Chapter 4 #2
The creature lets out a furious shriek and begins circling instead of charging. Watery blood drips from one side of its jaw.
Vyrathion watches it with visible disappointment. “It just won’t take a hint."
The raptor lunges again.
This time Vyrathion steps aside and catches it by the neck. The entire animal leaves the ground.
The dinosaur kicks and thrashes wildly, claws tearing through empty air. It has to weigh several hundred pounds, yet Vyrathion holds it one-handed as though it weighs nothing at all.
"You see," he tells it conversationally, "this is why predators should assess risk more carefully."
The raptor snaps at his face.
Vyrathion tightens his grip.
The dinosaur lets out a strangled screech.
Then he throws it. The animal sails through the jungle and vanishes into the undergrowth with a tremendous crash.
Silence settles over the forest. Leaves drift slowly back toward the ground. Somewhere far away, something howls in alarm.
After a few moments, Vyrathion brushes a speck of dirt from one forearm. "You are to keep these encounters to a minimum."
I am still staring at the place where the dinosaur disappeared. "Is it dead?"
“I doubt it. It was nowhere near as ludicrously fragile as you.” Before I can think of a response, he starts walking.
I hurry after him. My legs feel weak, partly from fear and partly from relief. Mostly, though, I cannot stop replaying what I just saw. The raptor was enormous and strong. It could have torn me apart in seconds, or bitten my head off.
Vyrathion handled it with absurd ease. The realization should make me feel safer. Instead it sends a chill through me. Because if he can do that to a dinosaur, what exactly could he do to me?
As though sensing my thoughts, he glances back over one shoulder. “Keep up now, female.”
And I do, because the closer I am to him, the safer I am against the wildlife here. “Thanks for doing that. My name is Morgan, by the way. You’re Vyrathion, I think.”
He turns to send me a silver glance. “You think? Or you know?”
I scramble over a root. “I’m pretty sure.”
He walks on until we reach a dense wall of greenery, an immense thornbush the size of a strip mall. I catch up with him. “It’ll be hard to get through that- oh!”
There’s movement inside the bush, and a giant red butterfly flutters towards us through the branches.
Right as it’s about to fly past me, Vyrathion grabs my wrist and pulls me close. His hand shoots out to grab the butterfly by its waspy waist. It beats its wings in frustration, and I spot the long, translucent stinger that protrudes from its lower body. A clear drop hangs at the tip.
“I suspect this would also kill you,” the dragon says. “It was certainly aiming for you.” He tosses the butterfly away.
“Venom,” I breathe. “A venomous butterfly. What’s wrong with this planet?”
“Practically everything,” the dragon growls as he considers the thorn bush again.
He’s still holding onto my wrist. Despite his coldness, his hand is as warm as any. That surprises me more than it should.
For some reason, I had expected him to feel different. Colder, perhaps. Less human. Less real.
Instead, his fingers are strong and callused and very much alive.
The realization sends an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.
I should pull away and get to a safe distance from him, but I don’t.
Partly because he saved me from whatever nightmare insect this planet has decided to evolve. Partly because I am still trying to recover from the sight of that stinger. Mostly because my body appears to have completely betrayed me.
Vyrathion barely seems aware that he's touching me at all.
Or perhaps he is aware and simply doesn't care. That possibility should probably bother me more than it does.
His grip is firm enough that I couldn't escape it if I tried, yet there is something oddly careful about it.
He yanked me out of danger without hesitation, but he didn't hurt me.
For someone who talks about leaving pieces of people all over the jungle, he is strangely precise whenever he actually lays hands on me.
The contrast is deeply confusing. Everything about him should feel monstrous. Instead, every time he touches me, I find myself noticing ridiculous things. The warmth of his skin. The size of his hands. The effortless strength behind even the smallest movement.
I find myself wondering what the rest of him feels like. The thought arrives so suddenly that I nearly choke on it.
Good grief. A few hours ago, he threatened to kill me. Ten minutes ago, he threw a dinosaur through the jungle. And somehow my brain has decided this is an appropriate moment to wonder whether dragons are warm all over.
I clear my throat and finally pull my wrist free. "Thank you."
Vyrathion glances at me. "For what?"
"The butterfly."
His expression turns faintly puzzled. "You were standing in front of it."
"Well..."
"It was attempting to kill you. Is that it? And I stopped it? You’re thanking me for that?"
"Something like that."
He raises one eyebrow. “It never occurred to me that you might not be grateful to me for allowing you to come along.”
“I am,” I hurry to say. “I’d be dead by now without you.”
“That’s appropriate.” He returns his attention to the immense thorn bush. “In my real form, I would clear this with one flame. In this cursedly weak body, I must walk around it. The indignity! Can you even fathom the depth of it?”
There’s more movement to the side, and I take a step away from it.
Four Plood come waddling over. They raise their palms with offerings. I spot roots, leaves, a dinosaur bone, several rocks of different sizes and an iron object so rusty I can’t tell what it once was.
“I think those are for you,” I say carefully.
Vyrathion turns and sighs. “More of this. Any nuggets? No? Idiots!” He slaps all eight hands away, and the offerings go flying. The Plood cower in fear and awe as they escape, just like the first group.
I bend down to pick up the iron piece. It’s an old spearhead, practically all rust. I grab a rock and scrape the spearhead with it, hoping to reveal the metal underneath. “Wait. Bring them back.”
Vyrathion tilts his head. “Are you trying to order me around, female Morgan?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Please bring them back. The Plood.”
“Why? They’re a nuisance.”
“But we can try to make them useful.” I scrape a patch of iron clear of rust.
“You!” Vyrathion snaps. “Get back here.”
The four Plood crawl back towards him on all fours, shaking with awe. I can feel their dread telepathically.
“Well?” Vyrathion says. “Here they are.”
I hold the spearhead out to them. “This. Get this. But yellow.” I tap the bare patch of metal with one fingernail. “This. Hard and shiny. But yellow.” In my mind I form images of gold rings and necklaces and coins, hoping they somehow get the message. “Gold.”
“Get gold!” Vyrathion repeats. “Now, you little wretches!”
The Plood scurry away and escape into the jungle.
Vyrathion watches them go. "That won't work."
I scrape more rust off the spearhead. "Maybe not."
"They’re complete idiots."
“Yes, but they’re trainable idiots."
He looks at me. "There’s a difference?"
I put the spearhead into my pocket. "A big difference. At least I hope so."