Destiny Kills (Myth and Magic 1)

“Following our trackers and ensuring they can’t follow us.”

“Via another accidental fire?”

His sudden grin was a fearsome thing. “No. I think we might have attracted enough attention with our stunt yesterday. Besides, it’s night. Go, Destiny.”

I went, slipping out the back door and into the stillness of the night. Though it wasn’t really still, not with the wind tugging at the bushes and whistling through the trees that surrounded the old house.

I kept to the deeper shadows, slipping around the building quickly and quietly. Once beyond the protection of the house, the wind grabbed at me, pushing me forward, seeming to hurry me along even as it slapped and rustled the plastic bags I was carrying.

But held within the fingers of the wind came the purr of an engine. No lights pierced the night, but the crunch of tires against the stone that lined the driveway was unmistakable. And it was getting closer.

Fear gave my feet wings. I practically flew across the open ground, barely watching where I was going, trusting to instinct and the surety of my big feet as my gaze roamed the darkness.

Movement caught my eye. Was that the shadow of a man slipping through the trees to my left?

I didn’t stop to look. Didn’t dare. It was probably Trae, anyway—air dragons could move with the speed of the wind when they wanted to.

The sudden sharpness of salt riding the breeze warned of the closeness of the cliff face. I looked forward, saw land give way to the blackness of night and the starry horizon, and swerved left, following what looked like a goat track. I hoped Trae did whatever it was he had to do in a hurry so we could just get out of here. The car at the gate might not be my pursuers—it might just be the cops doing their rounds, or something equally innocent—but instinct suggested that it probably was.

The wind suddenly gusted and in the sharpness of the air came the sudden sound of a footstep.

And it was close. Too close.

I swung around. Saw the looming shadow, the arms outstretched. The pungent smell of chloroform grew suddenly thick in the night, the scent coming from the cloth the man held in one hand. My skin burned at the very thought of letting it get near me.

When used on humans, chloroform slowed down their central nervous system as well as put them out. On us, it burned like acid. But it also happened to be one of the few drugs that could knock us out fully.

I backpedaled fast and swung the plastic bags of food as hard as I could. One

bag broke, spewing cans and packaged cakes across the path, but the other took the stranger hard in the gut.

He grunted, but lunged past the bag, his free hand grabbing, searching for purchase of any kind. And the chloroform waited.

I chopped down with my hand, smashing away his fingers, then spun, lashing out with a bare heel. The blow took him in the chin, forcing him back.

But not stopping him.

He regained his balance and shook his head, a wry grin stretching his thin lips. “Got a bit of fight in you for a change, hey, little fish?”

His accent was American, not Scottish. But then, very few of the scientists had been Scottish.

“I’ve always had fight in me. Your kind have just never seen it.”

He took a step forward. I took one back, watching his eyes carefully, balancing on my toes as I waited for the leap that would undoubtedly come.

His smile grew. “The night clouds your judgment and slows your actions. It’s the reason we caught your mother. It’s the reason we’ll recapture you.”

He lunged even before he’d finished speaking. I spun away, out of his reach, then swung the other bag and smashed it against the back of his head. There was a crack, and a spurt of blood, and he staggered forward. The wind chose that moment to gust, pushing him farther, harder, toward the cliff face. There was a moment when he teetered, when his arms flailed and the realization he was about to fall hit him. I could have stepped in then, could have pulled him back and saved him.

I didn’t.

He fell into the darkness with a scream, and all I could feel was relief.

Chapter Eight

When the screaming abruptly stopped, I gathered what I could of the fallen groceries, shoving them in the other plastic bags until they, too, were threatening to break, then hurried on.

I couldn’t feel guilty over what I’d done. Not when I could remember what they’d done to me, and Egan, and my mom. Not to mention the little ones.