Page 15 of Curse of the Midnight Dragon (The Moonlight Dragon #2)
Celestina
The dragon carried me for what felt like forever. I passed out several times, only to be jolted back awake when the dragon would shake me. What a relief to be able to think about dragons again!
A storyteller once told the royal court about a dragon thief who would sneak into royal bedchambers and fly away with sparkly jewels to carry back to her hoard. One day, the dragon snuck into a chamber only to find a pretty young maiden, a lady favored by the queen of the kingdom, sleeping in her bed. The dragon had never seen such a beautiful woman. Instead of taking the lady’s cache of emeralds and diamonds, she stood transfixed. She instantly loved the fair maiden and couldn’t imagine ever leaving her side. Not even when the maiden woke up and started screaming. Not even when the Royal Guards came marching into the chamber. Not even when an axe was swung at her neck, she never moved from her spot where she could gaze upon the most beautiful creature the dragon had ever seen. Because she’d loved so recklessly, she lost her life that day.
When I first heard that story, I felt sorry for the dragon. And angry. Why would the dragon let herself become entrapped by love? Didn’t she recognize the danger? I’d never fall for such a trap. And wasn’t it a wonder that I could remember that tale without having a collar punish me for thinking it?
The sun was starting to disappear beneath the horizon—streaks of red clawed like a dragon’s talons through the sky—when the dragon carrying me slowed and lowered us to a clearing on a flat-topped mountain.
Dozens of men of various ages and an older woman carrying a large wicker basket raced out from the shadowy forest to meet us. The dragon carrying me landed near them. She then placed me on the soft, mossy ground with surprising gentleness. Even so, I hugged my ruined wrist and curled in on myself to escape the pain that made me feel as if my body was tearing apart. I felt too weak from blood loss to do anything else other than to hug myself, even too weak to be curious about what kind of people would come to greet a dragon.
“Where the hell have you been?” a tall blond-haired man dressed all in black shouted at the dragon. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you! There was no trace to follow! Nothing! I thought you had died!”
“Anther, cease,” the older woman said. She knelt next to me and pushed a clump of my tangled and blood-matted hair out of my face. “By the stars,” she gasped. “It-it’s you! And blessed be, you’re hurt. Don’t worry, dear one. We’ll take care of you.”
“Soren,” I whispered his name since it hurt like the devil to speak or breathe or move. “He…heal.” His blood would make all the pain go away. He’d done it before, given me his blood to heal me. And it had worked miracles. “Soren.”
“You’re in good hands, child.” She laid a cool hand against my cheek. “You’ve come home.” She looked up at a shadow standing behind her. “Trace, do you see? It’s her! It’s her! After I get bandages on her injuries and stop the bleeding, I’ll need you to carry her up to your house. It’s only right that you be the one to watch over our precious one.”
The shadow stepped forward and gradually took the shape of a man. He wore deep green trousers and a natural wool sweater that had been knitted with an intricate basketweave design. His slightly too long brown hair was mussed. And he had a fierce scowl on his lips. But his crystal blue eyes warmed when they landed on me, and then the corners of his eyes crinkled. “She no longer wears the collar, but she’s not yet free of the binding spell. We can’t—”
“She is here now. We should feel blessed for that. And she needs our help,” the woman cut him off.
The man snapped his mouth closed and jammed his hands into his trousers’ pockets. “Yes, ma’am.”
The woman had already taken my arm in her hands and was wrapping a damp, herbed gauze around my injured wrist. The herbal wrap dulled the pain almost instantly. She worked quickly and efficiently, murmuring apologies when she caused me pain. Another woman came running into the clearing. Like the men, she too was wearing trousers and a woolen sweater. “Is it true? Is it her?”
The older woman looked up and nodded.
“Bless us. What a day.” But then she saw me and gasped. She pressed her paint-stained hands to her mouth. “Is she…is she going to live?”
By the way she’d paled several shades, I figured I looked as bad as I felt. I held my breath waiting to hear what the healer thought.
She seemed to sense I was listening intently and patted my good hand. “We’re a hardy lot. She’ll heal up in no time.”
“Don’t know why you left her with those horrid people. Look at her. And from the stories I’ve been hearing, she’s had one brush with death after another. They don’t know how to care for one of our kind,” the woman with the paint on her hands complained.
“She was fine until those vampires got involved, Mother,” Trace said.
The black dragon who’d brought me here had wandered off with the man who’d scolded her. When Trace mentioned vampires, the dragon turned her head back toward us and hissed.
“Don’t wander off too far, Daughter,” the healer called to the dragon. “I want a full accounting of what happened as soon as I get Celestina’s wounds cared for and her settled.” She looked down at me again. “How does a nice healing tea sound, dear?”
At the thought of tea, tears sprang to my eyes. Soren had hidden that he’d been feeding me his blood by mixing it in with Mary’s horrid healing tea.
The woman patted my hand again. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll get stronger, and things will work out for the best. You’ll see.” She looked up. “Trace, I’m ready for you to take her.”
Trace gave a grim nod and then squatted next to me. “I’m going to pick you up, Celestina. It might hurt. And if it does, I apologize.”
Although being moved did hurt, having him whisper a pained, “sorry,” several times as if he were suffering along with me seemed to make the pain ease a little.
He carried me into a thick forest that blotted out the fading sun. It felt cold in the shadows. And when I shivered, Trace held me closer to his chest where I could snuggle into the warmth of his thick, wool sweater.
“It’s not far,” he said as his long stride swiftly ate up the distance.
At the end of the trail, which was covered in juniper needles, the trees thinned out and a tidy village came into view.
“Welcome to Beithiria,” Trace said, with a nod toward the beginning of a stone path that led to a small downtown where one and two-story stone buildings lined both sides of the street. As Trace walked through the middle of the village, people came out to gawk.
“Is it her?”
“She looks awful?”
“What happened to her?”
“Was it the vampires or the humans that hurt her?”
“She’s finally home.”
“Look at them together already. They will make a handsome couple.”
“I’d given up hope of this ever happening. But here she is. And in his arms.”
“Sorry about that,” Trace said, his cheeks darkening. “To most in our clan, your existence has become more of a myth than reality. You’ve been gone that long. They hear the tales, especially the old ones. And that’s all they know of you.” He sighed. “When you’re stronger you’ll be able to meet the clan. And they’ll get to know you for who you are instead of what you represent.” He looked down at me. The corner of his tight mouth loosened just enough to form a ghost of a smile. “We all will.”
“What do they think I am?” I asked, my voice raspy and rough.
“Our future.”