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open. The woman jabbed her sword at him and he twisted out of the way, shoving an empty trolley between them.
    She kicked it aside and lunged again.
    Hunter rolled over the bed, grinding his teeth against the pain. If he were in his old body... but he wasn’t and he needed to stop thinking like that. He needed to get creative. He yanked open the drawer of the bedside table in search of a possible weapon. Inside was a leather-bound Bible and nothing else. The woman slashed at him over the bed. He ducked and grabbed the book.
    The woman shoved the bed toward him. He slid under it and slammed the Bible into the side of her knee. She dropped to her other knee and brought the sword around at his head. He deflected her swing with the Bible against the flat of the blade, thankful she didn’t have enough room for full range of motion. With a growl, he smashed the book into her face, up and back.
    He didn’t wait for her to react. He needed to stay close, making it impossible for her to use her sword. He launched forward and rammed the Bible’s spine into her temple. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she crumpled to the floor.
    Hunter tossed the book on the bed and staggered out of the room. He’d bought just enough time to escape without drawing more attention by running. If the woman was a dragon, she’d wake soon and be back on the hunt. As much as he wanted to search her for clues to identify the traitor she worked for, there just wasn’t the time. He needed to put as much distance between them as possible.
    He went back down to the first dead mage in the basement, wiped his hands on a clean corner of the dead man’s shirt and shrugged into his trench coat. It wouldn’t be good if someone stopped him to ask about the blood on his clothes—or the rest of him—and while this man’s coat was stained it looked more like water on the black fabric than blood. He continued down the hall, past the morgue, and up a back stairwell.
    The first exit he came to opened onto an alley lined with dumpsters. Still aware that his misappropriated body was healing, he eased down the stairs and headed to the busy main street where he could hail a taxi or find a phone and call one.
    What a mess. But with dragon-kind growing frustrated over Prince Regis’s laws restricting dragon liberties—particularly concerning the duration spent among humans—it didn’t surprise Hunter that some drakes would attempt subversion. And now Hunter was the one being hunted.
    He amended that. It wasn’t really him they were after, but the medallion. Not a comforting thought since he was still in their way. Without a doubt, there was a dragon pulling strings and purposefully breaking dragon law.
    Only a dragon would know the power the medallion had over dragon-kind, or want it. With the use of ancient Egyptian, the likeliest suspect was Zenobia , but he hadn’t thought she’d be so foolish. But then again, for all he knew, Regis had grown tired of Hunter’s service and was trying to eliminate him—since murder was how Royal Assassins were fired.
    A taxi a few feet away flicked on his ‘in service’ light, pulled a u-turn, and drove away. The next closest one was three blocks down in front of a billboard touting the town’s urban revitalization plans tagged with black and red graffiti.
    “Hey, baby,” a masculine voice said.
    Hunter glanced at the man leaning against a pizza shop window. His clothes were stained and ripped and his hair was greasy and unkempt. Ah, the human race at its best. He pitied the poor woman who’d attracted this man’s attention.
    “Sweetie, don’t give the cold shoulder.”
    Hunter kept walking. He wished he could do something for the woman being accosted, but he wasn’t in any kind of shape for more confrontation. Besides, he was trying to keep a low profile.
    The drunk ran up to Hunter’s side and draped a heavy arm across his shoulders.
    “Baby,” Drunk said in a low voice.
    Shit.
    He’d forgotten he was a