The beast bellowed in agony, collapsing to the ground and writhing in pain as the steel pierced her unprotected heart. Black blood oozed from the wound and Connor met the creature’s eyes with his own, staring her down with defiant rage. He yanked the blood-soaked blade free, then stabbed the fiend again. And again. And again. And—
“Connor, stop! She’s dead. The dragon’s dead!” He felt his mother’s arms grab him from behind and drag him away. He fell to the ground, still half lost in an adrenaline-induced haze. His mother dropped to her knees, searching his face with her own tear-stained one.
“Dad?” he managed to blurt out, even though he knew in his heart what her answer would be. No one survived a full-on dragon blast—not even the best Hunter in the land.
Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry, Connor,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. He buried his face in her shoulder, allowing the grief to consume him. His mother held him close, rocking him gently, soothing him in soft whispers. “But he died a hero. A true Hunter.”
Her words were meant to comfort but only served to wrack Connor with guilt. He’d acted foolishly, disobeyed orders, and now, because of it, a great man was dead. His father was dead. And more would likely follow too—with the people of the strata now left without a trained Hunter to protect them. Who knew how long it would take for the Council to send reinforcements to this forgotten corner of the world? They barely had enough Academy graduates to protect the big cities.
It was up to him now. He had no choice but to shoulder his father’s birthright. It was the only possible way to make himself worthy of his father’s sacrifice. He rose and limped over to the dragon’s corpse. The beast looked smaller now. Shrunken. A shadow of the deadly creature she’d once been. As he stared down at the monster who had stolen his beloved father away, disgust and fury threatened to consume him.
He squeezed his hands into fists, his nails cutting into his palms. “I will hunt your kind until you’ve been wiped off the face of the Earth. No matter what I have to do.”
“Dad!”
Connor shot up in bed, a sharp pain drilling through his skull. He was in a small room—two matching beds, simple furniture—smelling slightly of mildew. A radiator in one corner rattled and spit while the TV on the dresser blared an advertisement for soap. Outside the window, a neon sign buzzed and flickered, matching the beats of his throbbing head.
He sank down onto his pillow, sucking in a breath, forcing the nightmare to retreat to the back of his mind. It had been seven long years since his father’s death and yet hardly a night went by when his brain didn’t manage to conjure up a full-color torturous play-by-play of that day.
The day he’d killed his father.
He’d told Trinity he was here to save the world. But that wasn’t the whole truth. He wanted to save his father.
“I’ll do whatever it takes, Dad,” he whispered.
“Whatever what takes?”
Connor looked up. The bathroom door at the far end of the room squeaked opened and Trinity’s grandfather stepped out, buckling his belt as he limped back over to the motel television, palming the remote and increasing the already near-deafening volume. He’d been glued to the set since they’d arrived in New Mexico a few hours before—the last location Connor had felt Trinity’s spark before it had sputtered out.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, sitting up in bed. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his father’s death—or hear the comforting rationalizations that were bound to follow. That it wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing he could have done. It wasn’t true. And it didn’t make him feel any better either.
He sighed. What a mess this all was. If only he’d woken Trinity up when he and her grandfather had first returned to her mother’s house the night of the Reckoning. Everything would be different now. They’d have the egg. They’d be on their way to the volcano to destroy it. Mission practically accomplished.
But he hadn’t. Mainly because she’d looked so exhausted. So dead to the world. And once again, the soft spot he had for her had botched his common sense. And so, instead of waking her and bringing her downstairs where he could keep an eye on her all night, he’d let her sleep alone. It wasn’t until he heard the banging on the rooftop a few hours later that he realized something was wrong. Unfortunately, by the time he’d reached her room, she was already on the back of his brother’s motorcycle, zooming into the night.
God, he’d been such a fool. He’d had the egg. He’d had the girl. His whole mission practically wrapped up in a Christmas bow. And yet he’d screwed it all up, underestimated his brother, and let it all slip through his fingers.
His father would be so disappointed.
I’m sorry, Dad, he thought. I won’t let you down again.
His thoughts were interrupted by the television, blaring some kind of news broadcast at top volume. Trinity’s grandpa, Connor realized, must be going a bit deaf.
“Could you please turn that—” he started to beg, but his mouth snapped closed as his eyes caught the video on the screen: black-and-white surveillance tape of a small convenience store. Two very familiar people walking up to the cash register.
Connor dove off the bed, joining Grandpa in front of the TV. He stared, mouth gaping. Could it really be?
“Suspected terrorist Trinity Foxx was last seen at a Santa Rosa Circle K,” the announcer informed them. “She and her unidentified partner purchased food and drinks, and then took off in a green Ford pickup, according to witnesses. Anyone with information on the pair’s whereabouts should call the Crime Stoppers’ hotline. Police warn not to approach them; they are considered armed and dangerous.”
Connor watched as the tape looped, his stomach swimming with nausea. On the screen, Trinity turned to his brother, poking him playfully in the ribs before setting her snacks down on the counter. The two of them started to laugh.
“What are they doing?” her grandpa cried, furrowing his bushy gray eyebrows. “I thought you said he’d kidnapped her.” He turned to Connor, his eyes filled with accusation.
Connor shrugged helplessly, still staring at the TV in horror. All this time he’d been so sure Trinity must have been tricked, taken against her will. But looking at the video made him wonder. His brother had always been charming—could he have convinced her somehow that he was out for her own best interests? That Connor was the bad guy, not him? Or was it the dragon bond itself? Poisoning her mind against him more and more each day. He shuddered at the thought.
At least that explained why he’d lost her signal. He’d been following her spark, reaching out to her through the back door he’d created in her mind when he’d shown her the vision of the Scorch. But as of yesterday, he’d found himself at an impasse, her mind blocked against him. Caleb must have shown her how to shield herself, which would make it nearly impossible to find her.
“Santa Rosa, New Mexico.” Connor glanced over to see Trinity’s grandpa consulting an old-fashioned paper map. The man looked up. “It’s not even fifty miles from here. Let’s head out.” He rose to his feet, his eyes shining with eager desperation.
Connor sighed, feeling old and defeated. He wanted to tell the man it would do no good. That they could follow them to the ends of the earth, but they’d always remain one step behind as long she kept herself blocked to him. If she didn’t want to be found…
“Are you coming?” her grandfather asked, hovering at the open door.
He reluctantly rose to his feet, resigning himself to the fool’s mission. At least it would make her grandfather feel better. To feel like he was doing something instead of just sitting around uselessly, waiting for news.