Free Dragon Warrior by Meagan Hatfield Page A

toward the beach below. Frigid sea air cushioned his back, while blistering pain seared through his legs.
    Kestrel fell for what felt like only seconds before his body slammed against the sandy earth, bouncing once before settling deep into the pocket of sand. The granules embedded into his delicate human skin like shards of glass. His shoulder blade cracked and throbbed where a jagged rock had struck it instead of his dragon armor. He noticed fingers, not talons, clutched what was left of his thigh. Only, he didn’t remember shifting from his dragon form. It must have happened on the way down, which meant his wound must be worse than he thought.
    Gravely worse.
    His heart thudded in a frantic almost hysterical beat behind his ears. Kestrel kicked his head back and gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed as searing pain tore and lashed through his flesh in a blazing streak straight to the marrow. The utter torment sluicing through him nearly drowned out the clashing sounds of battle on the lowest cliff ledge now three hundred feet above him.  
    Inhaling sharply, he propped himself on one elbow. Metallic and thick, the scent of blood hit his nostrils seconds before the sight of sinew and bone filled his vision. His stomach lurched wildly and the world spun on its axis until he thought he’d be sick. His biceps shook beneath the slight weight he bore upon it before the muscle gave way completely. Kestrel fell back on the sand, exhaling something between a moan and a cry.
    Oh, Gods, he groaned inwardly. Fisting sand between his fingers, he bore down hard, riding out the currents of pain. Each one surged and ebbed, one on top of the other so that he never felt a moment’s respite from the ache. Pulsing heat burst from his body with each exhale, only to jet back inside and carve out another slice of his soul in a tearing lick of flames. Until he felt the fire burn him alive, hollowing him from the inside out. Until he didn’t think he could stand another moment.
    â€œGods, brother.”
    He heard the softly spoken words seconds before he felt a presence beside him. Sensed hands on his shoulders, propping him upright.
    â€œWhat have they done to you?”
    Kestrel reached back, groping for his brother in a blind panic. “The king…and queen,” he gasped, nearly blacking out at the pulsing wave of agony washing through him. “Go to them.”
    Instead of complying, his younger brother sank to his knees. His hands pressed down hard on one of Kestrel’s legs.
    â€œWe have to stop the bleeding.” Falcon said, digging his heel in farther, bearing down on the injury.
    â€œI said go,” Kestrel grated, pushing him away. His gaze fixed on the bloody handprint he’d left on his younger brother’s bare chest. The bold crimson mark stood out, commanding, dominating every thought in Kestrel’s head. It appeared black, like a talisman of death coming to claim him. Again his brother’s voice called to him, but he couldn’t tear his focus off it.
    A pair of strong hands, slick and warm with blood, grasped his face, forcing it up to one he’d known since he was a hatchling.
    â€œIt’s too late! They’ve been taken,” Falcon shouted, and this time Kestrel heard every word.
    Oh Gods, he heard.
    He sucked in a breath and held it. Falcon’s words ripped through him with more agonizing force than the vampire whose ax had nearly hewed off his legs. The bare truth lay before him too brilliant and potent for him to ignore.
    They’ve been taken .
    He’d failed.
    He, the Captain of the Dragon Legion responsible for the safety of the flock and their mission, had done the unthinkable. He’d allowed the king and queen to be captured.
    His lungs burned, screaming for air. Yet he couldn’t seem to breathe. Another bolt of agony wrenched tighter, twister farther in his gut. When he realized it came from Falcon knotting his holster belt around his