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

red horizontal pupils, ignoring the blood pounding in my skull. I gathered my will, ready to unleash hell.
    “Ah, ah, ah.” The blood-red dragon’s voice cooed as she released one of the talons holding me up above St. Louis’ beautifully paved streets. My body dropped an inch and I squawked in alarm. “I just wanted to have a few words with you about a family book,” Her voice was that of a phone sex operator, full of empty promises that one couldn’t help but buy. “Oh, and also about my sister, since she never came home last night.”
    Another talon let loose, dropping my upper torso entirely, leaving me to hang upside down by my knees. I laughed, fighting my panic. “Your sister won’t be coming home any time soon.”
    She cocked her head quizzically. “Start talking. Now, wizard.” My pack of cigarettes fell out of my pocket, sailing down into the night.
    And down, and down, and down.
    I swiveled, quite composed, and pointed an angry finger at her. “That. Was. A. New. Pack. Bitch.”
    More glass burst outward from atop the roof, out of my immediate sight. Her eyes swiveled towards the noise with a hiss and tongue of flame.
    I am not above sucker-punches.
    A rumble of power began to build at her throat as she prepared a counter-attack at the noise. I summed up my will, calling on the wind this high up, and bulldozed the sad-faced statue that had shown me a moment of compassion. A cloud of dust and rock exploded out, but a big portion of the statue sailed true, slamming straight into her wide-open mouth as she was ready to let loose her blast. Napalm fire, unable to go anywhere else, splashed all over her crenellated head, bathing her in a sick wash of flames from snout to chest. She shook her head with a roar of pain and surprise. “Eat that!” I crowed, still hanging upside down. Then the fire died out from her scales, causing no lasting harm. Blood dripped freely from her scaled lips thanks to my thrown statue, one tooth dangling by a thread of her gums before it too fell to the roof like the drops of blood.
    The roof around her flared with the liquid fire. I heard a shout, but not Gunnar’s voice, and then three sizzling blue and black spears sailed through the night towards my captor. She dodged two of them, sending them off down into the nearby park, and hopefully not into a wandering pedestrian, but the third slammed home, tearing a jagged hole in one of her wings and piercing her thigh. Blue sparks sizzled up from the wound and she roared in pain.
    She took one shaky step, freeing her wing, and then glared at me. “It appears that your time is up.” With a smile, she let go of my leg and I fell.
    Fast.
    I realized I was going to become a nuisance to the street-sweeper on the morning shift. The dragon launched off the roof with a snap of wings, sailing away into the night sky. Gunnar, in his giant white-haired werewolf form, stared down at me from the roof, jaws stretched wide as if howling. But the wind whistled in my ears as I dropped, so I couldn’t distinguish his familiar roar, and then I spotted a freaking black boomerang racing towards my face from another building across the street.
    My scream was in no way similar to that of a frightened little girl.
    The black boomerang unfolded into a trio of interconnected rubber balls attached to a net of rope. Apparently, Spiderman was watching over my fair city. The web slammed into me, and then the weighted balls swung around and around my torso until finally hammering into different sections of my body like a boxer working a heavy bag. One was about a hair away from permanently ruining my chances at continuing my family tree, and luckily none hit me in the face or I would have officially been Mike Tyson-ed. The force of the impact was strong enough to alter my trajectory directly into a window on the side of the building.
    And then through the god damned window.
    The heavy glass didn’t impede my entrance in the slightest, sending a tinkling