Page 6

Griff woke slowly, his mind sluggish and his body stiff.

It took a moment to realize he lacked clothing and lay on a hard, rocky surface.

Not something he’d recommend. The rough surface scratched his flesh when he rolled to his back with a groan.

At least he wasn’t cold. The warm air kept him from shivering.

Opening his eyes, he blinked at the pink and orange colored sky, the dawning sun filtered through a thin, hovering mist. Somehow, he’d ended up outside. Odd, because his last recollection was of being in some tunnels deep inside a volcano.

A grunt left him as he pushed himself to his feet, swaying woozily. Confusion knit his brow as he noticed that, while completely nude, he still wore his boots. A look he didn’t recommend for any man.

As the fuzziness began to fade, he took stock of his situation. It wasn’t good. The word “bleak” along with “fucked” came to mind.

The ledge he stood on jutted from a wall of sheer stone. A peek below had him swallowing hard because while there happened to be a lake, the red and orange of it meant it was the lava—not the watery—kind.

Stranded inside the volcano and worse, while he could see freedom overhead, forget climbing.

The wall had few handholds, and the slight depressions and protrusions that existed were spaced too far apart.

Not to mention the distance he’d have to scale, more than even he, with his significant strength, could manage.

As to how he got here…

Last Griff recalled, Basil—a man he’d once called uncle and thought long dead—had drugged him, but then what happened?

How had he arrived at this forsaken place and why did he have no clothes on but for his boots?

Boots looking worse for wear, the leather singed as if he’d stood in a fire with them.

A layer of soot covered his bare flesh, but at least he saw no injuries, nothing new at any rate.

I have to escape. But how? Obviously, someone had dumped him, which meant there had to be some kind of access.

Maybe a secret door? He searched, running his fingers over the wall to see if he could locate a hidden trigger.

He found nothing even though he stroked the wall more thoroughly than his last lover.

Frustrated, he pounded it hard enough to scrape his flesh.

When no exit magically appeared, he took to looking outward and saw no sign of life. Heard not even the chirping of birds.

The silence grated. His voice echoed as he called out.

“Avera! Simhi! Monty!” The names of his friends and the little queen he’d kidnapped and grown fond of—so fond he’d travelled to Verlora despite his vow to never set foot on it again—bounced around, repeating mockingly, but even worse, no one replied.

Did they live? Who knew given that bastard, Basil, showed no shred of humanity when he drugged Griff.

Who knew what the man could be capable of.

Look at what he’d done to the child he’d once carried around on his shoulders.

Griff had already planned to murder the man, but if he’d hurt his companions, he would definitely make his demise more painful. Torture wasn’t usually Griff’s thing, but in Basil’s case, he would make an exception—if he ever escaped, which seemed less and less likely as time passed.

The ledge didn’t provide much space to pace angrily. It also had nothing to eat or drink, a lack he noticed as his stomach grumbled and his tongue went dry. How long had he been here? They’d entered the tunnels of Mount Etna as night fell and now morning crested, meaning he’d lost hours.

Those hours multiplied as the sun crossed the sky, burning off the mist, its rays reaching him on his ledge, toasting his skin.

As afternoon waned, despondency knocked, its insidious voice whispering and reminding Griff that if he couldn’t escape then he faced certain death either by starvation or dehydration.

An awful way to die, which made him think of the lava below.

He could always leap for a quick end to his suffering.

A scratching noise had him peering over his ledge to see the dragon that had been terrorizing Verlora climbing the stone, its claws easily finding purchase. It was bigger than anything he’d ever seen. Of course, it headed for Griff because his day wasn’t already shit enough.

No weapon to fight. Nowhere to hide. His life would end as a snack for the mighty beast.

Despite the futility, Griff retreated until his back pressed against the stone wall. While fear did tense his muscles, he remained standing rather than cowering. He wouldn’t die huddled in a sniveling ball.

Bravery proved slippery to hold on to as a massive head peered over the ledge. Up close, he could see the layering scales giving it a formidable armor. Even his sword made of wolfframm—the mightiest of metals—might not have penetrated.

Two huge eyes stared, the dark orbs with streaks of mauve reflecting Griff’s naked body. He almost covered his cock, its shriveled size embarrassing.

When the beast huffed through its nostrils, blowing steam, he closed his eyes, ready for death.

Rather than die, he heard a voice.

Inside his head!

Hello, there.

His eyes shot open. “Who spoke?”

Me, of course. What a dumb question.

Griff stiffened. Surely it couldn’t be the dragon speaking. He must be going mad. Delirious from thirst and hunger.

And here I thought all the blooded died.

“I must be sleeping.” He closed his eyes. This was a nightmare. Had to be. Dragons didn’t talk.

Ignore me, will you? Perhaps you’ll be more amenable to conversation in a few days. The dragon shifted as if to descend and Griff exclaimed, “Hold on, are you actually talking to me?”

Do you see anyone else?

“But… but…” he stammered.

Just my luck. Finally find one of the blooded and he’s stupid. The voice—of the bloody dragon!—managed to convey a sigh that was matched with another exhalation of heated breath.

“I’m not stupid. Surprised, is all. I didn’t know dragons could speak inside people’s heads.”

How else would we communicate?

“ With your mouth.”

Said maw opened wide. Do you speak dragon?

“Uh, no.”

Then I’d say my method is more conducive. Humans always like to complicate things. Pesky critters.

“Is that why you’ve been hunting my kind?”

I hunt those who trespass. I cannot abide thieves. The last part was hissed.

“I am not a thief. Verlora is my home,” Griff pointed out.

Did I hunt you?

“No.”

Then why are you complaining?

A question that stumped him.

Rather than anger it, Griff asked, “Do you have a name?”

Doesn’t everyone? I am called Argent.

“I am Griffon Leif, but my friends call me Griff.” He couldn’t have said why he added that latter part.

Hello, Griff. It’s been a while since I’ve encountered one of the blooded. Pity I couldn’t capture the female. I would have liked to have a mating pair.

The claim had Griff exclaiming, “You’ve seen Avera?”

Yes. However, we didn’t have a chance to speak, and now she’s gone.

“Gone where?”

Sailed away on a boat which I’d been saving for a snack. Of course, once she was aboard I had to give up on that tasty treat.

“Why?” he asked, relieved that Avera had managed to escape but curious to know why the dragon had allowed it.

You really aren’t very bright are you? Dragons don’t eat the blooded.

“What do you eat?”

Kraken is a favorite, but not many of those around here. Bats and rats are tasty, but beetles give me terrible indigestion.

This was either a dream, or Griff was going insane because the dragon was nothing as expected. “Have you lived here long?”

If counted by human methods, then around three decades.

Putting it here since the cataclysm and corroborating the letter left by his father. “How did you come to be here?”

I hatched in the magma below.

Further confirmation. “So you’re the reason the volcano exploded and killed thousands,” he accused.

Don’t blame me. Humans are the ones who built where they shouldn’t have. Just like a human tossed my egg into the lava. If you must accuse someone, accuse Basil. Although, now that he’s dead, you’ll have to yell at his bones.

Basil was dead? Good, although he would have enjoyed being the one to end his miserable life. “I can’t believe he’s the reason why Verlora fell.” So many died because of his actions.

A foolish and ignorant male who should not have ignored the warnings in the old teachings which explained how the hatching of an egg would cause an eruption. The dragon spoke matter-of-factly and made a good point. Basil had played with things he shouldn’t have.

“You knew Basil?”

Yes. Wretched man. Took me forever to kill him.

The hissed words sent a shiver down Griff’s spine. “Did you happen to meet my father?”

If you mean Lance, then yes. Once I rid myself of my intense hunger and annoyance we had many conversations. It was he who explained what happened while I was dormant in my egg. I was perturbed by his death.

“He was killed.” Griff still struggled with that fact. Basil had been nonchalant about announcing the fact he’d shoved his best friend into the lava.

Yes, that was most unfortunate. I did try to avenge Lance by killing the one responsible, however, Basil proved to be wily. But patience won out, and in the end, I did get him.

“You ate Basil?”

As if I’d ruin my palate. I roasted him alive. Most satisfying, although I would have liked him to scream for longer.

Not the kind of thing Griff needed to hear. “What are you planning to do with me?”

Keep you.

“For what?”

I’m tired of talking to myself. Despite the thinness of your blood, you will make a suitable companion.

“But I can’t stay. My friends need me.”

I need you more. The dragon hissed aloud as the words hit his mind. There are no other blooded on this isle, and those that have landed ashore since your sire’s passing have been of the vermin variety. Thieves who would pilfer my hoard. I require a companion, and you will do.

“I’m not a pet.”

Did I call you one?

“You’re planning to keep me here against my will.”