Page 33 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

Something is very wrong with me, and it’s not because of the spell I worked for the dragons. I lie in the nest, struggling with the fog in my brain and the nausea in my stomach.

Ashvelon doesn’t return for hours. At last I crawl to the edge of the nest and pull myself upright on trembling legs. Bracing myself against the cave wall, I work my way toward the entrance. I don’t dare get too close to the brink of the ledge, but I need to see if I can spot my dragon.

Ashvelon’s cave overlooks a valley and the slopes of the opposite mountains.

From its mouth, a handful of the other dragons’ caves are visible.

There’s a good deal of activity going on, with dragons flying back and forth, rising from the valley floor, ducking into their caves, then emerging to soar away again.

The weather has changed, too. High winds scour the mountainside, and the sunlight looks different—grayer, maybe. Weaker, like I am .

Something is happening, and no one has informed me about it. I despise being left out and uninformed.

Seating myself cross-legged on the stone ledge, I reach cautiously for my magic, determined to get someone’s attention and obtain some news.

Other than the limited ability to move things with mental energy, the purple lightning I can summon to my fingers is the easiest, most natural ability I possess.

But when I attempt to call it forth, instead of lightning, my fingers produce a few halfhearted sizzles, which dissolve into a kind of liquid light that runs in sparkling purple rivulets between my fingers, onto the stone.

It keeps leaking out of me, pooling and sliding toward the edge of the cliff until it pours over like a waterfall of melted magic.

I close my fists, trying to stop the outflow. I can feel my heartbeat kicking into a frantic rhythm, panic setting in as my sluggish brain tries to understand what this means.

Never in my life has my magic acted this way. I have no idea what could cause such a thing, and it’s frankly terrifying.

My heart races faster, and my skin heats until I’m sweating through my dress, although chills keep racing over my body every few seconds. I retch, but nothing comes out.

The dripping liquid accomplishes something, though, because within a few minutes, a blue dragon rises from below, past the edge of the cliff.

He hovers in midair, his brilliant wings beating lazily to keep him aloft.

His brow ridges contract at the sight of me shaking, sweating, leaking magic from my palms.

“Are you all right, enchantress?” he asks.

“No,” I croak out.

“Where is Ashvelon?”

“I don’t know.” I retch again. “It’s so hot, and I can’t stop, I can’t…”

He surveys me for another moment, then opens his jaws.

A spray of cool water rushes from his throat, raining over my body.

I gasp at the chill of it, and then I sob with relief as the coolness floods my skin, easing the feverish heat.

I lift my palms to the spray, and when the water hits my hands, the purple liquid ceases to flow.

He’s a water dragon, and his natural magic counteracted mine.

“Is that better?” he inquires.

“Yes,” I moan, rolling onto my back on the ledge. “Thank you. Would you do that again?”

The dragon sprays my body one more time. I don’t care that my clothing is soaked—it’s such a relief not to be burning alive inside my skin.

“I am Rothkuri,” says the blue dragon.

“Thelise,” I say, even though he already knows. “Apparently you don’t hate me for the spell I performed.”

“Far from it.” He chuckles. “In fact, I deeply appreciate the opportunities that my human form provides.”

“A grateful dragon. Such a delight.” I fight another surge of nausea.

“I did have a question,” he ventures. “But if you aren’t feeling well…”

“Questions, I can handle. Not much else.”

“Some of the other dragons mentioned that they still possess horns, claws, or cloven tongues when they’re in human form.

And some of us…” He clears his throat. “Some of us have cocks that are, um… textured in the same way as our dragon cocks. For example, mine is ribbed in dragon form, and it is ribbed in human form as well. And it’s blue in both forms. I’m told that isn’t normal. ”

“It’s not.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to summon the energy to care. “That’s a variation I didn’t plan for, didn’t expect. It’s a mistake. Fuck… Once my illness passes, I’ll see what I can do for you to amend that. ”

“My woman doesn’t seem to mind,” he replies. “There’s no urgency to the matter. I was merely curious.”

“Speaking of urgency, perhaps you can tell me what’s happening. There seems to be a great deal of activity in the valley today. I would ask Ashvelon, but as I mentioned, I have no idea where the big brute went.”

Rothkuri releases a slow, misty breath. Droplets glisten in the sunlight as he exhales.

“The great storm, the Mordvorren, has been sighted. It is headed for Ouroskelle, and will arrive by day’s end, if not sooner.

All of us, humans and dragons, are busy gathering food and supplies, since we will likely be trapped in our caves for at least a week.

This afternoon, each woman will be choosing a dragon with whom to weather the storm.

Since you are already bound to Ashvelon, your place in his cave is secure. You need not fear.”

“Oh, of course not. Nothing to fear,” I mutter.

“Just a giant, malevolent storm with a drive for destruction. That’s why my magic isn’t working right.

I’ve heard the storm twists and perverts magic, especially the kind that I perform.

You dragons should still be able to use your innate abilities without noticing much of a difference, but I’d better not try any magic at all while it’s here. ”

Rothkuri blinks slowly in affirmation. “Perhaps Ashvelon is collecting supplies.”

“Perhaps. But if so, why hasn’t he made a few trips back here to drop off what he has gathered?”

“I’m not sure. I should resume making my own preparations. Can I do anything else for you, enchantress?”

“Perhaps one more good soaking.”

He obliges, spraying me down again. “I will try to check on you again later.”

“Thank you, but your own captive comes first,” I tell him.

“She isn’t a captive,” he replies. “She asked to be taken.”

And then he flies away, without another word .

There’s an interesting story there, but I don’t have the energy to ponder it.

I’m much too weak, and my nausea is now compounded by the knowledge that I’m about to spend several days in this shitty cave.

If I was feeling healthy, that might not be a terrible prospect, given that Ashvelon and I enjoy fucking each other.

However, judging by the way my body is already reacting to the Mordvorren, I’m in for a week of torture.

I stay in a sodden heap on the ledge, unable to summon the will or the strength to move.

My skin has cooled down a little, but I’m still racked by occasional shivers, and my stomach rebels against the mere thought of food or wine.

There’s a swirling density in my skull, and my heart patters at an uneasy pace in my chest. My magic is revolting against the proximity of the Mordvorren, coiling and surging in the energy centers of my body—stomach, heart, and head.

There’s an odd buzz in my pelvic area, too, where sacral energies collect.

I don’t know if sex would relieve that discomfort or not.

The afternoon hours creep past, and the light changes still more. There’s a greenish cast to the sky, and despite the intermittent gushes of wild wind, the air holds a brittle tension, like the entire island is caught in a trap, waiting for the hunter’s hand to close upon its prey.

And still Ashvelon hasn’t returned.

I resent his absence. I mutter curses and invent terrible names for him. I consider dragging myself back to the nest, but I’m sweating so heavily I can’t bear the thought of moving away from the cooling breeze into the comparative stillness of the cave.

With shaking hands, I manage to peel my soaked clothing from my body and I lie down again, naked, as the sky darkens and the wind begins to shriek.

Rothkuri never came back to check on me. Ashvelon isn’t here. I’m going to have to weather the storm alone, which means I will probably die .

Thunder cracks overhead, not far away. Closing my eyes, I try to summon the strength to roll myself deeper into the cave.

Somewhere in the darkening air, I hear more heavy sounds. Not thunder—wingbeats.

Ashvelon sweeps into the cave, dropping a large bundle in the center of the floor before spinning around. His tail nearly knocks me off the edge of the cliff when he turns. It’s a narrow miss, and he grunts in startled terror over what almost happened.

“Fuck, Thelise.” His claws prod gingerly beneath my body, scooping me up. “What are you doing there? You look worse. Shit, I should never have left.” He places me gently in the nest, on one of the blankets.

“Fuck you, you monstrous bastard,” I choke out. “Where did you go?”

“To the mainland. I wanted to fetch you more of the food that you like, and some things to make our isolation easier.”

“How sweet of you.” My eyes drift shut. “But I’m afraid it was a wasted effort. I’m sick because of the Mordvorren. I very well may die.”

“The fuck you will,” he snarls. “I forbid it.”

“You can’t forbid me from dying, idiot. I’ll die if I please, so there.”

“You’re talking nonsense. Drink some wine.”

I make a face at the idea. “Do you want me to vomit?”

His reply is drowned out by a violent crash of thunder.

“By Fate, that’s annoying,” I say faintly. “Make it stop, pet.”

“I can’t stop thunder, dearest,” he replies.

“Then what good are you?”

He nuzzles me, then licks my skin. “Your body feels much hotter than usual. Is that dangerous for humans?”

“It can be. If the fever gets too high, the temperature can damage my organs and my brain. Where is Rothkuri? I want him to spray all over me again. ”