“Ember Hill must be retrieved,” the Elder Wyrm went on, her tone becoming frighteningly intense. The hairs on my arms rose, and something inside me shrank down in terror as the Elder Wyrm speared me with that terrible gaze. “It is imperative that she return to Talon. No more mistakes. This is what we are going to do...”

Chapter 2: EMBER

EMBER

He’s gone.

I knelt in the salt, holding Garret’s motionless body in my lap as the sun climbed slowly over the flats and tinged the desolate landscape the color of blood. The soldier’s face was slack and pale, his skin still warm as he bled out in my arms. Around me, there were flurries of frantic movement, voices shouting, questions that might’ve been directed at me. But nothing seemed real. Garret was gone. I had lost him.

“Shit, he’s bleeding out fast.” This from Riley, kneeling on the opposite side of the soldier, holding a bloody cloth to his side. “We can’t wait for an ambulance—he’ll be dead in two minutes if we don’t do something now.”

“Here,” gasped another voice behind me. Tristan St. Anthony, Garret’s former partner and a soldier of St. George, dropped to his knees beside Riley. He carried a large plastic box and yanked the lid back, revealing an array of bandages, gauze and medical supplies. “I can do a transfusion right here,” Tristan said, pulling a long, clear tube from the bottom of the container, “but I don’t have the correct blood type. His body will reject it if it’s not a match.”

“What does he need?” Riley growled.

“O positive.”

“Shit.” Reaching into the box, Riley pulled out something that glittered metallically in the cold light. For just a second, he stared at it, as if trying to come to a decision. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and sliced the scalpel blade across his arm, right above the bend of his elbow. Blood welled and ran down his skin, and my stomach lurched.

Tristan’s eyes widened. “Are you—”

“Shut up and stick that tube in his arm before I regret this even more.”

Tristan scrambled to comply. Riley stood, holding the other end of the clear plastic, shaking his head. “I fucking can’t believe I’m doing this,” he growled again, and shoved the end of the tube into his bicep.

A dark stream of red ran from his arm, twisting lazily through the plastic, inching toward the dying soldier. Fascinated, I stared at the crimson stream, heart pounding, until Riley’s voice snapped me out of my numb daze.

“Don’t just sit there, Firebrand! How about you start patching him up before he starts leaking my blood all over the ground?”