Page 19 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Eleven

The following days moved at an almost identical rhythm. Alashiya got a little bolder. It was nice having someone to talk to, even if they couldn’t talk back, and she didn’t mind taking her meals on the floor or even how heavy his head was when he pushed it into her lap.

When they had their one-sided conversations, she said nothing of importance but chatted with him in the way she would with Debbie down at the general store or the less terrifying rangers.

She spoke of how nice the weather was, how happy the plants were with the summer storms, and speculated about whether they’d get any tornadoes this year.

“One nearly took the barn last summer,” she told him, “and a few years back, a big chunk of the house’s roof was torn off. Luckily it was the side I don’t use.”

That was one of the rare times she caught the dragon looking anywhere but her.

He’d stared at the pans hung up on the kitchen wall for nearly ten minutes, a deep, terrifying growl rumbling from his chest. His tail rattled violently, too, which was always a little unsettling, since one swipe of those spikes would see her needing more than a few stitches.

When he turned his attention back to her, she reassured him, “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’d survive a tornado, and I have a storm cellar, so I’d probably be okay.”

She hoped it’d make him feel better — if she was reading his body language correctly — but it might’ve done the opposite, because he looked at her like she’d lost her mind for a while after that.

Alashiya didn’t like to talk while she worked, since she was so used to silence, but during her minimal breaks, she enjoyed asking him yes or no questions. That was how she discovered he was over a century old, that he enjoyed sweets, and that he liked his job.

She avoided tougher subjects that would require more explanation, like how he ended up in her barn, what danger he was in, or what his name was.

Truthfully, she didn’t need or want to know those things.

His trouble wasn’t hers. She’d done her part, and she didn’t think the gods would find fault in her treatment of her guest, considering the circumstances.

Every hour saw his wounds healing faster than hers ever would. While she still sported a cut on her brow, his deepest wounds were already scabs. Perched on one of the pillows she’d lent him, Alashiya carefully cut away his stitches after only three days.

She knelt before him on the kitchen floor and gathered up the old, bloody thread. “That’s done, then,” she announced, trying to sound pleased. “No more stitches. Unless you’ve got other issues I can’t see, I think you should be good to go. Do you think you’ll be able to shift soon?”

The dragon nodded once. A pang of loss struck her, but it was there and gone in an instant. It was nice having another being around. Really nice. She knew that she’d been lonely, but she hadn’t quite realized how much until an injured dragon burst into her life, demanding her attention.

That didn’t mean she wanted the dragon to stay, especially when he was for all intents and purposes stuck in her kitchen, but she didn’t exactly want him to leave, either.

Climbing to her feet, she moved to dispose of the old bandages and thread in the trash. “You know, I think I’ll get a cat when you leave,” she announced. “A big tomcat who likes to walk with me in the garden and sleep by the fire.”

Padding to the sink, she soaped up the soiled bowl.

Speaking with no small amount of false cheer, she continued, “I can walk you into town when you’re ready.

It’s not too far. Only about an hour away.

There’s a ranger station, a library, and a general store.

You can use the phone or computer at the library to contact your people.

We can also walk to the Thompsons’ farm, but they just have a phone, so that limits your options—”

A strange current of air buffeted her back. There was a shuffling sound, an unsteady gasp, then: “No one can know I’m here, metsalill.”

The bowl slid out of her slippery hands and crashed into the basin of the sink. Shards of glass exploded around her, which was only half as surprising as hearing a man’s throaty voice.

Alashiya tried to twist around, but strong hands clasped her upper arms, holding her still. “Don’t move,” the voice commanded. “Some glass got on the floor. You’ll cut your feet.”

“Better than having a stranger at my back,” she croaked. Her soapy hands trembled against the lip of the sink. That hook in her chest tugged hard, back through her ribs and spine, toward him.

“I’ve slept in your dwelling. You’ve cleaned my blood off your hands and threatened me with a wooden spoon. I hardly think I’m a stranger.”

Alashiya begged to differ. She hadn’t put much thought into what it would be like when the dragon could shift back, only that it meant he’d be able to leave at last. Her guest being a person, a living and breathing and sapient man, had been an entirely abstract concept.

It was a bizarre thing to realize she’d become so very comfortable with the fire-breathing dragon. Now he’d been replaced by a person, and Alashiya was once again wrong-footed.

“I…” Her throat, lips, and tongue were all out of sync. She couldn’t form a sentence, but even if she could, she had no idea what she’d planned to say. A part of her maintained a wild hope that if she stood still and silent for long enough, he’d disappear as quickly as he’d come.

“Easy.” It was a husky whisper above her head. Warm breath stirred the curly wisps there. “You’re safe, my Shiya.”

Am I? That sounds like something a murderer would say.

How was it that she felt so much safer dealing with a dragon than a man? Her heart thundered in her chest and a clammy sweat broke out along the length of her spine.

“Um… I don’t— I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” She shuffled back half a step and froze when her back met a solid wall of warm muscle. Alashiya tensed. The hands on her arms did too. Clawtips pressed into the soft flesh of her upper arms, but they didn’t prick her. Yet.

She glanced warily down at one of the hands.

It was the same night-time color as the dragon — a deep, velvety black with a crimson sheen wherever the light hit it.

It was also about three times the size of her own.

A wave of dizziness overcame her as she imagined how easy it would be for hands like that to destroy a nymph.

“Shiya, I said don’t move. You must learn to listen to me. There’s glass.” The voice had lost its soothing tone and instead became very stern.

She cast a wild-eyed glance to the ground. Shards of glass glittered around her and a pair of alien feet. They weren’t shaped quite like hers. The arch was a lot higher, and there were only four toes. Alashiya stared at them in bewilderment for a moment before she noticed something else.

Snapping her head back up, she squeaked, “Are you naked?”

A deep, familiar rumble tickled her back. “Not if you don’t look.”

“You’re either wearing clothes or you’re not,” she protested. “It doesn’t matter if I see it!”

“I thought nymphs were free spirits who didn’t care about nudity. You told me yourself that your grove used to walk through the woods nude.”

The feeling of being cornered began to tingle like static beneath her skin. She’d told that story to the dragon, not to this man. In hindsight, she’d told the dragon a lot of things she probably wouldn’t have told a strange man.

Alashiya shot a furtive look at the kitchen door. “I care about it when a strange man without pants is in my house.”

“There are many people in this world who’d be delighted to find me naked in their house.”

She honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or genuinely bragging. Either way, it didn’t endear him to her in the slightest. Leaning toward the sink, she primly replied, “Go find one of them, then.”

Appearing not to hear her, the dragon let go of her arms in favor of cupping her waist. His hands were so big, his fingertips nearly touched when they spanned her ribs. “I’m going to lift you over the glass, metsalill. I’m still not as strong as I should be, so don’t wriggle too much.”

Alarmed, she sputtered, “Wait, wait—” Her protest ended in a small squeal of surprise as he hoisted her into the air.

The kitchen blurred as he spun her around. For a moment, her world was all dark skin and long raven hair. Then he settled her on her feet across the room. Alashiya blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head of dizziness, and angled her neck to peer at the towering form of the dragon.

He stood there, trembling wings mantled, broad shoulders pushed back, and violet eyes glinting in the low light.

The smallest, anticipatory smile revealed a sliver of shockingly white teeth.

His nose was proud, almost hawkish, and the rest of his features were just as bold.

Thin streaks of gray framed his temples and ran down the length of his long black hair, the majority of which was held back by an intimidating set of four horns.

Alashiya had never seen, let alone imagined, a being like him.

Even riddled with scabbed-over cuts and the shadow of bruises, he was beautiful. More than beautiful. He was the kind of stunning that evoked a deep and instinctive urge to fight or hide or destroy the thing that was too beautiful to exist.

And he was terrifying.

The dragon’s gaze roved across her face, the whites of his eyes flashing with every pass. Those massive hands still held her waist. They flexed when he grated, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this, my Shiya.”