Talon (Talon 1)

Nettle and Remy crept forward, a slinky black dragon with a crown of spines bristling from her head, and a runty brown dragon with stripes down his neck and tail. They both had backpacks looped around their necks, and it would’ve looked ridiculous if the situation wasn’t so dire. “What now?” Nettle asked, her sibilant voice tight with fear. “Where do we go now?” Cobalt pulled away from me and turned, facing the desert.

“We run,” he said simply. “Far away from here. As far from St.

George and Talon as we can. Let’s find Wes, and get the hell out of Dodge. I have a place in Nevada where we’ll be safe, at least for a few months while we decide what to do. It’s not the nicest place, but it’s better than nothing. Firebrand?” He turned to look at me, offering a brave smile. “You ready to go?”

Go. Leave Crescent Beach. My stomach twisted. This was it. I was going rogue, leaving Talon for good to go on the run like a criminal.

With Cobalt and two others of my kind, but still. Would I see my brother again? Or any of my friends?

No. No, I wouldn’t. My time as a normal human was done. I had chosen my path, and the consequences that came with it. No more surfing, volleyball, parties, or hanging with friends. No more kissing boys in the ocean, feeling butterflies in my stomach, wishing the whole world would just stop for a while. Summer had come to an end, as I knew it must, and I had to move on.

After I took care of one final thing.

“Not yet,” I told Cobalt, watching his eyes widen in surprise.

“There’s one more thing I have to do.”

Garret

She’d escaped.

I watched Ember fly away, heart in my throat as my squad swarmed around me, guns raised, and opened fire. I watched, not moving from where I stood, as Ember fled across the sand, leaped into the air with the blue dragon and soared up the rock face, struggling to get out of range. My heart stopped once when it looked like she’d been hit, wavering in the air, clawing frantically at the cliff. But she recovered, surged over the top in a flash of wings and crimson scales, and vanished from sight.

I exhaled slowly in relief. Get out of town, Ember, I urged silently.

Run, as far away from us as you can, and don’t look back.

“Sebastian!”

The squad was returning, filing back over the sand, weapons lowered in defeat. There was no use waiting for the dragons to return; they were long gone, and everyone knew it. The squad leader was striding toward me, long legs carrying him over the sand, every muscle tense with controlled fury. I snapped to attention as he marched up and brought his face very close to mine, glaring holes in the side of my head.

“Explain yourself,” he ordered in a low, tight voice, as the rest of the team clustered around, angry and confused. Most of them I’d known for years, my whole life. Teammates I’d fought beside, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with on the battlefield, saved from certain fiery death, and vice versa. None of them looked friendly now. A few seemed bewildered, uncertain what was going on, but many of them were glaring at me with suspicion. I wasn’t supposed to be here, alone, and at the very least my recklessness had caused the targets to escape. They hadn’t figured out the real reason, not yet.

“I asked you a question, soldier,” the squad leader continued when I didn’t reply. His name was Michael St. Francis, and he was a good man: patient, fair, and easy to get along with. I’d had no problems with him before tonight. “I assume you have a good reason for being out here, alone,” St. Francis continued, still glaring at me. “I assume you have a good reason two hostiles didn’t fry you to a crisp before we could get here. And I assume you have a damn good reason for letting them escape and blowing this entire campaign back several months.” He leaned forward an inch or two, his voice softer but no less furious. “And you’re going to give me your damn good reason right now, because it sure looked to me like you were talking with the hostiles right before we came in.” His hot breath blasted my ear, and a mutter went through the soldiers around us. I continued to gaze straight ahead, my expression blank, as St. Francis stepped back. “Is that what you were doing, soldier?”

“Yes, sir.”

The muttering ceased instantly. For a second you could’ve heard a pin drop.

“Sebastian,” St. Francis said, his voice completely without emotion.

“You just admitted to speaking with the enemy and allowing them to escape. I would think very, very carefully about the next words out of your mouth, because you are seconds away from the firing wall.”

A cold lance went through my stomach, but I stared straight ahead, my expression blank as St. Francis continued. “What, exactly, were you doing out here?”

“I can tell you that,” said a new voice outside the circle.

The cold spread to all parts of my body, as Tristan stepped out of the shadows, moving people aside as he approached us. I winced inwardly. A dried trickle of blood streamed from his nose, and a massive purple bruise stood out on his temple, spreading to the corner of his eye. He stepped into the circle, shooting me a hard glare, before turning to the squad leader.

“Garret is a traitor to the Order,” Tristan announced in a clear, firm voice. “He deliberately prevented me from taking the shot on one of the targets, targets I had orders to kill. I tried reasoning with him, but he said the Order had been wrong to kill dragons, that we were mistaken. When I tried to stop him, he attacked me.”

I held my breath, knowing I was trapped, but wondering how much Tristan would reveal. This was no longer a simple case of reckless behavior, and the mood of the circle had definitely changed. Soldiers were staring at me now, some in disbelief, some in pity, contempt, and rage. St. Francis, to his credit, remained calm, emotionless, as he nodded at my former partner.

“Is that all?”

Tristan hesitated, then nodded. “Yes sir.”

“I see.” St. Francis turned to me, his eyes and voice cold. “And do you have anything to say in your defense, soldier?”

Nothing that you would accept. Nothing that would assuage my guilt, only compound it. Tristan didn’t tell you everything.

“No, sir,” I muttered.

“Take his weapons,” St. Francis ordered, motioning to the soldiers closest to me. They stepped forward, seizing the M-4 and stripping me of my sidearm. I didn’t move, and the soldiers stepped back, keeping their own weapons trained on me. “Garret Xavier Sebastian,” St. Francis went on, “I’m taking you into custody. For collaboration with the enemy and treason against the Order. We’ll escort you back to headquarters, and then your fate is out of my hands.”