In the archway stands a man in flashy armor, all polished silver and ridiculous plumes. He looks puny compared to the dragon. Insignificant. He pulls back his crossbow and shoots again. This arrow lands in my dragon's upper bicep, and he roars. A sound so full of pain and rage that it makes my bones vibrate.
"How..." My dragon's voice is garbled, choked with blood. He collapses to the floor, his wings crumpling beneath him, his tail thrashing weakly.
My foggy mind can't keep up. Can't process. Can't—
Suddenly, I'm lifted into the air and thrown over the shoulder of the knight who shot him. My dragon. My—
No. Not mine. He's not mine. He's my captor. My jailer.
So why does my chest ache as I'm carried away?
My vision cuts in and out as I'm moved through the castle. I catch glimpses of stone walls, tapestries, the courtyard bathed in morning light. Everything is too bright, too loud, too much.
And with every step the knight takes, the ache in my chest grows worse. Burns deeper.
It starts as a dull throb, a tightness that makes it hard to breathe. But the farther we get from the tower, the more it intensifies. A pull. A painful, insistent pull in my stomach, like something vital is being stretched too thin.
I gasp, clutching at the knight's armor.
"Stop," I rasp. "Stop, I—"
He doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down.
The pain sharpens, twisting into something unbearable. It's not just my stomach now, it's everywhere. My chest, my limbs, my head. A horrible, gnawing ache that gets worse with every step, every second, every breath.
I've been referring to him asmy dragonin my head.
The realization hits me like a slap. When did that happen? When did he stop being "the monster" and become "mine"?
I don't know. I don't know, and I don't have time to figure it out because the pain is getting worse and I can't think, can't breathe, can't—
"Where... where are we going?" I manage to choke out.
The knight doesn't answer. Just keeps walking down some stairs now, his grip on me bruising.
We reach the courtyard, and he throws me onto a horse. My stomach hits the saddle hard. My breath huffs out. I nearly fall off, my limbs too weak to hold me upright. He climbs up beside me, one arm heavy over my back to keep me in place.
The horse takes off at a gallop, and the pain explodes.
It's like my insides are being ripped out. Like something vital is being torn away, and if we go any farther, I'll die. I'll actually die.
I lean into the horse, retching, but nothing comes up. Just dry heaves that leave me gasping and shaking.
"Please," I whisper. "Please, stop. It hurts. It—"
"Quiet," the knight snaps. His voice is cold. Clipped. "You're safe now. That's all that matters."
Safe?Safe?
I want to laugh. I want to scream. Because I don't feel safe. I feel like I'm dying.
The bond. It's the bond. The mate bond that's been tying me to him for a century, growing stronger with every touch, every whisper, every moment we spent together.
And now it's tearing me apart.
The journey takes hours. Or maybe days. I can't tell. I keep blacking out. Time blurs together, punctuated only by the relentless pain in my stomach and the knight's occasional barked orders to his men.When did others join us?
He doesn't speak to me. Doesn't ask if I'm okay. Doesn't care that I'm barely conscious, slumped against him like a corpse.
