Chapter 5
TARIAN
T arian used his phone to find a place to buy clothes and essentials, leaving the dog in the car. Afterward, he drove to the place he intended to use them: a nice hotel downtown.
The woman behind the counter hesitated when he asked for a room, her nervous gaze flicking over him, reinforcing his decision to change his appearance. She looked ready to refuse until he waved the black card Rax had given him, while pushing with a little magic, and then everything went swimmingly.
No one noticed the little dog trotting beside him down the outdoor hallway to the room. The dog peed on a column outside, then hesitated, tail wagging cautiously as Tarian unlocked the door.
“I get to go in? With you?” the dog asked, tilting its head.
“I don’t see why not. But on one condition,” Tarian said, glancing down at it. “I’m not the only one who needs a bath.”
The dog took a step back and growled. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
Tarian had considered the dog’s potential uses back at the store. No matter how much TV he’d watched or how many lectures Rax had given him about Earth, things would be much easier if he had a creature he could rely on for good advice.
But the dog looked ill-kept, and it was just as smelly as he was. If he was going to get close to Seris again, he wouldn’t risk losing her over a stinky dog.
He crouched, holding the dog’s gaze. “Wouldn’t you like to never worry about food again? Never having to go through trash to eat?”
The dog’s eyes widened. “Going through trash is one of my favorite things.”
Tarian groaned. “Then what else might I bribe you with?”
The dog seemed to consider this, his shaggy tail twitching. “I want to be dog-king of the six-block area. Where you found me. I want all the dogs, from the McDonald’s to the Safeway, to acknowledge me as their ruler.”
Tarian raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like something I can help with. You help me with my goals, and I will install you as dog-ruler when we are through.”
The dog wagged his tail harder, clearly delighted. “Deal!”
Tarian hid a smile. “And what do they call you, oh future king of dogs?”
“Rocky,” the dog proudly announced, twisting his head. “It’s on my collar. You can see it right there.”
Tarian leaned closer, and sure enough, beneath the tangled, matted hair, there was a collar. Dangling from it was a metal bone with the name engraved.
“I am Tarian,” Tarian said, offering his open hand.
Rocky bumped against Tarian’s palm with the wet tip of his nose. “Nice to meet you,” he said, wagging his tail furiously. “So what kind of adventure are we talking here?” he asked, trotting into the hotel room like he owned it.
“The one where I get the girl,” Tarian said, closing the door behind them.
For eight hundred years, he had endured the Sirens’ schemes, their harsh words dripping with magic, their endless cruelty. When they weren’t torturing him, they whispered lies designed to rot his mind.
He healed, because he was part dragon. But the time had taken its toll.
So much darkness. So much pain. Never knowing if it would end, but refusing to die so long as there was even the smallest chance she was still alive.
It was his fault she was destined to live forever—how could he bring himself to leave her?
He’d had to be almost as mad as the Sirens themselves to survive and, in time, to whisper ideas back to them.
The scars from their attacks covered him: jagged lines across his chest and back, down his arms and legs. Their awful mouths had bitten him; their claws had scored his flesh with infections that had burned for years, and he hadn’t healed perfectly.
He’d hidden his scars with magic the moment Rax freed him, unwilling to let his brother see how vulnerable imprisonment had made him. Rax already thought him weak, and mad, for believing Seris was still alive.
If Rax had seen the truth of his scars and the shadows in his soul, he never would have let Tarian leave his side. Tarian pressed his hand against the mirror, letting its cool surface ground him. He had found her once. He would find her again. And this time, she would recognize him.
The small wound from the uniformed man—one he had unplugged in the shower to clean—still seeped green.
He put a wondering finger to it. Was it a magical wound? Had the projectile been poisoned? It didn’t matter—he’d heal eventually—he hadn’t been attacked by Sirens for eight hundred years to die from a magic-less attack now.
He tore a strip off of a pillowcase and carefully packed the wound—then Rocky’s turn was up.
Despite his word, Rocky had disagreed strenuously and was unable to sit still during bathing or trimming, so water and tufts of dog hair ended up everywhere, covering the bathroom’s tile.
But eventually, the creature emerged looking more agreeable—although his fur was wildly uneven in places.
“Don’t you feel better?” Tarian asked, stepping back to examine his work.
“No,” Rocky complained, shaking himself vigorously. “Do you?”
Tarian sat with that for a second. Now that he was clean, he had nothing left to hide. No excuse, if Seris denied him.
“Not really,” he confessed.
Rocky whined softly, his head tilting in sympathy, before stepping forward to lick Tarian’s palm.