The Dragon’s Favorite Strays (Fireblood Dragon #11)

CHAPTER 1

DAKOTA

“Do you have this one, Rabbit?” I ask my daughter, bringing her a postcard. “There were a few by the register.”

She looks up from the bookshelf she’s emptying, setting the precious contents on the ground. Her face brightens as I approach, and then her mouth twists in teenage disgust. “Mom, that’s not even a postcard. That’s a bookmark.”

“But it says Texas on it, and it has a little map. It’s kinda like a postcard. It would fit in with your collection.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” She sticks her tongue out at my offering. “And I’m staying with postcards for a while. If I change to bookmarks, I’ll let you know.”

I just roll my eyes at her insulted tone and tuck the bookmark into the pocket of my worn jeans.

I love my daughter, but man, is she particular.

When she first decided to collect things, it was DVDs.

So many of them had fascinating, colorful surfaces, so she kept them all in a heavy binder and tossed out the packaging.

After a while, though, the DVDs made her sad because she could never watch them.

Rabbit then switched to coins, since money is useless in the After.

Coins got to be too heavy, so she switched to postcards.

The day will come that the postcards make her sad, I think.

The maternal side of me wants to push the bookmarks on her as a “safer” alternative, but I also don’t want to be a pushy parent.

I watch as Rabbit gets back to work, pulling even more books off of the shelf in front of her.

A few feet away, her pack rests next to her air mattress. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m going to move these shelves,” she says, pausing and gesturing to form a square. “Make my own private little room.”

Smart kid. Over and over again, Rabbit’s clever mind amazes me. Her company is the only thing that’s kept me sane the last ten years. I’m so lucky I found her. Hell, I’m lucky we found each other. “You want help with that?”

“Nah, I got it, Mom.”

“Okay. I’ll just be over here.” I thumb a gesture at the rest of the store. “By myself. Hanging out.”

She makes a face at me even as she gets back to work. “You wanted books! Go read books!”

Laughter bubbles up, and I feel light and carefree for the first time in months, ever since we left Fort Lubbock.

I head back to my bunk in the back of the store by where the toys were.

They’re gone now except for a few broken pieces, and I blow up my mattress and unroll my bed.

I pick up a hardcover that had been out on a table and admire the dustjacket, then move towards the windows for light to read by.

There’s no electricity in our big store, no furniture other than the shelves and a few metal chairs in the break room.

But the toilets work, the sinks work (how, I have no idea) and the roof doesn’t leak, which makes this place 10, 000 times better than the last place we lived.

I’m surprised it wasn’t occupied already.

People have been spreading out since the Rift changed and the dragons stopped attacking.

Forts are now just convenient instead of a necessity. It’s safe to travel.

Perhaps this place was empty because it’s full of books, which are more of a luxury than anything in the After.

Or perhaps it’s because the front windows were shattered, the front doors busted out.

Rabbit swept up glass while I disassembled a few shelves and screwed the large wood backs to the doors to make them secure again.

They’re ugly and my hands are full of blisters from manually working long screws into the metal frame, but I’m pleased with the results.

The glass windows staring out into the empty, overgrown parking lot are shattered but whole, and I’ve got duct tape that can seal off any cracks.

But that doesn’t have to be done today.

For the first time in months, I realize I can relax. There’s nothing that needs to be done tomorrow, nowhere to go, nothing to hunt down. We have food and drink. Our beds are warm and dry.

And we’re surrounded by books. It’s almost like the Before times. Back then, I loved a good juicy celebrity bio and a fashion magazine, but this book looks like it’s about shipwrecks, and I figure what the hell. I’ll enjoy it anyhow.

I settle in near one of the windows, crossing my legs and sitting on the floor in a pool of November sunlight.

In summer, the heat’s going to be miserable, but right now, the weather is gorgeous.

I read the first page of my book and smooth my fingers down the paper, appreciating the wistful nostalgia of holding a real, genuine printed book from Before.

“Oh, hey Mom?” Rabbit trots over, her long black ponytail swinging.

I glance up. “Yeah?”

She has the broom again, leaning on it as she comes into view.

My daughter might be more excited about this new home than I am, and she was too young for reading when the Before hit.

Rabbit says she was about five or six when I found her, which makes her about fourteen now.

She’ll get her period any day now, and it’s something I’m dreading, and not just because period supplies are hell to find.

I’m not ready for my baby girl to grow up.

Rabbit blows a lock of hair out of her sweaty face. “I forgot I had something to tell you earlier. I think someone lives across the parking lot. In the sporting goods store.”

My body immediately goes cold, flooding with panic. The urge to grab our things and run sweeps over me, and I have to hold myself still, not show my daughter the fear her words automatically trigger. I inhale deeply a few times, carefully putting my book down.

We’re not in a fort any longer. We’re safe. There are places we can go if we need to run. We’re not trapped with a bunch of terrible people behind walls.

“A neighbor?” I ask, and my tone manages to stay even and not wobble. “What makes you say that?”

She gestures at the parking lot. “I saw a lot of cats.”

I exhale, the tension in my body leaving. Thank god. If that’s all it is, I will count my blessings. “That doesn’t mean anything. There might be a mama cat nearby with her babies in one of these old buildings.”

“No, Mom, I mean there were a LOT of cats. Like dozens.” Her expression brightens. “You think we could have one?”

“I wish we could, but you know how impossible it is. They’re meat eaters and we barely feed ourselves as it is.” I can’t even remember the last time Rabbit and I had fresh meat.

“Yeah, but there’s a creek nearby and maybe we could fish for them?” The pleading look on her face makes me ache. “A kitten would be amazing, and it won’t take up much space.”

“And what’s the kitten going to eat on the days we can’t catch fish, Rabbit?

Stale corn cakes like us?” We’ve been eating corn cakes for the last month, the dregs of our supplies.

I’ve tried not to think about how low we are on food because we’re always low on food.

We always manage to figure something out, but cats have very specific diet needs.

Her face falls and for a moment, Rabbit looks like my little baby Everleigh again, with her thick dark hair and gorgeous hazel eyes framing round, chubby cheeks.

I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.

Didn’t matter that she wasn’t mine. Those round cheeks fall, her expression one of pure sadness. “I just miss Boomer, that’s all.”

Our dog. Good old Boomer. He was a mutt and the most loyal sweetheart.

He also got into everything and nosed one too many snakes.

He’s been gone a year now and I still miss the weight of him against my legs in bed.

I felt safe with Boomer at our side. People will mess with two women alone, but two women with a big dog makes them pause.

I can’t show Rabbit how much I miss Boomer, too. “I know, baby. Maybe we’ll run into someone with puppies at some point. At least they can eat corn.”

“I guess.” She eyes the parking lot again, and I can tell she’s still thinking about the kittens.

I’m going to think about the cats and the fear of a potential neighbor, too. At least until I check things out and make sure everything’s all right. “I’ll check the nearby buildings first thing in the morning, okay? You need to stay in here until I confirm that it’s safe.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“You got your knife?”

“Right here.” She pats the sheath on her hip. “But they’re just cats.”

“And a possible neighbor, like you said. Got your bear spray, too?”

This time she rolls her eyes at me. “Always.”

“Good girl.” I open my book again, force myself to find my paragraph again. “First thing in the morning and I’ll check out the situation.”

It had better be nothing. I’ll be so brokenhearted (and pissed) if there’s nomads camping somewhere nearby. I’m tired of traveling, tired of looking for the perfect spot to settle down. I want a home again.