Smoke still obscured my view, although it was lessened greatly in the shadow world. I walked toward the man, intent on getting a closer look at him. I was safe from bullets or other physical attacks, facts that drove my curiosity as I made my way around the struggle that was going on in the room. I passed Gabriel, Drake, and Kostya as they huddled together, Drake giving the other two orders. They split up, a group of dragons going with each wyvern as they skirted around the edges of the room, clearly intent on ambushing the men at the door. Bao and Bastian were on the other side of the room, obviously following a similar plan.

I walked down the middle of the room, trying to get a better look at the man who continued to pace back and forth behind the gunmen. Two dragons hauled another one to the side of the room, the injured member groaning piteously. I hesitated, wondering whether I should help, but a shout from another group of dragons as they ran for the door distracted me. The pacing man stopped, spinning around to peer into the room, but it wasn’t the distracting rush that held his eyes. I took a step forward and was suddenly flung a good three yards back as his gaze locked onto me. He turned toward me, and I saw his face in the light: high cheekbones and deep-set black eyes lending him a faintly Slavic look. His hair was dark as well, pulled back from a pronounced widow’s peak into a long ponytail.

I stumbled, shocked that he could see me in the shadow world. He was a dragon, of that I was sure, and dragons as a rule couldn’t enter the shadow world. Gabriel was an exception due to his shaman mother, but I’d never heard of another dragon who could see someone in it, let alone enter. And yet as he strode forward toward me, he slipped as easily into my world as if he had been born to it.

I scrambled backwards at the same time I reached for my dagger. Dimly, I heard Gabriel shout my name. A spike of fear ripped through me as the man continued to approach. I glanced around quickly for an avenue of escape, not wanting to engage him in a battle until I was sure of who he was. He stopped suddenly, the quick intake of breath a hiss as his gaze narrowed on the object hanging outside my blouse.

“Lindorm Phylactery,” he said, and slowly reached out a hand as if he was going to take it. I scrambled backwards, falling over a table and a dragon who lay on the floor groaning, clutching the platinum case so hard it cut into the flesh of my palm.