"Fly, weredragon!" the chieftain shouted, swooping above her. "Shift into a dragon and fly! I slew your mother for the curse. I know it fills you too." He laughed, the wind in his hair. "Fly or hit the ground and my roc will feast upon what's left."

She looked down. The ground was only instants away. Heart thudding madly, Laira raised her bow and arrow.

If I die, you die with me.

She fired. The flint-tipped arrow scratched along Zerra's roc, then vanished above, doing the chieftain no harm. The movement tossed Laira into a spin. She tumbled, earth and sky roiling around her. Her brain felt like water swirling around a shaken bowl. Whenever she faced the ground—spin after spin—it was closer. Her bow tore free from her grasp and vanished into the wind.

I will die here, she thought, eyes stinging. He killed me. Goodbye. I—

No.

Her eyes stung.

No.

She would not die here. Not like this.

If I die, I die in fire.

The ground rushed up toward her, Zerra laughed above, and for the first time in ten years, Laira—hurt, broken, grieving, a shell of a woman—summoned her magic.

Scales flowed and rattled across her, golden like the dawn. Fangs sprouted in her mouth and her body ballooned. Wings burst out of her back with a thud. Her claws grazed the grassy plains, her wings beat, and Laira soared, a dragon roaring fire.

The grass flattened under the beat of her wings, and she veered as she ascended, dodging Zerra and his roc. She burst into open sky, scattered flames, and roared—a roar that shook her body, that cut the sky, that burned in her eyes and soul—the roar of a girl exiled and cursed, of a girl who had watched her mother die, of a huntress who had given her body to her tormenter and now might give her life.

Zerra's roc soared in pursuit. Farther away, above the fleeing herd of mammoths, the rest of the hunters shouted and flew toward her, nocking new arrows.

Attack them! cried a voice inside Laira. Blow your fire and slay them all!

A second voice shouted out, Flee! Flee into the forest, run, hide!

Flying toward her, Zerra fired an arrow. It shattered against her scales, blasting pain like one of his fists. Within another breath, he would slam into her.

Fight! Hide!

Laira roared, spewed flames, and turned to fly toward the forest.

Her flames rained down behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Zerra skirt the inferno and fly higher, unscathed. The rest of his hunters joined him. With battle cries and firing arrows, they flew in pursuit.

"Take her alive!" Zerra shouted. "Capture the reptile so she may burn before Ka'altei!"

Laira turned her eyes forward and beat her wings with all her strength.

She wobbled, dipped, and cried out.

She had not become a dragon since her mother had died; and even as a girl, she would shift only in secret caves and pools, afraid and ashamed and returning to human form within moments. She had never flown like this in the open, and every beat of her wings made her sway and nearly fall.