his wings and tail on the staircase and ceiling. He crashed through his kitchen and living room. Whatever was broken could be replaced or fixed. He didn’t even bother with the front door. He turned his face and slammed into it. Wood and glass splintered in all directions.

He ran down the front steps and sprinted across the driveway. With a flex of his shoulders, Stig’s wings burst forth. They immediately caught the wind. As he ran, Stig flapped his wings and in no time at all lifted from the ground. The cool night air whistled against his ears as he gained height and speed.

Zeroing in on the pulse of Cora’s fear, Stig altered his course. The longer he was in the air, the fainter Cora’s radiating emotions felt. It stirred a primal fear in him. Was she dying?

The thought made him sick. He flapped faster, pulling his body tight and aerodynamic. Shaving off a few seconds of flight time could mean the difference between Cora’s life or her death. The glow of headlights came into view. He dropped altitude and swerved toward what looked to be a parked SUV. His hawklike gaze zeroed in on another set of beams pointing at an awkward angle.

Cora’s car was upside down in a ditch.

There were two men standing outside the car. One of them had something thrown over his shoulder—a body, Cora’s body.

Enraged, Stig rocketed toward the ground. The sound of his incoming landing ripped through the stillness of the night. There would be no stealth in his attack. Head down, he embraced his primal side and unleashed his inner beast with a terrible shriek.

Down below, the bastards trying to kill Cora snapped to attention. Their faces contorted in pure horror. Stig got a twisted sense of pleasure from that sight. The goon holding Cora got smart and tried to bolt. He threw her on the ground like a sack of trash and took off toward the embankment. Stig careened to the right and swiped the fleeing man with his taloned feet. A scream erupted from his throat and he tumbled back down the embankment.

With one goon rolling on the ground in pain and bleeding profusely, Stig switched his attention to the other man. To his surprise, the man pulled a gleaming dao sword from within the folds of his long black coat. He stepped into the moonlight and Stig got an even better look at the single-edged blade. There were very familiar markings on the metal. A memory of a drawing of that sword in one of the books Reynard kept in the Archives sprang to mind.

Stig’s stomach clenched. A Knight. How the hell had Cora gotten mixed up with the Knights? Or was it something else? Was she just a pawn? And Hector too?

He’d sort out the specifics later. Right now, he had to save Cora.

Stig hovered at a distance. If he hit the ground, he’d lose that edge on his opponent. His gaze swept over the sword-wielding man. This Knight clearly knew what he was doing.

The slayer made a break for Cora, who was still slumped unconscious on the grass. Stig didn’t waste a second. He snorted a violent burst of fire. The slayer skidded to a halt mere inches from the roiling flames. The wall of fire pushed him away from Cora. Stig considered rushing down and snatching her up but couldn’t be sure how her touch might affect his ability to defend them. He’d lost his dragon hide last night, which would come in handy facing off with a well-armed Knight.

The sound of gunshots snapped in the darkness. Stig had been so wrapped up in making sure Cora was safe that he’d taken his eyes off the dragon slayer long enough for the man to pull his weapon. A silver harpoon sliced through Stig’s left wing. Metal teeth exploded from the head of the lance, ripping through the thin membranes and hooking onto one of the bony veins supporting his wings.

Stig tried to grasp the offending projectile but the slayer yanked hard on the trailing line and tore through the length of Stig’s wing. The burning pain ripped a hideous scream from his throat. Try as he might, Stig couldn’t stay airborne. His good wing flapped futilely. He turned his focus to making the best landing possible.

With a thunderous boom, Stig slammed into the unyielding ground. The air rushed from his lungs and left him dizzy. But he couldn’t nurse his wounds. He had to get up. He had to fight to protect Cora.

Stig clambered to his feet. The slayer struck just as he rose on shaky limbs. The tip of his blade slashed through Stig’s chest and punctured the gas sac that allowed his breed to breathe fire. Stig choked as the noxious fumes bubbled into his throat and out his nose and mouth. He fought the instinctive urge to ignite them with a click of his throat but that much gas in such a small space would cause a fatal explosion in his mouth and one that would easily engulf Cora.

He threw out his arm and struck the slayer hard enough to knock him flat on his ass. Stig sucked in short, painful breaths to try to clear his nasal passages and throat of the gas. His broken and mutilated wing hung limp at his side. The other snapped angrily. He flexed his talons and prepared to engage his enemy with the only weapon he had left: brute force.

Stig and the Knight rushed one another. In a flash of talons and sword, they crashed. Both drew blood and both refused to give even an inch. Stig knew this would be a fight to the death. For Cora’s sake, he hoped he was the one limping away from the battle.

The Knight struck another victorious blow with the sword. Stig hissed as the blade sliced through his forearm. Blood splattered the slayer’s face. With every beat of his heart, the nicked artery spurted blood. Stig didn’t have to be a doctor to know that was probably a fatal wound. He didn’t have much time.

Gathering all his strength, Stig lashed out at the Knight. He raked his razor-sharp talons across the slayer’s chest and followed with a quick swipe of the man’s throat. The Knight’s sword hit the ground. He stumbled forward, a look of shock etched on his face. Clutching his bloody throat, the slayer gurgled and collapsed to his knees. A few moments later, he fell on his face and expired.

Stig clamped a hand over his wounded arm and panted from exertion. Taking another being’s life still affected him. He’d done it more times than he cared to think about over the centuries but it never got any easier. Perhaps that was a good thing. He liked to think it was the best of his humanity that allowed him to feel sadness at the loss of life, even if that life belonged to an enemy.