Chapter 18

Mateo roared long and loud. He didn’t give a shit if the humans heard or if they got scared. The enemy had gotten their hands on his mate. He roared again, barely containing his shift. His clan had arrived just moments after he’d received Sloane’s text. He’d never been so fucking happy to see them in his life. His brothers wouldn’t let him down—wouldn’t let his mate down. Luke, Brycen, and Fitz were heading toward the most obvious points of exit for the city, while Rory scoured the immediate area, searching for clues. He had both women’s scents and wouldn’t miss it if he caught their trail. Mason was somewhere inside, gathering what information he could. And what was he doing? Not a fucking thing. He had to get into the air. Had to find his mate. Nothing else mattered. Not the mission, not Alexandra, not even his own life.

He shook his head as the image of Bradley’s headless body blasted into his mind, infuriating his dragon. Scorching heat churned in his gut. His limbs, weighed down with the power of the oncoming shift, burned with the scales bristling just below the surface. The only reason he hadn’t transformed yet was that he needed the information Mason would bring. As soon as he had it, all bets were off. He’d tear the assholes apart and bathe in their blood. His vision flashed to red as fear and fury flooded him once more.

“White van. Licence plate 3AL204. Three males. Each had guns,” Mason shouted the second he came barrelling through the door and into the alley.

That was all he needed. Mateo didn’t bother stripping. His dragon surged forward, tearing through his clothes with its sharp scales. He was vaguely aware of knocking into Mason as his body grew into his massive dragon form, but he didn’t care. The man would understand.

With a final roar, he beat his wings, shooting up into the sky. He circled the area, widening his search with every pass. He hadn’t been far when Sloane had contacted him. They had a thirty-minute lead on them, at best. Still, that half hour would feel like a lifetime in captivity.

After a few minutes, to his left, a quarter mile out, a dragon shot into the sky. It was sleek, muscular, and not one of his clan. Then to his right, another rose, joining him as he careened through the sky, following traffic, focusing on anything even remotely white. The dragons kept pace but didn’t impede him in any way.

Off in the distance, a golden dragon zipped through the air. He swooped low, then shot up high. Flames burst from his lips as he let out a mighty bellow so loud that any dragon in the city would hear. In a heartbeat, Mateo changed his trajectory. His big body didn’t move as fast as some of the nimbler dragons, but he had power. Beating his mighty wings, Mateo flew fast and hard. The only reason Rory would put on such a show would be to gain their attention, and he got it.

As soon as the golden dragon spotted him closing the distance between them, he swooped low, roaring as he followed traffic along the interstate heading toward Connecticut.

The bastards were taking her out of the city.

He spotted the white van weaving in and out of traffic as though on a fucking racetrack, making his heart stutter each time it came within inches of another vehicle. Brakes screeched, and the scent of rubber clung to the air where others did their best to avoid a collision.

Mateo restrained his beast—barely. Its instinct was to charge and stop the bastards where they were, but with the high speed at which they were traveling, there was no telling what would happen. One wrong move could cause a wreck that further endangered not only Sloane and Wendy, but countless other innocent lives. No, they had to bide their time and follow along for what would be nothing else but a huge setup. They thought they were smart, poking the dragons, luring them away from the city, but they were in for a shock when they saw just how many dragons were riding their asses. Oh, the hunters couldn’t see them all, but other than he, Rory, and the two unknown dragons who’d joined them in the chase, his clan was following just out of sight, along with another few dragons he’d never seen.

The hunters were the hunted. They didn’t have the sense to realize it yet, but they would, and it would be too fucking late for any of them.

***

Sloane fought to keep herself from slamming into the van’s metal wall, but with each squealing swerve on the interstate, she crashed. Her ears rung from one particularly hard hit, and a warm trickle of blood dripped from a wound on her temple. Otherwise, the asshole hadn’t hurt her—yet.

The second she regained her balance, Sloane reached for Wendy again. Her friend hadn’t said a word—wasn’t able to. She’d been knocked out cold and was lying there, lurching this way and that, right along with her. Thankfully, she wasn’t close enough to the sides to do any real damage. The coppery scent of her blood was the only one in the vehicle, which made her feel somewhat better. If only Wendy would wake up, Sloane would breathe a little easier.

“They’re following,” came a gravelly voice from the front seats.

“How many?” the pointy nosed man from the café asked.

“Three. No, four.”

“Call Alexandra. Tell her to have the men ready at Devil’s Den. It’s going to be a fucking blood bath,” he yelled back. His lips curled back in what she could only assume was his ugly-assed rendition of a smile.

Mateo and Rory, along with their clan brothers, were heading into a trap, and there was nothing she could do to warn them. Sloane wanted to rip the smug look right off the bastard’s face. If it weren’t for the goon with his gun pointed at Wendy, she might have attempted it.

Next to her, Wendy moaned and turned her head, but her eyes remained closed. A second later, the van lurched to the side, sending Sloane sprawling again. Son of a bitch. The words were no sooner in her mind than her head cracked against the side of the van again, making black spots swim in her field of vision and a wave of nausea roll through her.

It would serve them right if she puked all over the van and they had to smell it the whole way to the Nature Preserve. They’d chosen the perfect spot for an illegal dragon hunt. For one thing, the Devil’s Den was wooded and secluded, for another, it was close and easily accessible. They had planned it to their best advantage.

What they hadn’t counted on was the dragon’s fury that was sure to be coursing through both Mateo and Rory. The humans had no way of knowing that they’d abducted not one, but two dragon mates. It didn’t matter how hard the hunters fought, how carefully they had planned, or how many weapons they used. Their mates were coming for them, and none would be left standing. With that one bit of certainty branded into her mind, Sloane set out to do the only thing she could think of to give her men more of an advantage—annoy the crap out of the assholes keeping her hostage. If they were focussing on her, they didn’t have their sights set on her mate or the other males sure to be coming with him.

“Why are you doing this? You know you can’t win this fight,” she said, aiming her words to the one leading the miscreants.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“Just tell me. If you’re so sure I’m going to wind up dead, then there’s nothing to stop you from saying it, is there?” Her voice rose with every syllable, ensuring that the man—or men—in the front seats would hear, as well.

“I said, shut the fuck up.” Already the man was glaring at her. Had he expected her to lie there as quiet as a mouse as they drove her to her death? Yeah, she wasn’t a whimpering damsel by any stretch. He’d learn.

“And if I don’t?” She shook her head, wincing at the pain in her temple. “You’ll shoot? I don’t believe you. Not yet, anyway. For one thing, you’ll all be deaf. I haven’t fired a gun, but I can’t imagine the sound will disperse in this tin can.” She had no idea if that was true, but it was worth a shot.

The man grunted but didn’t respond.

“Besides, killing me here isn’t what you want, is it? No, you want me shifted so you can mount my dragon’s head on your cabin wall. Redneck, hillbilly hick that you are, you want a trophy. Putting a woman’s head on a stake wouldn’t look good, not to mention that a taxidermist wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole. Hell, you might even end up in jail for murder. Because that’s what you’re doing. You’re killing innocent people for sport. You can dress it up any way you want, but when this day is over, you’ll go to bed as murderers. Not hunters.”

The man unbuckled himself from his rear-facing seat and towered over her, using his arms to brace himself on the roof of the van. “Are you going to shut your fucking trap, or am I going to break your jaw and keep it quiet for you?”

She didn’t avert her gaze, didn’t even flinch. “Do it, you spineless coward. My mate will have you for lunch.”

His eyebrows shot up, surprise shining in his eyes along with a healthy dose of fear.

“That’s right. My mate. You know how male dragons are with their females. He won’t be pleased.”

The man screamed and reared one leg back. She turned her head just quick enough to keep from getting his boot right in the jaw. The impact on her shoulder, however, couldn’t be ignored. Pain ricocheted through her and down her arm.

“Jesus, Frank. Sit the fuck down. She’s trying to get you going, and you’re falling for it. We’re almost there,” the one still holding the gun finally intervened. “Alexandra did the research. They aren’t mated. Hell, they just met.”

Had the situation been less volatile, Sloane would have laughed in the man’s face. One look at her neck, and they’d have the confirmation of her mating in the form of a bright pink mark on her skin. But they were too stupid to figure it out, and she wasn’t going to offer the information up, and get a beating for it as a reward. Let them face the dragon’s fury.