Page 2 of Serving my Dragon (The Dragocracy Chronicles #2)

Chapter One

It had been a good day’s hike, and I dropped my knapsack on the ground as I surveyed the shore of the river snaking through Charcani Chico. The view never failed to calm. Just what I’d needed after the insane hours I’d been putting in at work.

When I’d gone to study dentistry at Cayetano Heredia Peruvian University in the city of Lima—a sixteen-hour drive that meant not visiting home often during those years, breaking Mama’s heart—I’d been excited to open my practice in Villa de Cayma where I’d been born and raised.

I’d understood I’d probably be busy, I just never realized how insane it would get, especially since I did my best to keep costs reasonable, and in some cases, didn’t charge at all.

For the families who couldn’t afford it, I usually provided care in exchange for a service.

Like Luis, in pain because of a rotten root.

He handled my garden. Or Maria, who’d needed several cavities filled.

She repaid me by keeping my home clean—mine not Mama’s who’d been greatly offended when I made the offer.

But being so busy and trying to find ways to pay the bills when many of my clients provided food, goods, or service instead did take a toll. It was Mama who took one look at me and said, “You need a vacation.”

“I can’t,” I’d replied, already thinking of the long hours I’d have to put in the next week.

“You will, because if you don’t, you’ll be useless like your papa.”

It should be known my father was dead. Died of a heart attack at forty-nine because, as Mama lamented, “ He wouldn’t listen and worked himself into an early grave.

” Actually, his bad heart had been the true cause, but Mama did have a point.

Burnout did happen, so I cleared my calendar for a week.

A week where I’d have no one to answer to but myself.

Seven days of hiking and reconnecting with nature, something I’d not done in years.

I’d almost cancelled when Misti erupted.

However, the volcano quickly settled and the winds kept the ash clouds away.

The emergency alert for the area didn’t last long. The government wasn’t eager to lose the tourism dollars they raked in from the Andes, which drew even more visitors with the eruption.

While environmental scientists claimed the area and waters safe, I’d been warned by Papa’s sister, Tía Carmelita, not to eat any fish as they could be contaminated with evil spirits.

She claimed the volcano god Solimana was showing his displeasure at all the sinning happening in the world.

The older members of my family tended to believe in the old legends. Me, not so much.

I chose to hike along the Rio Chili, the route popular with those looking for outdoor adventure. It ran through Charcani Chico, a canyon with breathtaking views that did much to reenergize my tired spirit as I spent days trekking its length.

Late afternoon, two days before I had to return to reality, I set up camp, knowing that this time of year dusk would arrive shortly, and I wanted to bathe before then so I could enjoy the sunset.

I cleared an area of debris, using the rocks to form a ring to build a fire.

It took me a bit longer to scrounge out some branches for kindling, not that I worried about getting cold.

It was more about keeping the wildlife at bay.

With that set up, I laid out my oversized sleeping bag—which I’d likely have to shake before I crawled in, in case any insects decided it looked comfy.

I’d heard my lack of tent and other amenities was called “wild camping.” I preferred it to the commercialized excursions offered to tourists that involved fancy tents with bendable poles that exploded into mini houses.

Portable stoves. Inflatable mattresses. They even toted around composting toilets!

Personally, I preferred to interact with nature on a more basic level, hence I slept on the ground under the stars and did my business in the bushes or dug a hole.

I stripped out of my damp, sweat-drenched shirt and shorts but kept on my tight-fitting briefs and boots. Only an idiot—or someone who enjoyed leeches between their toes—went barefoot in Peruvian waters.

As I neared the shoreline with my shirt, which I’d decided to rinse and hang to dry overnight, my attention was caught by a lump splayed over the pebbles.

A lizard-like creature had washed ashore, limp and unmoving.

Most likely dead. I could have left it alone, but who knew what kind of carrion feeder it would draw.

Skunk spray had nothing on vulture vomit.

Rather than touch it barehanded, I returned to my pack for some gloves. Nothing worse than digging your fingers into rotting flesh. I might have a stomach of steel, but some things made even a grown man’s gorge rise.

I returned to the small lizard, a type I’d never seen before, its skin a grayish hue. As I went to push the body into the water so it could continue downstream, it twitched. I withdrew my hand. Not dead after all but definitely injured.

What to do? Tío Santiago would claim I should leave it to the circle of life and allow it to die either of its injuries or because something would come along and eat it.

However, to Mama’s annoyance, I’d been the kid who brought home all kinds of injured creatures growing up.

A bird with a broken wing that I splinted and set free only to see it eaten by a condor.

The mangy dog Bruno who’d been my companion for four years.

The toad who’d lasted a whole summer before he mysteriously disappeared, coincidentally before Tía Consuela’s frog leg bake.

It had been a long time, though, since I’d taken in a stray.

My life didn’t have room or time for a pet.

A wild lizard wasn’t a domesticated animal, though, meaning it wouldn’t be a long-term commitment for me.

Chances were, soon as it felt better it would scurry off.

And if it didn’t, then on my way back I could drop it off at a wildlife sanctuary for them to handle.

I scooped up the reptile carefully, its body small and frail, but warm.

I cradled it to my chest and brought it to my sleeping bag where I sat with it in my lap.

I took a moment to carefully examine its limbs for any breakage or wounds.

It seemed intact, and despite my lack of knowledge about lizard genitalia, most likely female.

Given her location by the shore, I concluded she must have fallen in the water and almost drowned.

While she did seem to be breathing, I held her chest to my ear to see if I heard any gurgling in her lungs.

Seemed okay, but just in case, I draped her over my shoulder, head hanging down so that gravity could pull out any moisture that might be trapped in her lungs.

Right thing to do? No idea, but at least it felt logical.

I rubbed the lizard’s back much like you would a baby to get them to burp.

In my case, it puked. Right down my bare spine.

I grimaced. Good thing I hadn’t bathed or dressed yet.

I strode with my little rescue back to the water and sank down to my haunches to submerge my lower half.

I kept a hand on my rescue while the other scooped water and splashed the mess on my flesh.

A few drops landed on the lizard, and she stirred, making a grunting noise.

Not wanting to be shredded by a waking and panicked wild reptile, I quickly waded to shore and gently placed her on the ground. I remained crouched and watched as she twitched and opened her eyes.

Two big, jewel-like orbs stared at me. Hunh. I’d never realized lizard eyes could be so pretty.

Since she kept looking at me, I smiled and softly said in Spanish, my native tongue, “Hello, pollita.” A word that meant little chickie.

She blinked.

“I hope you’re feeling better. You weren’t looking so good when I found you.”

The lizard sat up, obviously weak given how she wavered, the size of her barely more than my palm. She chattered in my direction, a surprise since I’d assumed lizards only ever hissed or flicked their tongues.

“I see you have much to say.” The corners of my eyes crinkled as I smiled. “Are you hungry?” I left her to dig into my pack, pulling forth a ripe lucuma. When I turned, I found the lizard only a pace behind me.

“Hold on while I cut it open.” I used my pocketknife to slice it in half before I crouched and held out the fruit.

“Here.” I had no idea whether she’d even realized it could be eaten.

I had little experience with lizards. Mama couldn’t abide reptiles or mice and had been known to chase them from the house with a broom while cursing them.

The dainty lizard grabbed the fruit and eyed it, then me.

I bit into the soft flesh. “Mmm. Good.”

Apparently, my action satisfied, for she stuck her face into it and took a bite. A bite that turned into a frenzy that left me open-mouthed as she finished it in seconds and held out her paws for the other half.

I handed it over, wondering how she could possibly eat any more given her size. Apparently, she must have been hungry, for the other half disappeared just as quickly. The lizard then stared at me and made a noise. A fanciful person would have imagined she asked for more.

“Let me see what else I have.” I dug into my bag and pulled out a bag of coconut chips.

I sprinkled a bit on the ground and Pollita took one and sniffed it.

Once more, I showed her it was edible by tossing a few in my mouth and crunching.

That seemed to satisfy her, and the pile I’d given disappeared.

Wouldn’t you know, she held out her paws, flexing the clawed fingers demandingly.

“Hungry girl,” I said with a laugh but I shook my head. “I think you’ve eaten enough for now. You don’t want to make yourself sick.” I tucked the snack away in my sack. “Let me get changed out of my wet bottoms and we’ll watch the sunset.”

The lizard crossed her arms and I’d swear she sulked. It made me curious as to what type of reptile she was. Tío Juan, my mother’s brother, who loved the outdoors, would have probably known.

I changed into dry shorts and then took my bottoms and shirt to the river to rinse them before hanging them on a bush to hopefully dry overnight.

The lizard remained in my mini campsite, watching me.

I’ll admit to being surprised she hadn’t run off.

Could she be someone’s pet? It would explain why she had no fear of a human.

Given I didn’t want to scare her, I forwent lighting the fire and instead sat on my sleeping bag—after giving it a vigorous shake—in time for the sky’s change of color.

The beauty of the sunset never failed to awe me.

And this time I had someone watching it with me.

To my surprise, the lizard crawled onto my legs and chose my lap to settle in.

My hand lightly rested on her back, gently rubbing, noting a pair of strange lumps along her spine.

She especially liked it when I rubbed the top of her head.

The little pollita craned her head, uttering a sound that reminded me a of a purring cat.

When I slid into my sleeping bag, she crawled in with me, a warm bundle draped over my neck.

I woke at dawn, not because of the rising sun, but because of a lizard tapping my cheeks, chittering and shaking the empty bag of coconut chips.

Apparently, my little pollita was hungry again.

And she didn’t share.