Page 3 of Upon Buried Embers (Upon Buried Embers #1)

“I am not food!” The hoarse sound echoes around us, and I instantly regret it as a furious growl comes from both beast and male.

They almost sound the same.

Silence follows, and a chill fills the air, menacing and dominating. My shoulders hunch, my eyes lowering.

“Did you just shout at me?” The words are quiet, but dangerous, the threat in them very clear.

My breathing increases, knowing I messed up, knowing I’ll regret doing that.

It may hurt being burned alive or torn in two by the beast, but a man can do far more damage…

A man will draw out the pain in your body, will hurt you in unimaginable ways and revel in it.

I would choose a beast over a man any day.

“S-sorry.” My words are quiet, but I force them out from my dry mouth, pretending I’m not petrified, pretending my voice didn’t wobble.

“You dare talk to a Dragonbond like that?” As if they’re one, the dragon moves restlessly next to him from foot to foot, like he can feel the man’s agitation.

I swallow roughly, hands clasped together.

A Dragonbond? It had to be a Dragonbond?

Please, kill me quickly.

“Nothing to say?” The man comes closer, reaching for me and I flinch back on instinct, not wanting to feel anything that’s about to happen. The man pauses, hand midair, brows furrowed, then roughly grabs my chin and raises my eyes to his as I gasp out a small cry.

He unclips his lantern and brings it up to my face. The bright light makes me squint, and he lets out a grunt. He looks briefly at the collar around my neck, his eyes flashing before roaming over my face, and I know what he sees.

Copper hair, a skinny face with freckles over the bridge of my nose spreading slightly over the tops of my cheeks. Accompanied with green eyes, I don’t see many who look like me often.

He looks at my waist-length, matted hair that covers what I am.

We weren’t allowed to cut our hair, why would we when they have more to grab?

I stare into the dark pools of his eyes as he assesses me, noticing the purple ring around his pupils and the harsh scar across his left temple, going back to the tip of his ear. His hair comes to his shoulders, tied half-up with a few smaller braids intertwined into the top half.

He’s rugged, intimidating.

Dangerous.

I’ve never gotten this close to a Dragonbond before.

I only ever saw them passing through the city when it was time for The Games, peering through the curtains of the top window when I was cleaning.

They’re meant to be ruthless, even King Halen is wary of them, no matter the tentative truce they have in place.

Master always spoke badly of them as well.

Dragonbonds are the only ones who have some semblance of control over dragons. The only ones who can ride them after they bond. They live in their settlements with the Dragorie people, not wanting to live with others in the many villages or towns.

Though I don’t think anyone would be happy with a dragon in their vegetable garden.

I quickly glance at his attire the best I can. Thick pants, short-sleeved tunic, mask hanging off the front of his hip. Is he not cold out of The Pit?

The black material wound around both his tanned forearms like ribbons show he’s of Clan Blackscale, one of the five Dragorie clans.

When he releases an impatient grunt, I shake my head at his question, my eyes flicking to the dragon. His hard fingers grip me tighter, getting my attention, tears stinging my eyes.

He tilts my face this way and that, dark eyes roaming over me as his lips pull back in a sneer.

“Move your hair from your ears.”

I freeze, heart hammering in my chest. The dragon rumbles, and the Dragonbond lifts his other hand.

“Now!” I jolt at the command and lift my bloodied hand to my hair, placing the curls behind my ears, knowing I’ve just sealed my fate.

No one is kind to those like me. We’re treated as less than the dirt we walk upon. Not worthy of warmth or comfort, of joy or laughter. We’re left to be at the disposal of anyone who grabs us and hides us away.

Because to be seen with an elf is a death sentence unless we’re taken to the king.

“Elf,” he spits, and I flinch.

The man curses, a look of disgust crossing his face before he gnashes his teeth together, much like a dragon would.

I dare to rip my chin from his grasp, those tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I whimper, pain lancing through my skull with the movement and I press a hand to the side of my head.

“You are a long way from home, aren’t you?” I say nothing. “What are you doing across the border? How did you even get into Dracozar without the king knowing?”

I swallow roughly before whispering, “I was sold to a Master.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sold?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been told.”

He looks at the dragon, Drogonah, and grunts before looking back at me in silence for a moment. “Then where is your Master, Elf?”

Probably finding another slave.

“Were you thrown down here?” I nod.

“Why?”

I shrug. He stares me down.

“I took some bread,” I admit, the words more of a croak as bile rises in the back of my throat.

He eyes me. “Liar. No one gets thrown down here for something as trivial as stealing some bread.”

You do if you’re me.

“I’m not… lying.” My head spins, and I stumble back, my body connecting with the cave wall.

Everything hurts.

“Rohan? We’re ready to leave.” Another voice comes from somewhere deeper in the cave, and I shiver.

How many more are there?

“Coming,” the Dragonbond replies, jostling the bone mask dangling from his hip as he moves toward me. “And so are you, Elf.”