Page 59 of Fragile Beings
“Because I’m going to fly there,” he explained, matter-of-fact.
Paloma blanched. “Artem, it’s too far. You’re the one who said your wings still can’t take too much flight. What if—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting her off with a hard look. “This is about your safety, Paloma. That always comes first.”
“Your safety matters too,” she protested. She couldn’t take the thought of the town being wiped out, but the idea that something terrible could happen to Artem made her feel like the floor might open up and swallow her whole. She wouldn’t survive that.
Artem skimmed the backs of his claws over her cheek, but his expression didn’t soften. “Show me the map. Let me protect our territory, treat.”
Her breaths came out as short pants. Gods, but the fear of losing him so soon after finding him was enough to steal the breath from her lungs. “What if something happens to you? What if—”
He squeezed the side of her neck, anchoring her. “Nothing will happen to me. Do you trust that I will return for you, Paloma?”
She felt the vicious sting of tears even when she answered, “Y-yes.”
“Then let me do this. Let me show you that I can be the mate you need.” He bent to brush his lips against her forehead. “Trust me, Paloma.”
“I do trust you.” She looked back at the screen, at the snarled lines of vivid color that warned her of impending disaster and creation. “I just can’t lose you, Artem.”
“You won’t,” he promised.
And even though it tore her up inside, Paloma held onto that promise as she showed him the quickest route to the Spot Station. She held even tighter when she stood on the deck, arms wrapped tight around her middle, and watched her mate leap off of into the gorge, his great wings unfurling to catch the icy wind.
* * *
Far below him, the world was white and calm. After days of vicious wind and driving snow, the air was still. The sun reflected off of the snow in a radiant glow and Artem pushed his wings to take him higher. The wail of an alarm rang off of the granite cliffs, spurring him on.
He couldn’t pretend to understand half of what Paloma specialized in, but he knew the danger m-weather could do. The Draakonriik was home to thousands of high rises and specially designed roosts, all of which were equipped with advanced warning systems for this sort of thing. It didn’t happen often enough for him to experience it in his lifetime, but he’d seen the photos of San Francisco’s devastation. When m-weather hit, it could wipe out whole cities in the blink of an eye.
Besides, no dragon flew for long without encountering a strange storm or two — what he realized Paloma called a cluster. Dragons were trained to use their ability to see fluctuations in the magnetic field to avoid them, lest they want to be caught in a patch of magic so thick, it could change your perception of time or turn you insides out.
Not that he needed the experience to convince him. If Paloma said something was a threat, he wasn’t about to hesitate. It was his privilege to defend his mate and his roost. Even though circumstances prevented him from marking his territory as he should, Artem would defend it and her with everything he had.
His only regret was his lack of harness. If they had one, he would have been able to take her with him, to fly her out of danger even if they failed. But they didn’t have one, forcing him to leave his mate vulnerable in their unsafe dwelling.
So he pushed himself hard, though his body protested the treatment. It meant nothing to him. Even if it killed him, he would do this.
The air began to warm as he swooped down from their mountain. It wouldn’t take him nearly as long as she thought to get to the Spot Station, but he still worried about leaving Paloma. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that his mate wouldn’t just sit and wait for help. No doubt Paloma was already in her truck, despite the snow drifts and the ice, headed to the town.
Artem shoved that thought aside with considerable effort. He couldn’t think about what would happen if her tires lost traction, or if she got stuck. He couldn’t consider what might happen to him if he were to lose his heart and soul to a dangerous road and reckless courage.
So he threw himself into flying faster, into pushing himself harder. Unfortunately, there was no wind to carry him, and the air crackled with the ozone and electric scent of magic. It rippled along the toughened skin of his hide and through the membrane of his outstretched wings.
He could see the change in the magnetic field, too: The denser the magic in the atmosphere, the more warped the thin, nearly invisible fabric that guided him became. Artem could even taste it on the back of his tongue.
Magic of the wild, primordial kind had a sharp, almost bitter flavor. Like blood, he thought, dread pooling in his stomach.
He was barely down the mountain. With the magic pressing in from all sides, even the gathering clouds over his head began to warp, their once fluffy shapes stretching into ominous altostratus swirls.
What once was a beautiful, bright day rapidly became dark. Artem didn’t need light to see, but he did need the magnetic field to find his way. The sudden loss of it as it distorted and tangled before his very eyes brought back the vivid memories of his rogue flight, of the madness that was roaming, of the compulsion and bone-deep despair. His stomach rolled as he soared lower, dipping into a gorge connected by a rail-thin bridge.
Fear and the need to protect were a heavy fist in the back of his mind, hitting him again and again. Go faster! Go!
He needed to move. He needed to keep Paloma safe. He needed to go.
But it was useless. There wasn’t enough time, and he wasn’t at full strength yet. Even if he had been, Artem didn’t think he would have made it. Not that it mattered. He was distracted, so he didn’t notice the opening of the m-gate until it was too late.
His head turned, eyes darting downward, just in time to see the fracturing of time and space that allowed a Patrol squadron to pour through, their bolt guns raised.
