Page 3 of Wild Fire

“These two have garnered the most interest among discerning buyers…”

“But none, I would guess, with my financial or physical prowess.”

The attendant nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ll move them to the privacy room at the end of the warehouse. If you’ll just step this way.”

Once inside the private room, Warrick maneuvered the two drakaina into position before slamming his body into the three attendants and shouting, “Door at the back; shift and fly free.”

The drakaina ran as Warrick spun, kicking one of the attendants in the gut and sending him stumbling backward and onto his ass. He grasped the head of the one closest to him, giving it a quick jerk and snapping its neck. That one would not get back up to fight again.

The doors to the outside opened and the two drakaina spilled out into the night, casting their shackles to the ground and becoming encompassed in the swirling mist of the shift. They were free. Now to do the same for himself. He would need to find a place to fall back to and figure out how to stop the cult, the slavers, the League, and whoever was ultimately behind this travesty.

The third attendant landed a hard punch to Warrick’s jaw, momentarily stunning him as he used his communication device to call for reinforcements. Warrick struck back, hearing a satisfying crunch as his fist connected solidly with the last man standing. He tossed away the cuff and called forth his dragon.

Just as the mist dissipated and before he could make his escape, he was hit with an icy blast of water. Normally cold water wouldn’t be enough to deter a dragon, but this wasn’t just any water—it was water he presumed they were pumping directly from Puget Sound. In other words, it was seawater or salt water, one of the few substances toxic to dragons and capable of burning through their armored hides.

Warrick roared in pain, lashing out with a plume of fire only to be doused by the water again. His fevered and primitive brain could process the danger he was in and that the water that now sizzled along his hide had been diluted with fresh water, but it was poisonous nonetheless, leaving him weakened and fighting to remain conscious.

“Damn it. He cost us the two drakaina,” snarled the man who had appeared to be in charge of the auction.

“But he’s a warrior. Think of the fee he’ll command.”

“I am. It’s the only reason I mixed the salt water with fresh. Otherwise, I’d have given him a lethal dose. Slap iron around his neck and all four limbs. Keep the salt water handy. Douse him every so often to keep him half-comatose. If he so much as looks like he’s going to breathe fire, stick a hose down his throat. I’m sure the boss will know how to keep him under control.”

The sickening mixture of salt and fresh water misted over him—painful, but not so painful as to help him maintain consciousness. In his weakened state, he felt his knees buckle as he collapsed onto the cold concrete floor.

As he felt the iron shackles being fastened around his neck and four legs, he didn’t have the strength to fight back, and so allowed the peace of unconsciousness to take hold. His last thought was: I am Warrick. I am one of the fiercest warriors of the Phantom Fire there is. I am immortal, and I will survive.

CHAPTER 2

DANICA

Warehouse District

Seattle, Washington

Present Day

Leaning against one of the warehouse’s concrete pillars, Danica Morris cursed the unseasonably hot Seattle summer, grabbing the water bottle from her utility belt and slugging back a good, long drink. She was feeling every single year of her life, every single month she’d spent as a member of the Seattle Police Department, every single week she’d spent as lead investigator, every single day she’d planned this raid, and every single minute since they had burst through the doors. It had all been worth it, and yet it was so much worse than they had imagined.

There’d been a time—what seemed to be a long, long time ago—when she was new on the job, that she was young and hungry. She’d lived for the job—not just because she was ambitious, not just because she felt called to help others and to see that victims were given justice, but because she loved the steady stream of adrenaline that came with it. There were spikes within it, but she fed off the need to be vigilant at all times, and it had paid off. She was the youngest woman to ever make detective. But that laser focus on her career had cost her—friends, family, a fiancé— and time she would never get back.

Last year on her twenty-ninth birthday, sitting alone in her condo with a red velvet cupcake and candle she’d bought for herself, she’d begun to question her choices. With thirty creeping up on her, she had to admit she was exhausted, completely without a social life, and beginning to wonder if it had all been worth it.

Shaking her head, she banished her morose thoughts and focused on what yet had to be done. Tonight, a nearly year-long investigation into a cult-led trafficking operation had come to fruition. Young people, mostly girls, were leaving home, joining the cult, and never being seen again. They called the cult members ‘human traffickers.’ They weren’t. They were slavers, pure and simple.

At first, the bust had gone down like clockwork. Her team, along with the FBI, had moved in, surrounded the building, and burst into the warehouse, which was filled with cultists, victims in cages, and enough paranormal paraphernalia to make the City of New Orleans look downright normal.

Taking another long drink, one of the FBI agents, whose clumsy advances she had been studiously ignoring for some time now, placed his hand on her shoulder. “Good work, Detective Morris. This should prove to be a real feather in your cap. I daresay the FBI or the DOJ might come looking to make you an offer to switch over to where the real action is.”

Dani snorted. The sheer arrogance of the guy was not unexpected. Many in federal law enforcement felt that they were the elite law officers and that anyone who worked locally should be flattered just to be noticed, much less invited to join them.

“Thanks. I think between my team and yours, we’ve got these bastards rounded up. I’ll just wait here for CSI and maybe make another sweep.”

“I can stay and help,” he said, a little too eagerly.

“No. I’ve got this. But thanks for everything.”

She turned away before she could see the disappointment in his eyes. He was a nice guy, but the last thing she needed was an affair gone wrong with a member of the Bureau. If she ever did want to join the feds, a past liaison could hurt her chances for advancement in the long term.

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