Sucking in as much air as he could, Aiden ran into the woods. All he could think of was getting away.
Behind him, a crackling sound and Mr. Johnson shouted, “Aiden!”
He stumbled, branches scratching his arms, and kept running. Little black spots danced at the edges of his vision, and the only sound louder than his gasping breaths was his thundering heart. Distantly he heard Mr. Johnson and the other man fighting. It sounded like a match in Major Magical Control, only this was for real. They were trying to kill each other.
And if they bad guy wins, he’ll come after me. A dull ache started in his side and grew stronger as he crashed through the woods. He did his best to ignore the pain, ducking under tree limbs and pushing his way through shrubs. Aiden stumbled again, and that time he fell.
On his hands and knees, he took in deep lungfuls of air and tried to listen for the fight. He couldn’t hear anything. After a moment he noticed the wind in the trees and birds singing. No zaps or whooshes or any other sound of combat.
He shifted to sit with his back to a tree and looked around. He didn’t know how far he’d run. Sunlight danced through the leaves as if nothing was wrong. He strained his ears, and still there was nothing but the sounds of the forest.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where Mr. Johnson is or if he’s still alive. I don’t know where Dylan is or if that evil warden killed him. Panic tried to grip him again, and he forced it back. I need to find Dylan. I need to save him. Because he had to believe his friend was still alive.
A gentle warmth spread from his back, legs, and butt. The parts of him touching the tree and the earth. The forest was comforting him as it had back in the clearing. Well, no. This was a different forest, but the feeling was the same.
Can you help me find Dylan? He had no idea if the forest could understand a request like that, but he had to try. Remembering the spell Mr. Johnson had cast, he looked down at his scar. Aiden’s chest was bare, scratched in several places. He’d lost his shirt while he was running. The scar was still faintly warm, so the spell must still be active.
Aiden grabbed the closest branch, belonging to some kind of bush, and pressed it to his chest. The bright green leaf was cool against his skin. Can you find this magic? The dragonkin magic? Can you lead me to it?
He felt a little stupid, but he closed his eyes and concentrated. His heartbeat slowed back to normal, and the comforting warmth of the forest spread through him. Then he felt a tug on his scar and his eyes flew open. That way. He turned to face the direction of the tugging sensation. It was like he’d turned into a compass, the scar a needle that pointed him north. Dylan was north.
Well, metaphorically.
Aiden got to his feet, pressing a hand against the tree. “Thank you.”
He set off toward Dylan, his feet knowing exactly where to step, the branches no longer scratching him.
* * *
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Ten minutes, she’d said. Had all the others run? Dylan pictured the werewolf, Dalton. The guy had been an asshole, but he was just a lackey of Conner’s, following the alpha’s lead. He didn’t deserve to die like this, hunted down like an animal.
Dylan ran out of the cage and turned toward the trail where the hunters had left on their ATVs. Their scents still hung faintly in the air and Dylan followed at a jog. At the end of the clearing, the trees closed around him and he kept his ears alert. One of them might have stayed behind to see which way he’d go.
Anger writhed inside him. Maybe he could take out the warden and maybe he couldn’t, but he was going to kill every one of those hunters. For a moment he considered just burning down the whole forest. Trapped by the fire, the hunters would die from the smoke or the flames, and Dylan could wait at the edge of the woods to catch any that managed to escape.
No. He wanted to kill them personally. Besides, that warden might have tricks up her sleeve that could stop his fire. She might not be stupid.
The trail was rough but clear, and he kept jogging up it, glancing left and right. He spotted an ATV, partially hidden and parked to the side of the trail. Dylan stopped to take a good long sniff, picking out the hunter’s distinct scent from the others. This one had parked on the left, but he’d gone to the right side of the trail.
Dylan plunged into the trees, shoving branches out of his way. A faint, narrow path appeared. Maybe a deer trail. The human had gone up this way. Dylan knew little about hunting, but he knew about deer stands, so he glanced up into the trees from time to time. It would suck to get shot in the head without even seeing the bastard.
He heard a crunch and froze. Ahead and to the right another sound came, this time a rustle. Dylan breathed deep, the smell of human and gun oil sharp in his nose. As quietly as he could, Dylan crept up the trail, pausing every few seconds to listen.
The hunter was moving away from him. A little farther on, Dylan caught a glimpse of something through the trees and he fought the urge to attack. No, just a little closer.
Dylan didn’t consider himself the nature type, but he’d grown up with a forest in his backyard and spent countless hours going for long walks through the trees. He’d snuck up on deer and other animals a few times just to see if he could.
The hunter never turned around. Not until Dylan was ten feet away and shouted, “Surprise, asshole!”
The man turned, lifting his gun, but Dylan was faster. He sent out a stream of fire that engulfed the man in seconds. The man screamed, dropping his gun. It swung by the strap across his chest as he flailed, the sound rising to a screech. He collapsed to the ground, trying to roll and put the fire out. Dylan threw a huge fireball at him and the flames doubled in size.
The leaves and branches around the hunter caught fire. A horrid smell rose up as the man struggled and then went still. His face, hands, clothes— everything was black.
Dylan felt a little sick. Burning someone wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d thought it would be. It was self-defense. They were trying to kill him, but still…
He looked down at the gun, wondering if he should take it. The thing was probably too hot to touch, even for him.
A loud crack, and sharp pain blazed through his leg. Dylan fell, almost hitting the body, and grabbed his thigh. His hand came away wet with blood. Shot. I’ve been shot. The pain made it hard to think.
There’s another hunter. Get up. Run. He wasn’t stupid enough to think his fire could outrun a bullet. Dylan stumbled to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain, and limped through the trees. He put a few large trunks and thick bushes between him and where he thought the bullet had come from.
Another shot rang out and he tensed. Nothing hit him. He kept going, partly crouched, pain lancing through him with every step. He knew he was making a lot of noise, but he couldn’t help it.
“C’mere, dragon. I promise I’ll make it quick.” The voice carried through the trees, followed by a chuckle.
Dylan clenched his fists. He hated running away, but he didn’t have much of a choice.
The gun sounded again. This time the shot hit a tree several feet away, punching into the wood with a solid thunk. For the first time, Dylan considered that he really might die out here. If he could get a little distance, he could pull on his magic enough to set the forest ablaze. Getting out alive was more important than the satisfaction of killing the hunters himself.
“What’s the matter? Are you scared of guns?” The voice was a bit farther away. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. The man laughed again, but the sound suddenly cut off. “Holy shit.”
The hunter must have found his friend’s body.
Dylan hobbled along, one hand pressed to his bleeding leg.
“I was planning to kill you clean, but now I think I’ll make you suffer. Monster.”
Everybody hates Dylan. He pressed his lips together against a hysterical laugh.