Page 40 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

“I’m trying to help you, love,” I reply, letting cool irritation enter my own voice.

“The way I see it, you owe me for making him a handsome fucking treat in human form. Listen, if I could predict the outcome of this, I would. But there’s no precedent for a dragon swallowing a sentient magical storm—no charm or spell I can weave to help him control it.

That’s something he needs to figure out himself. ”

When I swerve my gaze to Varex, he’s looking at me with a sort of doleful resignation, a hopelessness that concerns me. Has he already given up?

“One thing you should keep in mind—this storm is evil,” I warn him.

“It prides itself on destruction and it feeds off misery. When it tries to escape or conquer you, it will use your vulnerable points—longstanding resentment, gnawing pain, poisonous guilt, anything that has infested your consciousness for years. It will use that as a foothold.”

I try to offer them a bit more advice, but I’m not sure how much of it sinks in. Both Varex and Jessiva seem traumatized by whatever they experienced during the storm. The fact that Varex has confined the Mordvorren within himself doesn’t bode well for their relationship, either.

Varex announces his intention to head for the Twin Fangs, an isolated pair of islands. That way, any chaos the storm might cause will only affect him and Jessiva.

“Don’t tell the clan what’s wrong with me, I beg you,” Varex says to Ashvelon. “And if Kyreagan returns before I do, tell him I went hunting or surveying or something.”

“We’ll concoct a good solid lie,” I tell him. I half-expect Ashvelon to make some quip about how skilled I am at lying, but he only bows his head to Varex.

“Fly safely, my Prince,” he says. “Do not worry for the clan. You have sacrificed your own health and stability for the good of all. Take the time you need to recover. I have every confidence you will return to us stronger than ever.”

As we fly away, I mutter to Ashvelon, “Hopeful words for a dire situation.”

“They were for Jessiva’s benefit as well as his,” he replies. “She is anxious on his behalf. I understand the agony of her heart, because I felt the same agony while you were suffering.”

Between their struggles and Serylla’s disappearance, my heart is heavier than usual.

Much as I might like to have fun with my dragon again, I’m mentally exhausted, and my body is simply too tired for any level of arousal.

After partaking of the last scraps of food and a couple of fish Rothkuri left for us, my dragon and I curl up in our nest and sleep.

Ashvelon leaves early the next morning. I feel the rush of his body shifting into dragon form and the breeze from his wings as he departs. The cave feels hollow and cold without him.

I have no choice but to admit to myself that I don’t merely love Ashvelon—I am fucking obsessed with him. I depend on him. I need him. I want him with me all the time, which is something I’ve never been able to say about anyone, not even Katlee.

Maybe the connection we have is unhealthy.

Maybe I don’t give a fuck if it is.

Maybe it’s just what I need right now… but I suspect it’s what I will need for the rest of my life.

I miss him all day. I prowl the cave restlessly, tidying and organizing everything, napping occasionally, and sipping from my last bottle of wine while inwardly bemoaning the fact that I can’t get more.

Back in Devil’s Kiss, there was a tavern called the Jolly Merrow where I would go for such liquid supplies.

After I moved into the cottage and began to frequent the place, the owner started ordering some particularly fine wines because she knew I would enjoy them.

She was a brusque woman, not one for much conversation, but a decent sort.

Perhaps tomorrow Ashvelon and I can make a trip to the coast for some wine, although I suppose with Rahzien and Kyreagan at odds, the mainland might not be safe for dragons.

Maybe we could land in a quiet cove where he can shift and get dressed.

We could walk to the town, enjoy the market, and make a stop at the tavern.

The idea of browsing a market with Ashvelon delights me greatly.

I can imagine how curious he would be about everything.

I would drape his broad shoulders with fine cloaks, fling gold chains around his neck, and put broad-brimmed hats on his head—big ones with long plumes.

I would make him try on boots. I would buy colorful candies and skewers of roasted meat, and I would pop bits of the delicacies into his mouth, just to watch his reaction.

There would be no pressure for me to perform any spells.

We could feign the life of a normal human couple.

It would be the best day I’ve had in a long time. We both deserve a good fucking day.

Around sunset I stretch out in the nest and try to get my mind to focus on one of the books Ashvelon brought back from the cottage.

He must have selected books at random, and unfortunately he chose some of the ones that were already on the bookshelf in the cottage when I began renting it—volumes about herb gardens, agriculture, brick-laying, and sea creatures.

Not a single fairytale or naughty romance among them.

I shall have to teach him what to look for in the future.

I’m frowning at the sketch of a swordfish, trying to be interested in its physiology, when a loud flapping sound draws my attention. I sit upright as Ashvelon bursts into the cave. His blue eyes are glowing even more brightly than usual.

“The Middenwold Isles are beautiful,” he exclaims. “I must take you to see them very soon. And there is so much prey, whole flocks and herds of strong, healthy animals! We brought back plenty of meat. I’ve come to fetch you.

We’re building three great bonfires from driftwood so the women can roast some of the meat, and there will be songs and rejoicing! ”

“A party!” I leap off the nest. “Just what I need! By Fate, it’s been far too long since I got dressed up for something. I am going to do my hair with magic, Ashvelon, and you can just keep quiet about it. It’s the easiest of spells and takes barely any energy, so I don’t want to hear you fussing.”

His eyes narrow, and his spikes bristle a bit, but he refrains from commenting as I perform the spell to cleanse, detangle, and smooth my hair.

He watches me with heated interest as I strip off the simple dress I’m wearing and put on a lovely two-piece ensemble of purple silk, with gold trim.

I add gold earrings and clasp a gold bangle around my ankle.

“Are you going to attend in dragon form or as a human?” I ask him.

“I have time available in both forms,” he says. “Which would you prefer?”

“Fly me down as a dragon, but then change when we reach the ground,” I suggest. “I’ll bring along some clothes for you. There’s a fine black suit that I think would fit you well.”

“I suppose I’ll be eating the meat roasted instead of raw, then.”

“Definitely. Did you not eat anything while you were exploring the Middenwold Isles?”

“I killed two fat does, but I did not partake of them. I carried them back here, cut them open, and hung them up to bleed, the way humans do. Many of the other dragons have already tasted the meat of the Middenwold, though. They say it is sweet and fresh.”

When I’m ready, I climb onto Ashvelon’s back, and we soar out of the cave into the twilight. The sky is deep purple in the east, peach-colored in the west, and the air is soft. I inhale deeply, feeling the subtle magic of nature refreshing my body and soul.

Below, a little way down the valley, I spot a clear space where three large fires are burning, with the figures of dragons and humans moving around them. Music unfurls through the whispering gloom—fiddles, flutes, and the beat of a drum or two.

The melody is a merry one, and it gives me hope that maybe the worst is past. Maybe Kyreagan will find Serylla quickly and bring her back safely. Maybe Varex will find a way to curb the Mordvorren or dispel it for good. Maybe we can move out of these dark times into brighter ones.

We land in a clearing some distance from the bonfires, and Ashvelon transforms into his human shape.

He struggles a little with the clothing, and though I tease him mercilessly for it, I’m secretly thrilled that I feel strong enough to help him.

Once he’s dressed, we walk toward the fires, arm in arm.

Something clenches in the pit of my stomach as we approach the edge of the gathering.

I’m used to visiting the market in Devil’s Kiss and facing the people there.

It was a mild ordeal every time, but it was bearable, and it became easier once the people became used to my occasional presence in their town.

This gathering is a dramatically different scene, and my excitement is suddenly shredded by anxiety so fierce that it raises a hot flush over my skin. For a moment I feel as if I have a fever again.

I’ve only encountered a few of these dragons, and I haven’t met any of the women. What if the dragons want to kill me and the women despise me? What if these captives resent me for not using my magic to help them escape?

Ashvelon senses the lag in my step and the inadvertent tug on his arm as I hesitate. He glances over, searching my face.

“You are safe,” he says quietly. “No dragon will harm you.”

I’m not sure how to explain to him the kind of fear I’m suffering, how deeply I dread this encounter. I’m afraid that the dragons will look at me and see only my father. They will view me as the offspring of the man who ripped out the souls of their mothers, daughters, mates, friends, and sisters .