The clearest recollection he possessed was the flash of silver in the dark, and the panic that overtook him when the little womanran from him — directly into the claws of the enemy, out of the shelter of his wings.
There was danger everywhere. There were enemies everywhere. She couldn’t run into the night without him. He wouldn’t allow it.
He only wanted to protect her, to hide her, so why did she look at him like that? Her face was ashen. Her eyes were so wide he could see the white all around the reddish-brown irises. Combined with the blood and the bruises, she looked like every victim he’d ever pulled out of bombed buildings.
Except she didn’t look at him like her savior. She looked at him like he was the bomb.
More alarmed than ever, Taevas clawed at clarity, desperate to explain what was going on. Without thinking, he deposited her on the floor and stood, wings snapping back into place as he struggled for balance. Blood rushed to his head and he swayed, his vision blotting. Pain ricocheted out from his wings in a blast. Unshielded by them, warm, wet air swept in to disorient him further.
The woman scrambled to her feet. Her legs gave out, but it didn’t stop her from crawling away from him as quickly as possible. A loose braid, so thick it rivaled the width of his forearm — in his bipedal shape, at least — swung around to drag in the dirt.
Taevas tried to lunge for her, driven by jumbled instinct, but his limbs failed him. One foreleg gave out. If she hadn’t crawled away, he would’ve crushed her under his great bulk.
He fell on his side, too dizzy to hold himself up. The force of it shook the building and all the detritus around him, sending boxes and rotten boards tumbling. He let out what would have been a curse if he’d been able to speak properly, and watched with horror as the woman managed to get back on her feet just out of his reach.
She looked wild. Windswept, bloodied, and dirty, she dodged debris and ran for the closed door to what he dimly suspected wasa very old barn. The woman was his only point of focus as his vision swam.
Don’t leave me,he silently begged.It’s not safe!
It was all he could do to let out a long, beseeching whistle. Even in his state, he knew she wouldn’t understand it like a dragon would. She was clearly not one of his kind, but it was all he had.
He didn’t honestly expect her to stop.
The woman stood with her hand on the latch, her shoulders hunched and her legs trembling. She stuffed one hand into the pocket of her robe and retrieved what appeared to be a heavy-duty flashlight. Her knuckles bleached white with the strength of her grip.
“Can you understand me?”
Taevas jolted at the sound of her voice. It was slightly roughened and not at all friendly, but it was still pretty. Lilting, even, like she was on the edge of a song.
Realizing that she was waiting for a response, he let out an urgent chuff.Come here. Come back.
It was his job to protect people. He made them feel safe. Heneededthat, because if he didn’t have that, he had nothing. Even when his mind refused to hold anything else, he understood that with perfect clarity.
He could barely lift his head up from the dirty floor, but he made the effort when she slowly turned around. It looked like it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, which he found a little insulting. Memory was a slippery, elusive thing, but he knew people loved him. People wanted to be near him all the time. No one had looked at him with as much suspicion and fear as she did in… at least a century. Not since the war.
People gazed at him in awe, with reverence and pride. Occasionally he got an annoyed look, but admiring glances and blushing were much more common. People certainly didn’t raise flashlights up like they needed a baton to keep him away.
“Shift so we can talk.” Her voice shook, but the tilt of her chin was firm.
He didn’t know why he found that charming. Perhaps because he was so used to giving orders, or possibly because she stood at all of five feet and five inches — a generous estimate — and thought she could command the Lord of the Dragon Clans under threat of an improvised club.
Unfortunately, no matter how amusing he found her, it didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t shift. Survival instinct wouldn’t allow it. He was far too weak. Healing would happen faster if he stayed in one form, and even if it didn’t, he was far less vulnerable in his tough dragonhide. It took a bold soul to attempt to hurt a transformed dragon, injured or not.
His mind was fuzzy. Details were slow to come, if they came at all, but heknewa threat loomed. He knew he’d been hunted. Ambushed. Shifting into a far weaker form would only give his enemies an advantage he couldn’t afford.
Taevas huffed, sending flurries of dust into the air. Going by the way her plush mouth pressed into a hard line, he suspected she got his message.
Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow, but she kept her flashlight raised when she informed him, “You’re an intruder on my land. You attacked me last night and held me here against my will. If you won’t shift and explain yourself, then— then I’m going to call the authorities!”
An alarm blared in his mind. Taevas managed to shake his head vigorously. He hadn’t attacked her. He was fairly certain he hadn’t, anyway. Why would he? Even if she’d attackedhim,she was only a little mouthful. Hurting her would mean he’d killed her. Instantly.
But the sight of the blood and bruises decorating her skin made him second guess that certainty. Bits of the previous night, blurry and warped by drugs, came to him in a disjointed parade. He recalled his desperation to find a safe haven. The crunch ofold wood under his talons. The feeling of being watched. The scent of home. There was a flurry of activity — dust, blood, silver flashes, pain, reaching for her when she would’ve run heedless into danger. Then exhaustion came, and everything went dim.
None of those memories explained how she’d gotten in the terrible state she was, but his speculation came second in urgency to her threat. He wasn’t surewhyit was so vital, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she couldn’t, under any circumstances, report his presence to the authorities. Or anyone.
Taevas tried to sit up, but he found it nearly impossible. It was all he could do to stare imploringly at her and offer a low, plaintive whistle. As a man, he could have ordered her. As a dragon, all he could do was beg.
“You’re really not going to do it?” She looked to be on the edge of tears. And yet her chin remained in that stubborn angle, the flashlight held high. She was clearly determined to remain strong despite the fear that shook her from head to toe. The sight gutted him.
