Chapter Four #3
He rolled over onto his side, curled into a ball. His fellow betas used to call him spoiled, teased him about his royal birth. Until now he’d resented their teasing. The accuracy of their words hit with the force of a blow to the head.
Before, he’d had everything his friends envied: power, wealth, status.
Things he’d taken for granted. Oh, how far the mighty fell.
Lovers flocked around him. Would they now, when he was a prince no longer, nothing but a scarred dragon who might never fly again?
Oh, dear Goddess, let him still be capable of shifting.
If he’d only been faster, recognized the alpha sooner, gotten to Ywain quicker, would Ywain still be alive? They’d been so close, the best of friends, occasional lovers, but always, always, had each other’s backs.
Would he himself be dead if not for the intervention of a pale dragon? One who might’ve died saving Daire. Sakaris could’ve stuck around long enough to answer a few questions.
The mage sent him here, told him of some mission, giving fuck-all details.
A thick rug cushioned Daire from lying on the wooden floor. He lay there, pouring out his pain and shoulda, woulda, coulda, until sleep claimed him.
Daire woke to darkness outside the windows, and a lamp illuminated on the table by the couch. He lay on his back for several moments, wincing at the tenderness and staring at the dimly lit ceiling. No changing the past. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t help.
He needed to fully assess his situation, not worry so much about shifting and flying until he knew whether he actually could. With no idea when Sakaris might return, he’d need to make plans to keep himself occupied, perhaps discover the mission the wily mage tasked him with.
First things first. Establish his territory. Second, find out where Nate shifted and try for himself. Third, do what he must to survive in this world. Once he accomplished those goals, he’d have another breakdown if needed.
His stomach rumbled, pushing all other list items down in importance. Food. Now.
He staggered to his feet, wandered into the kitchen, and opened the cold thingy. A fridge? Yeah, a fridge. Oh, my. Doc knew dragons. Slabs of meat in transparent packages lay on clear shelves. A note sat on the counter, next to what Daire recognized as a laptop computer.
My dear Griffin,
I’ve taught you enough about computers to navigate to these sites, which will help you learn things you need to know. Your prescriptions are in the bathroom medicine cabinet. You know which ones to take when.
Doc
Daire still marveled at being able to understand and read the human language.
Fatigue pulled at him. Meat needed cooking.
The freezer yielded cartons with images of food and instructions.
Frozen dinners. He got the microwave to work after several tries, then sat at the bar to shovel down meatloaf with potatoes, gravy, and green beans.
Nothing like what he’d eaten at his father’s table, and not nearly as much, though the hospital served similar fare. He prepared and ate two more dinners.
Afterward, he put the cartons in what his mind told him was a trash bin.
He wandered into the bathroom, which had a mirror hung above the sink, and slowly removed the bandages and his shirt.
Jagged scars covered the left half of his face, from his hairline to his jaw, from three long claws raking over his skin.
He shuddered. Thank the Goddess the bastard hadn’t taken out Daire’s eye.
If the wreck really had caused the injuries, Daire would’ve healed by now, but dragon-inflicted wounds healed slower and left marks.
He’d forever wear his failure for all to see.
He’d let down his father, his brothers, and his court.
Most of all, he’d let down a dear friend.
He splashed cold water on his face. No time for self-pity now.
Though he dared not venture out into the world yet, he could search for his brothers on the computer, couldn’t he?
Maybe Sakaris brought them to Terra too.
Standing back brought his other injuries into stark relief.
The phantom pain consumed him again, the shock of his father’s death, the swipe of talons along his face, then the flames… .
The burn scars started at his shoulders and ended at his hands.
His back and chest took a powerful hit too, likely destroying his beautiful wings with their mottled bronze and brown markings.
Sakaris brought him here for some reason, he supposed, but for what?
Beta dragons lived to fight and protect. What would he do with himself now?
He dried his face on a towel and wandered into the bedroom. A wooden object in the room's corner looked something like the lute he’d never quite learned how to play and ultimately discarded somewhere.
Daire sat on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, running his fingers over the strings. Guitar. It was called a guitar. Well, he’d nothing but time. Might as well make the most of the opportunity. Surely Doc’s wonderful computer could teach him to play.