THE HEIR OF STORMS | Garrick Tavis

Chapter 22

My ears were buzzing amidst the celebration.

I braced myself against the stone wall, barely able to breathe. Fourth Wing was shouting wildly around me, a proud war cry that made my feet falter and my knees wobble. Garrick was holding up the dragon egg captured from First Wing, and Rhiannon was celebrating, waving our flag over her head.

I killed a dragon.

I felt eyes on me, and I knew they belonged to those who had seen what I did. It wasn't them I cared about.

"Nothing is going to happen to you, First one," Azhar said, trying to calm my tension. "Dragons can't kill dragons, but there's no rule against riders."

That wasn't what worried me either. The dead dragon's scales still seemed to touch my hand, hot with the energy of the lightning called down on its body. My clothes were stained with black blood, dragon blood, leaving no doubt about what color theirs was. Its cry was bitter in my ear, the last cry before it fell to its death, its terror seeping into my skin.

I killed a dragon.

"You did what needed to be done," Azhar said. "He was going to expose you. No one can know."

Is that why the dragons trusted me? Is that why Melhdor chose me?

Because I broke that trust. I killed one of their own.

"No," Melhdor's voice was deep, as if inherent to myself, resonating through my body as if it had come from me. Dragons and riders couldn't stay far from each other, which only meant that all this time, through all these years, Melhdor had been watching me closely, protecting me, hiding, keeping me alive. Fighting alongside me. "I chose you because you're unbreakable."

Melhdor wasn't sentimental. He wouldn't ruffle my hair. He wouldn't hold me until this terror stopped consuming me.

"It was you or him, First one," he said, "and you made a choice."

I thought I would vomit.

I lifted my head, trying to push down the nausea, and my eyes met Violet's—rooted to the ground like mine. Violet wasn't celebrating either.

She walked toward me, her pale, small face looking like a ghost.

"Lightning," she whispered, softly, as if her lungs refused to give her air. "I killed Jake Borlowe with lightning."

I held her gaze. Violet, wielder of lightning. I wanted to smile, not feeling so alone, feeling proud of Violet for being powerful. But I couldn't, and something told me that Violet didn't want a smile in return. So I offered her the same thing she had offered me.

"I killed a dragon."

Violet's eyes widened, and I placed my hand on her shoulder, as if that could balance both of us. As if that gesture could stop us both from breaking.

"Jack deserved to die," I said.

"I'm a weapon," her eyes filled with tears, and I couldn't help but be struck by a wave of sorrow. "I'm a killer. What kind of power is this?"

"The same as mine."

Violet shook her head.

"It's different."

"Why would it be?"

Violet looked at me, her hands trembling, the sob caught deep in her throat.

"You needed it," she said. "You needed the lightning. But I don't need it. I don't want to kill people with it, I don't want to be a weapon."