Page 90 of The Prince of New York

“I will only be shooting if they come our direction, but that is close enough. Eddie, watch his leg. While the wound is shallow, it could collapse on him at any time. If it does, drag him and ignore his bitching. Smack him around if he puts up a fight. We haven’t done scenario work with him yet, because the New York royals are fragile and we need to be gentle with them. We’ll start throwing them around soon.”

I flipped my middle finger at Terry, waited for the frequency of gunfire to drop, and then scrambled around the ramp, kept low, scurried up the ramp and into the cargo bay. The thirty stalls, which were close enough to each other horses could see but not touch, made excellent cover, and I headed for the section Eddie and Terry indicated had the fuel release valves and the emergency system.

While it hurt like hell, my leg—and Terry’s basic bandaging job—held just fine.

Once we had a few stalls between us and the cargo bay ramp, Eddie took point, went for a wheel, flipped a switch, pressed two buttons, and gave the thing a spin. He went to two more wheels nearby and repeated the process. “There. The tanks on the wings and the main fuel tank are emptying. Give it a few minutes, and this bird isn’t going anywhere.”

Outside, fluid gurgled and splashed.

While in New York, the ability to control air fell under the flameweaving category, in reality, I used airweaving to keep the fuel fumes out and breathable oxygen in.

While I protected us from suffocation, Terry went to a nearby panel, smashed the clear cover with his elbow, and flipped a switch. “And now every RPS agency in the world, including New York, knows things are a bit problematic. Good luck, Eddie. Why don’t you send your dad a text that we’re playing with terrorists and that we’re going to keep score?”

“That is not going to help matters at all.”

“Ah, but it tells your dad that you’re safe, you have the high ground, and you’re in a good mood.” Terry chuckled, gestured for us to follow him deeper into the network of stalls, and headed towards one of the side windows in the plane. “Ian, peek through the window. Do not make yourself a target. Once you have a view of what you need to start working, do your thing. Ideally, you’ll make a lovely moat of fire to keep the terrorists away from the plane. That’ll give the RPS a chance to clean house. We’re going to get on our phones and text the appropriate parties. I’m just going to tell my wife I’m really sorry you just trashed the plane.”

“Way to throw me under the bus, Mr. Breeder.”

He snickered. “I’ll even text your sister and warn her you’re going to be a sad little prince in need of your aide’s affections to survive your gunshot wound.”

“Will California forgive me if I destroy their tarmac?”

“Ian, we just dumped an entire load of fuel on the ground, and we’re about to light it up. Show them flameweaverswon’tactually light their entire kingdom on fire while you’re working, please.”

I sighed. “This sucks, and I resent that I have to do a demonstration of how ridiculous my talent is.”

“Terry, enroll Ian for some therapy over this incident. He’s clearly nervous over having to show people the Prince of New York is not just a pretty face.”

I glared at the future king of Texas. “Couldn’t you say handsome? I’m handsome. Terry is pretty.”

The former Montana RPS agent shrugged. “It’s true. Just kill some terrorists, Ian, preferably before we lose any RPS agents.”

“No casualties so far?”

“Unlike you, we are wearing bulletproofing in our suits. You’re only killing us with a head shot or a throat shot.” Terry tapped his glasses. “These are also bulletproof, and if they put on their helmets as part of dispatch, it’s damned hard to kill one of us.”

That would work. “All right. Any news on the wire on what the terrorists are wearing?”

“None of them are wearing suits, and there are only two or three internal agents on the ground working the royal airstrip. I was not aware of this, but all staff at this airstrip are members of the RPS.”

Well, that would make things easy. “Remind me to adopt that policy when we get back to New York, and I’ll fight my sister over it.”

“We’ll team up on it,” he promised. “I like this idea, and I resent that I didn’t think of it first.”

I inhaled, held my breath, and counted to thirty before exhaling. “Hold on to your pants, boys. Things are about to get hot.”

TWENTY-SIX

His beast within had given him the only way out: death.

With the enhancer on,my talent grew into a dragon, one with a mind of his own but inclined to play nice with me, his host. I hesitated to think of my talent as an it when riled.

The gunshot wound had woken him, and he pulled against my hold, ready to seek out those who meant me harm and deal with them.

My talent would get what he wanted, but I wanted to make sure he only killed those deserving of their fate, and that meant doing my best to protect the RPS agents defending the airstrip and plane. Knowing Daphne had my little girls, Madelyn, and our new family of pets safely out of the way helped.

No matter what happened to me, they would be out of the line of fire—unless the terrorists pursued.

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