I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2) by Marc Secchia (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

feet pressed down briefly, and then she arced through the hole like a trout disappearing into a waterfall.

Azania tucked and tumbled neatly. A second later, she was back at the smoking hole, saying, “All good. There’s a hatch here. Bow, quiver?”

He tossed them through gently. “Be careful.”

“Stay close, Dragon?”

GNARR-AAAYYYEE!!

“Eloquent.” She knelt, working the hatch mechanism. “Open that window quickly. Might need help fast.”

He smelled death in the air; whatever had been located inside that room, it was a pile of smoking slag and the men or women operating it had perhaps been vaporised. Nothing recognisable was left, anyhow, as best his muddled vision could make out.

Drawing back, he let loose again, trying to achieve the ultimate cutting focus with his white fire. Make the hole bigger. Get some Rangers through to support the Princess. Fury lent his efforts power and heat. He carved through the ridiculous ten-inch metal cladding, causing huge showers of hissing white sparks to fly free, and then he hit the foot of stone beneath. The Sankir meantime briefed him that two Rangers on ropes were watching the King’s window thirty feet below. Another Ranger helped him to direct his flame.

Suddenly, another explosion shook the tower.

Azania!

Fine … shaken some, but … whoa!

Whoa indeed! Another silly expression, but it perfectly described all his senses rushing back together and behaving themselves again. Excellent. Meantime, Aria flitted to a landing right beside his flank.

Wrong boy. Decoy; not the King’s little brother. I left him with helpers below.

Azania’s dropped the tower defences.

Got three Dragonesses trying to break in below. Gazaram’s inside. How’s it going here?

Far too slow!

Inner hatch open. I see Azerim, he heard from the Princess.

She’s reached Azerim.

Aria narrowed her eyes. How are you communicating with her?

Time to drop her jaw. Thought.

Mission accomplished! As he continued to try to carve that gap around the window wider, he saw her mouth unhinge slowly. Telepathy – you – and her? Impossible …

Disbelief, jealousy and more.

If there was to be something between them, Dragon realised with sinking hearts, she would have to learn how very different a creature he was. He had never been one to fly with the Clan. Difference could be painful and lonely, or beautiful and unique, and everything in between. Much would hinge on her ability to accept who and what he was – and he, her uniqueness.

Azania’s cry arrested his thoughts. “Gazaram! Stop right there!”

Dragon froze.

Chapter 32: A King to Save

THE GASP OF HIS fear gushed fire out of his throat. Stone and metal exploded back toward his face. Dragon ducked instinctively, protecting the Rangers beside him with an outthrust wing. Molten metal splattered his wing and hide, drawing a pained grunt from him.

“Gazaram!” he snarled.

The Sankir shouted, “Swords! Clear that window. Get Rangers inside, now! Go, Dragon.”

Another space into which a very large Dragon ought not to be trying to insert himself. Just not a good idea. The window, with two Rangers dangling beside, was fifteen feet below the top level of rock that surrounded the metal tower. Head down. Off he went.

As Dragon slithered downward, trying to extend his neck and make his shoulders small, he heard a sharp scuffle inside. A male grunted in vexation. Clash of sword blades. Thonk! That horrid sound preceded a man’s muffled groan, and another curse rose from the Lord:

“I’ll kill you, puppet King!”

A low, female scream, “Over my dead body! Take that!”

“Unh! Dead will suit you just fine.”

“Try me.” Cling! Clang! They clashed robustly.

Gazaram roared, “Who by the hellish Northern Lights are you, girl?”

“Your worst nightmare.”

Skiss! “Aargh! What the – what’s your magic?”

What? Had the talon blade done something to Lord Gazaram that Aria’s blades had not achieved? His slide snagged and snapped one of the ropes holding a Ranger, but he caught it a fraction of a second before the end whipped out of his paw.

“Sorry. Grab my paw, here.”

She climbed into his grip as he braced himself between rock and metal. Peering through the bars, he took in the scene. At the far end of a metal-clad, circular chamber, Gazaram tried to wrench his blade free of the King’s boot – Azerim must somehow have blocked a blow. He was chained to the wall. That blade looked deeply embedded. Blood spurted out of the wound as the Lord struggled to free his staff. Another wound on the chained man’s lower left thigh was so severe, he saw a white glint of what he took for bone.

In the same instant, Azania darted forward, spearing one of the green gems on the staff’s length with the point of her talon blade. The gem fizzed and sparked violently. The Lord swung a heavy boot. The Princess rolled smoothly to Azerim’s side, dodging the blow and causing him to lose his balance.

Gazaram fell heavily. “Curse it, you black demon!”

Dart! She destroyed another gem. And another! Tactical!

With another violent twist, he freed the staff and swung at her. The Ranger in his paw fired an arrow, which skimmed the man’s neck as he spun with frightening grace. Azania blocked the staff’s shaft with her blade. As the man pressed to overpower her, cursing that he would remove the King’s head, she scraped the blade along toward his fingers. Gems exploded in sequence. He had to drop his grip or face having a few digits amputated.

Dragon lined up his muzzle. Unfortunately, Gazaram stood between him and the Princess. The shot would skim the circular staircase in the centre of the chamber. Misfire, however, and he’d roast his Dragon Rider, or the King. His eye touched hers, as did his thoughts.

Bellow, she breathed.

At the same instant, she tripped over Azerim’s waving leg. Poor man. Beneath that heavy, padlocked black leather hood, he must have