Fuck!
He wheeled upward, trying to change course so he didn’t fly within range of the bridge, but he was markedly less agile in his larger form. His dragonish body was built for long distance travel and endurance, while his human form allowed him the flexibility of quick flights and agile movement. That was why most dragons soared so high. Too close to the ground meant they couldn’t outmaneuver enemies.
In a desperate last ditch effort to keep them from shooting, Artem let loose a stream of cold fire over their heads, but he knew he was too close.
The Patrol unit didn’t even flinch. Clad in matte black armor and smoky face shields, they held their position as he soared over them — and shot.
Artem expected the instant, searing pain of bolts through his wings, his chest and belly, but there was none. Instead, several small barbs buried themselves in the first, tough layer of his skin and, with a low click, connected with one another to form a mesh of light around his body.
Only then did the pain start.
A current of pure electricity coursed through him, forcing his wings to seize in mid-air. Artem let out a roar of outrage as he plummeted onto the narrow strip of bridge. The mesh tightened, drawing his wings in against his body with a snap as he rolled into the barrier just tall enough to keep him from falling into the yawning gorge below.
The whole bridge shook with the force of his fall. The sound of it echoed off of the walls of the gorge and the sluggish river below. Artem tried to move, his eyes swiveled upward to watch the magic-heavy clouds as they continued to bear down on them, but he couldn’t even twitch. His muscles were locked, each one drawn tight as the mesh convulsed around him, conforming to his shape.
It was all he could do to let out a deep, desperate rumble as the squad moved silently toward him, their clawed fingers on the triggers of their guns.
They were like fucking wraiths, fitted in black and faceless, their tall, elvish bodies moving without even the rustle of cloth. Artem knew an elite unit when he saw one. He was a soldier himself. He knew how a creature willing to kill moved.
Every last one of the squadron moved with a catlike lethality. Even the snow under their boots didn’t crunch, as if it too feared what would happen if an elf turned its attention on it.
Artem didn’t fear them, though. His fear lived outside of him, in the heart and flesh and blood of another. Whatever happened to him didn’t matter, so long as Paloma survived.
But she wouldn’t if he didn’t move.
The mesh was unlike anything he’d seen before. Nothing, as far as he knew, existed that could restrain a dragon. They were too damn strong. Only the vilest, most complex curses could manage it — until now, apparently.
The harder he struggled against the glowing mesh, the tighter it constricted around him. He could feel it biting into his skin with a strange sizzling sound every time he dared to flex.
Terror for his mate and burbling outrage made him roar, but the sound remained locked in his throat as the ribbons of light closed around his snout.
Head forced down onto the snowy asphalt, Artem panted and watched a pair of black, steel-toed boots step into the snowflakes his panting breaths swirled in the air.
He couldn’t see the Patrol soldier’s face from his angle, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The helmet he wore had a smoked glass front piece that covered him from chin to forehead. It was an imitation of the expensive glamours the Sovereign’s Guard famously used. A fine intimidation tactic.
Behind that glass, there could be anything and nothing. The highest level Patrol soldiers were little more than elf-shaped voids radiating cold, swift violence.
“Rogue, you have been caught trespassing in elvish territory.” The voice was deep, but heavily modulated. If there was any emotion in it, the helmet’s mic saw it scrubbed clean.
The soldier crouched slowly, oblivious to the urgency pounding in Artem’s veins and the danger brewing over their heads, until he was balanced on the balls of his feet. Like most elves, he was built of powerful muscle and dense, almost unbreakable bone. Artem flicked his gaze over the soldier’s chest and helmet. A rumble built in the back of his throat.
Captain, the Solbourne crest on the left side of his chestplate declared. Second only to the General of Patrol, Valen Yadav, the captains of Patrol were some of the fiercest beings in the EVP. The rumor was that climbing the ladder in Patrol meant slitting the throats of those above you. To climb as high as captain, this man had probably done much, much worse.
“Hmm…” The captain holstered his weapon before he balanced his wrists on his knees. Matte black clawtips stretched out from gloved fingers and drummed against his padded kneecap. “You didn’t move like I expected you to, dragon.”
Artem tried to thrash, to shift, to do anything, but all he managed was a wild-eyed look and a sound that, if he were human, might have been a muffled scream.
In the distance, a crack of unnatural lightning lit the dark clouds.
Paloma! Artem imagined her careening into town, desperate to help evacuate the people she knew and loved, as he lay there on the snowy bridge, seconds away from having a bolt put between his eyes.
He thought of her alone in that run-down dwelling, and how her heart would break if he let her down. He thought of the innocent lives at stake, and how his pride, his heart, his very being was tied to this place and the love his mate had for the people who lived there.
He couldn’t fail them. He couldn’t fail her. Artem refused to lose the home he’d only just found.
The mesh was like a thousands of tiny brands cutting into his flesh, and his muscles jumped with the unnatural current being forced through them, but Artem didn’t let the pain stop him. Straining so hard spots floated in front of his eyes, he forced his body into its bipedal shape.
Immediately, tension rippled through the assembled squadron. A line of boots appeared in front of him, the barrels of their guns aimed straight for his head as Artem forced his body to do exactly what the mesh didn’t want.