Page 10 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Wyntre

This is a northerly direction of travel. To the north-west lies Tensorga. And Landos is at Darsum, somewhere to the south, depending on the town’s movements. I dearly want to go there, to see him, to stay there with him. I would leap on that if offered. But as secure and safe as that used to be, it is no longer that.

And this dragonshifter? He offers something entirely new that stirs my blood and sets my mind to imagining.

My nipples dig into my wraparound bandeau bra. I glance down. It’s either Rorsyd or the cold wind. I’m rather hoping it’s the wind.

Where are we going next? I really do not know. Is this freedom? Is it adventure or danger? If I expect nothing more than to bounce from one bit of wickedness to the next, I’ll wear myself out.

Nimue and I catch up and ride alongside Rorsyd and Brinks. I don’t try to talk. For this moment, simply being here, with the hooves clopping, the birds calling, the sweet scent of wildflowers, it is worth something amazing. My heart is beating strong and fast, and… I am loving this.

I guess I’m choosing adventure.

I smile at Rorsyd, and he looks at me as if puzzled, reins in hand, thighs clamped on that horse. Black shirt and dark brown breeches, sword across his back. His hat has been blown off and is somewhere behind us, and he hasn’t noticed. The rush of the wind stirs his hair as if they truly are flames.

Gods, he’s a fine companion. No matter if he’s going to be testing me for evilness. Does that require him to stick pins in me or what?

I blow him a kiss just to stir the demons, as they say, then I let out a whoop and ride ahead.

Trees close in a half a mile further, oaks that spread out and cover the sky with their wayward branches until only patches of darker blue are visible. Rorsyd and Brinks have caught up, and we ride side by side.

He leans over to offer me a canteen. “Drink?”

I shake my head. “I’m good.”

“The river where we will camp should only be another?—”

Something flutters darkly in my mind, and I scream a warning. “Duck!”

“Duck?” He’s frowning then he’s moving. An arrow flits. My eyes latch onto that sputter of movement. It’s a dot closing but even as he said the word duck he reached for me. I’m pulled from the saddle, and we hit the ground in a muddle of limbs. Or I do. Rorsyd is sprinting to the tree line.

I had a warning before it was fired.

If the arrows hit the horses…I don’t want to see that, and I’m running, following him. I guess making distance between us and the horses is the best tactic. We’re the target and the forest offers cover.

Two more arrows flit by, skimming Rorsyd’s back, coming from somewhere ahead. We reach the edge of the forest and plunge in, grass rustling, snapping. The shadows are dank with decaying vegetation, the leaves wet, as if it’s rained recently. Above, a bird cries in a shriek then flutters away, still crying.

This forest is where the enemy hides. I stay as quiet as I can be, brushing through a screen of leaves and yielding foliage.

I stumble into a small battle—violent, stifled movement.

Rorsyd has someone down and throat clubbed. Another thud sounds as fist meets neck and the man gasps and rolls on the ground, wheezing. He’s dying, and I’m ignoring that. This is so screwed up. They shot arrows at us. How many are out there, waiting, aiming to surprise us?

Two archers, judging by the angles. I’m pleased I can remember this and figure it out.

I heft the sword, adjust my grip, minutely, and leave the dead man. We forge onward, sneaking parallel to the road.

A whinny says the horses are back there somewhere and alive. If they’re struck with an arrow, I imagine they’ll run.

Rorsyd rasps, “Hide!”

I squat, going really low, focusing in an arc from left to right. I twist to check the rear.

Where does one hide in an ambush? The trees are thick around us and above, ancient branches wreathing and winding. Twigs crunch underfoot as I creep after Rorsyd, who is on the move again. We’re moving in a half-crouch.

I adjust grip again. My sword is out, and I don’t recall unsheathing it.

A row of questions rack up and flow inside my head. I’m calmer than I should be, though my heart is bumping at my temple, my chest.

Am I going to die? I don’t know. Should we have tried galloping instead of dismounting? What’s that noise? I’m alert and running on multiple threads of thought like an abacus gone crazy.

I smile through teeth. That warning, that was Anathema. Somehow, I recognize the trail of his thoughts. He’s in this forest, and if anyone can move silently, it is Anathema.

A few steps further, I hear another whisper. Here is one.

I creep forward and tap Rorsyd on the arm, point, and I think I manage to communicate that someone is ahead. He frowns and cautions me to wait, finger to lips, then stalks off, still keeping low.

After a moment’s delay more muted thuds follow, than a gasp. He returns, nods.

Dealt with.

I’m both too calm and too aware of the risk to us to regret this, yet.

We progress, sweeping for enemies, until a man and a woman rush us, shouting for others even as they swing at Rorsyd. I’m ignored, unseen, or considered less dangerous. I hesitate before I plunge my sword into the man’s back.

A shocking act, I see this as his flesh and bone resist.

As the blade slides it judders, catches, scrapes, and he screams and twists to get at me. He raises his own weapon, an axe.

Pain contorts his face and slows him. The turn yanks my blade loose. Blood splatters off the steel as I sweep aside the haft of the axe and sever his fingers. Then I drive downward into the base of his neck, and thence into his chest.

Done. Fuck. I triumphed. But it’s nothing like good .

My gods, I can feel his blood beating through the sword.

Choking, he falls, and I, horrified, let my sword pull free. Nausea plucks at me. I’m panting, gulping.

The woman is down, too, sprawled lifeless, apart from the small kicks of her feet as she dies. Staring at my bloodied sword, I exhale, hard and rough. I drag my brain from the abyss of regret.

They intended to kill us. I’ve done it. I’ve killed. So be it.

Better them than me lying there. Grimacing, I wipe my sword on the cloth of her shirt where it’s not yet soaked red.

Carefully, Rorsyd studies me, seems to find me adequate. Maybe he thought I’d fall down and cry. He pats my shoulder with his palm.

We go wider, keep searching, seeking whomever else they brought with them. The forest is quiet, apart from our bodies making unavoidable sounds as we crush the undergrowth, twigs, dry leaves, or scare some small furry thing.

Anathema says nothing I can detect except… I pause to listen again. Maybe there is something? I indicate to Rorsyd to take care with a section ahead. He shrugs and leads the way.

Further along, we find a clearing that joins onto the road, where we halt to peer past a large tree and through the fronds of a berry bush, a poisonous one. The berries bump my forehead. I don’t dare to raise a hand to push them away.

Ten or fifteen armed fae are before us, holding their mounts’ reins. They’re conferring in whispers, and someone suggests they should wait and let them come to us . By them he means me and Rorsyd, of course. If these are more of our ambushers, how did they get so far ahead?

If only I could feed them all some poison berries, stuff them down their throats. I’m feeling homicidal as well as shaky. Then Rorsyd withdraws, gesturing at me. We back away.

It occurs to me, in this least useful time, that if he intended to kill me, he’s already had a hundred opportunities.

Once we’re out of earshot, he brings us to another concealing grove of oaks, near the road’s edge. Brinks and Nimue are visible through the gaps in the trees, plucking hungrily at the grass, their reins dragging.

He whispers, “No magik users. I don’t think those were the same ones who set the ambush.”

“Are they even here for us? Maybe they’re just travelers? I mean they’re ahead of us by quite a distance. I don’t even know how the first lot got here before us?” I’m frowning at this puzzle. What they said about letting us come to them is quite damning. Knowing all these people want to get that reward is too horrible to fathom. Why?

“Do they hate me that much? I don’t even know them,” I mutter more to myself than him.

“It’s the money. Not you. They’re too well armed to be here for anything but catching us.” And killing him. “Someone who saw us must have sent a signal ahead, to the next town. As for the first few that fired at us…” Face grim, he swipes a hand over his hair and, as if in defiance, it springs back up as soon as his palm moves on. “They could be bandits, but some are townsfolk. Among the dead, I recognized two men from the market stalls.”

“Oh.” Now it feels even more personal. “A thousand omi is a fortune.”

“Indeed it is. Hence the need for a disguise and to cut your hair. This is why the delay at the stables. It was deliberate. This is the only road north.” He winces. “I may have let our direction be known when I bought something. Yeah, I did.”

I’m tempted to apologize for my resistance to that haircut, but it’s too late. We both made mistakes.

“So, I guess this means I’m famous?”

Rorsyd chuckles. “A joke when we’re still facing them?” He nods toward the north.

I shrug then writhe my eyebrows through a frown. Time is ticking. “We need to do something.” They might arrive at any moment, though I’m sure Anathema will warn me.

“They’re going to attack if we ride past, or they will follow us and then attack later. I could just kill them. It would take some effort.” He studies me. “What do you say?”

He’s asking me ? I appreciate him asking but…

He can kill ten people, so easily? The ones who died when he exploded into that first shift will forever be nightmare fodder.

I don’t want to be caught or killed. I squeeze shut my eyes, open them.

“Is there any other way than mass murder?”

“There is.”

“Will it work? I do want to live.” This is taking too long.

“I can but try. I’m going to…” He stands, rolls his head about on his neck, flexes his shoulder muscles—all that makes me do some of that gawping. “Going to try shifting. If I can.”

The if in that is concerning. “But you’re not going to kill them?” In dragon form it would surely be even easier.

“No. Not if we can get away.”

“Good. I don’t wish them dead, no matter that they are larcenous and of low morals.”

That makes him snort. “Of low morals. Truth there.” A pause then, “Are you okay?”

I’m tense and probably red of face, and I’ve started trembling, but I am okay. I am not dead. I nod. Those fae will be on us soon.

“I need space to do this. The road. If I succeed, we fly out.”

“If? We?”

He studies me. “I’ll pick you up in my claws. I have not shifted, successfully, for twenty years. I’m not counting what happened near Bollingham.”

My mouth is open.

“I think I hear them coming.” He pushes aside low branches and walks out onto the road.

This will expose us.

Anathema throws me a warning, his greater darkness flitting across the tree shadows. How will he come with us? The cloak has a pocket, and I flounce it outward and stare at where he must be.

Rorsyd stands in the middle of the road and stomps his feet, stares at the dirt. Dust rises. I sprint over, close enough to say something.

“Not the claws. Please? Can I ride…on top?” On top of you is what I almost said, but that would possibly sound obscene.

His eyes look ready to pop, but he says nothing. What did I do? Is that actually rude?

“Get back. Stand there.” He points. “Let’s see if I can shift first. After this, I will worry about the claws or letting you ride me.”

I retreat and wait. The noises mentioned grow louder. I recognize the cracking of twigs, the swish of leaves on clothes, being a recent expert on forest sneaking.

Hurry up and shift! I move my weight from left foot to right foot, nervously scanning the trees on the opposite side. Anathema slips into my pocket, and I suck in a long, deep breath and hold it as Rorsyd’s body shimmers and blurs the air.

He bulges, impossibly, stretching. Limbs elongating, face becoming the monstrous muzzle of a…

An ear-thundering rumble erupts a ripple of fractured air. There’s a whoosh then a shudder that bends the trees away from him and sends my well-gathered hair whipping in ten directions, that flings dry leaves, debris, and dirt at my face and skin…

Rorsyd SHIFTS .

I’m cowering, squashed as low as I can get but I find my courage and peek one-eyed past the shield of my folded forearms. A red- and-gold dragon shakes out its enormous wings, brushing aside the minor shrubbery at the road’s limits.

“COME TO ME,” he booms. And punctuates that with a side grin that reveals an array of long, pristine white teeth the size of my sword. He winks at me when I stand but remain in place, paralyzed. “I WON’T BITE. YOU MAY CLIMB ABOARD.” Then he seems to realize the volume is too high—for my hands are over my ears. “You may ride on top, just this once.”

A “Fuck me,” and a faint scream, says our not-so-friendly followers have seen this. The sounds tell me most are running.

“No!” Rorsyd snarls. “Leave us!” A second later he lowers his head, snorts, aims, and blasts a tree with a torch of flame that travels the length of two book-carts. Book carts. I note this invented measurement that I may have much need of around him.

The blast sizzles the air and a wave of heat washes past.

A man yelps. “I’m going!” Red and blue cloth flashes between the leaves—parts are burning—along with the brightness of steel.

We are alone, for now. Waiting for them to rally and start firing arrows is probably a bad strategy.

Where and how does one mount a dragon?

As I draw nearer, the light catches on his scales, and they glimmer in the most gorgeous of shades. These scales at the front, on his neck, are mostly larger than my palm.

“Here.” Rorsyd thumps one dangerously clawed foot…paw…before me, making the earth puff out around the rim of his print. He treadles the spot like a cat, carving divots, then he lowers his neck. “Climb me.”

The grumbling, coarse depths of his dragon voice render me somewhat breathless. It’s a familiar feeling from when I stared at his ass. Who knew a dragon’s voice could be so sexy?

“Coming up.” I reach out, adjust my stance, lean in. Crawling up on all fours seems best. The edges of each leg scale offer me some purchase as I negotiate the length of that limb. I’m puffing by the time I reach the juncture of his shoulders. “Next time, I bring a ladder.”

“ Hur-hur . No next time.” He inclines his neck, rolls his left eye to look at me.

“What big eyes you have, sir.”

“ Hmmm. All the better to…” That half-purr, half-grumble strays close to ominous. It’s best not to ask him to finish that sentence.

Every time he moves, I hear and feel the fluctuations, the minute crepitations of his muscles. Every word he speaks makes a faint rushing happen deep within that must be his lungs at work.

I seat myself. And find his body is hotter than a man’s. I wriggle in place, getting comfortable. My legs have to be spread wide, much wider than when riding a horse, and that fact is absolutely not comfortable.

I’m blushing again, but he will never know. It’s okay. Having hot fantasies about fucking a dragon is perfectly normal. I clear my throat .

Paired, hard tendrils sprout beside his spine from nape to tail. A knob at the end of each seems made for gripping. “Is this…okay?” I tighten my hold.

“It will do. If I flip upside down, you will still fall but…”

I freeze, mid-inhalation.

“But I promise I will try to catch you. I will go back and get the horses then fly a short distance to somewhere safer, so we can recover our gear.”

The horses will not be pleased. I should have thought of this.

His muscles bunch, and the dragonshifter tilts his head skyward. To either side, his wings unfold. He jumps into the air and does a shallow swoop and circle then a short flight to where the horses remain. He grabs them both, judging by the noises. I cling to my handholds as we ascend. The road unwinds beneath us for a mile or two. The horses are squealing, and I wonder if this will succeed and pray they do not squirm loose.

They would go straight down, plummet earthward. Horses do not float. The result would be awful. I twist my mouth, swallowing. Stop imagining.

Thankfully, we land without any such accidents. I slip to the ground, jog to where the horses have been deposited. Their hides quiver with nervousness, their eyes roll, and they snort and stamp, but they stay still as I unbuckle our bags. It seems callous to leave them behind, but they will find their way to a town or a new owner. I unsaddle them, remove all the tack, and give them one last rub on the nose before returning to Rorsyd.

I repeat the scrambling, clumsy method of mounting him then he strides over and collects the bags with his claws. If they become unfastened and spill in mid-air it will be my fault.

We launch again, and this time, we spear high into the darkening sky. My hood unpeels from my head, and my hair streams backward. Already, the forest is shrinking and the trees become a blur. We are aiming for the hills.

At a lurch, I clutch at his tendrils. Alarmed, I yelp and lean over to make myself a smaller target for the cold, blustering wind that whistles and roars across my ears.

“I’m going to freeze if this keeps up for long!” I yell at him, praying he can hear me. “Except for my ass—that part is hot.”

He laughs that low dragon laugh, “ Hur-hur-hur. You will survive. It’s ten minutes to where I intend to land. And your ass is indeed hot.”

Oh. I stare at his ears. Blush alert. The third blush in an hour? “You did not mean to say that.”

He remains silent as we breach a bank of whiteness that blinds us at first, then peels away in shreds. We level off to cruise above a fluffy laneway of clouds that look solid enough to scoop up and eat. His wings flap in a slow metronome of amazingness.

The sun is up here, having politely risen with us.

I’m smiling. I’m smiling the widest, biggest smile of my life, and I release my hold on the tendrils and hold my arms out to either side. The air streams by, flapping at my sleeves, buffeting my clothes and hair.

Breathing in and out, with the frigid atmosphere chilling my teeth and my nose, I try to grapple with where we are and how and why and…all of the emotions that are rushing in. I’m thousands of feet above the world and we are the only ones up here.

Well now. This is freedom .

I close my eyes to bask in this wondrous state. Nothing will ever surpass this.

Then he banks and I slip to the left. I shriek and grab onto whatever I can to stay in place. “You bastard! You meant that.”

“I would never.” His smug tone betrays a lie.

I narrow my eyes. Spluttering, I pull some hair from my mouth, where it flew upon that sudden maneuver. Revenge can wait until he is a smaller size.

Though, when in man-shape Rorsyd is still far too large.

Once more, my mind wanders straight into filthy territory and below gets distinctly warmer. I twist in place and sigh. Why am I like this?

“Is there a river at this place we are going to?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I need to bathe and, if possible, seek some private time, with my hand between my legs.

Or not. I can withstand this need for a while longer.

Am I strange to be thinking about sex?

We’ve just partaken of murder, though truly it was self-defense and a ‘murder them or they will murder us’ situation. I think that through.

Is this a pivotal moment, because I know I need to sort this out in my own head. I either reconcile myself with this, or I sulk and cower, and be afraid of the murdering, the violence around me. Shrinking from this will surely lead to my earlier demise.

I nod to myself, squint at the horizon. The sun is higher than it was, which must be due to our elevation. We have changed the position of the sun by flying. Quite the achievement.

Likewise, I can change my attitude. I refuse to wallow in sorrow. Be happy even in the midst of murder? How many more times must I tell myself this? Lots. Lots and lots. This is not easy, and if it were, I would be a bad person.

Killing someone is not hopscotch or a game of cards, but I must overcome my revulsion. If I need to, I will do whatever is necessary, and I will cling to my morals and what Landos taught me.

I lean forward so my voice will carry to Rorsyd’s dragon ears.

“Was that a test, back there when you asked if I wanted you to simply kill them all? Were you ranking me on some Scale of Evil?”

“Perhaps.”

“I need a better answer.”

“Not here. Not yet.”

“I will ask you many questions when we camp then.”

He says nothing further.

I have caught him out. It’s a small win.

I start to assemble my questions.