“Julian.” Francine’s voice shook. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at her.What’s wrong, she’d asked. NotAre you all right?because it must have been bleedingly obvious he was not all right.
Nor was she.
He considered his next action for far less time than he should have, and he swept her into his arms.
She stiffened, eyes wide like an outraged cat.
“You’re hurt,” he reminded her.
“I’m—” She put her hands on his chest, ready to push away. Then, with a breath that was almost a sigh, she relaxed against him.
“Don’t know what they shot me with,” she admitted, and he strongly suspected the only reason she admitted it was that her head was resting on his shoulder, where he couldn’t see her face.“I can feel my body fighting it—my lioness—but it’s like trying to stomp on mice. They keep getting out from under my paws.”
“You’ve never stomped on mice in your life,” he guessed.
She laughed weakly. “I’ve never—ugh.Never been poisoned before, either.”
“Dragonsbane.”
“That doesn’t sound like a real thing.”
“As real as dragons.”
A tremor flinched through her. “I knew Elly was working in pharmaceuticals. I had no idea she was working on—on things like this.”
There was a hollowness under her words that cut at his heart. He swallowed. “Dragonsbane is an ancient herb that was used to subdue and kill dragon shifters hundreds of years ago. Harper used it, too. I never thought to wonder how he got his hands on it.”
“Oh, I’m sure it bears little resemblance to the original herb by now. Elly will have improved it. Refined it into its purest state.”
“It shouldn’t be affecting you.”
“The new and improved version. Why limit yourself to baning dragons when you can bane all your enemies?” She shook her head as though trying to clear her thoughts. Her breath huffed against his neck. “Wasting time. How far did we fly? How long until Elly—”
“Long enough for you to rest.”
“I don’t need to rest,” she snapped.
He waited—one second, two—and her sharp-fingered grip on his shoulder loosened. “I need to pass out,” she admitted.
“Do so.”
“But—”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, careful not to say what he was going to take care of until Francine let her head rest on his shoulder and her breathing slowed.
“I’ll look after you,” he whispered, once he knew she would not hear him.
Only then did he look up at the place that had once been his home and now might be his grave.
No. Not his grave. He wasn’t the last of the shadow dragons. Somewhere out there was a tiny hatchling, gold-bright, because hatchlings were the greatest treasure any dragon clan could be blessed with, and aflame with magic that blazed like the sun.
If he died, that hatchling’s magic would continue to feed the enchantment that built the fortress within solid stone. These empty halls would still exist, and the prison beneath them would stay intact.
But Francine would be doomed. It was his stolen dragon scale that would keep her alive inside these walls. If he died, so would she.
So he would have to live.
