Legion. Julie Kagawa

gleam entered her eyes, and I wondered if the Patriarch was still alive. If he had survived the vengeance of an enraged red dragon. “You nearly died,” Ember went on, the murderous look fading to one of anguish. “You were bleeding out, and the only way to save your life was to perform a blood transfusion right there. There was no time to take you to a hospital. And no one else had the right blood type. So... Riley became the donor.” She paused. “Riley saved your life, Garret.”

      For a few seconds, I didn’t understand the significance, why she looked so distraught. Was she afraid that I would resent the fact that a former enemy had saved my life? Given our past, I was shocked that the rogue dragon had offered his own blood to save a soldier of St. George. Did Riley himself wish that he’d let me die? I didn’t think he was that vindictive, but I was a rival. No longer an enemy, but a challenger in the worst way—competition for the girl beside me. If I was out of the picture, Riley would have Ember all to himself.

      Then it hit me. The heat in my veins, the feeling of molten fire crawling beneath my skin. I let out a long breath.

      “I have...dragon blood in me.”

      Ember winced. “It’s been causing some complications,” she said in a near whisper. “Some of it has been good—your wounds have been healing at a much faster rate than normal. But you’ve been delirious for the past week and a half. Until today, we didn’t know if you would pull out of it.” At my incredulous look, she dropped her gaze. “Wes thinks it’s your body trying to compensate for the infusion of new blood, and that it should eventually adjust, but he’s not certain. This has never been done before. We don’t know...what the effects will be. Long term or otherwise.”

      Dazed, I sank back against the pillow. Riley had saved my life, and he’d done it by injecting me with dragon blood. Was that why my heart was pumping like I’d run a marathon, even lying here on my back? My mind, already wandering and confused, began spinning in strange directions. What would this infusion do to me, inside and out? Was I in danger of dying, as the dragon blood cooked my organs from the inside? Or could it do even more outlandish things? Dragons were magical creatures; a tiny bit of ancient, supernatural power flowed through their veins. Even the Order of St. George acknowledged this. What would that do to the human body? Would I come out of this completely normal?

      For a moment, I had bizarre, delirious thoughts of waking up covered in scales, or getting out of bed to find a tail coiling behind me, before I shoved them aside. That wasn’t possible, I told myself, struggling to hold on to logic as it twisted and squirmed away from me. Blood couldn’t do that to a person; I was in no danger of morphing into some sort of strange half dragon. The most it could do was kill me, if my body rejected the new blood and shut down organs, one by one.

      Ember, I realized, was watching me carefully, waiting for my reaction. I reached for the hand lying on the mattress, and she curled her fingers around mine and held on tight, like she was afraid to let go. “It’s okay,” I told her, smiling as I met her gaze. “I’ll deal with the complications as they come, but right now, I’ll settle for still being here.”

      She let out a breath that was half laugh, half growl, and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to my cheek. “Dammit, Garret,” she breathed in my ear. “I thought I’d lost you. Don’t do that again.”

      “I’ll try not to,” I whispered back. Her skin was cool against mine, and I slid my fingers up her arms. “But will you still feel the same if I sprout wings and a tail?”

      I felt her silent laughter. “Actually, that would be pretty awesome,” she admitted. “Though you’d never be able to wear shorts in a public place again, so there’d be some kinks to work out.”

      I wanted to drag her closer, to pull her against me and listen to our hearts beat together. But my eyelids were suddenly heavy, and sleep was clawing at me, even as I struggled to stay awake. “What happened with the Order?” I asked, determined to get some sort of answer before I succumbed to exhaustion.

      “We don’t know,” Ember said, drawing back. “After the duel, they took the Patriarch’s body and left. We came straight here from Salt Lake City and haven’t been up top since.”

      I nodded. That was smart. The Patriarch was dead. The revered leader of the Order of St. George had been slain by the enemy. Even if there was no immediate reprisal, staying off the Order’s radar right now was a good idea. Still, the lack of information was worrisome. What was happening, in both St. George and Talon? We had thrown a huge wrench into the works of both organizations, and something had to come of it. Sooner or later, they were going to respond. We had to be ready when they did.

      But not right now. At least, not for me. Staying conscious was becoming increasingly difficult, even though I had about a dozen more questions I wanted to ask. And something else hovered at the back of my mind, a feeling that I was forgetting something important. Something about the Order...and me. Ember must have noticed, for her cool fingers brushed my forehead again, and her lips briefly touched my temple.

      “Get some sleep, soldier boy,” she whispered, the relief in her voice washing over me like a wave. “You’re safe here. I’ll see you again when you wake up.”

      Lulled by that promise, I obeyed.

       EMBER

      I watched Garret fall asleep, relaxing into the pillows, his breaths even and slow. It was a sound, peaceful sleep this time—no jerking, mumbling or fluttering eyelids. No thrashing around in nightmare. Hopefully, the fever had broken and he was on his way to recovery, though his skin remained disturbingly hot. Hotter than any human’s should have been.

      But he was finally awake, and lucid, and that itself was a massive relief. Watching while he’d jerked and muttered nonsense in his sleep had been horrible. One night he’d thrashed about so violently we’d considered tying him down. I knew it was the dragon blood working its way through his system, causing fever and sickness as his body tried to adapt to or reject the infusion. I knew that without it Garret would most certainly be dead, and that Riley had saved his life with his quick thinking. But, watching him moan and thrash trying to ward away phantom enemies, hearing what was almost a snarl erupt from his throat one night, I couldn’t help but wonder what he would be like when he finally came out of it. If he came out of it at all.

      Thankfully, he had. And it didn’t appear to have changed him. At least, not on the outside. What was happening inside him was anyone’s guess; as far as any of us knew, no human had ever received a transfusion of dragon blood, so there was nothing to compare it to. I doubted Garret would sprout wings and a tail, as cool and disturbing as that might be, but I also doubted any human could get injected with the blood of a dragon and not experience side effects.

      Right now, watching him sleeping peacefully for the first time in over a week was all that seemed important. He was alive, not delirious, and now I could rejoin the rest of the world. Riley, I knew, would be relieved. I’d barely seen him and Wes since our arrival, and the only times I’d left this room were the instances when I’d fallen asleep at Garret’s side and Riley had carried me to my own bed. I knew he’d want to hear that Garret was awake, if for no other reason than I would stop worrying about him.

      With one final look at the unconscious soldier, I tiptoed out of the room and slipped into the hallway beyond.

      I nearly scraped my skull on the low, curved ceiling—again—and ducked my head with a stifled growl. The corridor was actually an enormous corrugated steel tube with rooms branching from it. A steel ladder at the far end of the tube led up to a tiny concrete hatch in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. As fallout shelters went, it was pretty typical. Riley said he’d “stumbled onto it” many years ago and had modified it into an emergency fallback center. It was dark, it was claustrophobic, but it was, according to Riley and Wes, the most secure place we could hope for, a refuge where we could wait out the craziness up top and know that St. George wouldn’t come for us all in the night.

      I didn’t know how much I liked the idea of waiting things out. Now