He groans. “Wrangler? I think my darling treasure is taunting me. I think she wants me to make her squeal as soon as we touch down in the DragonLands.”
I don’t argue his point. I do, in fact, like it when he makes me squeal. He’s done so several times over the past two days. But now I feel a current of unease in him. Our bond is like a little window into his heart. It’s new and strange and also beautiful.
His feelings are huge. As strong as he is. But he’s become so proficient at keeping them locked away and buried under stony layers. Every moment with him is a new discovery, a feeling that I want to know more, to delve deeper in his emotions. But it’s overwhelming. So much so that he tries to keep himself somewhat guarded, the bond alight with our connection but not burning so brightly that I end up scorched. A delicate balance we’ve only just begun to experience.
We took off from the DragonKeep this morning, his brothers flying with us to the DragonLands. Even though Vander knows the curse is broken, his trepidation is growing as we near the borders. Part of it is his fear that perhaps the curse will still repel him. The other part is everything else. The past. The present. The idea of rebuilding an entire world from nothing but memories. Revisiting the place where his parents and brother died.
Peeking out, I see the edges of a great pit below, the center darker than night, as if it’s absorbing the light around it. My hackles rise.
“What’s that?”
“The garthook.”
Faraday swoops past and dives low, turning onto his back as he floats over the pit. Suddenly, from the darkness, a huge gray tentacle slithers out and forms into a curl. Inside of the curl, a great eye opens, the center a red slit with black where the white should be. I recoil.
“You’re safe, my treasure. Be easy. The garthook doesn’t bother with dragons. Not when she knows we’re her only true chance at destruction.”
“What is she?” I stare as more tentacles loop around, more eyes forming. All different shades, but each with black instead of white around the irises.
“Whatever lore there is about the garthook, no one truly knows what she is or where she came from. When the Library of Vines burned an eon ago, they say her origin as well as the DragonKin’s origin were lost. Some things are known only to the gods.”
“There’s only one of her?That’s kind of sad.”
“One is plenty.” He banks to the right, and I roll, hanging onto my blanket.
Fyan swoops past us, Brin clutched tightly in his grasp. The wolven recovered quickly. Someone in his home village healed him with great care. Though he did arrive back at the Keep with a black eye, which I suspected was new.
“Ahead.” Vander’s tone is solemn. “My homeland.”
Past the garthook’s pit, I can only see trees, vast swaths of dark green with areas of deep mist. We’re almost to the DragonLands.
Vander’s worry is growing, each second an agony of doubt for him. I reach out and stroke along the pad of his claw.
He shakes a little. “That tickles.”
“We’re going to be all right.” I keep stroking him. “We’ve come this far, Vander. We’re going to make it. Okay?”
“If you say it, I believe it.” He calms a little, but I don’t think anything can erase the anxiety of returning home. Especially after everything that happened.
Pumping his wings, Vander takes us higher, the sun casting his vast shadow on the ground ahead of us. Beautiful.
For so long I dreaded the thought of DragonKin. Of wolven. Of anything and anyone from Oblivion. They were scary stories told to keep mortal children in line. Or worse, the creatures that stole the life of a Bargain every 20 years. But they’re none of those things. As varied as grains of sand, as different as mortals are from each other. Here, I’ve found family. Here, I’ve found love.
“I love you, too, Larellin.”
I smack his talon. “I told you not to read my thoughts unless I’m talking to you.”
“Sometimes you think so loud I simply have to assume you’re speaking to me,” he says slyly.
“Are all DragonKin liars?”
He snorts a burst of golden fire. “I beg your pardon.”
“I like it when you beg.”
His talons twitch, and I get the very distinct sense that he will be making good on his threat to make me squeal sooner rather than later. I’m still sore from all our lovemaking. Mother always referred to it as a chore, something to be borne. It never occurred to me it could be so enjoyable. My toes curl at the thought of it, of the way Vander touches me.
His talons close tighter around me. “Careful, my treasure. You’re tempting me.”
