13. Ava #2
For some reason, she didn’t think he would try to roast either of them, at least not voluntarily.
What made Dragon dangerous was that his instincts seemed unpredictable.
As unpredictable as his relationship with Jerrid.
It was hard to believe that they were one and the same, a single being and not two separate living things.
It was as if there were two souls in one body.
Just like Brynja had said.
Ava slanted a look at her and wondered if she really wanted to know the answer to the question she was about to ask.
“If you’re right about the nightmares”—like she was right about Jerrid and Dragon—“I would like to know something. Did anyone else dream about something…inside the forest?”
Brynja’s mouth thinned into a taut, white line. “Something that talked to you? Taunted you?”
Ava’s chest tightened, and she exhaled sharply. Yes, exactly that…
They exchanged a long, measuring look. Ava tore her gaze away first to see to Dragon’s wound. The blood had finally stopped trickling over her hands.
“I’m going to need something to stitch this up.”
Brynja braced her hands on her knees before shoving herself to a standing position. “Speaking from experience, it would be easier to stitch you up, you big scaly monster, if you’d shift back into the naked fellow.”
Ava bit down on her lip as a thready chuckle escaped the dragon’s mouth.
“But not nearly as fun for me,” he complained.
“You saw how well I stitched up your sister over here,” Brynja said, waving a hand toward Echo, who continued to watch them through weary but attentive eyes. “Do you want to have scars to match?”
“Scars are a badge of honor for mighty monsters.”
Ava rolled her eyes as Brynja left, laughing as she circled the campfire and disappeared into the shadows. It was such a masculine thing to say. Somehow, she expected that Jerrid would probably agree with the dragon.
She worried the inside of her cheek. “I need you to ask Jerrid something.”
Dragon twisted his neck to glare at her suspiciously.
“I need to know if there is any benefit to stitching you up as a dragon or a man. I mean, do you heal faster or anything?”
Dragon blinked at her, steam hissing from between his teeth. “It will hurt less if you do it now. I’m stronger. At least I won’t whine as much.”
A few seconds later, he barked a laugh, flashing his teeth. Ava could only assume that Jerrid had found some choice words to share with him about that last comment.
“I’m not really worried about the whining,” Ava said, forcing a smile so that she appeared as relaxed as possible—while she felt anything but, currently. “I’m more concerned about you biting my head off or roasting me alive.”
He chuffed and rolled completely onto his side to allow his long neck to lie flat across the ground and wrap it around her kneeling body. “I won’t bite you.”
The words sounded surprisingly soft, coming from a dragon.
A little heat filled Ava’s cheeks, but she chose not to respond. Hopefully Brynja wouldn’t take too long to return with those supplies.
The heat from Dragon’s body warmed her as she kneeled and waited.
She could even feel his labored breaths.
His entire throat vibrated as his lungs forced the air in and out.
He might be putting on a show, because if she were any judge of his condition…
which she was…he was in more pain than he was letting on.
She licked her lips and shifted so that she peered down at his angular head. “This gash looks deep and kind of strange. I, uh, was wondering how you got hurt.”
His body stilled. Ava swallowed and looked away, staring at the wad of cloth in her hands. She peeled it back again to peek at the gaping hole in his side and the blackened flesh.
“You stabbed me,” Dragon said gruffly without opening his eyes. “With a flaming dagger. I can only assume that you thought you were stabbing someone else. I thought you and I were starting to be friends.”
Ava’s heart thundered in her chest. She remembered distinctly the feeling of the invisible dagger in her hands…and the unusual flare of heat as she plunged it downward. How the flames had she conjured a magical knife? She had never in her life been able to summon magic of that power.
“That isn’t possible,” she whispered, staring at her hands as she pressed Brynja’s shirt against the wound again. “The most magic I have ever been able to manage is a flicker of flame to start fires. My magic is very weak.”
Dragon grunted. “I beg to differ, Meat Pasty. There’s a hole in my side.”
“It couldn’t have been me. It must have been the nightmare!” She shook her head violently, unable to believe it.
All her life she had longed for more powerful magic, something to make her strong, to make others see her as strong, to do good. Instead, she had always been less than she wanted.
Always too weak. Always behind her classmates. Always behind the other apprentices at the palace. She had worked twice as hard as the other healers to become Glamren’s right hand, to be allowed to serve the royal family instead of just the other occupants of the palace.
“I don’t know if the nightmare had anything to do with it,” Dragon said, opening an eye at last to squint up at her. “But it was dark elf magic that stung me, Meat Pasty. And you were the one wielding it.”