10. Jerrid
JERRID
Dragon dove between two large trees, bellowing at the enraged wyrm. Behind him, Brynja lay on the ground, unmoving.
If only his human had given him control sooner, the woman wouldn’t be lying in a bed of leaves.
He spat a ball of fire at the hideous monster behind the trees. Worms were supposed to be small. Able to be smashed beneath a clawed foot. Yanked out of the ground and eaten as a snack.
They weren’t supposed to be big enough to do the eating.
The wyrm ducked and rolled, her huge tail spinning to right herself as she came up behind another stand of trees. Dragon dove after her, this queen of wyrms that was about to be the snack of dragons.
He might have let her live, minus a leg or two, but she’d tried to steal the human child. And Dragon had a rule about younglings.
They were off-limits, even to his voracious appetite.
Some things just weren’t allowed, and this mossy monstrosity had crossed a line even he wouldn’t cross, even when in the worst of tempers. He snapped at the lashing tail as the wyrm spun back to her feet.
She hissed and spat venom at him from between her long fangs. He snarled and drove her backward toward a thick line of trees. If he could corner her against those trees, she’d have nowhere to run.
But Queenie didn’t seem inclined to go down without a fight. She hissed and launched toward him, trying to wrap her tail around him. But her rough body only slid over his smooth dragon scales with a clicking noise.
“I’m not as easy to eat as younglings, Queenie.”
Her white eyes blinked at him. Nor am I, lizard.
He shook her off and backed away, grinning. “That wasn’t very nice. But I like your spunk.”
Hungry. You look tasty beneath that armor.
“I’m not tasty, I can assure you. Too tough and bitter. And you aren’t looking so tasty yourself. All poison and rot.”
The rootwyrm queen laughed, a long, low hiss of laughter that coiled around Dragon’s scales and actually sent a shiver down his back. This thing was evil. He was no specimen of good behavior, but this creature had reached a new low of darkness.
I live on blight. She grinned at him, her great white eyes blinking lazily. This forest is a feast.
“You’re nothing but a stomach with legs,” Dragon said, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his claws as he circled around her, trying to get into just the right position.
And you are meat with teeth. Once I remove them, I will suck the blood from your body. And then I will gnaw on your—
“Yawn. Is that the best you’ve got?”
The wyrm blinked her bulging eyes. I will enjoy supping on the marrow in your bones.
“I’ve heard worse. You really need to work on your vile monologues.”
The wyrm snapped her teeth at him, anger driving her forward. And that’s exactly what he had been waiting for. Rage. Blind rage.
Because emotion on that scale made even the strongest of opponents careless.
And vulnerable.
As the wyrm dove toward him, Dragon flung himself to the ground. The wyrm slid over him, unable to correct her speed and trajectory. Just as her body slid over his head, Dragon lifted his head with a mighty thrust. The spikes on the back of his skull dug into Queenie’s soft underbelly.
She screamed.
It was a delicious death wail.
Her body continued its forward momentum as his spikes cut her open like a ripe bit of fruit. Bile, blood, and gore poured over him, but Dragon ignored the heat of her dying.
Instead, he moved clear as her body thundered to the ground, shaking the trees down to their roots. Leaves cascaded around them, joining the cacophony of death.
Of Queenie’s death.
Her death rattle lasted only a few minutes. Dragon stood by and waited: this last journey was hers alone, and he would do her the honor of standing guard as she made her journey out of this world as a formidable foe.
Even vile creatures like Queenie deserved that much respect, even though it was a gesture she would never have offered to an enemy of her own.
Dragon had his standards, and he would not stoop for the likes of a wyrm.
When her last rattle faded into silence, he stirred at last. Now that the killing was done, he would find something to eat. He was starving. His human didn’t eat enough to sate him on a normal day, and it had not been a normal day.
He was wasting away on the nibbles the human had allowed him.
He kicked Queenie’s tail out of his way as he circled her. The human lay in a heap where she’d fallen. He could smell the blood oozing from her wounds. If someone didn’t see to that soon, she’d make a tasty snack.
No, Jerrid snarled from the recesses of their shared consciousness, but it was the weak mewl of a kitten. I let you out so you could save her…not so you could eat her.
“Where is the fun in that?” Dragon snickered, prodding the human’s leg with his right foot.
She didn’t move.
“She’s already dead.”
She’s still alive. You need to let me have control so I can help her.
“But I’m hungry.”
You’ll live.
“Again, where is the fun in this plan? I don’t like this plan.”
Jerrid growled in his mind, his thoughts tasting of fear and desperation. Humans cared about things too much. It was much easier to go through life like he did, thinking mostly of your stomach.
Everything else was just a bonus to keep things interesting.
Something crackled in the undergrowth, and Dragon spun to face his new foe. Ah, this was what he wanted—more battle before his snacking. Maybe this foe would be edible…
A familiar scent wafted through the dark woods—the musk of female sweat and the slightly spicy tang of elvish skin. Dragon’s nostrils flared as a lithe figure appeared from behind a tree.
“Jerrid?” she called, her voice trembling.
Dragon grinned and lay down in the center of the clearing. “Hello, Meat Pasty.”
The elf maiden spun toward him, color draining from her dark features and leaving them a pasty-gray hue. She stared at him in horror.
“You need to bring Jerrid back,” she said with the squeaky fervor of a mouse. “I need to see Jerrid, please.”
“He’s no fun.” Dragon yawned dramatically and stretched out his body so that she could see his scaliness in all its glory.
Her gaze skittered over him, but no admiration shone in her eyes. Only fear. Maybe he needed to tramp around and resort to some roaring to win her admiration. He could do that. He would do that…except he was especially tired after tromping around after Queenie.
And he was so hungry…
“Please.”
He sighed heavily and let his eyes flicker closed. “I want to eat first. Jerrid doesn’t eat enough to keep a cat alive. I’m Dragon. I need meat. Lots of meat. Tasty meat.”
She took a step backward when he opened his eyes and gazed straight at her in a pointed, meaningful way.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he laughed. “There isn’t enough meat on you to satisfy me right now. I don’t suppose you have a cow stashed away somewhere? I do love cow. Cow is always plump.”
Meat Pasty swallowed visibly, but to his surprise, she took a step closer to him. “You look tired.”
He yawned again. “I am. Cow would wake me up.”
“You should just…take a nap,” she suggested, too casually.
Dragon shot her a foul glare. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to trick me into going to sleep.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” There wasn’t an ounce of apology in the shameless lass. “You need to let Jerrid wake up.”
He shook his head, letting his scales ripple down his spine. Her gaze shot to his back and seemed to follow the flickering trail to the tip of his tail before returning her gaze to meet his.
So, she did like to look at him.
For some reason, this pleased him. He liked that she liked him. Which was perfectly ridiculous. Dragons shouldn’t care about such things as lovely elvish lasses and what they did or didn’t like. He blamed Jerrid.
Jerrid liked the lass, and that’s why Dragon found her interesting.
Surely that was it.
That isn’t it at all, Jerrid muttered. You’re just realizing Ava is more than a snack, is all. She’s worth keeping alive.
Dragon snorted, a curl of smoke slipping from between his lips.
“What?” the lass asked, narrowing her eyes and taking another step toward him.
“Jerrid thinks you’re pretty…Ava.”
She had a nice name, short and punchy, like her.
I didn’t say that! Jerrid bawled at the exact same time the lass sputtered, “I beg your pardon?”
Dragon nodded his head. “Oh, yes, he thinks you’re very pretty for a meat pasty.”
“That’s so rude!” She sounded shocked, but not nearly as frightened as she should have been.
He could see why Jerrid liked this lass.
Ava had a hidden spunk. It wasn’t obvious like that other girl, the one who had gotten herself knocked upside the head and now lay bleeding into the soil.
She was obviously spunky. She had no qualms about doing or saying whatever needed to be done.
But the elvish lass… Her qualities were more subtle.
She was an enigma, and he liked puzzles.
“You don’t like being called a meat pasty?”
Her lips thinned and whitened. “Not particularly. You have a habit of talking to me like I am food. No one likes that.”
“Well, you are food. Why not embrace it?”
She crossed toward the injured human. “Did you do this?”
Dragon huffed, insulted that she thought him capable of such shoddy work. If he had been responsible for the human’s demise, he would have done it properly…actually killing her, rather than leaving her to bleed out slowly. Her death would have been honorable, like Queenie’s had been.
The elf straightened out the injured girl’s limbs and began to examine her, with no apparent concern for her own safety. She tugged the girl’s shoulders onto her lap, wadded up a corner of her own shirt, and pressed the fabric against the girl’s bleeding head wound.
“You’re getting yourself all dirty,” Dragon scolded, rolling onto his back so that he observed the girl upside down.
He let his legs kick aimlessly in the air, enjoying the cool night breeze against his underbelly.
You look ridiculous, Jerrid said.
“I look magnificent,” Dragon fired back, forgetting that Jerrid wasn’t the only one listening.