“She was our enemy,” Mallory said. “But . . .”

“But we would have incarcerated her,” Catcher said. “Not made her dragon kibble.”

We all looked at Catcher. “I won’t apologize for wishing her dead, although I’m guessing ‘chewed up’ isn’t a very pleasant way to go.”

We all looked back at the dragon, which coughed, then spat out one of Sorcha’s heels.

“Why do I want to laugh?” Mallory asked.

“Because this is horrible and uncomfortable and the best dark comedy ever written,” Catcher said.

“Yeah,” Mallory said.

But the comedy ended. Done with its snack, the dragon lifted its head, narrowed its reptilian eyes at us.

It had been born of pain and anger and fear—of those bitter, cast-off emotions of human and supernatural Chicagoans. And it had no love for those who’d filled it with agony.

ENEMIES, it said. PAIN. And then it lunged.

• • •

“Lead it back to the guns!” Ethan ordered, and we ran together down Pearson, then turned back to Michigan, leading the dragon back to the Guard units.

The world began to bounce as the dragon found its feet, began hauling down Michigan Avenue after us. And then the shuddering stopped, replaced by the whipping wind of the dragon’s wings.

It was airborne, with plenty of room to spread its wings on Michigan. And we made for a nice, wide target.

“Split off!” Ethan yelled, when we were in sight of the barricade. “Take Mallory and head for the river. We’ll head toward the lake, try to draw him away from you. Get back to the House.”

I nearly stopped running, nearly pulled Ethan to a stop to tell him not to be ridiculous, that I was his Sentinel and I’d guard him, and not the other way around.

I love you, I told him.

Forever, he said, a gleam in his eyes. Take care, Sentinel.

I nodded, grabbed Mallory’s hand, and dragged her off Michigan, the dragon’s hot breath literally on our heels. We ran down a side street, pressed ourselves against the wall of a building while the sound of gunshots ricocheted off skyscrapers.

But then I glanced at Mallory. Ethan, Catcher, and I were trained in combat. Mallory wasn’t, and she was still fighting exhaustion—and had just used magic to help Taylor. She was lagging behind me, so outrunning the dragon didn’t seem like a realistic option.

I pulled her into an alley and behind a Dumpster. It could fly faster than we could run, so a foot chase wasn’t going to do either of us any good. But I didn’t think it was small enough to fly into an alley.

We crouched on the ground behind the steel garbage box. The ground shuddered as the dragon moved, sending liquid sloshing and lifting a foul scent into the air.

“This is not how I thought things would end,” Mallory said, her fingers digging into my knee. “Crouching in garbage on the run from a lizard.”

“We’ll make it,” I whispered. We had to make it. I wasn’t going down like Sorcha, literally or figuratively. “We’ll wait it out, then find a way back to the House. Maybe you could conjure us up some wings.”

“No problem,” she said, but covered her mouth with a hand as the dragon moved past the alley, its heavy movements sending showers of dirt and grime and brick dust raining over us.

The footsteps grew quieter, but we waited until silence had fallen again. “I’m going to check,” I said, and stood up, pulling her clawed fingers off my leg, and peeked past the Dumpster.

The world was dark and silent, the dust from the dragon’s footsteps still settling on the street.

“That was close,” I whispered. “But I think we’re okay.”

“Merit!” She screamed and I looked back. The dragon’s claw—four armored black toes with two-foot-long black talons—speared into the alley, inches from my face, the talons curled and grasping.

Trying to find us, it slammed against the wall, sending the sound of brick shattering over Mallory’s scream. It found the Dumpster, pushed it backward.

Mallory scrambled to her feet to avoid being crushed, and jumped out of the way, into the middle of the alley, where it clawed again, trying to reach us with the tips of its gleaming red-black nails. The plating was different, I realized—the armor different on its toes than on the rest of its body. Slimmer, smaller, probably because flexibility was needed. And maybe, just maybe, vulnerable to a sword . . .

I WILL DESTROY.

“You most certainly will not destroy,” I said, and raised my katana, sliced down. Blood welled, the scent of it as foul as the garbage in the alley.

The dragon screamed, reared back and pulled up its injured foot, stumbled backward and fell against an SUV parked behind it, crushing the vehicle.

I knew a chance when I saw it. I grabbed Mallory’s hand and dragged her out of the alley.

“Bridge!” I said, scanning the neighborhoods on the other side, and spotting the stairs that led down to the El platform. There was no way it could fit down the concrete stairs into the tunnel. We’d be free of it. And with luck, we could make it back to Cadogan House.

PAIN.

We tore across the street, were steps onto the bridge, when the dragon found its footing again. It reached the tower at the end of the bridge, long nails gripping the stonework as its wings flapped, sending brick and gravel flying.

Fear speared through me, regret at the possibility I’d led Mallory the wrong way, made the wrong decision. But there was a dragon behind us, and water beneath us. We had to keep running. We had to get to the stairwell.

“Run!” I told Mallory, and we pounded pavement across the bridge.

And then the lights began flashing ahead of us, and the entire roadway began to vibrate. I glanced back at the river, where an icebreaker—one of the ships sent out by the city to keep the river flowing—was heading out to the lake.

It took me a moment to realize what was happening.

This was a bascule bridge, a roadway that could actually be opened in the middle to let tall ships through, each side lifting into the air, weighted by huge blocks on the shore.

They were raising the bridge.

The ship couldn’t stop without ramming the bridge. Which meant, between us and the bridge, the bridge won, even though we were still on it.

I looked ahead at the growing gap between the decks, and the rising incline of pavement above the water. I didn’t know how wide the river was here—a hundred feet? more?—but the gap in the road between the bridge’s decks would soon be nearly that wide, and the decks nearly vertical.

The dragon’s scream cut through indecision. It pushed off the tower, its claws throwing off stones as it lifted into the air. The stones fell like meteorites onto the asphalt.

We couldn’t help them, or we’d put the dragon’s attention right on them. Jumping into near-freezing water didn’t sound much better. That left only one option.

“Mallory, we need to haul ass right now.”

“Oh shit!” she said, pumping her arms as we took off, and she settled in beside me, breath huffing.

But with each step the incline grew, the deck slowly rising, so that we had to run with bodies angled forward, nearly on our toes. And all the while, the gap widened.

“Oh, this is gonna be close.”

“I can do it,” I told her. “Just stick by me.” I grabbed her hand. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

Vampires and gravity are friends, I told myself, heart racing, feet pounding pavement. Vampires and gravity are friends.

Forty feet.

The dragon’s wings beat ferociously behind us, so dust and rocks beat at our backs like tiny bullets. It was drawing closer, the heat of its magically manifested body bearing down on us like a cruel sun, the chemical smell burning in the backs of our throats.

We were beating the rise, making progress toward the gap. I could feel Mallory slowing—she didn’t have my biological advantage—but I kept my grip firm around her wrist, tugging her along as I stared determinedly at the finish line, and the empty space that was growing in front of it.

We were going to have to jump.

If we got that far.

“Shit!” Mallory cursed, her weight dropping. I lost my grip, turned around; she’d hit a patch of wet pavement, was on her knees trying to regain her traction, trying to find purchase with the toe of a sneakered foot.