Dragon (8 page)

No. I’m not going.

I still have my swords. Maybe I could stab at Ion, or saw through his talons and cut myself free, but we are seriously high in the air right now, probably thousands of feet high, and it doesn’t seem prudent to free myself from his grip only to fall to my death.

So I’m looking around frantically, trying to figure out what to do, when I notice a blue streak rising up from the woods, shooting toward us like a bolt from the proverbial blue, whatever that is.

The speeding bolt shoots toward us, growing in size until I can see it’s another dragon, similar to the one that’s holding me, only with scaly skin that glows sapphire blue. Its wingspan is about the same an Ion’s but it’s burlier and kind of studly, insofar as a dragon can be studly.

The blue dragon doesn’t slow down as he nears us, but barrels into Ion with enough force to knock him off his flight trajectory. We’re tumbling through the air, out of control, and even though I don’t really want Ion to carry me off through the sky, I’m holding on to his claws for dear life.

The talons around me tighten their grip as Ion and the blue dragon wrestle in the sky. Ion’s scraping at the blue dragon with his free talons, holding me up close to his body as he beats at his enemy’s face with his wings, screaming like an eagle and spitting fire.

Yes, fire.

Okay, I know mythological dragons were often said to breathe fire, and all, but honestly, the fire takes me more by surprise than flying, never mind that I saw it in the sky above my village a decade ago. That, and the fire is blasted hot, the flame white hot as it emerges from his mouth.

And the blue dragon, of course, breathes fire right back, but he seems to be taking care to avoid hitting me. I appreciate that.

The blue dragon swipes at Ion with his taloned claws and then, without even so much as a twitch of warning to tell me to hang on tight again (I’d let go since he was squeezing me so hard), Ion whirls forward, snapping his talons toward the ground and flinging me toward the earth.

I am plummeting toward the trees below at a speed that’s much faster than a simple drop from the sky. Ion flung me with enough force I might worry about whiplash, if I wasn’t vastly more concerned about how fast I’m heading toward the hard ground.

My body spins as it falls, and for an instant I look up. The blue dragon is trying to fly downward toward me, but Ion is fighting him, pulling him back, blowing fire in his face as he strains to fly downward, towing Ion through the sky.

Then my body spins again, and I can see the woods, the trees, the path of the creek we were following. I wonder if it would do me any good to angle my body toward the creek, to try to land in the water. But it wasn’t that deep, and it had rocks in the bottom. Maybe I could fall in a pile of leaves, but I don’t know how to maneuver as I fall through the sky, and the treetops are zooming closer, a blink away.

The air whooshes from my lungs as talons suddenly grip me, gliding with me, forward instead of down, and then swooping slightly upward before sinking again, depositing me gently among boulders so big I can hide between them, out of Ion’s reach.

The blue dragon barely pauses before swooping off to the sky again, but he glances back, the briefest of glances, and yet his eyes lock on mine.

Blue. Sapphire blue and glowing.

And then he’s gone, shooting toward Ion, meeting him in the sky, continuing the fight.

In that tiny glance, millisecond though it was, I recognized him.

The blue dragon is Ram.

Don’t ask me how I know this. It’s not like I could possibly recognize him. I’ve never even seen Ram’s eyes before, and obviously the rest of him is completely different. But he looked at me, and the same way I could read his expressions from the twitch of his nose or the angle of his head, I could read this look. He was saying, “Stay hidden. Stay safe.”

So I shrink down between the boulders, tucking myself into a rocky nest of safety, leaning back so I can watch the battle in the sky.

They’re breathing some serious fire now, Ram especially, and I feel proud of him, and worried for his safety, and guilty about running away, all at once. Not that he should really blame me for running away. Obviously he was keeping some right hefty secrets from me, like the fact that those slicing moves were more about killing yagi than cutting steaks.

And, oh yeah, that he’s a dragon.

Ram and Ion tumble through the sky, clawing at each other, pulling back and barreling into each other, breathing searing fire and snapping with sharp teeth. I’m so focused on watching them, rooting for Ram, that I don’t hear the approaching noise until it’s really close.

Something is out there, in the woods just beyond my boulder. I sniff the air. Yagi? It’s hard to say. Their smell is still clinging to me from the battle, but I don’t hear the wailing sound from before. Then again, they didn’t make that sound until they were upon me, ready to pounce. I almost hope it is yagi, because I at least know how to fight them. Otherwise it could be a dragon, or some other fearsome creature I haven’t yet encountered.

I grip my swords—yes, I still have them—I got that much right—and peer past the boulders, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever is headed my way. But it’s dark down here, particularly dark. There is only shadow and deeper shadow.

The fighting dragons swoop low, breathing fire, and the glow of their flames illumine the woods for an instant.

“Ozzie!” I reach for her, and guided by the flash of dragon fire, she bounds toward me, barreling her shoulders into my legs in a hug that protects her face.

I crumple toward the ground, hugging her, holding her so tight, so grateful for the comfort of her warm furriness, so glad she’s okay, and that she found me.

How long I hold her, burying my face in her fur and choking out post-traumatic sobs, I’m not sure, but when I look up again and blink skyward, I can no longer see the dragons.

Where did they go? Did they fly off fighting? Did they kill each other off? Is Ram lying in the woods somewhere, hurting and bleeding and dying?

I really hope not.

“What should we do?” I ask Ozzie. “Should we find Ram?”

Ozzie only lowers herself down into the narrow stretch of soft earth between the boulders. I crouch beside her, and she places her head on my knee.

“What about Ram? Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

Ozzie exhales audibly, is if in answer to my question, but I don’t speak mastiff, and I don’t know what she means. Is she reminding me that Ram is pretty close to invincible, and a dragon besides? Or is she saying she’s tired, and we’re not going to gain anything by tromping through the woods in the darkness looking for him?

Or is she reminding me of what Ram’s look said? Stay hidden, stay safe.

Maybe she’s trying to suggest, in her gentle, patient way, that I’ve already rebelled from Ram’s instructions enough, and that maybe I should actually trust him, since my father told me to trust him, and since I nearly got us all killed by running away.

So I slump down on the dirt beside her and try to get comfortable, with my legs stretched out in front of me and my back against a boulder—which thankfully, in spite of being hard, is at least sloped at an angle that makes it decent to lean against. And Ozzie puts her head on my lap, kind of like she did in the car, a little like a blanket, which is nice because I need the warmth.

And I close my eyes and wonder. Does my dad know Ram is a dragon? Is that why my dad hired Ram to keep me safe? He must know, right? That dragons are real, that they might come after me, that the only way to keep me safe was to give me a bodyguard every bit as strong and scary as the blokes who are after me.

Obviously Ion isn’t trustworthy. The way he flung me down like we wanted to smash me into infinite bits, and then dragged Ram backward to keep him from rescuing me, is a strong indicator that Ion is not trustworthy.

Did my father know that? Or did my father even send Ion?

Years ago, when I was about twelve years old, some of the other girls at Saint Evangeline’s were putting pictures of their mothers above their beds, and I wrote to my dad asking for a picture of my mother.

He told me he didn’t have one.

I’d forgotten that. Maybe, if I hadn’t been so swept away by finally seeing a picture of my mother, and so surprised that she actually looked like me, I would have remembered. My dad keeps a lot of secrets from me, yes, but he doesn’t lie to me. Not that I know of, anyway.

In retrospect, I don’t think my dad sent Ion. And I think Ram suspected that, but couldn’t prove it. He obviously knew Ion and probably knew they were both dragons.

Which bring up the next obvious question: why is a dragon after me, anyway?

Chapter Nine

When the sun rises high enough in the sky to reach past the boulders and warm my face, I awaken, sore and disoriented.

Ozzie is on my lap. The bandages around her nose have worked themselves loose at some point, and I can peek at some of the injuries below. They’re scabbed over, not actively bleeding. I might be able to remove the gauze, but I’ll wait until she wakes up. She needs her rest.

I lift my head slowly, easing out the kinks from sleeping in an awkward, slumped position.  For the first time I realize we’re not alone. There’s a hand on Ozzie’s back, half-buried in her fur, and I look up, past the arm, the leather jacket, the thick black beard, to the face.

Ram’s face.

He’s sleeping. His eyes are closed, but his goggles are gone.

I have never seen him without his goggles.

Maybe it’s because everybody looks angelic when they sleep, even massive bearded swordsmen, but I can’t help thinking, bloody bollocks, who knew? Ram is a good looking guy. At least the top half of his face, the part not covered by the beard, is good looking. With his eyes closed, anyway.

I’m probably staring at him, but I’m still sort of groggy from sleep, and it’s weird, you know, after working alongside him all summer, to finally see his face…at least the top half.

As I’d suspected, he doesn’t show any sign of wrinkles, not even around his eyes, where people even as young as their twenties usually start to get crows’ feet.

Is he any older than I am?

He has to be, right? I mean, he knows so much about butchering and how to get back to my home.

Or maybe it only seems like he knows so much, because I know so little, because my father and Ram have refused to tell me anything. Maybe he’s not hardly any older than I am.

Suddenly I feel self-conscious and nervous. Ram is a guy, not just a talking beard with swords. He’s a cute guy, even.

This could be awkward.

I slowly ease myself up so I’m not slumping quite so much, and I flex my toes, forcing the blood through my tired legs to my feet, thinking frantically as I tell myself not to feel nervous. I mean, Ram is still Ram. He’s still the same chap I’ve been working with all summer long.

In some ways, I’m more shocked by his attractiveness than the fact he’s a dragon.

The dragon thing, after all, is so completely out there, so beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, that it’s like I don’t even know how to process it.

But a hot guy is something I’ve actually encountered before, not that I’ve ever really spoken to one. It’s something I’ve thought about, dreamt about, wished for.

I’m watching his face, telling myself to stay calm, to play it cool, breathing in and out in a soothing, stable manner. And I think I can do this. I can. I was just taken aback for a moment there, more surprised than anything. I’m totally over it. Acclimated to his cuteness completely.

It is no big deal.

Ram opens his eyes and looks at me. “Hey.”

My mouth falls open. I can feel it hanging there, and I’m vaguely aware that I should be saying something coherent instead of the extended “um” noise I can hear coming from myself yet am powerless to control.

His eyes are sapphire blue. Blue like the dragon from last night, the one who saved me and set me down so gently. Remember how I said he was good-looking and cute, sleeping there with his eyes closed?

With his eyes open he is, blimey, wow, I no longer possess the ability to speak.

“Are you okay?” Ram’s nose crinkles with concern. It’s a familiar sight. I mean, I know this nose. I’ve held entire conversations with this man that consisted solely of grunts and nose crinkles.

But there are eyes above the nose now, instead of goggles. Wowza blue hotness eyes that look at me like he’s afraid maybe the fall through the air hurt me more than he’d realized.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Sorry. I just woke up.” I swallow and wet my lips with my tongue. I can do this. Talking. I have been talking to this man, even arguing with him, for the last four months. I can do this.

“You have eyes.”

He smiles.

I’ve got to say, I’m thankful for the beard. At the same time, I’m sort of curious about what he would look like without the beard, but if the rest of his face is half as good looking as the parts I can see, I would be reduced to a pathetic blubbering lump.

Keep in mind, I have zero experience with guys. Especially hot guys with sapphire eyes, who can fly.

But the smiling thing is encouraging, because he could be really upset with me for running away last night and nearly getting myself killed.

I look down at Ozzie’s muzzle and try to compose myself. “Do you think we should take the gauze off Ozzie?” I ask without looking up. Conversation is easier if I pretend nothing has changed.

“Maybe after she wakes up. She needs her rest.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” I nod and look up and—still handsome.

Ram isn’t smiling anymore. He actually looks almost sad. “Last night…”

His sentence fades to a sigh, and as I stare at his face, waiting for him to say more, I realize something. Maybe part of the reason why Ram is always so silent is because talking is difficult for him. Not physically difficult, but just something he isn’t used to doing, or feels inadequate doing, or something like that.

And then I realize maybe the reason why I’ve only just now figured that out, is because Ram is better at communicating with his face and his eyes, nonverbally, and now that I can actually see more of his face, I understand him better.