face-first onto the ground. Two millispits, their pulsing, venomous tails and serrated fingers sunk deep, clung to his back. They were imperfectly created from magic to do one thing—kill anything that moved and then die.
Kera peered behind him. The hated creatures surged within the shadows of the forest, the ground rolling as if alive. There were hundreds of them.
A throaty growl erupted from Blaze and he sprang forward, spitting balls of fire at the oncoming millispits. Kera pulled the now-dead creatures from the man’s back. Bending over him, she slipped her arm around his rib cage. With an insistent tug, she yelled, “Get up.”
He struggled to his feet, using her shoulders as leverage, but as soon as he was upright, he drooped over her. She hugged his waist tight and commanded a mound of dirt to rise beneath their feet. Dirt riding was the fastest way she could get the human to safety. She didn’t worry about Blaze. The smell of burnt millispits and the sound of their tails and sharp fingers pinging off the dragon’s impenetrable scales as they swarmed over him followed her deeper into the woods.
The forest thickened and the ground grew uneven. Kera struggled to keep the man close. An especially deep dip and rise caused him to groan. His knees buckled and Kera couldn’t hold on to him. He crashed to the ground, pulling her with him. Her elbows dug into the earth, her palms scraping against all manner of forest debris. She pushed off him and swiped a hand across his too-pale face and down to the vein at his neck. It flickered shallow. Too weak. “Stay alive,” she said, though it was most likely a useless command.
She couldn’t allow this man to die, not when it was her fault for not being able to stop the millispits from invading the human realm. What she was about to do would either see him better or kill him.
She rolled him onto his stomach, raked his shirt up, and held her hands over the bloody spots on his back where the millispits had landed. Calling on her new powers, her hands lit up. He bucked under the magic as she drew out as much of the poison as she could. It seeped out, burning the man’s skin and blackening the soil beneath him.
He’d live, but not without a fair bit of care. She estimated the distance back to Dylan’s home. Too far. Plus they’d have to go through the millispits to get there. He couldn’t survive another sting. The barrier and help without needless questions was close. Her choice was clear. She rolled him onto his back and stared into his face. Icy blue eyes filled with pain stared back at her. He didn’t appear as pale as before. Color now flushed his cheeks. “We must move. Now. Can you do it?”
“What you just did…who are you?”
“A friend. Please, ask me no more questions. Do as I say and we may both live.”
He used her to gain his feet, and when she assessed his condition for travel, his pinched lips parted. “Do you know Lani? Are you from her world?”
Kera stilled. How did he know about Teag? How did anyone but Dylan know? It was her turn to throw him a bewildered look. “Who are you?”
“Reece. Take me to her. Please.”
Fired Up
It’s as if time slows for a brief second as I watch Grandpa’s arm tick back, his fist tighten, ready to pummel, and then time snaps into hyperdrive. Wyatt grabs Grandpa’s left shoulder with his right hand, ducks under Grandpa’s arm and pushes away to a safe distance. “That’s called a near-side duck under. Normally I’d throw you down, but I don’t want to hurt you, old man.”
Grandpa spins around, the hard lines of his face turning to stone. His hands flash up, ready for a fight. “The day you can hurt me will be the day I retire.”
Wyatt faces him. “Careful. You always told me you don’t make promises you’re not willing to keep.” He bats away Grandpa’s punches like a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “You know you can’t beat me.”
“All a man needs is one shot. Pay attention, Dylan,” Grandpa barks over his shoulder at me.
I’m not sure what to do. I feel like an idiot just standing here, watching, but it’s not my fight. Not yet. If it comes down to winning, I’d be more than happy to knock a rock against Wyatt’s head, but I’m not sure it would do any good.
Grandpa slips away from Wyatt’s jabs and comes back with a hard left hook to the younger man’s ribs and a solid right cross to his face. “That’s called stepping onto your opponent’s over-inflated ego and smacking it down.”
Wyatt shakes off the hits and smiles. “It’s what I call a fluke, you old bastard.”
Grandpa’s deep bark of laughter shakes the rafters as he follows his opponent across the floor. “It’s training, son. Pure, hard-core, no-nonsense training.”
“My training tells me the kid’s dangerous. People need to know. They need to be able to protect themselves.”
“He’s a good boy,” Grandpa throws a combination punch that only grazes Wyatt’s torso. “You’re making it sound like he’s a menace to society.”
Wyatt spins away, pivots, squats low, and jabs his body forward. His shoulder slams into Grandpa’s midsection as he sweeps the older man’s legs out from under him, causing him to hit the ground with a grunt.
With hands out in a submissive manner, Wyatt steps back. “I don’t want to hurt you, Newman.”
I take a step forward, not sure if I should be worried or not. “Grandpa?”
He waves me back. “I’m fine. That was pure luck on his part.”
Wyatt points a finger in Grandpa’s face. “It’s called a double-leg takedown. Very effective on those who are too stubborn to know better than to pick a fight with me.”
Grandpa rolls to his feet and wipes the sweat from his eyes. “I’m giving you one more chance. Keep your mouth shut.”
“It’s not going to happen. Besides, people are going to notice when he suddenly lights up, or burns down the forest because he gets all pissy. I’m sworn to protect, just like you. Your grandson is a threat to the well-being of everyone around here. This isn’t about a kid with a hair-trigger temper. This is about a kid who’s a walking weapon, so back down, old man.”
“We came to you for help. It’s a sad day when neighbors stop giving a damn.”
Grandpa throws a double jab. Wyatt fakes to the right, rotates to the left, and Grandpa shoots in. He grabs Wyatt’s hand and kinks it into an abnormal position, dropping Wyatt to his knees. A wince covers his face and a curse flies from his lips.
Bending close, Grandpa growls, “This is what we old guys call a twist-his-arm-until-he-does-exactly-what- I-tell-him-to-do.” He swivels around and braces Wyatt’s arm in a hold that looks cry-worthy painful. “If you don’t back off, I’ll break it.”
I can hear Wyatt sucking in air, fighting the pain the wrestling hold is creating. “You’re a cop.”
“I’m off duty. Trust me. It’s the spirit of the law that applies here. You’re threatening the well-being of my grandson, and I have the right to defend him.”
Wyatt struggles, but in the end, Grandpa has him good and caught. “Okay, okay. I won’t talk. Like you said, who would believe me? What he can do isn’t logical. Hell, it’s impossible.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear to God I won’t say a word. I won’t have to. He’ll draw attention to himself. I hope you know what you’re doing, old man.”
Grandpa lets go, and Wyatt hisses his relief as he cradles his arm to his chest and tests its motion.
Their encounter has my blood sweeping through my veins like an Indy race car on its last lap. “So now what?”
“We go home,” Grandpa says, clenching and unclenching his left hand. I think he’s hurt it, but knowing him, he won’t admit it.
Although the clasp is melted, I can still slip the belts free, and I let the weight vest drop to the floor, along with the ankle weights. I swipe up my T-shirt from where I tossed it and shrug it on. “Why did we come here? All we did was create more problems.”
