“Get out!” I bellow.
All three brothers stare at me, and the mortal jumps.
“All of you. Out.” I bare my teeth. “Now.”
Fyan and Faraday exchange a look as Rivon picks up his plate and wine and heads for the door.
“Rude,” Fyan chides and grabs his own plate and drink. “Tell me if she eats,” he calls from the hall as Faraday follows him.
“I’m telling you the mortals don’t eat anymore. Pay up, little brother. That’s ten gold you…”
Their voices fade until it’s silent in the room. Not even the Firefolk bustle about, my yell likely keeping them at bay. I crack my neck. I’m tense all over in a way that’s new to me. This Bargain is far more stressful than any of the others I remember.
“I know humans eat.”At least IthinkI know they do.I turn to her. “So eat.”
She still looks down, her shoulders shaking, her hair hiding her face.
I growl with frustration.
She leans away from me.
I’m screwing this up. The gods are probably laughing at me right along with my asshole brothers.
“Let’s try again, mortal. What do they call you?” I speak as softly as I can without whispering. It somehow still comes out gruff.
Silence. Her heartbeat has slowed a little though. Now it’s just galloping instead of full out running.
“How about this? I am called Vander. This is my home. You are welcome here.” I speak the common tongue as slowly and clearly as I can.
She finally turns her head the slightest bit, her brown eyes shining behind the ribbons of her hair.
“Now, what is it you are called by the mortals?” My patience is thinning, not that I had much to begin with, but I force myself to go slowly with her.
“I—” her voice catches in her throat. She coughs a little, then starts again. “I am Larellin.”
Progress.
“Larellin.” I like the way it sounds and tastes. Sweet, like the honeysuckle scent of her.
She straightens, her face turning fully toward me. With the dirt scrubbed from it, she looks … beautiful. Even for a mortal. No scales or wings or even horns to adorn her. She’s a mortal, but a lovely one.
“Do you serve the dragon?” she asks, her gaze darting around the room. “Is that why you bear its marks? You look likeit.” The last word is a whisper.
Have the mortals forgotten so much of the world that they don’t recognize a DragonKin in their various forms? How is that even possible?
“Did I miss supper? I’m starving.” Brin pushes into the dining room from the antechamber, a light coat of frost on his fur. “Is it?—”
A sharp, piercing scream cuts through the air, and the mortal scrambles up from her seat.
I grab her arm, an instinctive movement. The moment prey tries to flee from me, I can’t help but engage in the chase.
She screams again and tries to wrest her arm free.
Brin moves closer, his form already changing, growing a bit less wolf-like. “What in the gods’ eleven hells is?—”
She screams again, this time the sound of a dying animal, her eyes wide with fear. Then they roll back.
I catch her before she falls, her weight nothing in my arms, her body limp.
