Chapter 30
M y new cage reeks of fiery death and sulfur—a spongy, billowing blackness that rumbles all around me, noises echoing. Gurgling, grinding sounds, and the drumming beat of …
Wings.
Thud-ump.
Thud-ump.
Thud-ump.
I groan, my face cushioned by a pool of gooey wetness that keeps trying to drown me, slopping over my head and slugging through my hair with every dramatic bank and rise and heart-plunging dip.
A serrated blade of fear slices through my chest.
The Sabersythe hasn’t cranked its jaw and nudged me between the wall of sabers my knee is rubbing against. Which means I was, unfortunately, correct. There’s only one place I’m destined for, if I don’t drown to death in its saliva before we make it there …
This beast is lugging me all the way to Gondragh to feed me to its spawn.
Fuck.
I have no idea how long we’ve been airborne. No idea how fast this beast can fly with its mammoth wingspan. For fifteen buckets of bloodstone, you can purchase a risky one-way passage to Gondragh from Gore’s public hutch for those stupid enough to attempt to steal a Sabersythe egg, but it’s advertised to take seven aurora cycles—if you make it there at all.
There’s no way I have the neck strength to last seven aurora cycles .
I release a gurgling breath, finding small comfort in the knowledge that I’ll probably die before I’m spat out amongst a nest of molten rock beside a clutch of small hungry versions of this thing.
A shiver rakes up my spine as I imagine them scrapping over my remains while they spit primitive flames that lack the punch to end my life cordially. I’m definitely either haunted, cursed, or a bit of both.
Suddenly and without warning, the beast plummets .
My guts splat against my spine, the force of the fall dislodging the wooden stake from the beast’s maw and hurtling me backward. I come to a jolting halt at the back of its throat, eyes bulging as I peer down the ribbed cavern to the swollen pip of flame roiling at its base, painting me in a heat so fierce I’m surprised my flesh isn’t melting off my bones.
Past and present mince together, mulching my insides …
Another tiny jolt backward and that fire will swallow me.
It’ll finally get me .
My heart races hard and fast, and I close my eyes, squeeze them tight. Tap my foot against the stake while singing a spritely song, picturing myself somewhere cold and dark while a patter of snow dusts my upturned face:
There once was a jolly wee gypsy
who harbored a thieving knack.
She gathered her gear upon her back in a pack bearing dragon tack.
She took to the molten bog in search of a fiery egg, it’s said.
She leapt from mound to mound—what could be found?
BE FOUND!
Into a tinder nest she stole, finding an egg that was whole.
We’re told.
But the egg was already bumping … bumping …
Then she heard a thumping … thumping …
Flames began dumping … dumping …
Our jolly wee gypsy now jumping … jumping …
There once was a jolly wee gypsy
who dove into the molten bog to escape the fiery logs of a hatching molten smog,
Then emerged as a velvet trogg!
I’m suddenly ripped from the back of the beast’s gaping throat and flung forward, the log relodging itself against the curving wall of incisors with such force I feel my brain bounce against the inside of my skull.
There’s no more rhythmic thud-ump of beating wings …
Did we … land?
Gut-clenching anticipation makes the underside of my tongue tingle.
Creators, this is it. I’m about to be spat out in a nest and eaten.
I don’t want to be eaten.
A rumbling sound boils all around me, and the dragon loosens its maw, strings of saliva stretching between the piercing peaks of its catastrophic teeth—each far bigger than me. Brightness shafts between the widening gap, the fierce glare cutting into my aching eyes.
I’m still squinting when the beast jostles its head, then threads its tongue beneath the log and flicks me free like a piece of plaque.
My heart lodges into my throat as I soar through the sky, blocking the scream threatening to erupt.
Thankfully.
I refuse to die with a wail on my lips. I will growl, curse, and snarl at these small, thorny, fire-breathing fuckers until they tear out my windpipe.
Gravity lugs me down, and I face-plant into something warm … grainy … impossible to breathe through. Softer than I imagined a Sabersythe nest would be. Not as flesh-meltingly hot as I expected either, though I’m sure its spawn will pick up the slack.
The stake jerks backward, lobbing the other direction and thumping down again so I’m lying on it and not the other way around—like a perfectly presented meal on a stick.
These hatchlings must be huge. And strong. And they must like playing with their food.
Lovely.
My stomach knots, and a retching spill of Sabersythe saliva gushes up my throat. I tip my head and cough, hack, heave, guts cramping as my body rejects … everything .
Between each burping, groaning retch, I pry my aching eyes open a little more, taking in the male standing over me with his arms crossed and a scowl on his beautifully tailored face. A male I’ve become painfully familiar with, now watching me vomit all over the minuscule grains of stone I garner must be sand.
I’ve heard about it. First impressions count, and unfortunately for this sand that’s now scratching my eyeballs and plastered all over my face and hair, we’re off to a bad start.
I am, however, alive and currently not burning to death or being gnawed on. A realization that turns my retching heaves into laughter that shakes my entire chest, sounding like one of Clode’s manic episodes.
“I’m so glad it’s you,” I dredge out between bouts of bellyaching chortles. “Now I finally get the pleasure of killing you.”
“I just saved your life,” the Incognito King drones, brows raised, black cloak billowing in the scorch of wind that throws more fucking sand in my eyes. “Perhaps a thank you is better fitting than a dagger dragged across my throat?”
“If you’d almost drowned in Sabersythe drool, you’d disagree,” I proclaim, squinting up at his broody face with the confidence of somebody not shackled in iron and tied to a stick. “How about we switch seats? See how you feel after you’ve been marinating in its mouth for a bit. I’m certain you’ll want to slit my throat, too.”
The King banks his head to the side, his voice a rumbled drawl as he says, “You’d rather I have broken you from your cell? Scurried you out of Gore and left an unsatisfied Guild of Nobles still frothing for the blood of your rebellious clan? Perhaps you hit your head in Rygun’s mouth, because any sense you harbor is being spat out like minced meat.”
Rygun …
Guess this is the Burn King—Kaan Vaegor. Fitting, and just my luck to be snatched by the feared, mysterious King and not the one who’s apparently still mourning his dead queen. Sounds like that one has a heart. From what I hear, all this one has is a very hungry dragon and an affinity with Bulder strong enough to crush a city with a single word.
Lovely. Think I’ll beg Rygun to pick me up again and cart me straight to Gondragh. Spit me out in a nest. I’d rather try my shitty luck with a bunch of famished hatchlings.
“I did hit my head, thank you very much. I also choked on your dragon’s saliva, was almost swallowed , and currently reek of dead things that’ll probably never wash off. Now, untie me so we can get this over with.”
“You’re not afraid of Rygun?”
I look past his hulking form to the beast at his back, perched on his haunches, inky eyes narrowed on me as he blows whiffs of steam from flared nostrils—ignoring the spike of fear that tries to nuzzle into my callus-encrusted heart.
I’ve often thought folk look like their pets. This is no exception.
Both beast and male are built from slabs of brawn, casting shadows across the rust-colored sand. Their ember eyes penetrate my soul with cutthroat stares that snatch something inside my chest and grip it tight, leaving me with the knowledge that wiggling will be to my detriment. That the grip will only tighten until my eyes pop from their sockets and blood bursts from my mouth.
They’re both frightening, basking in their prime. Both devastating to look at … in entirely different ways.
I clear my throat, tossing a slop of saliva-laden hair off my face with a flick of my head, eyes narrowing on the King looking down at me with an expression as dry as our parched surroundings. “No beast is tame enough to cradle a squirming meal in their maw if it’s not meant for their young, and your beast looks like he eats ,” I say, nipping another glance at Rygun, wondering how many living things contributed to his hulking size. “He would’ve crunched on me if he didn’t like me a little bit. Ropes. Now.”
Kaan continues to watch me, unmoving, not breaking a sweat despite the fierce sunshine beating upon the side of his face, cutting across his strong, striking features that threaten to unpick me from my murderous thoughts.
Again.
“Quick, I’m getting burnt.”
“If you kill me, you’ll be stuck in the Boltanic Plains without a ride, without access to water, and with that skin, you’ll wither like a Moonplume caught in the sun and be dead before aurora rise,” he grinds out, stating the obvious. I can already feel my skin chapping. “And that’s if Rygun lets you live after he sees me bleeding out in the sand. He may like you now, but I can assure you, his loyalty lies with me.”
I scowl at the creature, who blows more puffs of smoke from his flared nostrils, a mighty rumble broiling in his chest that makes me picture being caught between his sabers and crunched into a mulch of bone shards and frothy blood.
“Plus, you have no weapons, a festering pin in your shoulder, and if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t eaten in almost two rises. How about we wave that white flag again and you suppress the urge to kill me until after you’ve feasted, bathed, and you’re no longer suffering from an infection that’s beginning to weave through your bloodstream, hmm?”
He’s so full of dragon shit.
“The only infection I’m suffering stems directly from your self-indignant presence.”
“ Wrong .” His upper lip peels back from canines long and honed, making muscles tighten low in my belly.
Strangely.
He crouches, eclipsing the sun as he pulls the collar of my tunic with such force a button pops free.
“ What are you —”
He stuffs his finger down the hole in my shoulder, the stab of pain like a fiery poker straight through muscle, sinew, bone—
I scream, a grated burst I immediately regret.
Nobody makes me scream. Certainly not him .
His finger retreats with a squelch, and I snarl through bared teeth, heaving short, sharp breaths that do nothing to satiate the rage swelling in my chest like a roil of dragonflame.
He sniffs his bloody finger, the next words powering out of him with such savagery they’re almost tangible against my pebbling skin. “I can smell it.”
Wet warmth bubbles from the freshly plundered wound while I study all the bits of him I’d like to slash and dash. “I … really want to … kill you.”
“Perfectly aware,” he mumbles, flicking my blood off his hand. “But now is not the time.”
I look at the beast at his back—extending his wings, basking in the sun—then cast my gaze farther abroad, our surroundings a stretch of rippled sand, bits of it being picked up and tossed around in copper eddies. The air above it ripples too, distorting the powder-blue horizon littered with dusky moons almost close enough to reach up and cradle in my palms. Silver ribbons of aurora tangle with the rotund tombstones, a pretty embellishment for the otherwise scorched terrain.
There are no hills. No trees. No stones or rocks or boulders.
No signs of life.
There’s certainly no water …
Just me, a king, and a dragon that’s half the size of a mountain.
Great.
“A white flag is a white flag,” he says, and I cut my gaze back to him as he rests his elbows on his bent knees and tilts his head to the side. “May I free you from your shackles and trust that you won’t disregard the rules of our … engagement?”
“Probably not.”
“At least you’re honest,” he mutters, heaving a low, resounding sigh.
He reaches down the side of his boot and retrieves a bronze blade that’s shaped like a petal.
Fuck.
Shoulda lied.
I jerk against my ropes, hissing through clenched teeth as he brings it to my breast, slips it beneath the cord, and …
Cuts.
That segment of rope unravels, allowing me to pull my first deep breath since I was bound to the Creators-forsaken stake.
My eyes must express my level of shock, because a glint of humor sparks in his ember orbs. “Did you think I was going to stab you, Prisoner Seventy-Three?”
“Of course. You saw how many skin slabs they slapped on the ground at my trial, and I’d be lying if I said that was all of them. You’re obviously all heft and no brain.”
He chuffs, severing another rope. Another.
Another.
I roll off the stake, promptly face-planting in the sand again.
He heaves me to a wobbly stand and brushes me off, then leans close, sniffing. “You’re right, you do smell bad.”
“Screw you,” I mutter, and he cocks a brow.
“You wanted to kill me a moment ago. I can’t keep up.”
I snort-laugh. “Don’t worry. Few can.”
“Is that a challenge?” he asks, stuffing his blade back down his boot.
“No. But I will issue one to let me go.”
“Heartily decline.”
Of course.
I hope he doesn’t mind when I heartily slit his throat.
He unpins his cloak, pulling it from his shoulders, giving me an up close view of the powerful way his broad, muscular body moves. My cheeks burn as he swathes me in the airy material, secures the pin beneath my chin, then flicks me on the nose. “Adorable.”
“I’m going to cut out your tongue with that blade in your boot.”
He whips the hood up over my head, shrouding me in shade. “I’d prefer you use your teeth , but beggars can’t be choosers.”
I frown, realization dawning slower than an aurora rise. An indignant scoff escapes me, though it quickly snips off when he crouches, grips my left ankle in one hand, clutches the chain in the other, and yanks , shoulders bulging. A link pops free and catapults through the air.
Well.
He repeats the process with my other ankle, severing the length of chain he flings to the side.
“You’re good at that.” I wave my hands at him, the metal tether draped between them jingling with the erratic motion. “This next.”
He gives me a dry look and plucks a bit of rope off the ground. Merging my hands together, he slides my shackles farther up my arms, then binds my wrists, knotting it off.
“That’s … not what I meant.”
He pries the remaining chain free from my manacles, popping more links like they’re made of clay. “I’m aware.”
Damn.
“Underachiever. I see. No judgment here.”
Releasing a hearty rumble, he begins to stand, then throws his weight forward, wrapping his large arms around me. He flops me onto his back and lifts me like a sack of grain.
“ What are you doing ?” I scream, hanging over his shoulder as he lumbers toward … his dragon.
My heart leaps so far up my throat I almost choke on it.
“Kaan, no . I did not agree to this!”
His body stiffens, steps slowing, a low, grating sound coming from him. “Say it again …”
“ What ?”
“ My name , Moonbeam. Say it again.”
If it’ll get me out of this saddle ride, I’ll scream it to the sky until my voice box ruptures.
“ Kaan. Kaan. Kaan. Kaan. Kaan! Now put me down. Quick.”
He fills his lungs, his entire chest inflating—like he just took his first breath since he began a deep dive. “You didn’t say please,” he finally says, then kicks forward again.
Wha—
“Please!”
“Too late.”
I’m going to shatter his bones and use them for toothpicks.
He reaches the side of the heaving beast, to where lengths of knotted rope dangle from its saddle, garnished with an array of foot loops—one of which he threads his boot into.
“Put me back in his mouth!”
He heaves us up the ropes one jerking motion at a time, and I watch in wide-eyed horror as the ground drifts farther and farther away, giving up my wriggling struggle when I come to the gut-tumbling realization that I cannot squirm or slaughter my way out of this.
Reaching the drape of patched-together hides that saddles the mammoth beast, Kaan battles the final few loops, then tosses his leg over the saddle and thumps me into his lap.
Straddling him, I look up into his eyes, mouth dropping open, battered breathless by his immense presence. He looks down upon me, his rough exhale pouring over my upturned face —the air between us becoming charged with a static that makes my skin pebble.
Creators.
Drenched in the smell of leather and the heady blend of his intoxicating scent, this tightening feeling low in my belly yearns for something every other part of me is utterly opposed to, and I consider whether it’s prudent to ask this male if he’d like to fuck before I slit his throat …
Probably shouldn’t.
“You have until the count of ten to decide which way you want to sit, at which stage I’ll kick Rygun into the sky and you’ll be stuck that way,” Kaan grinds out past gritted teeth, my heart plummeting a little more with each condemning word.
I open my mouth, about to spit something sharp when he says, “One … Two …”
Shit.
I wiggle, heaving my right leg up, getting a foothold atop his thigh.
“Three … Four …”
I try wrestling to a stand but lose my balance and flop back down again, face-planting against his chest as he rumbles a deep “ Five .”
“ Count slower ,” I growl, flattening my hands upon his abdomen, introducing myself to a stack of muscles that feel more like rocks …
My mouth dries.
“Six,” he says, his voice gravel against my pebbling skin. “Seven.”
Definitely need to move.
I kick my foot up again and shove to a wobbly stand.
“Eight …”
I turn so I’m facing forward, heart pounding hard and fast as I glance around us, my feet tingling with the sudden realization of how high up we are.
That this is our starting point.
“ Nine …”
Creators, slay this male.
I let my feet slide either side of the saddle, landing perfectly between his legs so hard I garner a deep grunt from him that brings me a burst of satisfaction.
“Ten,” I chirp, and he clears his throat, reaching between us to readjust himself—no doubt throbbing with the wrong kind of ache.
I smile.
“Feel free to drop me off at the nearest village. I can find my way from there,” I say, deciding it’s a good time to strike now that the male’s cock is bruised. Figure I have two ways to relieve myself of his presence: kill him or make myself disposable.
“Like it or not,” he grinds out, gripping my waist and lifting me, settling me into a more comfortable position—so flush against him my cheeks burn for reasons other than the stifling heat. “You’re coming with me to Dhomm.”
My heart pitches.
Dhomm …
So few go to The Burn’s capital and return.
So fucking few.
Probably because they all end up inside the beast I’m currently seated atop. Either that or the city has jaws and claws and teeth much sharper than that of the one I just marginally escaped.
I open my mouth, about to spit a barbed rebuttal, when Kaan reaches past me and grips the tug-ropes. “ Guthunda , Rygun. Guthunda !”
The beast heaves beneath us, blowing a steaming breath as he pushes up from his crouched position, making me feel as if the entire world is swaying side to side.
“Hold the leather strap,” Kaan rumbles near my ear, sending tingles down the side of my neck and making my breath hitch.
Snarling, I grip the damn strap. “You know what I hate?”
“Being told what to do?” he answers, quick as a blink.
“Exactly.”
“Well,” he says, giving the strip of leather a yank, like he’s testing my grip on the thing. Something I find deeply offensive, seeing as I don’t do anything by halves. “It’s a relief to know you possess a drip of self-preservation.”
“I’d rather possess that blade down the inside of your boot,” I grouse as the beast folds his wings flush against his body.
I sense the flow of energy building in Rygun’s bunched haunches before he leaps into the sky with a booming slash of his wings, gravity thrusting me into Kaan’s chest so hard all the breath bursts from my lungs.
We propel up …
Up …
Any words I had are swallowed into the depths of my tumbling guts, my grip tightening on the strap. My head tucks back into the crook of Kaan’s throat, his heart a fierce sledge against my spine, powering in unison with the thump of Rygun’s wings.
We whisk through a wispy tuft of cloud, then level out, the entire world seeming to regain its balance.
I pull my first breath since we shoved off the sand, blown out with a shaken exhale.
I miss the dragon’s mouth. It was wet, it reeked, and there was a high chance of being swallowed, but at least I wasn’t clinging to life by a single strap of leather, pressed close to a male who smells too good to flay.
“You okay?” Kaan asks close to my ear, and every cell in my body prickles with awareness.
I dare a peek over Rygun’s side, expecting to be severed with fear as I take in the world below, the barren plains stretching far and wide in all directions like a ripple of rusty water. Instead, something tangible swells within my chest. Something that makes me want to spread my arms, tip my head, and release a deep belly laugh that’s raw and real and so fucking wholesome it makes me want to …
Cry.
“ Answer me , Moonbeam.”
There’s an edge to his voice that whips me from my reverie. Reminds me that I’m a prisoner of yet another vicious Vaegor—dancing from one shackle to the next.
The world shreds past beneath us while I mull over Kaan’s question …
Am I okay?
“Yes,” I whisper, cradling the strange, giddy feeling with a gentleness I didn’t realize I possessed, worried it’ll break if I squeeze too hard. “I’m okay.”