4. Jerrid
JERRID
The dragon was hungry.
So, so hungry.
But the blistering burn on his left leg also made him angry. Volcanic levels of rage washed over him in suffocating waves, over and over again.
He stared up at the tender morsel hugging the tree like a helpless squirrel. One crunch and she’d be gone, so small and bony she didn’t stand a chance of filling his stomach, of satiating the gnawing ache there. When was the last time he’d eaten his fill and been truly satisfied?
And he was particularly fond of elf. They smelled so much spicier than mountain goat or harpy. Surely that meant they tasted good too...
“Come here, little snackling.” His voice grated like a rockslide and elicited a shriek of terror from the morsel. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”
His nostrils flared when the smell of her fear intensified, her sweat sweeter and more pungent as her body reacted to his words. She smelled like cinnamon and spice with the faintest hint of…ash.
That was curious. He cocked his head to one side and stared up through the branches of the tree, wanting to know why she smelled so familiar. Why she smelled like fire and flames and burning…like meat packed into a flaky crust and baked in a hot oven.
“Come down, Meat Pasty.”
The meat pasty stirred, tilting her face down to squint at him. “N-no!”
He chuckled, but it sounded more like a growl by the time it rolled out of his long, snaky throat. “You have spunk for a snack.”
“I won’t. I’ll not be your snack!” Meat Pasty’s voice shook but carried down to him easily in her vehemence. “Just g-go away!”
“Such a spunky snack. I think I like you. You’ll taste sweet.”
“Flames, no!” Meat Pasty snapped off a twig and chucked it toward his head. “You’ll not get one bite out of me! Just go away, would you?”
The twig bounced off several branches and fell uselessly to the ground several feet away from him.
He laughed again and wiggled his nose through the branches at the base of the tree so that he could get a better look at her.
Meat Pasty had climbed halfway up the tree and sat on a wide branch with her arms and legs wrapped around the trunk. She had a headful of long, raven-black hair and a thin face with gaunt hollows in her cheeks. There wasn’t much to her, that was for sure.
He’d barely get a mouthful out of her. Maybe two.
The dragon let his gaze rove over her again, from the top of her disheveled head down the length of her slender body. At the bottom, he got an eyeful of bloody knees, torn stockings, and muddy boots.
He shouldn’t look at those things.
The thought came from nowhere and didn’t make any sense. He didn’t care about humans or elves or their ridiculous need to cover up their bodies with fabric and animal skins.
He didn’t care about the coverings. Such useless, unnatural things. It was the tender meat underneath—
Leave…her…alone.
The dragon shook the voice aside, growling. He wouldn’t listen. The elf morsel would be his, and no amount of pleading from the other voice would change his mind. It didn’t matter if she smelled like ash, if she smelled like flames or a warm hearth or…
Memories flooded the dragon’s thoughts. Flashes of another life, another time, another being…
Rosy-cheeked children clustered around a firepit in a longhouse, holding steaming cups of cider as icicles thawed in their hair and ran in rivulets down their chapped faces.
The aroma of rosemary and thyme wafted from the venison in the stewpot. The musty scent of furs wafted from the corners of the longhouse, and he could feel rabbit’s skin against his toes, a warm hand pressing down on his shoulder…
Ma. That’s what they called her. What we called her.
Ma.
He shook the name away with a snarl. “Get out of my head. I am Dragon.”
You are human. Home and hearth and family…
Once again, he felt the presence of the children, of the brothers and sisters clustered around him, sharing his laughter as they sipped the spicy-sweet liquid from their wooden mugs.
He knew their names. Frisk. Axel. Halla. Magnus. And what did they call the little one who liked to leave crumbs for the mice? Oh, yes.
Erik.
But they liked to call him Mouse instead because of the boy’s fondness for the squeaking rodents.
These were people. Friends. Family. These were family.
“I am alone,” he rasped, shaking away the insistent memories. “No family.”
You are not alone. I am here. I will always be here.
More memories washed over him in a violent torrent of thoughts and feelings and dreadful emotions. He staggered under the weight of happiness and love, the call of family, of contentment, of happiness.
No. He wanted to stay angry. Rage made him strong. It made him free and whole, and powerful. None could stand against him when he was fully and truly himself.
“I…am…Dragon…” His words slurred, and he dropped to the ground as his knees gave out.
You are human. Human. HUMAN!
His snout lowered to the ground and settled into a bed of leaves and trampled briars. Yawning loudly, he flopped onto his side and curled his long, spiky tail around his exhausted body. He knew he should fight, but he was so tired. Surely a little nap wouldn’t hurt…
The dragon slipped into slumber with the whispered words, “I am human,” echoing in his thoughts like a death knell.
Jerrid clawed his way out of oblivion, the taste of ash and blood on his tongue. He blinked and stared blearily at gray shadows and white mist. Above him, light filtered through the canopy of the trees.
It must be dawn.
How long had he slept? With a groan, he tried to push away the blanket wrapped around him.
Wait. Blanket?
He blinked down at himself and stared at the thick woolen cloak draped over his chest. Where had that come from? He hadn’t brought a cloak with him. He’d left it in his pack on the saddle when he’d parted with…with…
“You’re awake.”
Jerrid jolted and snapped his neck to the left to watch a slender figure unfold herself and sit up straight. The elf lass sat propped against the trunk of a badly mangled tree, and she watched him through narrow, intent eyes. Shadows hugged those eyes, a bruise discoloring her left cheek.
A bit of dried blood still clung to her jawline.
She shifted, her expression guarded. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away. I almost left you, but I took an oath to help the injured…and you appear to qualify for that. It must be exhausting being…whatever it is you are.”
Skadi’s frost. What had he done?
He shook the question away. He was too tired and hungry to waste any energy on it. He needed water and food. Soon.
“Is there anything to drink?”
She frowned, her thin mouth compressing and turning down at both corners. “Nothing, I’m afraid. I didn’t have supplies on me, and you—”
She broke off and turned her head to stare into the branches around her.
She was an odd one, that was for sure. What was her name again? He was supposed to know her. Of that he was certain. He stared at her for a long moment, waiting for the memory to return.
They usually did, if he waited long enough.
“Ava.”
She snapped her gaze toward the sound of her name on his lips.
“You’re…Ava. The healer.”
“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word. “And you’re the dragon rider. The one who yelled at me for trying to save the flowers. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name.”
Her tone dripped with accusation, but he didn’t remember yelling at her…although he was sure he would eventually.
“Jerrid. My name is Jerrid Chrysalis.”
She didn’t respond, her arms crossed in front of her chest, expression guarded.
Shades, he was tired. Jerrid closed his eyes and wished he could let himself go back into oblivion, but he knew they couldn’t stay here for long. Because…because…
His eyes flew open, his breath pinching behind his sternum. “Talos! Where’s Talos?”
“Didn’t you”—she flinched and shot him a wary look—“eat him?”
Nausea churned in his gut. “Shades, I hope not.”
He let his head fall back against the ground and took violent, stabilizing breaths. Surely he hadn’t… Surely he didn’t…
The taste of blood in my mouth…
He couldn’t finish the thought. No. There was no way he had lost control that much. He’d only shifted for a few minutes. He was sure of it.
The thought of eating another sentient being… It was enough to make him want to retch onto the ground.
He shifted his tongue around in his mouth, relieved to discover a sore on the side of his tongue. No, the blood he tasted was his own. He must have bitten his tongue.
“What are you doing out here in the forest?”
Jerrid let his gaze shift to her and linger. “They sent me to fetch you. We didn’t know what had happened—whether you’d wandered off or…”
Her lips thinned again. “I was abducted.”
“Yes. I know that now.”
“And they sent you to do what? Eat me?” Her arms drew more tightly around her chest.
“What? No!” He struggled to push himself up onto one elbow, allowing the cloak to slide from his shoulders a couple of inches. “They sent me to rescue you.”
She flinched away from him, pressing her spine against the tree trunk. “You humans have a funny way of rescuing people. You threatened to eat me last night.”
The nausea returned with a vengeance, and he pitched to the side, body heaving as bile clawed at the back of his throat. His stomach was empty, however, and nothing came up.
With a groan, he flopped back against the ground, the trees swaying above him, the motions sickening.
“Are you unwell?” she asked, her tone slightly less harsh.
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute. I…I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?”
She inhaled sharply and didn’t answer right away. “No. But for a minute I thought you’d set the tree on fire to get at me. In your other form, you’re not very nice.”
He winced and closed his eyes against the truth. She wasn’t lying. He never remembered everything he did when he was…when he was Dragon. But he remembered enough to fear and loathe that secret part of him. It was why he fought so hard to keep him chained, to keep him from escaping.
It wasn’t safe for anyone when Dragon set himself free.
“I’m sorry.”
Silence answered his apology, but he didn’t care. She had every right to be angry with him for threatening her—for endangering her life. He should have been more careful, but Talos had pushed him to the brink. He’d become so angry and lost control.
That was always when Dragon took advantage of him. When he was angry and at his most vulnerable.
And then he would wake up—wounded, bloody, exhausted—with only fractured memories of what he had done while he was Dragon.
He wondered how many new scars he would have after last night. Had he broken anything this time? He took stock of his limbs and his fingers and toes. No, everything seemed to be in working order, but his left thigh throbbed painfully.
Jerrid reached to pull aside the cloak to take a look.
“You don’t want to do that,” Ava yelped in a slightly squeaky tone.
Her gaze flickered down the length of his reclining body before flying back to meet his. Her dusky-gray cheeks darkened.
“Why?” The question snaked across his lips a second before he understood.
Heat flooded his face, and he froze, intensely aware of the cool air on the other side of the cloak, of the damp ground beneath him, the scratch of leaves and twigs against his bare flesh… Of course. He had shifted last night.
He was naked again, wasn’t he?
Blistering shades below…