21. A Dragon’s Fury #4
The jet-black dragon opened his mouth again to reveal fangs longer than my forearm dripping saliva.
His neck shot out and those teeth clamped down on four or five of the draugr , crunching horrifically against their scorched bones.
Whipping his head around, he released the once-again-lifeless bodies from his deadly grasp.
The few that remained he swiped at with taloned paws, slicing them in two or smashing them into jagged, burning pieces.
Until only a mass of mangled, incinerated bodies and ash remained littered across the ground.
I stared in shock, feeling the sweat and grime clinging to my face.
His colossal head swung from left to right, scanning the area for any more of the draugr as he shook his scaled shoulders.
The thin, gray membranes of his wings fluttered with the movement, sending buffets of hot air over me.
When he found there were no undead left, his silver eyes rested on me, their unfathomable depths swallowing me up.
The Shadow roiled uncontrollably, attempting to subside her panic. I drew in a deep breath to calm us both, but sputtered as the burn of sulfur and smoke choked my throat.
Trygg groaned, the sound rumbling from his chest and sending tremors through the ground.
He was so close I had only to take a step and reach out to touch him.
The heat radiating from his jaws was almost too much to bear.
Still, my feet moved forward. The darkthread was no longer thrashing, but that innate pull still echoed in my mind—a voice calling across a great distance, deep and ancient as the mountains.
Go to him , it said.
The hem of my cloak dragged over burning debris and body parts, pulling the brooch tight against my throat.
I stepped over a dark mound and kept my eyes on the dragon.
He watched me, his gaze completely unreadable in his beast form.
But the pull in my mind was too insistent to ignore.
The closer I got to Trygg, the duller the pain in my chest became.
Vor… the Shadow breathed raggedly. Vor, what are you doing?
I didn’t even know what to tell her. If she couldn’t hear the call, how could I explain the primal sense ferrying me toward the dragon in front of me? This dragon that rescued me from certain death.
He saved my life, I whispered, letting the realization sink in.
I stopped in front of him, brushing the sweat-slicked hair from my forehead and cheeks. This close, the moisture evaporated from my skin. He moved closer, smoke seeping from his nostrils and billowing all around me. Tentatively, I reached out.
My fingers brushed the side of his snout, and my arm tingled at the contact. He released a huff of scorched air that whipped my cloak around my legs and then tilted his head to press into my hand fully. I gasped, pain lancing up my arm. But the sensation passed swiftly, replaced by unmitigated awe.
His scales were surprisingly smooth and cool to the touch. He watched me, and I could imagine him standing in front of me, that look on his face he’d had after my nightmare. Slowly, I moved my hand toward his remarkable eye.
His black diamond scales, glittering in the firelight, lay flat as I stroked upward. But as I brought my hand back down, they lifted to reveal tiny barbs that tore at my skin. I recoiled immediately and pulled my hand into my chest. When I looked, the shallow cuts already welled with blood.
Trygg snorted softly, drawing back in a single fluid motion. A hand suddenly landed on my shoulder and wrenched me backwards.
“What in the gods' names did you think you were doing, Asvoria!” Lenn roared, jerking me around to look at him.
The sound of wings overhead snapped me out of my stupor. I blinked a few times, looking up to find Corbyn circling overhead. Concern leaked into the marsh of my mind when I caught sight of a jagged cut stretching across his underbelly, leaking crimson blood.
Trygg moved behind us, shuffling from the confines of the wall and dislodging even more chunks of stone in the process. I looked back at him as the darkthread pulsed evenly in my chest. That call in my head telling me to go to him had faded into silence, replaced by a hollow emptiness in my gut.
Lenn shook me lightly, making me turn my stunned gaze back on him. “Those monsters would have killed you, Vor. Why did you not run?” he demanded, his face a mask of terrified concern.
I opened my mouth, putrid, burning air stinging the back of my throat.
But I couldn’t say anything—couldn’t explain it to him.
I hadn’t been able to move because I’d been forced to stay.
The darkthread didn’t allow me to leave, strange as it sounded.
By the gods, I’d wanted to flee under the threat of certain death.
I’d wanted to run and never look back. But…
that instinct compelled me to stay with Trygg.
Asvoria, the Shadow interjected, breaking me from my silent ramblings.
I shook my head, willing the damning thoughts into silence. Lenn’s eyes searched my face frantically, his hands tightening on my shoulders. He must have thought I was in shock. In a way, I supposed I was.
“Let’s get you back to the healers,” he finally said, straightening up and releasing his hold on me.
Nodding, I cast one last look over my shoulder.
Trygg pushed off the ground to join Corbyn in the air and the two of them flew north, back toward the Citadel.
In the sky, orange fire-glow gave way to the purple and pink tinges of dawn.
The threat of the myrkva was gone, for now.
Only the daylight would reveal what damage they’d truly done.
As for me, I stumbled alongside Lenn, leaning against his solid form. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what just happened. If I did, I feared I might find the dragon prince posed more of a threat than I initially thought.