by Riley Storm
Where did I go wrong?
Chapter Eighteen
Altair
He was back on Dracia.
Creeping forward, he peered around the corner, using the wind to ensure his scent didn’t travel, and to mask all sound of his passage. There were Infected sentries everywhere, and if he wanted to get past their lines to freedom, he would have to be extremely careful.
The street beyond seemed clear, and he eased into it, eyes darting ahead, scouting out his path to the next bit of cover, another ruined building. Wood and stone were crumbled everywhere, the cobblestone road filled with huge chunks that had been blasted out from it.
Altair hadn’t been around for the Battle of Allicean, but by all accounts, the dragon forces had put up a hell of a fight, holding off the Infected hordes for three days. But in the end, they had broken, a lightning strike breaking the lines and eliminating the command center in one fell swoop.
The defense had fallen into disarray at that point, and many of the people left in the city hadn’t gotten out.
That was where Altair’s team came in. They were tasked with infiltrating the enemy-occupied city and retrieving the holdouts. In this case, a group of children.
He knew that Dracia was going to fall. The planet was nearly overrun, only a few cities were left now, and rumor had it that everyone was being ordered to fall back to Fortress Glacis, for a last-ditch attempt to save their race.
Altair wasn’t sure what could be done at this point, but he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet, not while he had an ounce of fight left in him. If the elders had a plan to save their species somehow, then he would give it the best fighting chance it had.
Which meant saving the children.
The bulk of the Infected army—if one could even call their near mindless hordes an army—had moved on, heading toward Vinadriel, the capital of the north. Hundreds of thousands of dragons awaited them there. Altair hoped to be done with his mission and return in time to fight by his kin’s side.
But to do that, he had to escape unscathed. Easing his way through the city, he darted from one rubble pile to the next, passing by sentries undetected. He’d performed many missions like this over the last few months as the Dracians suffered defeat after defeat. All of them successful, and he intended for that to continue today.
Reaching the entrance to the hidden underground cellars where he had been told the children were hiding out, Altair tapped on the door, using the universal code of his people, something the Infected hadn’t picked up on yet it seemed.
The air swirled tightly around him, disrupting soundwaves and keeping him covered in total silence. It took a lot of energy, but far less than battling one of his Infected kin. There was a pause, and then the door slid open.
A sword blade of frigid ice sliced out, angling for his chin, but stopped an inch short by a barrier of air that it couldn’t penetrate.
“Easy,” he said, staring down the owner. “Easy. I’m here to help. To get you out of here.”
The owner, a youth no more than sixteen, relaxed, and the sword faded away.
“You’re a credit to the Frost Clan,” Altair said, acknowledging the youth’s command of his powers, powers he’d only just come into as he matured into a full dragon. Not many of his age could forge a sword already.
The youth sagged. “We’re saved,” he said.
“Come on, bring the others,” Altair urged. “There’s no time for introductions. You come with me. You do as I do, and I promise, we’ll get you out of here alive. But only if you do as I say without hesitation or question. Got it?”
The youth nodded and began ushering out the others from the shelter. There were seven all told.
Only seven? Altair had been told upward of thirty in his location alone.
“Where are the others?” he hissed. They didn’t have time for this.
The youth bowed his head, eyes glancing back down the tunnel. He shook his head. “One of them was Infected without our knowing. We…” He shuddered and began to cry.
Altair knew what had happened, what the youth must have done. He reached out to grab the young dragon shifter by the shoulders. “We all have demons we must deal with. But now is not the time. Now we fight for our race, for our future. Once the fight is over, then we can mourn the lost, and the things we had to do to save those around us.”
They headed out into the ruins. Altair was moving as fast as he dared, but it had taken him longer to reach the group than he’d planned, and now they were behind. Not by much, there should be time to reach the edge of the city, but—
Altair whirled as far behind them, on the other side of Allicean, something exploded.
“No!” he hissed. It was too early. Too soon! He wasn’t ready.
“Hurry,” he hissed. “We must go, now.”
The entire city would be up in alarm, Infected moving toward the source of the noise. The sentries would no longer be simply standing on rooftops, but they would be looking for the cause of the explosion.
Their escape just got a whole lot trickier. Hunched over he darted across the street, checking for any signs of Infected, then motioning the kids to follow as they ran after him in single file. Thankfully, even the youngest, a child no more than seven, maybe eight, was doing exactly as ordered, without a peep.
“Almost there,” he said, trying to keep them calm. “Me first, again.”
He crept to the edge of the downed building, looked left and right, and then crossed the next street.
Halfway through it, the firebolt slashed down from somewhere behind and to his right, narrowly missing him. It exploded against the street and the shockwave flung Altair off to the side, peppering him with stone shards.
He responded instantly, lightning shooting forth, seeking its target, but the Infected had ducked behind cover.
Spreading his legs and steadying himself, Altair beckoned to the children with one hand. “Come on, run!” he said, lightning sparking in his free hand, ready to strike if the deadly creature showed itself.
The children streamed out into the street.
As if on cue, the Infected showed itself, fire blazing. Altair struck first, and harder, blasting it right in the face with a powerful lightning bolt. The Infected flew backward and out of sight.
Damn whoever set off the diversion ahead of time, he cursed. They had been fine until someone stirred up the city early. Now after this fight, attention would be coming down on them as well.
The next few minutes was a blurred rush of rubble and running as he tried to get his charges closer to the edge of the city, where backup awaited, ready to ferry the young to safety.
He emerged from the far side of a building. The city’s edge was in sight now. Almost there.
“Altair!” one of the children shouted from behind him as he darted across the street.
Whirling, he watched in horror as two Infected appeared behind his charges, black blades slicing downward with deadly precision.
Fury erupted in Altair and he lashed out with both hands. Lightning struck both Infected at once, deflecting their blows as the former Onyx Clan members stumbled backward.
“Run for it!” he shouted, air shrieking as it spun around his hands like a chainsaw, the sheer speed of it slicing apart anything it came across. The noise was loud, and would bring plenty of attention down on them, but if he couldn’t stop the two Infected, then it was all for naught anyway.
Putting himself between the retreating children and the deadliest enemies his kind had ever faced, Altair prepared to die. He didn’t foresee himself emerging victorious from this fight. The Onyx clan, earth shifters, were among the most powerful dragons. And he was facing two of them.
Blades whipping around, he went on the attack, driving them both back with the ferocity of his onslaught, but they quickly rallied and came on hard. Altair retreated three steps at a time, doing everything he could to buy the children some time.
They were so close. So close.
If only we�
��d had another five minutes. We would have made it!
Wind swirled under his feet and he leapt back up and over a ruined building, landing on the street beyond with a slightly bent knee.
The Infected were carried over on streams of onyx metal, a crystalline-like bridge that extended in front of them, depositing them in front of him.
Altair fought with everything he had. Not for his life, but for the children. They were still running for the edge. For safety. If he could just delay the Infected a little longer…
Suddenly, fire whipped between them. He turned to see another dragon coming on. For a second, he moaned at the unfair odds, until he realized the attacker was one of his allies.
“The children!” he roared. “Save the children!”
But Kirren didn’t head his call. The fire dragon wanted a piece of the Infected, and he came on hard, twin swords of fire blazing as he took them on.
Angry at his comrade but grateful for the respite, Altair turned to rush after the children, leaving the other dragon to continue the fight.
He bulled his way through a downed house, trying to catch up, timber and stone exploding as he used his full strength.
They were just ahead, the frost dragon youth chivvying them on, running for it. The gates were in sight.
“No!” Altair screamed in horror as a dragon as black as the earth itself exploded from the ground nearby. Its tail caught him in the chest, sending him flying across the street to slam into a stone wall and fall to the ground.
He watched in stunned terror as the glittering sable creature ended any hope of Altair’s mission being a success, tearing the lives from the helpless young.
There was a roar from where he’d left Kirren, and a second later, the fire dragon’s headless body landed in the opening between Altair and the onyx dragon, whose yellow-orange eyes were swiftly turning toward the storm dragon.
“No,” he said weakly, his mind refusing to accept what had just happened. “No!”
He lashed out wildly, angrily, pain gnawing at his stomach, at his entire being from what he’d just witnessed. From what he’d been unable to stop.
“We were so close!” he howled. “We should have had more time!”
His lightning blasts were striking at random, falling from the sky and from his hands as he attacked anything that moved, stuck in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
Something moved behind him. He tried to turn, but a blow to the back of his head sent him tumbling forward.
Suddenly, Altair was face down on cool stone. The skies were gone. The rubble was gone. The dead bodies were gone.
He blinked as something grabbed his shoulder and rolled him over. Altair found himself looking up at Rane, the other storm dragon’s face filled with concern, even as his fist was pulled back, poised to strike Altair if needed.
“It happened again, didn’t it?” he whispered, sagging weakly into the floor.
“Yes.” Damien appeared above him. His hand was extended outward, toward Altair.
Together, Rane and Damien helped him to his feet. “I can’t keep doing this,” he muttered. “I’m a danger to those around me. I can’t do anything. I appreciate what the two of you are doing, but I can’t keep letting you cover for me forever.”
The other two dragons shrugged. They knew he was right, but what other choice did they have?
“Rokh asked me to go on patrol the other day,” he said, easing out of the grip of the other two now that he had recovered his wits and self. “I can’t keep coming up with excuses not to go. But if I were to be out there…among the witches. Like this?” He shuddered.
“I know, we can’t risk it,” Damien says.
“I’d end up killing someone else,” Altair agreed bitterly.
Rane growled. “You didn’t kill anyone, Altair. Nobody could have done more than you did. We know that. Everyone knows that. The only person who blames you, is yourself!”
“I could have been faster,” he said hoarsely. “Gotten to them quicker. We would have made it out of there. Just one more minute. One more minute and they’d be alive.”
“You can’t blame yourself for things you didn’t know,” Damien said. “Like whoever set off the distraction explosion earlier. That’s not on you. You just need to accept that. We all suffered loss in the war. Not one of us got through unscathed, without some sort of trauma. We’re here to help you deal with it, Altair. You just have to let us in. To trust us.”
But Altair didn’t want to trust anyone. He didn’t want anyone trusting him. That’s why he’d fled Christine earlier. That’s why he shrugged off the other storm dragon’s offers of help now.
When people trusted him, they died.
He didn’t want Rane or Damien to die.
And he absolutely did not want Christine to die.
Chapter Nineteen
Altair
“Are you good?” Damien asked after a few moments of silence.
Bringing himself back to the present, he nodded. “I think so, yeah. I’ve never had the nightmare twice in one night.”
Of course, that was because he wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, and he was sure the others knew it, but he maintained the charade anyway. It felt better that way, and Altair would take any bit of solace he could get just then.
“I’m heading to bed then,” Rane said, clapping Altair on the shoulder and giving him a squeeze. “It’s going to be alright in the end. We’ve got your back.”
Altair nodded, grateful for the support, but unsure of what to say back. He didn’t feel like he deserved the friendship the two of them were showing him. He hadn’t done anything to be worthy of it.
“Come on,” Damien said gently. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”
Altair almost denied him, saying he could do it on his own, but technically Damien’s room was past his anyway, so they were going the same direction.
“How goes training with the witches?” Damien asked as they went, very obviously trying to distract Altair. Unfortunately, he didn’t know about the events of earlier that night.
Altair flinched, but he didn’t want to ignore his friend entirely. Not after what Damien was doing for him, helping cover up his waking nightmares so that he wasn’t a danger to others.
More of a danger. You’ll always be a danger, unless you manage to atone for your sins.
“It’s going okay,” he said. “It’s tough trying to integrate tactics, but they’re trying. One of them is making headway. She’s pretty smart, creative. Would make a good leader for the team.”
“Is that praise I hear in your voice?” Damien said. “You’d think you were smitten with her or something to give a compliment like that.”
Altair wasn’t sure what he did, but he must have flinched somehow, someway. Something about his reaction gave himself away to the other storm dragon.
“What aren’t you telling me, Altair?” Damien asked, equal parts amused and curious at the unexpected reaction from his friend.
“Um.” His brain still wasn’t completely back to normal yet. Now he definitely wasn’t hiding anything from the other dragon. Not after that dead giveaway.
“Is there something going on between the two of you?”
Not anymore, he thought, reminded of how he’d just left her earlier, likely killing anything that might have come of their library makeout session.
Which was good. Altair didn’t want anyone getting close him.
“Not really,” he said weakly. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, what with the training, and she’s been in the library studying up too, so we’ve kind of worked together doing that.”
“Right,” Damien said in a voice that totally did not believe him. “And what else?”
Altair shied away from telling the truth. He didn’t want to get word out there, but he owed Damien at least that much. To lie to him now would ruin their entire friendship.
“Something happened. Earlier today,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to let
it happen, but it just sort of did.”
“What happened?”
“We kissed. A lot,” he said. “Yeah. We had a makeout session.”
“You’ve been so closed off,” Damien said thoughtfully. “Why did you decide that kissing this witch, of all people, was a good idea now? You’ve been adamant about not letting anyone in. Even Rane and I have had to force the issue. I’m glad you did, but I’m confused. What am I missing?”
There’s good reason for that, he thought to himself but not voicing it. “Well, the truth of it is, technically, she kissed me. I just…didn’t stop it.”
“You didn’t stop it,” Damien repeated, a smile tugging at his face. “So, you kissed her back, or you just stood there like a statue and let her make out with your face?”
“Okay, so I kissed her back,” he admitted unhappily.
“Why did you do that?” Damien pushed, clamping down on his own facial expressions.
Altair sighed. Why had he done that? What was it about her that made him even allow himself to kiss the other witch?
“Well, I guess because it felt good.”
Damien sighed loudly and dropped his shoulders. “You don’t say,” he said dryly. “Why else?”
“Well. She’s attractive. Very attractive,” he said, thinking of round cheeks, long hair and hips that he could grip on to, and how they had felt pressed against him. “But she’s more than that,” he said, letting himself examine it. “She’s focused, driven. Passionate about what she does, and about doing it well. Very smart, but also creative. She’s….” he paused, noticing Damien smirking at him. “What?”
“You like her,” the storm dragon said, letting out a chuckle.
Altair opened his mouth to deny it, but before he could speak, the truth of his friend’s comment hit home.
He did like her. He’d known he liked her, which is why he didn’t fight the kiss. But the realization of it later, of everything, had sent him running, trying to put distance between them.
Christine had gotten close to him. Too close, forcing him to back away, to put some distance between them. If they hadn’t kissed, perhaps he could have kept them working close together, but now he had to go his own route. Without her.
