Chapter 44
Forty-Four
The blood smell lingered on Elowen long after it stopped leaving her body.
It clung to the stone, to the air, to his scales—thin and metallic, sharp enough to sting the back of his throat. Midas did not know how long he had been curled around Elowen after it happened. Minutes, hours, days—time lost meaning when grief hollowed him out.
He could only remain where he was, wings curved protectively around her trembling body, afraid that if he loosened his hold even slightly, she might vanish like smoke.
She lay curled upon herself, small and silent, the steady rise and fall of her breath the only sign of life.
Her scent had changed—no longer threaded with the faint, bright spark of new possibility he had sensed before, but muted with sorrow.
It was a scent that stirred old memories in him, memories of dragon mothers whining softly over unhatched eggs.
Slowly, he became aware of something wrong inside himself, too.
The flame at the core of his chest, usually alive and coiled like a serpent of heat, flickered weakly.
It felt distant, as though buried under layers of stone.
When he attempted a breath of fire, only a thin curl of smoke escaped, wavering like a dying ember.
Panic twitched along his ribs; instinct whispered danger.
His fire was his warmth, his life, his strength.
Dragons did not weaken unless wounded—or grieving.
He had not been struck. Not poisoned. Not hunted. But something inside him had fractured when he felt Elowen’s pain tear through her.
He folded a wing more tightly over her, instinctively shielding her from cold, from danger, from the world. His body trembled with the effort and the unfamiliar weight of despair. He had survived centuries alone, but he had never known this helplessness that gnawed at him from within.
Elowen shifted weakly, pressing closer without waking. He felt the soft brush of her fingers against his scales, seeking warmth and comfort. He curved his body around her in answer, though the motion sent a shiver down his spine. His strength was draining like water through cupped claws.
Midas had a suspicion that his condition was due to his constant shifting. His human form was unnatural and awkward for him, even after all this time. Though his sons were born with the innate ability to shift, his changes were marked by indescribable pain and lingering weakness.
But Midas would endure that pain if it meant he could comfort Elowen with words and gestures that were more familiar to her in his human form. To move away from her now to rest and replenish his strength felt impossible.
And so he remained perfectly still, wings curved like a sheltering cave around the only creature left in the world who mattered.
He listened to her breath along with his own. Hers was soft and uneven. His grew quieter each hour. He bowed his head over her and let his eyes sweep across her and their children.
All night.
Even as the fire inside him continued to dim.