“The dragon wants us to leave,” Blaine scoffed. “If you kill her, dragon, I’ll be unhappy. Don’t make me unhappy—you know that never ends well. Just get her to eat and drink.”
The dragon’s response was another guttural rumble, and I almost sighed in relief when the heavy, malicious essence of Hunter’s father andbrotherleft the room. I had no idea where I was being held now. They’d moved me multiple times in the first few days, and I’d tried to keep up with where we were, but eventually I’d lost myself to the darkness. And here I’d stayed.
Now, though, I was alone with an unhinged shifter, and while he probably wouldn’t kill me due to our bond, there was nothing to stop him from hurting me badly.
I’d been fighting against my own destruction for so long that the very thought should have me springing to my feet and battling with everything left inside me.
But my wolf never stirred. She hadn’t stirred in days.
I could only assume the forced bonding and distance from my pack had sent her into a depressed hibernation.Where is our fight or flight?I demanded, but my weak question was ignored.
The wolf wasn’t going to help me here, which meant I had to use other strengths to keep myself safe.
Open your eyes, Emme. Open your fucking eyes.
Rough hands lifted me from where I’d curled in on myself, the hard floor my current companion. I was surprised when he placed me on a bed, the sheets smooth but slightly musty, as if no one had been in here for quite some time.
When the dragon dragged a thick blanket over me, a tiny sliver of the tension that had been holding my muscles in a cramped position for hours eased.
Painful tingles erupted through my limbs, and my neck ached from more than the new, forced mark. My bites from Hunter and Kellan were throbbing too. The physical distance between us was hurting our beasts, and I would continue to wither away in their absence. We hadn’t been bonded long enough to withstand the separation, as our beasts screamed out for the connection.
Although my version of screaming appeared to be fading into an abyss.
I felt them out there, but the tethers that bound us were too strained to ease my pain.
As the pressure built in my head, it grew harder to fight the agony. My parched lips parted, cracking on the edges, and I was about to scream when I felt the gentlest tug against my scalp. It took me a few seconds… maybe even an entire minute, to figure out what was happening.
The dragon was brushing my hair.
His touch was hesitant at first, and a little heavy-handed as he tried to pull through my tangled mane, but eventually he figured it out. He settled into a soothing, rhythmic motion that left my scalp tingling, and with each stroke of the brush, my body relaxed deeper into the bed. The ice in my limbs didn’t abate, but the relentless screams in my head eased as I focused on the feeling of him and the brush. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had my hair brushed before. From what I remembered, when I was young Mom had kept my hair shorn close to my head, and then whenI was old enough to care for it myself, I was always the one to brush it. Always.
The heat of the dragon burned into my skin, even though no parts of us touched. He exuded even more heat than Slade, and I wondered if that meant anything. Or was the fire burning in their essence an individual dragon trait?
With each stroke through my now smooth hair, he brought my consciousness closer to the surface, until a raspy sound emerged from my throat. He paused, and left my side for a moment. I tensed when he returned, waiting for what he would do next, flinching when a few drops of water landed on my lips. My thirst roared to life, and I greedily licked them up, my stomach cramped and aching. He continued to sprinkle the water until my mouth was no longer parched.
He started brushing my hair again, and it was the oddest sensation to feel so relaxed and calm in the face of such danger. “What’s your name?” The question slipped out as a rusty scrape—those few drops of water weren’t enough after a week without fluids.
His movement stilled, leaving the brush against the nape of my neck. When he didn’t answer, I wondered if he could talk—I couldn’t recall hearing him utter a word in my presence. Was it possible there was a shifter out there less talkative than Slade?
Impressive.
The brush moved again, sending my eyes fluttering until they almost opened.
“Hecalls me dragon,it, or creature.”
His voice was a low rasp, and weirdly, he had a similar accent to Slade’s.Another dragon trait?It took me a second to move past the fact that he’d answered to focus onwhathe’d said in that answer.Dragon, it, or creature.
As much as I wished it wouldn’t, my heart hurt at the significance of what he’d just said. That bastard of an alpha hadnever given him a name. Debased him until he understood that he was nothing more than a tool to be used.
The part of me that heavily blamed the dragon shifter for his part in raping me of my free will and mate bond eased a fraction with this knowledge. I’d heard humans say that when a dog bit someone, it was, in a lot of cases, the owner’s fault—not the animal’s. Abuse and lack of training could turn any animal into a savage.
Was that what had happened here?
Slade at least always had Hunter, along with a fucking name and identity. This shifter, it appeared, had had nothing and no one. Hidden away from society and used as a weapon.
It was this thought that allowed me to finally force my eyes open, the darkness releasing its hold. Instinct had me reaching over my shoulder and grasping his hand.
He stopped moving as I weakly gripped him, the brush once again motionless against my scalp. There was no other reaction from him except for the fire burning under his skin, scorching into my palm.
