Page 163 of Heimlock

“Oh, goddess,” I moan out in fear.

“It’s okay,” Fynn assures me. “Our bellies are way thicker than you think. He’s choosing temporary pain for an advantage.”

It appears to be working, because the red Dragon is flapping his wings wildly, while Trinte tucks his own wings against his body, turning into a punishing boulder pressing the older Dragon down toward the ground. He bites into the neck repeatedly, shredding it with zero remorse.

The red Dragon tucks a wing, turning them upside down sharply, dislodging Trinte. They break apart to reorient again, only a few thousand feet above us now.

Trinte appears to be doing okay; he’s flying strong and so far, he’s dealt most of the blows. But that thought comes too quickly, because a plume of fire knocks into his face. My Dragon roars with surprise, and the red Dragon takes advantage by tucking his wings to quickly ram into Trinte’s left wing.

I swear there’s a ripping sound as the pale blue membrane splits, raining blood onto the snow. My scream drowns in matching sounds around me. Fynn curses under his breath, the hand on my arm tightening. This only increases my fear.

When the fire dissipates, it reveals them locked ‌together, talons clutching talons, spinning again. With a wing barely working, Trinte’s struggling to direct his trajectory. As a result, the other Dragon’s able to create an out-of-control vortex of motion, spinning them faster and faster.

“Come on, brother,” Fynn hisses. “Do what we talked about.”

But as they tumble through the air like stones, bile crawls up my throat.

65

Pain like I haven’t felt since the day he stole my eye ricochets through my body. My left wing is almost useless. The move was unexpected, the fire temporarily blinding my orb, and I paid for it. Now we’re talon-locked and he’s grappling to latch onto my throat.

Again and again, I slam my tail into him. He grunts with each blow, but doesn’t let go. I need him to let go. Panic scrambles my thoughts.

I can’t die.

I can’t die.

I can’t die.

Our front claws are intertwined, leaving my back ones to rake against his belly repeatedly. We have so much fat on our bellies for this evolutionary purpose. But I dig into him as if my life depends on it — because it really fucking does. The ground is so close, I can smell the bodies below. Hear their screams. Taste their fear and excitement.

Reaching deep into my Fyre, extracting every bit of magyck available, I look between us and sacrifice my flesh to focus on his chest with all the fire available. It’s molten and destructive, bubbling through his hide and bits of mine. I use the pain to fuel my focus. I’m used to pain. My whole life has been pain.

It’s an old friend at this point.

He roars and releases his talons. My relief is temporary as cold air splits between us. I’m able to even out the descent, but barely. The wind rips into my torn wing, throbbing throughout my entire body. It forces me to wobble, making it impossible to steady.

Before I can gather my bearings, he’s slamming into my good wing, knocking me off kilter. My body tumbles in the air, tail over maw.

Kyrielle’s smile, her laugh, makes me grit my fangs and use elemental magyck to create a wall of air that slams me to a stop in the air. Then I turn it into a jet of air to catapult myself at him. Jaws wide open, I shoot toward him at the speed of a falling star.

Our chests collide with a crack. I taste victory as his throat fills my mouth. Clamping down, I frantically dig all four claws into anything available. Shredding and destroying everything possible.

Unfortunately, he’s doing the same. Pain is white hot everywhere, but I use it to fortify myself. The ground is barely two thousand feet below. Too close.

I can’t be the one to touch it first. I just can’t.

66

I’m sobbing now, the anxiety chewing chunks out of me. Fynn’s hand grips my arm so tightly it’s going numb. Orliana’s crying softly, holding Joulian. Talia is so still, so silent, it’s like she’s turned to stone.

Neither Dragon looks good.

They’re so close, I can see Trinte’s starburst eye glinting in the sunshine. His movements are frantic, shredding and biting everything possible. His father is putting up an impressive fight.

In a duplicate move as his father, Trinte tucks a wing, flipping them so the red Dragon’s back points toward the ground. The rush of air forces the red Dragon’s wings upward, making it look impossible for him to course correct now.

My body’s vibrating with terrified anticipation. So close. They’re both so close.