Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
VANDER
Fyan roars past me, his tail flashing as he disappears into the clouds.
We spent all day sparring, each of us intent on wearing each other out and drawing blood.
Having the mortal in the keep has already upset what little balance there can be among four brothers.
And for us, we aren’t the sort to sit and stew. We fight.
After Faraday almost lost an eye and Rivon got tired of being stabbed, we sat and went over our usual duties.
Mine are on hold for the moment since I have a mortal on my hands, so the other three are taking up the slack.
Fyan will patrol the eastern border and northern borders, Faraday the south and west. Rivon will listen in the villages nearby, paying his spies well to inform him of any moves made by the other clans.
They’ll be curious about the Bargain, wondering if the mortal made it across the border.
We need to keep that information to ourselves for as long as possible. Once the other clans discover we have the mortal in the keep, the machinations will begin.
I groan at the thought and bank hard right, diving under a flock of phoenixes, one of them spitting indignant sparks at me as I pass.
I could crush the entire lot of them with my tail, but I don’t.
They may have more pride than sense, but they’re beautiful, especially now that the sun has set.
Their inner fire gives them hues of orange and gold as they race through the dark sky.
My thoughts turn to the mortal. To Larellin. All throughout sparring, my mind was on her. I told the Firefolk to leave her be. She’s afraid of everything and everyone. Maybe if she has some time to herself and a decent meal in her stomach, she’ll come to her senses.
I stretch my wings wider and soar, riding a current of wind I can almost see as I curve around the corner of the keep.
Something begins to itch inside my chest. Like a burr between my scales.
Pumping my wings harder, I gain speed, then tuck them closer to my body, making myself an arrow.
I plunge along the side of the keep, the itch growing into a flame, one that feels as if it’s scorching me from the inside. What is this feeling?
And then I see her.
A falling star.
A tiny scrap of a woman plummeting through space, her hair a river flowing upward, her hands drawn into her chest. She isn’t screaming. There is no terror. Only peace.
But for me, I feel … The burning grows. The sensation turning to something I barely register. Fear.
A roar rips from me as I hurtle toward her, the ground trying to steal her from me before my talons can catch her. I won’t let it. The jagged rocks will not feast on my mortal’s blood tonight or any night.
Right before I reach her, I splay my wings, slowing myself as I grab her with one talon with only moments to spare. But I don’t have time to pull up, not when I’m this close to the ground. All I can do is pull her close to my body and wrap my wings around her.
I turn right as we hit the ground, pain radiating through my back as stone tears at my scales and punctures my wings. I roar again, rock and dust flying up as I skid along the jagged ground, my one free talon seeking purchase and failing to find any.
When I finally slow and stop, my back on fire, my body damaged far worse than it has been in a long, long time, I allow my wings to open completely. With fear—far more than I have for myself—I lift my talon and open it slowly. Have I crushed her? Did the fall kill her? Is she—There!
She pulls herself up between two of my claws, her face pale and drawn. “You … You saved me?”
I don’t know why it’s a question. Of course I saved her.
“Why?” she asks.
I can’t answer her, not when I’m in dragon form, but my frustration wells all the same. Craning my head back, I release a torrent of golden fire into the air. How dare she do this? How dare she try to end this Bargain?
When I return my gaze to her, she’s shrunk back into the cage of my claws, her small body shaking.
Fuck.
I don’t remember mortals being this difficult.
Reaching along the small cliff beside us, I set her down on it. She scrambles from my talons and presses her back to the rock.
With a groan, I roll off my back. My wings are shredded. I could still fly, but it wouldn’t be steady, certainly not steady enough to ensure Larellin doesn’t fall from my grip.
“Oh, gods.” She covers her mouth as she looks at the damage along my back.
I snort sparks and watch her with one eye. Is she going to run? She won’t get far, not in this rocky wasteland. The nearest town is several hundred feet up and into the woods. Not to mention the fact it’s inhabited by Drudge Golems. They’d squash her with their mallets as soon as look at her.
But she doesn’t seem to want to run. She simply watches me.
“You’re hurt,” she says softly. “You got hurt when you …” She looks up at the sheer face of the keep.
I stretch my wings a little, stabbing pain coursing through me like lightning.
Another huff, more sparks. I’ll be fine, but it’s going to take time.
There’s no treasure here, nothing to speed up the healing process.
I can’t change into my smaller form—that would only take up more energy.
And though the terrain looks barren, I know all too well what lies in wait in these rocks.
The dreadspiders haven’t awakened yet for the night, but all the noise and the tang of blood will certainly have them clamoring to move aboveground.
We need to get out of here before that happens. I’ll survive it, but Larellin won’t stand a chance. There’s only one way this can work, but I don’t know if she’ll agree to it.
I turn my head and slide it along the shelf where she’s standing.
She scrambles back but soon realizes there’s nowhere to go. Trembling, she holds out her hands as if to ward me off.
Slowly, so slowly, I inch closer. Her heart is galloping, the sound like a vicious drum as I approach. When my nose is almost close enough to touch her, I stop and turn my head to the side the slightest bit.
She doesn’t move.
Beneath the drum of her heart, I hear something else. Scratching. The sound of hundreds of feet moving against rock. The dreadspiders. They’re coming.
I nudge her.
She screams.
The scratching increases. Manic now, the monsters hungry for a meal.
Fuck.
I back away, then lower my head. She has to take the hint and climb on. If she doesn’t … No, I can’t think about that. Instead, I focus on her, my thoughts hazed with pain and urgency. “Climb on. Climb on, now, or you’re going to die.”
Not a hundred feet away, I see dark shapes rising along the edge of a rift. Spiders scrambling over each other, racing right for us.
“Pet, now!” My thought is punctuated with a growl, the rumble of it sending some rocks tumbling around us.
The slightest hint of relief hits me when I feel her, light as the breeze, climbing onto the top of my snout. I catch her in my gaze, my eyes on her as she moves along to the top of my head. Once she’s there, she stops.
I need her to keep going, to settle between my shoulders.
It’s the only chance she’ll have to hold on.
At least, I think it is. I’ve never let anyone do this.
The shame of it would be far too much to bear.
But, somehow, this is different. I feel no shame at her touch, at the feeling of her astride me.
If anything, it feels—a sting at the edge of my wing draws my attention.
A particularly large spider has latched on, it’s maw of needles working at the edges of my tattered flesh.
With a rough flick, I fling it off. It squelches as it slams against rock, its brethren jumping on it and tearing it apart for an easy meal. More are coming, though, their eyes glinting in the light of the moons.
We can’t wait any longer. As gently as I can, I lift my head.
Farther and farther until she yelps and tries to hang on.
But I keep going until she’s forced to let go, even as I feel more spiders biting into my torn flesh and climbing along my talons and legs.
More and more stings, needle teeth and venom.
When I feel her land on my back, I will her to hold on.
Turning my head, I let out a torrent of fire, frying the nearest spiders though several crouched low behind boulders to avoid the flames. Then, with a hard flap of my tattered wings, I launch into the sky.
Larellin screams, and I pray to all the gods still living to help her hold on.
Another strong flap sends us higher, spiders falling from my wings and legs and splatting on the stone below.
One more hard flap, pain roaring through me like lava, I’m clear enough to change direction and lift more steadily.
Reading the winds like a language, I maneuver through the sky, rising more gently and using less wing strength.
Turning and swirling, I ride the currents until I see the cave ahead.
Larellin is still clinging to me. I feel her warmth, the faint press of her body to my scales.
I glide into the cave slowly.
When my one good talon touches the ground, Larellin screams. This one sounds different. It feels different.
She screams again as I land in a pile of treasure, the coins flying out like a wave of water.
As soon as I hit, I roll to my side and give Larellin the best chance of landing safely.
Then I change, my form splintering and twisting, the magic weaving me from one being into another.
As soon as it’s done, I see the spider, its vicious maw clamped onto Larellin’s leg as she kicks at it.
I run to her and with a roar, I jam my fist through its head.
It’s ichor splatters as I twist and yank its tiny brain out, then grab its body and fling it away.
Kneeling, I grab its maw, still attached to Larellin’s leg, and prize it apart. Blood, so much blood. Larellin isn’t screaming any longer, her face gone white. She stares up at me, her eyes wide.
There’s no time. The spider poison is only an annoyance to me, but to a mortal, it could be fatal.
Scooping her into my arms, I unfurl my damaged wings and take off at a run. We take flight, and I dive into the nearest open cavern, skirting the black walls as I clutch her to my chest.
By the time I make it to the Firefolk in the kitchen, Larellin’s heart is beating sluggishly.
“Lenka!” I bellow. “Sprite! Kanlon!”
I swipe the pots off the long kitchen table and lay Larellin down. Her eyes are closed, her breathing labored.
Lenka appears at my elbow, her hands already moving to Larellin’s wound. “What got her?”
“Dreadspider!”
Lenka turns to Sprite and barks something in their native tongue, then turns back to Larellin.
“Save her.” I swipe her hair from her forehead. She’s cold. Already so cold.
“You’re not in great shape yourself. Did you—”
“Save her!” I roar.
Kanlon hurries in, his arms laden with herbs and a satchel.
“That first.” Lenka grabs a handful of some dried flowers and holds them in her palm. She mumbles over them, then lets her fire ignite them. Once they’re nothing more than a fine ash, she presses them into Larellin’s wounds.
The mortal moans and shudders. My chest feels like it’s cracking open, like one of my ribs has turned to ash just like the petals in Lenka’s hand.
I press my palms to Larellin’s cheeks, forcing my warmth into her, demanding that she live.
“More. All we have!” Lenka fires more flowers, then more, each time packing Larellin’s wounds with the ash. When the bleeding has finally stopped, she wraps the leg with some sort of webbing then recites a healing spell.
“Will it work on a mortal?” I’ve never felt this sort of fear. Never felt the tiptoe of Death behind me, heard Her whisper in the dark.
“It will take time.” The flames atop Lenka’s head have turned a somber blue. “There’s no way to know for sure.”
Larellin’s heart beats, but it’s slow. So slow. Like honey dripping, no one knowing if the last drop will actually fall.
“Now you.” Lenka rummages in her satchel.
“No.” I sit heavily in a chair offered by Sprite and keep my hands on Larellin. I rub her shoulders, caress her cheeks, do anything and everything I can to share my heat with her. I’m a golden DragonKin. Heat is my one true gift, the only thing I can give.
“Sire, we must attend to your wounds—”
“I said no.” I lean forward and press my forehead to Larellin’s.
I failed her. Gods, how I’ve failed her.
This hurts in a way I can’t explain. As if I’m the one filled with venom, with horror.
As if I’m barely a step ahead of Death. This Bargain is nothing like the others—what have I done?
Why do I feel so connected to a mortal I don’t know and could never understand?
I hold my breath, listening for her heartbeat, waiting and dreading that it won’t come again. Then it does, and I can breathe. Until it hesitates for far too long, and once again, I can’t focus on anything but that one sound. Thump-thump.
“A mortal isn’t made for these lands, Sire,” Lenka says softly, her hand on my shoulder. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“This mortal is mine,” I snarl, then quiet myself so I can listen. Thump-thump. There’s nothing else to say.