Obsidian Son (The Temple Chronicles Book 1) by Shayne Silvers

strike-force you’re putting together. I can’t imagine many freaks are in the bureau, so how much good could it do?” Freaks were how the few unenlightened individuals — like the cops — referred to us. No one had yet confirmed, officially, that we existed, but plenty civilians already knew or at least had a very good suspicion. Crimes were simply becoming too ‘unexplainable’ with the new advanced technologies revealing truths that had historically been hidden under reams of paperwork. A Kentucky Senator was even demanding that all freaks should furthermore be termed Wizards since it had to be our fault that they all existed in the first place.
    Idiots.
    Gunnar looked at me heavily, saying nothing.
    “Wait, you said hush, hush. Do you even have any jurisdictional lines? Are they just going to put up fliers in every police station in the country, seeing if any freaks are stupid enough to move to the buckle of the Bible-Belt?”
    Gunnar scoffed. “Of course there are lines. Like I told you, this is just a test run. Reinhardt knows weird stuff keeps happening, and that more often than not, we remain aloof to the criminals and their capture. This is merely a beta testing of an idea I whispered to him. He’s a regular, but a damn good agent. He has no idea what he was really allowing me to do. What I was really asking him. So for now, I basically just have a wider line than the other agents. Instead of a razorblade, I’m dancing on a steak knife.” I pondered that. Crime was getting nastier each year, and while most of it was the normal, run-of-the-muck kind of crime, some of it did need a firmer hand. Guns were fine, but sometimes not enough, and all too often, red tape plugged up said guns.
    “Can’t hurt, I guess. Any recruits yet, or just consultants ?” I mocked, scanning the glass walls around us for a roof exit. Gunnar said nothing, so I stopped and glanced back. Tap, tap, tap . The sound of heels striking the ground continued.
    He pointed a finger at me, face ashen. “ Me ?” I stared back, dumbfounded. “Oh, no way. I’m not even a cop! I don’t know diddly about all the minutiae that took you years to learn. I’m a terrible recruit.” Another thought struck me. “And I don’t even want to join! I’ve got enough on my plate, thank you very much.” Gunnar continued staring, but I realized he wasn’t pointing at me. He was pointing behind me. Then he abruptly shifted into his Underdog underwear-clad werewolf form, clothes exploding to shreds. I had time to hope that it wasn’t the same pair of underwear from the night before.
    Tap, tap, tap . The noise continued, and this time I realized it sounded quite different from our heels striking marble. It sounded like something tapping on glass. I turned, and found myself facing a massive grinning red dragon, snorting fog onto the cool glass from her scaly visage outside. Tap, tap, tap . A giant talon let out a staccato drumbeat. I was momentarily reminded of a sadistic child tapping on a glass, fish tank.
    Then the glass exploded inwards, and a massive arm wrapped around my waist, tugging me out onto the windy rooftop. “Ack!” I yelled as the grip squeezed the air from my lungs. Muscles bunched around me as the world tossed and turned. I heard Gunnar howl — a piercing lament — but we were moving fast, and between being tossed about like the victim of a drunken operator controlling a Ferris wheel and not being able to breathe, I felt positively unpleasant. Which pissed me off. Which is when I get a tad reckless.
    Everything halted, and I abruptly noticed a sad statue on the roof from inches away, his face pitying my dilemma. Then my body was hoisted out over the city streets five stories below, the grip loosening enough for me to breathe. Cars flashed by beneath me, oblivious of my predicament. “Now that we’re alone, I propose we have a little chat.” A woman’s voice spoke. I lifted my head to stare straight into the dragon’s fiery