Alice's Dragon (The Challenge Series) (4 page)

He set the meal on the floor. “Well, if he should come to understand, I imagine he and the island folk would not be happy to have dragons raised in their midst.”

“Yeah, you’d think, but there’s a real habit of minding your own business around here,” she said and set Walter in the shallow blood.

The tiny one splashed in the sea of red, unsure of what do to. When a drop splashed onto his nose, he perked up and dipped his face in, sopping up the nourishment with glee.

“Aww, he’s so sweet.” She petted his head. “Good boy, Walter. You eat, baby. Who’s my honey wittle dwagon who’s gonna be so big?”

Walter sucked on his blood and ignored her. Alice glanced up and lost her smile. Bade’s lips turned down and eyes squinted as if he’d tasted something vile.

“What is it? A bug on my shoulder?”

“You—you—I don’t know what to do with you.”

He stood and stomped off. She petted Walter again. Her mother had been right. Men were moody.

“What do you say?” Bade asked.

Alice peeked up. “You asked a question?”

“Will you help me with this? I can do it alone, but with another who understands dragons as well as the island, the endeavor cannot fail.”

She sighed, still figuring her angle. The women in her line had taken slaying and made it a full-time occupation through skill, slight fabrication, and plain old whoppers. Bade needed her, giving her leverage she had to use.

“For a price.” She shrugged when he narrowed his gaze. “Hey, you murdered my proverbial cash cow. I might have been able to handle Rusty, but we can’t know that, because you killed him.”

His jaw dropped. “Are you joking? The beast ripped your arm off.”

“True, but you don’t know what would have happened next.”

He groaned and stared at the ceiling. “Fine. Name your terms.”

She threw out a number matching roughly what Henry gave her each year. “And I need that amount every solstice.”

He went to work on the third squirrel. “I will consider your terms if they also include room and board. Here.”

“You want to stay in this hole?” She didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “Why?”

“The young feel very comfortable here. Just look at Walter, his scales shine and he’s barely cried,” he said. “I don’t want to interrupt their birthing or continuity of care by moving now or introducing you later. The babies learn best if they are in contact with their human hosts every day. Practicality demands we stay close.”

She’d grown accustomed to living alone—had planned on continuing her solitary existence until she died. The family tradition of heading off island and shacking up with hot sailors until pregnant hadn’t appealed to her. She’d thought to play with Rusty until they both cocked up their toes, ending their lines.

“I suppose you can’t get enough of my sparkling personality,” she joked.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“What?” She lifted her hand, palm up, and shrugged her good shoulder. “I’m nice to everybody.”

His expression didn’t change.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, so I’m not nice to
everybody
. I’ll agree to take you on here, if you build your own room. We’re not going to be like those rubes who share a tiny space. No way. And I have a good parcel of land here, so we should be able to construct a fence and still have beach access.”

Bade’s suspicious expression turned over with a grin. His eyes sparkled and the stress lines on his face, eased, making him look younger and carefree. He stood straighter, happiness radiating from him. Alice wracked her brain in case she’d missed part of their conversation that would leave her screwed later on.

Bade clapped his hands together once and held them together a moment. “Wonderful. I’m glad you’re at peace with our terms. Continue to allow Walter to eat. I will go and fetch red meat for you. You are pale.”

She felt fine, but if he wanted to find her a nice hunk of beef, she wouldn’t argue. She patted Walter again, the blood pool diminishing with every passing minute.

“Welcome to my world, buddy. I’m glad you’re here.”

Chapter Seven

Alice grinned at the rocking eggs, hoping one would chip open. She squatted low and eased to her knees, thrilled when she didn’t need to grab the nearby chair for balance.

“Good morning, ladies and gents. Bade is out hunting for something yummy, should any of you decide to make an appearance today. Walter is getting mighty lonely.” She lifted the sleeping dragon onto her lap.

So far, she preferred to sit while holding him. Despite her boast about never dropping things, she feared she might lose control of the delicate one and hurt him. Without a left hand, she had little hope of catching him. She’d been lucky enough to have a second chance at life, thanks to Bade, but didn’t dare press fate for more assistance.

“My grandmother would have loved you.” She stroked Walter. “My mother, too. She never got to meet a baby dragon. I’m pretty damn lucky to get to meet six. She would be wicked jealous.”

Walter nose-butted her finger. In only two days, he’d grown, the intake of blood increasing his size with every sip. Bade said he’d reach the size of a small dog before the end of the week and be bigger than an alligator before the month was out. She couldn’t wait.

He blew a puff of smoke in her hand. Alice laughed and patted his head before setting him in the bowl of blood.

“There, you eat and be good. I’m going to go rustle up some grub for Bade. He’s paying me through the nose, I should at least make an effort to feed him on occasion.”

Alice carefully pushed to her feet. She’d talked herself into no longer wishing for her missing limb. She couldn’t have it back, couldn’t grow a new one, couldn’t steal one from Henry, so it was a lost cause and a drain on her time to think about it. Alice rolled her shoulders, the stump less tender every day as skin grew over the hole. It itched like wool pants in July, but Bade swore it healed better than anything he’d ever encountered.

She suspected the healing was due to the dragon spit. The stuff smelled vile, but her grandmother had insisted it had healing properties and often rubbed it on Alice’s chest during colds. Her granny had a twisted sense of humor, but the old bat might have known something.

Alice pulled out a bowl and carried it to the flour barrel. She’d stocked up on provisions before the arm incident. The asses in town were liable to charge her double since they didn’t need her for Rusty. The cutthroat mentality separated the strong Isle of Adeners from the weak. Only the strong survived.

She added a small amount of salt and water to the flour and grabbed an egg from the basket for minor leavening. If Bade had a problem with flatbread, he could go to the baker and prostitute himself for some yeast. Alice frowned at the white shell. Cracking it could be done with one hand, but separating the shells…she wasn’t so sure.

She took down a cup and did her best, but ended up fishing out several shards. Once the contents no longer contained crunchy bits, she mixed them with a spoon, but the cup wobbled. She smashed up and down on the yolk until it broke before dumping it into the dry ingredients.

Sweat dripped down the side of her face. What should have been a simple task took her full concentration. The large bowl shifted every time she tried to stir. Alice leaned against the counter, trying to hold it against the wall with her shoulder. For every turn of the spoon, the container moved three times.

She stepped back and took in the situation, sure she missed something.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

People lost arms all the time. Well, not
all
the time, but people who lost their arms and lived to tell about it still functioned, or so she assumed. She was going to continue functioning if it killed her.

Grabbing her largest bowl, she lined it with towels until the bread bowl fit snugly inside. She picked up her spoon and began stirring again. The bowl wanted to wobble, but if she didn’t go too quickly, it didn’t gain enough momentum to counteract the friction of the towel. By the time the dough came together, Walter fussed in a container empty of blood and sweat streamed down her face, but triumph filled her guts. She could do it.

Alice set the heavy pan covered in small loaves onto the coals just as the door creaked open behind her. She peered over her shoulder and told her stupid heart it had no business racing. The foreigner wasn’t even all that handsome. Worse, he was once again covered in blood.

He set his catch of squirrels on the table and grinned. The way his smile brightened his face and the room made her recant her earlier judgment about him not being terribly handsome. The cottage warmed with him in it, as if he brought in something it had never possessed before. She’d certainly never experienced anything like him.

“I trapped enough for Walter and for stew,” he said. “And what do you have there?”

“Bread.” She pushed to her feet, beyond ready for a nap, but hesitant to sleep when he’d just returned. “An easy flat loaf, but it’s pretty good.”

His face lit up. “Really? I am intrigued and grateful for fresh bread. It has been…well, far too long since I had anything not of the meat or root vegetable variety. Do you make pies?”

His genuine pleasure made her wish she had a different answer. “I don’t, but when there is fresh fruit, I make a cobbler thing. The women in my family have never been much for the home arts—too busy working. But we never starve.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it.” He lifted the bowls and examined them before turning to her. “This is quite ingenious. You thought of it?”

“Necessity,” she replied. “It’s not ideal, but I made it work.”

“So smart and crafty,” he muttered. “Perhaps I can build a clamp of some kind.”

His compliments went straight to her head. She wasn’t too proud to admit she liked acknowledgment and the occasional pat on the back. Since her mother and grandmother died, the only validation she got was money from Henry for doing her job—and even then he implied it was more than she deserved. The admiration in Bade’s eyes hit her much deeper than it should have.

“That would be great.” She stood and yawned. “Well, the bread needs an hour to bake. I’m going to lie down for a spell. I just fed Walter again, but he’s part pig, so he might want more.”

Bade nodded, but his shoulders fell. She needed to think about what her emotions meant before considering her actions.

“Yes, you need lots of rest. One of the men sent a message. I need to sign off on the load so the ship I arrived on may return home,” Bade said. “Do you need anything while I am near the shops?”

She shook her head. “I just stocked up, so I should be good for six months.”

“Very well. Perhaps I’ll find yeast or fruit, if any are available.”

He’d go to Prunella’s shop, darn it.

“Just watch out if the old hussy offers you more than you’re asking for.”

He cocked his eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you ask for yeast and fruit and she offers you a gander at her big, fuzzy pussy, you might want to say no. I hear she has fleas.”

Alice climbed into bed and faced the wall. Despite her gutter mouth, she avoided sexual reference because she had no experience. Prunella might be a hussy, but she didn’t have fleas. Probably.

“You mean…cat?” Bade asked.

“Yes.” She tried and failed to assuage her guilt.

“Very well, even if she offers, I shall not pet her cat. I will return soon.”

Sliding of wood on wood marked the door closing. Alice flipped to her back and stared at the ceiling. She liked him. The dark, handsome stranger with an affinity for dragons had crawled into her life, and she didn’t feel any need to make him leave yet wasn’t quite sure how to keep him.

Chapter Eight

Bade couldn’t fight his grin as he returned to his new home. He’d accomplished his tasks and given the captain a note for his father in Bulgaria confirming Bade had made it safely. His supplies would be delivered to Alice’s home for the low price of one of the barrels of whisky he’d brought along. Two would likely be missing, but he could make more. He’d learned all the trades he deemed worthy before making the journey. He and Alice could take care of each other.

She’d baked him bread and warned him off the woman at the shop. A subtle claiming. He’d bought the few fresh plums Prunella had on hand and a sack of sugar. When he’d handed over his gold, she’d offered him something much more carnal than petting her cat. The turn-a-phrase of the island would take him some time to understand. The important discovery was Alice hadn’t wanted him to take the offer.

Bade twirled the bag of fruit, anticipating Alice baking him something. He could cook, but she needed to succeed at tasks with one arm, and if the products of her learning were delicious, he would count it a double win.

A large, laden wagon sat in front of the cottage he’d passed on his way to town. When a skinny fellow emerged from the doorway, struggling with an ornate desk, Bade tucked his fruit bag in his belt and hurried over to take hold of the other side.

“Oh,” the young man said. “Thanks, sir.”

“On the wagon?”

“Yes, please.”

Bade lifted the desk and helped him bind it on. The fellow, dressed in gray, slapped the dust from his hands and smiled.

“You must be the stranger from Bulgaria. I’m Joseph.”

He shook the offered hand. “I am Bade. Where are you headed?”

“My wife and I are loading up on the Bulgarian ship for passage to France. She has family there.”

“Why?” Bade asked. “This place is quite unique.” He had gotten the impression those still on the island thumbed their nose at the elements and convention.

“And no place to raise a family,” Joseph said grimly. “Amy and I grew up in the last batch of children born. There were five of us among a few families. Two already left. We stayed until our parents passed.”

“Who is the last?”

Joseph scoffed. “That crazy girl, Alice. She’ll never leave. I never thought I would, but it’s become lonely now. I will make barrels and the babies my wife wants on the mainland. This island is…too rustic for my dreams.”