I held up my feed sack and shook it, and something bitter flew over his face. Anger? I didn’t have better clothes. Maybe he was mad that I didn’t have good bed stuff? I held up my quilt, and he stared at it, upper lip twisted.
“Is it sentimental to you?” Revulsion. Pure and simple.
I shook my head.
“Leave it. I’ll have you something clean. New. Leave your clothes, too.” My stomach knotted, and I took them out obediently, carefully clutching the phone in a pair of my rolled-up pants as I did so and left them on the bed. No phone, no way to contact, no mission.
“Anything else?” His eyes traveled the things I’d removed and landed on the phone’s edge peeking from the pants. I hurriedly tucked it, glancing to Goober to make sure he didn’t see. And by some miracle of the mountain spirits, he said nothing.
“Come.” He gestured, and I glanced from Lenny to Goober.
I mouthed words to Goober as I stood before him, trying my best to force words out of my mouth. I added gestures, hugging myself in pantomime. “Tell. Papa and Daddy. Love.”
“I’ll pass it on. Get.” Goober slapped my back, and Marcus squinted at me, brow set in a scowl.
Marcus snatched me into his arms, swept me up in a great shift of his body, and somehow managed to keep hold of me. I screamed soundlessly, my throat squeaking as I did so until I tucked my body, closed my eyes, and bit back the raging fear and nausea that only heights could give.
He flew fast, his wingbeats flapping with a sound not unlike wet blankets flapping in a breeze. Despite the biting chill of the upper air, his body hummed with heat, near roasting with a warmth that made something in my deepest heart want to curl up and sleep like I was safe, like I hadn’t been since I was little. And beyond all reason, I almost did. My breathing grew deep and shallow.
A change in altitude and whipping wind drew me to stir, and I fought not to open my eyes with a hiss of breath. I flinched at first, tucking myself tight, but the way we floated like ash curling in a breeze made something in me stir until I forced my eyes open and gasped.
The world below us spun so lazily as he rounded and banked, settling down like the turkey vultures circling prey. Below us stood the phallic monument of a watchtower rising above the sprawling estate. The beacon of hope for all those that lived in the area, the reassurance of justice, of safety. Things could always get worse, but the dragons would keep them from the worst of it. They’d keep fires at bay and rescue the worthy.
I am worthy.I breathed in the cold night air as we neared a clearing that led up to the entrance of the building below.
The kitty in my head corrected me.No, we are worthy.
When we came to land with a heavy thump that shook trees nearby, shadows darkened a window, a curious posture that peered through blinds.
Marcus let me to the ground, a great clawed hand patting my head before trailing back, greasy strands of hair laying limp in their wake in a way that made me self-conscious. I didn’t have running water in my shack. I had to sneak baths in the winter when I cleaned houses.
“Marcus?” a deep voice bellowed out, and my…owner? Alpha? I wasn’t sure what he was to me, boss? He flinched.
“Father?” Marcus stiffened and stepped in front of me with a gentle slide, holding his hands straight at his sides.
“Who is that with you, Son?” The male stepped out, all impossibly dark skin and bright golden eyes, a slight accent gracing his full lips as he pocketed his hands.
I went to the library every now and then when I was clean, and things were slow. I hid in the back and read books about the world, and I’d never seen nobody like him before. He had no hair on his head, skin gleaming, and his clothes reminded me of something I’d seen in old Indian fantasy romance novels, silken and fluttering in the cool mountain breeze. A kurta? He looked at me kindly, though.
Marcus’s failure to answer earned his curiosity, and the alpha circumnavigated Marcus and stretched his hands out for mine in a kindly gesture. He had really long fingers, slender and graceful like the lady who played the piano down at the church some Sundays. They made me sit through a sermon before I was allowed to go to the food pantry.
I stepped away from his reach, aware of how nasty I was. I smelled of spunk and filth, and I was ashamed.
I’d seen black men before, brown skinned and yellow undertones to the palms of their hands. This male’s, though, were pink with undertones of blue in them, and his features didn’t match up to what I knew. So, when I didn’t reach out to take his offered hands, a sadness lowered his gaze. “Apologies. I must seem strange to you. Ask what you wish, and I will not take offense.”
I didn’t know what to say, only glanced at Marcus, willing him to explain. Of course, I had questions. I wanted to know how he got his head that shiny. Where he was from, and what language he spoke to earn that soft accent I could listen to forever.
“He’s mute,” Marcus said for me, and a note of understanding hummed in his father’s throat.
“Ah, then. Where has his voice gone to?” The male didn’t give me another glance, the pale ghostlike countenance of my pallor a stark contrast to his own. I was probably near painful to look at compared to someone so rich with pigment.
I shrugged in answer. My papa had told me that when I was born, I didn’t cry, I only whispered, and he stayed so scared that I’d get hurt and he’d miss my tears.
“S-sorry. I’m dirty,” I said, my hoarse whisper lost in the ambient breeze around them. As I held up my hands, the male’s sharp nose flared and stilled, as if only realizing.
“You are, indeed. Come inside, boy. I’ll get some of Lyphus’s clothes for you.” A knowing look exchanged between Marcus and his…father? He had to be adopted unless dragons were weird like that. Wasn’t my place to ask or say, though.
I held my head down as I followed them, and Marcus’s eyes stuck to me the entire time, comforting me in their intensity.
