Page 22 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

Over the next few days, we coexist. We cooperate. But we don’t converse too deeply about anything, and we don’t make love. Either Varex is past the ferocious impulse to breed, or he decided that he isn’t attracted to a woman who challenges him like I did.

Or perhaps his containment of the Mordvorren has superseded everything else, occupying most of his body and mind.

He’s having more trouble changing shape. When he attempts it, his form becomes unstable, sometimes for more than a minute, shifting into odd, frightening configurations of limbs and teeth and eyes. When he sleeps in dragon form, he occasionally emits bursts of red or purple lightning, or vomits out a small void orb. I have to sleep far away from him, in a makeshift shelter we built from driftwood, tree limbs, and large leaves.

When Ashvelon comes to check on us, he reports that many dragons have fallen ill after eating prey from the Middenwold Isles. Apparently Vohrain’s soldiers infused the animals with a lethal, magical poison intended specifically for dragons. But the males of Ouroskelle are no longer merely dragons—they are also part human. Their new nature protected them, so none have died, and they are slowly recovering under the care of Thelise and the other women.

I know Varex wants to be there, to help the others, but he’s too volatile. Though I don’t mention it aloud, I can tell he’s getting worse. He’s quieter, more restless. The only time he seems like himself is when he’s in human form and we’re working on our second shelter.

The second shelter is more like a cabin, erected on a flat area along the mountain’s slope. When he’s in dragon form, Varex chisels stones for it. Together we create mortar from a sticky type of clay found on the island. Neither of us really know what we’re doing, but we’re learning as we build it together—learning to listen, to compromise, to take turns giving in.

Varex is so proud of the structure that I don’t tell him how rudimentary it is, or how it will probably collapse in the first hard storm. The work helps him cope with what’s happening to him.

One gray morning, my black dragon doesn’t rise to take me on our usual morning flight to fetch fresh water. He remains curled on the grass, panting heavily, while red and yellow light flickers at the edges of his scales.

I sit down by his head and touch his nose, but he recoils as if the gentle contact pained him.

“What can I do to help you?” I ask softly.

“Stay.” The word is a ragged breath between his jaws. “Just stay.”

I sit with him while he endures the inner torment. My own nerves are brittle, and I fear that any minute the Mordvorren could come spewing out of his mouth. If it did, I would be right in its path.

That night, when Varex is finally able to revert to human form again, it seems to relieve some of the internal pressure of the storm. Thelise’s spell already acts as a barrier, confining his dragon form and his magic, so it makes sense that it would provide an extra layer of distance between him and the Mordvorren.

I rise from the silvered grass and watch him pull on his pants, admiring the way his pale hair shines in the moonlight.

When he’s dressed, Varex takes my hands, slipping his fingers between mine. There’s a sweet pathos in his eyes that strikes dread into my heart. Like he feels the end drawing nearer. Like he has given up.

“I’ve learned to walk, darling,” he says. “Will you teach me to dance?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I will. But you must follow my lead carefully.”

“I promise,” he whispers. “When you want me to follow, I will. Just tell me if you need me to lead.”

My hands tighten on his to let him know that I’m listening, that I understand the layers of meaning beneath the words.

“Very well then.” I try to keep my voice from shaking. “I’ll hum the tune. Move when I do.”

We begin with a ballroom favorite of mine, simple and lovely. I waltz him through the starlit grass, with the soft sea breeze flowing around us. My voice carries the music, and it’s a point of pride with me that I don’t let it falter, not for a long time.

But as we step and whirl faster, his brown eyes begin to flicker crimson and purple. Lightning dances through his irises, behind his pupils, and I can’t ignore the fact that he isn’t truly mine, not anymore. The storm wants him, too. It’s determined to devour him, to use him.

I’ve stopped singing, but the music continues in my head, swelling to a frenzied strain as I halt in front of Varex. His teeth are bared, his eyes stricken and glazed with lightning. For a terrifying moment, I can feel the Mordvorren looking out of him, right at me.

“You can’t have him,” I hiss. “I’ll never allow it.”

Varex’s hands tighten on my arms, suddenly, compulsively, and he yanks me against his body. His mouth closes over mine in a hard, open-mouthed kiss.

Something isn’t right. I squeal a muffled protest into his mouth and try to pull back, but he clamps his right hand around the back of my skull and holds me there.

Lightning sizzles on his tongue, then dances onto mine, a tiny, tingling bolt. My body seizes up, momentarily paralyzed, and as I’m frozen there, sealed to his gaping mouth while something cold and dark slithers down my throat like an invasive mist, like a whispering tentacle.

Another zap of lightning throws us apart. Varex’s body flies a short distance away, and I smack against the ground hard, on my back. For several horrible seconds, I can’t breathe.

I manage to roll myself over and gasp, dragging in air, choking, then panting.

“Varex,” I wheeze.

He doesn’t respond, and I summon the strength to crawl over to him. He’s lying motionless in the grass, his eyes closed, breathing faintly and steadily as if he’s asleep or unconscious.

I curl against his side where I can hear his heartbeat, and I wait. But he doesn’t wake up until his dragon form takes over, and even though I love him in both forms, I feel cheated, robbed of the time we could have spent together last night. Maybe that’s what the Mordvorren intended.

Once again, Varex spends the day in brooding solitude, this time beneath the shadowed eaves of the forest. I try to sit nearby, but the longer I stay in close proximity to him, the more uneasy I feel. Something is scratching and whispering at the back of my mind, and it gets louder and more distinct the closer I am to the black dragon.

I’m beginning to have a suspicion about what that whispering, gnawing voice might be, but I keep pretending it isn’t there, hoping it will go away. Hoping it’s not what I think it is.

Around noon, Ashvelon makes a brief stop at East Fang, letting us know that Kyreagan is in need of aid. All the male dragons who are healthy enough to make the journey will be going to the Elekstan capital to help their prince and Serylla.

I glance back over my shoulder at Varex, who barely lifted his head when Ashvelon arrived.

“He’s not himself,” I tell Ashvelon in a low tone. “He can’t come with you.”

Ashvelon follows my gaze, concern furrowing his brow ridges. “Any member of the clan would give up their life to help him.”

“Help Kyreagan first,” I say. “And then hurry back. I think Varex needs his brother.”

“At least he has you.” Ashvelon’s voice is so warm and kind that it brings tears to my eyes.

“I’m helpless,” I whisper desperately. “I can’t fix him.”

“Have you spoken with him about what Thelise mentioned? The fact that wicked entities prey upon guilt and unresolved darkness of the soul?”

“I’ve tried to, but there’s something he won’t tell me. I think it’s related to his mother’s death.”

“Keep trying,” urges the gray dragon. “It may be the key to him conquering this evil.”

Ashvelon flies away, and I trudge back to the shallow stone basin Varex carved a few days ago, where two eels are swimming around, waiting to be made into stew. I rearrange the rocks around the campfire, then head into the woods to find more sticks.

The day drags slowly as I pursue the dull routine of survival. I’m not used to spending all my time in the open air or in a makeshift shelter, nor am I accustomed to foraging for hours just to find enough food to stay alive. I’m used to waiting in the elegant rooms of the Queen’s palace, practicing and gossiping with the other dancers. Food was provided for us, and if it was something decently portable, I would always eat less than my share so I could take a little home for the children.

The children. You were the only one in their lives who loved them enough to work for them, to sacrifice on their behalf, to provide. And you left them. They’re probably dead now.

An image flashes into my mind—the bodies of Miri and Lark lying gray and motionless on the floor of our dingy apartment, their eyes eaten away by the rats and their bodies pockmarked with the holes of devouring insects. The vision is so sudden, so intense, and so real that I scream and bow over, clutching my head.

Varex is by my side in a second. “Darling, what is it?”

Instantly the voice in my head rises to a thundering bellow, pierced with a second voice, a keening scream, and both voices are saying the same words.

You abandoned them! They’re dead because of you, because you decided to stroke monster dick and bathe yourself in dragon cum, because you wanted a hot shaft in your creamy cunt more than you wanted those innocent little ones to survive. You’re a foul, lewd, ignorant, selfish wretch!

“Get away!” I shriek, scrambling back from Varex. “Leave me alone!”

You’re an oozing gash, a fuck-sloppy dragon-whore , seethe the voices.

I can’t hear anything else but their constant accusations, not until I’ve put distance between Varex and me. Only then does the searing panic abate, and the voices sink to a low murmur again.

There’s no denying it now. What’s happening to me is similar to what Varex experienced during our confinement in the cave—the voices of the Mordvorren trying to drive him mad.

I baited it yesterday, when I looked into his eyes and told the entity that it could not have my dragon. Now a sliver of it has invaded me, ready to torture my brain with terrifying visions and fears anytime I get close to Varex. It’s attempting to drive me mad, to keep me away from him so I can’t interfere with its plans to overtake him.

To test my theory, I approach Varex again, cautiously. I’ve only taken a few steps when the noise and the pain become violently worse. I’m forced to retreat, to leave him alone and isolate myself.

All day, throughout that night and the next, I miss the children so badly it’s like a physical wound in my chest, like a hunger I can’t assuage, a thirst I can’t quench. I’m plagued with horrifically detailed nightmares about all the things that could have happened to them during the invasion by Vohrain.

I can’t bear to tell Varex that when he kissed me, I was infested with the Mordvorren. Once he knows that, he will never let me touch him again. Besides, he can’t fix it, and it will only make his own struggle more unbearable.

If the enchantress’s theory is correct, and the entity gains leverage based on unresolved fear and trauma, the only thing that can set me free is a swift resolution to the anxiety that has plagued me ever since I was stolen from the capital.

I need to know what happened to my family.

Once I’ve settled the question of their fate, maybe I can release the guilt I feel, and with it, the influence of the storm. Then I can return to Varex and offer him my full support again.

In the pre-dawn hours of the next night, Ashvelon arrives to let us know that Kyreagan and Serylla have returned safely to Ouroskelle. Rahzien has been overthrown, and Elekstan’s governance will be in the hands of its people, who will be electing new leaders in the wake of Serylla’s willing abdication as princess.

Varex rouses from his misery long enough to take in the news. He seems encouraged, so much so that the fiery color around his scales fades, leaving his body its usual glossy black.

“Have Serylla and Kyreagan’s eggs hatched?” he asks.

“They hadn’t when I left,” replies Ashvelon. “But they should soon. A few hatchlings have broken out of their shells already. They have brought great joy to the clan after so much distress. Another piece of good news—Thelise has examined several animals from the Middenwold Isles and has declared them free of poison. We may hunt there again, without fear.”

“There’s somewhere I need to go, now that Vohrain has been defeated,” I tell Ashvelon. “I need to get to the capital of Elekstan and find out if my family survived the invasion. Could someone take me there?”

“Hinarax will be making frequent flights from Ouroskelle to the capital,” Ashvelon replies. “He might be willing to take you along.”

“Then let me ride on your back to Ouroskelle, so I can ask him. Please.”

Ashvelon looks at Varex then back at me, confused. “But… wouldn’t you rather ride the prince?”

I shake my head. I can’t bear to be within a dozen paces of him. If I had to ride on his back, I would go mad.

“It seems she has had her fill of riding me, and never wishes to do so again,” says Varex morosely. “Carry her, Ashvelon, if you would be so kind. Meanwhile, I will go see my brother.”

“Very well.” Ashvelon gives us both another cautious glance, then says tentatively, “I have learned that mated pairs may disagree, but that with conversation and compromise, they can find a mutual—”

“Enough,” Varex growls, and at the same moment I exclaim, “We don’t need a lesson in relationships.”

Ashvelon shuts his jaws and lowers his body to the ground so I can climb onto his back. He’s shaped differently from Varex—wider, more difficult to sit astride. His spikes are larger, too, and it’s harder to maintain my grip as we fly.

Varex keeps his distance during the flight to Ouroskelle, which is a relief and a torment. I want to be near him, but the closer we are, the more hideously convoluted my thoughts become.

Once we reach Ouroskelle, Ashvelon turns in a different direction from Varex and takes me straight to Hinarax. The bronze dragon is about to leave for the mainland, and we catch him just in time.

We’re in the sky again before I can truly grasp the fact that I’m leaving, and that I didn’t say goodbye to Varex. I forgot to tell him that I’m not going away for good—that this absence is only temporary. Even though his presence is torture to me right now, I could never bear to be parted from him permanently. Whatever I find back home, I have every intention to return to Ouroskelle.

But I didn’t say any of that. And I didn’t tell him that I love him.

Hinarax is one of the chattiest dragons I’ve encountered and spends the hours of our flight asking me questions about humans and city life. Apparently he’s in love with the handsome leader of the rebels who helped to overthrow Rahzien, and he’s in the mood to overshare about their love life. I let him talk, because his merry voice soothes me and his hopefulness is contagious.

When we finally reach the capital city, I’m reassured to find that it looks much the same as it did when I left. Several buildings suffered damage from the weight or the fire of dragons, but there’s no widespread destruction as I feared there might be.

At my direction, Hinarax dives between buildings, landing in a wide street adjacent to the one I live on. Several people gasp when he lands, but they don’t run, even though they look at him with suspicion and a hint of hostility. Though the dragons helped to end the Vohrainian occupation, the citizens of Elekstan haven’t forgotten how many of our people were killed by dragon magic.

“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I tell Hinarax.

“Are you sure? I could switch to human form and escort you wherever you’re going.”

“I’ve walked these streets many times. I’ll be alright.”

“Will you need passage back to Ouroskelle?”

“Eventually, yes,” I tell him. “There’s a building two streets over with a garden and a greenhouse on the rooftop. If I need a ride, I’ll tie red streamers to the corner of that building.”

“I’ll check in around sunset each day that I’m on the mainland,” Hinarax promises. “But I may have to return to Ouroskelle occasionally, so there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to pick you up immediately when you’re ready to go.”

“Understood.”

He takes off with a flash of coppery scales. Watching him disappear into the evening sky is like relinquishing the reality that has been mine since the day Elekstan fell. I’ve grown accustomed to dragons. I rather like them, and it feels strange not to have any of them around. I feel oddly alone and unprotected. There’s a creeping dread in my heart, a feeling that I’m going back to my old existence—one that I hated. I’ve learned that I want something different, something more. Some one in particular.

But to get close to him again, I need a resolution to this part of my life. I must eliminate the foothold that the Mordvorren has in my soul.

The walk home is too long and too short at the same time. I’m desperate to know my family’s fate, and yet I’m not ready to enter the tenement building again, to breathe the familiar sour stench again, to curl my fingers around the knob of the door leading into our apartment.

It’s not locked.

With a bracing breath, I forge inside.