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and…well…you know…the occupants would perish in the crash?”
    It was a good question, and it pleased Jackson he’d thought to ask. No one outside of the Death Dealer squad knew anything about what they did or how they worked. Dakota had received his battle training with the Cymmeran Guard—and he was an exceptional soldier—but he had no specialized training to be a Death Dealer. That knowledge would all come from first-hand experience and training with his squad.
    “When we retrieve subjects—” People. “—from the human realm, their bodies must be intact for them to be re-born in our realm.”
    Dakota frowned. “So how do we…you know.”
    How do we what? Jackson pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes. Commit murder? He let his hand drop to his side. “Ideally, a straight shot through the heart, but if that’s not possible a head shot will suffice as well.”
    An image came unbidden. Ryleigh, hidden beneath a chair, her hand clamped over Mia’s mouth, flames and smoke surrounding them. Her eyes filled with fierce determination to keep her sister safe. She should have been nothing more than a target. Yet he’d been unable to take the shot. Had failed to achieve his goal.
    What if the same thing happened again? He’d been alone last time, able to make the choice to abort the mission at the last second and face the consequences. This time his entire team would be standing behind him. What if he choked? Couldn’t complete the mission? Again.
    “Jackson.”
    Startled by the volume of his demand, Jackson turned to face Dakota. He hadn’t even realized they’d stopped walking.
    The other boy stood staring at him, scowl firmly in place.
    “I’m sorry. I guess my mind wandered. Did you ask me something?”
    “I said, will I be expected to make a retrieval this time?”
    “No. Probably not for a while yet. You will observe and watch our backs. You may engage in battle if there is one, just make sure you stay at my side no matter what. Even during the simplest mission things can go wrong.”
    Dakota nodded, his expression serious. Good. He wasn’t taking it lightly. Even though retrievals were fairly routine—the thought of Ryleigh laying into him for thinking so casually about ending eight men’s lives battered him—you never knew what would happen.
    “Ride safely, my friend.” He clapped Dakota on the back before they separated and walked to their pens.
    Jackson approached cautiously, making sure Ophidian knew it was him.
    The dragon snorted. A puff of black smoke shot from each nostril.
    “Hello, boy. Are you ready to ride?”
    When he lowered his head in invitation, Jackson climbed the black scales and swung onto the dragon’s back. He slid carefully between the two large, curved spikes protruding from the back of Ophidian’s neck and secured the strap behind his back. With a firm grip on the spikes, he squeezed his legs together until the slim, sleek dragon lifted into the air. His smooth undulations maneuvered them through the stable and into the night sky.
    Dakota took his place slightly behind him. The remainder of the Death Dealer squad followed in pairs in their traditional formation with Jackson now at the point.
    At least this was a role he was prepared for, a role he had trained his entire existence for. Light poured down from the multicolored stars, but none of it reflected from the black dragon or his rider. The dragon’s scales and the Death Dealer’s armor absorbed the light, assuring a glint at an inopportune moment wouldn’t give them away. Jackson shifted his weight to the right.
    Ophidian’s response was immediate, as if man and beast were one.
    The compact, solid muscles flexing beneath Jackson lent him confidence. Energy flowed through him. The thrill of the hunt charged through his veins. A pang of guilt followed. Jackson cursed. His role as a Death Dealer was the only absolute certainty he had amid a sea of confusion, insecurity, and fear. Damn Ryleigh for taking