* * *

For a few seconds, nobody moved or said a word. The only sounds were the ragged, gasping breaths of everyone in the container, and the scatter of gunshots fading behind us. Garret still stood at the door, his side braced in the corner and his gun held to his chest, listening to the sounds outside. Cobalt crouched in front of me, sides heaving and fangs bared, glaring at Garret. The semi continued to move, turning corners with the squealing of rubber, making me stumble and clench my jaw, before it finally leveled out and rapidly picked up speed. The sounds of guns and battle faded, and soon the rumble of tires on pavement was all that could be heard.

Garret let out a long breath and lowered his gun. Slumping against the wall, he bowed his head and let the weapon fall to his side. For a moment, he looked exhausted, almost grief stricken. But he quickly raised his head and looked at us. “Is everyone all right?” he asked in a weary voice.

“Still alive, St. George,” Cobalt growled, though the words were tight with pain, his movements stiff. “Maybe a little less than when we started, though. Ember was hit in the leg, and there’s a chunk missing from my tail that doesn’t feel the greatest. Nothing life-threatening, but we’ll need a safe place to get patched up.” He glanced at me, then turned back, shaking his head. “Also, somewhere along the line, we’re going to need clothes, unless you plan to hide two dragons in the back of a semi for a while.”

He sounded way too normal, like this was a perfectly ordinary situation: the soldier I’d never thought I’d see again showing up and saving us from St. George. Garret gave a tired nod. “I can help with at least two of those things,” he said, just as something buzzed in his pocket. Pulling out a phone, he held it to his ear. “Jade, people have been hurt,” he told whoever was on the other end. “We need to find a safe place now.” A moment of silence, and he nodded once. “Good. Get us there.”

Lowering the phone, he winced and slid down until he was sitting against the wall. I stepped around Cobalt and limped up to the soldier, trying to keep the weight off my back leg. He watched me approach until I stood looming over him. Our gazes met, and he offered a faint smile.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, in a voice meant only for me.

There was so much there, so many hidden emotions in that one short phrase. “Hey,” I whispered back. “You’re...back.”

“I’m back,” he repeated. “Surprised to see me?”

I started to answer, but suddenly caught the scent of blood, soaking his clothes, and snorted in alarm. “Were you hit?”

He nodded once. “Almost impossible to make it through that without being shot,” he answered tiredly. One hand rose to touch his shoulder, and his brow creased. “I think it’s a graze. Bloody, but not serious. Truthfully, I’m surprised we all got out. I wasn’t expecting to...”

He trailed off. I narrowed my eyes at him. “You weren’t expecting to come out of that alive,” I finished.

He didn’t answer and, at that moment, Cobalt stepped up, so close that our wings brushed together. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I felt the echo of a growl in the back of his throat as he crowded in. Though his voice was perfectly normal as he gazed down at the soldier.

“What’s the plan, St. George?” he asked.

Garret eyed the blue dragon calmly, seemingly unconcerned with two giant lizards standing a lunge away from him. “Jade has a place we can go,” he answered. “It’s a few hours from here.” His gaze flickered to my back leg and darkened with concern. “How are your injuries? I don’t have a first-aid kit on me. Can you hold up until then?”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Cobalt growled, sounding pained. “Not unless there’s an emergency room close by that takes dragons. But don’t worry about us—we can take a lot more punishment than humans, as I’m sure you already know.” He glanced at me then, his gaze softening. “Firebrand? You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” I wanted to stay, to ask the soldier more questions, but that was going to be impossible with Cobalt hovering so close. Besides, my leg was throbbing, and staying on my feet was feeling more and more like a bad idea. I was sore, confused, overwhelmed and felt I could bite something with very little provocation. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to lie down and growl at anything that asks me questions.”

Turning from them both, I limped to the back of the box and lowered myself onto the dirty floor with a groan. Craning my neck, I found the hole in my flank left behind by a St. George bullet. The scales around the puncture were cracked and broken, and blood oozed slowly down my leg. I was suddenly filled with a primal urge to lick the wound clean, but figured I’d better wait for disinfectant and painkillers.