Anguish squeezes my chest, but I refuse to acknowledge it. I have bigger things to worry about right now, The Horde being at the top of that list.
“We would greatly appreciate it if you’d wear the charm until after The Horde’s retrieval team talks to you. I hope you understand, but we need to prepare them for the magnitude of your injuries. Our facility and town won’t hold up to a dragon’s temper,” the healer concludes, his last statement more of a plea than an assertion.
Despite my efforts to remain outwardly calm and collected, one of the machines next to the healer starts flashing red, betraying the rapidly increasing thrum of my uneasy heart. He hurries to press a bunch of buttons to calm the disgruntled tech, and I start pulling wires and tubes off of me to help the process.
“We didn’t know that you were a dragon when you came in,” the healer nervously rambles. “You didn’t have a dragon mark or any other kith designations, and for some reason, you don’t smell like a dragon, but when your blood work came back—oh no, don’t do that!” he yelps when he turns back to find me yanking another electrode from my body.
The shifter moves closer to try to stop me, but a warning growl rumbles out of me, and he instantly freezes in his tracks. He lifts his hands in a placating gesture, his eyes widening with even more worry when I glare at him and continue disconnecting myself from all of the machines and IVs.
“Please get back in bed, dragoness. You need to rest. Your body has been through a lot, and healing it isn’t going to be a quick process with the fall you sustained and with what…” The healer hesitates for a moment before soldiering on. “With what was done to you before that.”
I try not to roll my eyes at the clumsy way he tiptoes around the horrid condition I know I was in when I was brought here. Not to mention the magical block suffocating my abilities that they discovered but don’t understand. I’m sure his imagination has provided him with a laundry list of fucked-up things that probably happened to me, things too awful for him to even whisper, and yet, I lived through them.
It doesn’t matter though. There will be plenty of time to revisit all my traumas, but I’ll do that far from here and far from The Horde. Irritated and anxious to get going, I run my fingers through my hair as I start to pace. A flicker of shock moves through me when my fingers rake all the way through without getting caught on a single snarl. My hair is clean. Such a simple, benign thing finally makes everything really sink in.
I’m free.
I’m actually free.
I escaped Wistan and his band of blood-stealing bastards.
Now I just need to get somewhere safe.
The healer watches me warily like he’s debating whether The Horde will flay him alive if he dares to try to restrain me. I study him for a moment and realize I’m going about this all wrong. I need to be artful, not an asshole, if I want freedom. I can’t muscle my way out—I’m not strong enough—and these people are way more scared of The Horde than they are of me. I need them to let their guard down so I can sneak out from under it, which means I need to be a good little dragon and pretend I want to be rescued.
Forcing the mounting tension from my body, I adopt a contrite and compliant mien. I nod my head at the healer, slumping my shoulders like I’m suddenly too exhausted to move, and start to drag my feet back toward the bed like he wants me to.
“You’re right. All of this has just been a lot,” I tell him, gesturing around the room and batting my eyelashes like I’m fighting back poor-little-girl tears. “Thank you for saving me, and thank you for helping me get back home.”
The shifter blows out a breath, and the strain in his posture instantly melts. “Of course, dragoness. We’re happy we could be of service. I’m going to get you some new lines,” he quickly announces, like he’s eager to escape before I can change my mind and start being difficult again. He waves a hand at the pile of electrodes, wires, and plastic tubing on the ground. “Once everything’s reconnected, we’ll make you as comfortable as possible until your people arrive.”
“Of course. But before you go,” I rush, stopping him as he turns to leave. “Is there somewhere I can clean up before they get here?” I do my best to look and sound fragile and cooperative.
I watch a flash of hesitation sweep across his face, but I’m hoping what I am, and what’s about to be thundering through the halls of this facility soon, overrides his sense of authority so he gives in to what I want.
Female dragons are watched over and protected like the rarest treasure—and there’s nothing a dragon likes more than treasure. Fighting and fucking are high up on the list, but claiming, whether that’s a territory, a Flight, a Wing, or some priceless precious dragon commodity,thatis a key tenet of our species.
“You’re right. Neither you nor this facility deserves The Horde’s wrath,” I press when it looks like he’s about to decline my request. “It would probably be best if I’m a little less…disheveled when the others get here.”
I offer him a small smile after slipping a little regal affectation into my tone, one that suggests I’m not used to hearing the wordno. The healer’s eyes dart nervously toward the door, like he can already see a team of angry drakes storming his way, ready to punish him for daring to deny me anything.
“Of…of course,” he stammers. “There’s a washroom there.” He points toward a doorway that’s behind me. “I’ll have an orderly bring in some spare scrubs while I get new lines for you. Anything else you need?” he adds, the sharp tang of fear suddenly filling the room.
“No, just freshening up will make a world of difference.”
The shifter nods quickly and starts to rush out. His shoulder clips the frame of the doorway hard. I wince, but he doesn’t so much as pause or rub at the bruise that has to be blooming as he hurries away.
I suppose there are some perks to being at the top of the supernatural food chain regardless of whether or not I want to be there.
Anxiety churns in my gut, and the need to move, to get going, nips at my limbs.
Now…to get the fuck out of here.
Chapter 3
MY TOO BIG SHOES SQUEAK against the vinyl floor of the hallway. I have to stop myself from glaring down at the footwear that’s doing its best to make my attempt at an inconspicuous escape as conspicuous as possible. Luckily, the corridors I’ve been slinking through so far have been empty. I don’t know if I feel relieved by that or dismayed.
I keep my stride even and purposeful, acting like I walk these halls every day. I need anyone who might look my way to think that I’ve got somewhere to be and a job to do just like everyone else. Business as usual.
