Page 43 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

My stomach churns as I fly from cave to cave, passing along Thelise’s warning about the meat.

Only a few dragons remain in their caves—most of my clan are grounded in the valley—but checking all the caves takes more time than I would like.

When I’m finished, I streak toward my own dwelling, dive inside, and snatch Thelise’s bag in my claws before soaring out again.

As I plunge toward the valley, I notice that two of the bonfires are dwindling while the third has been built up higher.

Prone male figures litter the earth around the largest fire, encircled by a ring of women brandishing sharp sticks and torches.

Beyond the armed women, shadows slink through the dark, occasionally darting forward to attack.

Fenwolves .

I swallow the faint nausea in my belly, born from the bite of poisoned meat that I ate. I refuse to succumb to weakness when I am needed so desperately.

Sweeping lower, I roar with all the power in my lungs, watching with satisfaction as the fenwolves startle and retreat into the darkness.

They’re barely alive—skin and bones, which means they’re weaker than usual, but also more desperate.

My frost-fire cannot kill them, but it can slow their attacks.

With my size, my tail, and my claws, I’m still a formidable foe.

I land heavily outside the circle of women. They have piled up storm debris in a few places, the beginnings of a defensive wall around themselves and the incapacitated men.

Thelise rushes up to me, snatches her bag from my front claws, and races back toward the sick men. She drops to her knees beside one of them and lifts his hand, cutting swiftly into the pad of his thumb with a short knife.

“I’m testing his blood for magical poison,” she says tersely as I prowl closer. “Let me do this. You go help the others.”

I dip my head in response to the order. “The fenwolves will be back,” I tell the other women. “Come with me, those of you who can. We will gather more wood for the wall.”

One of the naked males rises on shaking legs, his dark skin beaded with feverish sweat. Through the heated stench of sickness and the thick aroma of wood smoke from the fire, I recognize his scent. It’s Saevel, a dragon with green scales.

“I can help,” he wheezes, staggering forward. “I need to… protect her…”

“The fuck you do,” says the woman nearest to him. She shoves both hands against his chest, and he goes to his knees, strengthless. “Lie down and let me protect you for once,” she says, in a softer tone.

Saevel groans and collapses, his hand curling into a fist against the dirt.

He isn’t the only man struggling to rise and fight, but none of the affected dragons seem to have any strength left.

They’re not vomiting, though, which is a mercy.

I take a moment to blast-clean a few of the vomit-pools they left around the fire, all the while keeping an eye on the women as they gather more broken limbs and pointed sticks.

I help them gather additional materials and pile them into a makeshift barrier. But even with my assistance, we haven’t yet completed the wall when the fenwolves leap out of the dark, snarling.

One of the wolves hits a woman squarely in the chest and knocks her flat.

I snake my neck out, seize the wolf in my jaws, and pluck it off her, flinging it away.

I spew frost-fire at another cluster of wolves, stiffening their limbs temporarily.

But a black tide of fenwolves pour out of the forest—more than I ever thought possible, more than we knew existed within the bowels of the island.

I have no idea how so many of them survived, but with their numbers, it’s no wonder the prey on Ouroskelle has become increasingly scarce.

They’re breeding unchecked and devouring our food supply.

The fenwolves rush me in a great mass, dozens of them, more than a hundred. They’re primarily focused on me. They know that if they can defeat me, the women will be easier to kill.

I feel them scrabbling over my body, crawling up my shoulders, weighing down my tail.

My wings whip out with a crack like thunder, throwing off wolf bodies, but more wolves take their place.

Teeth and claws rip at my wings. They scramble along my neck, pinning its length to the ground while I writhe and snap at them.

With a furious growl, I throw my body to one side and manage to roll partway over. The act bends one of my wing bones cruelly, but it doesn’t break, and I’m rewarded by the screams of several wolves who are crushed beneath my weight.

I lunge back upright and toss my head, throwing two more wolves into the air.

I swallow them whole, fur and bones and all.

They stick in my throat for a moment, and I know I’ll regret consuming the bones later, when I’m forced to shit out the parts my body can’t use.

But in the moment, it’s satisfying to see how the wolves hesitate, reminded that I am indeed the more powerful predator.

Still, they don’t give up. One of my wings prickles with pain along the edge where three wolves are chewing at it, and several more wolves remain on my back, digging at my scales.

Somewhere behind me, women are screaming in rage or pain. I bellow again, spraying more frost-fire, whirling and thrashing to throw off the fenwolves. With a great smack of my tail, I send several more of them flying into the darkness, and I whirl to assess the situation.

One of the women is down, and a fenwolf is tugging on her left ankle while she stabs at it. I rip the wolf in half with a snap of my jaws, spattering the woman with wolf blood.

Viciously, maniacally I fight, turning myself into a tempest of frost and fury, of whipping wings and clashing jaws and raking talons. I try to remain conscious of where the women are so I don’t hurt them, and they give me a wide berth so I can fight the wolves freely.

Never have I fought for my life like this.

The war against Elekstan was different—their weapons and the spells of their lesser sorcerers barely did any damage against us.

We were rarely in real danger from them, and we only lost two dragons in the six weeks of the war.

But this battle with the fenwolves is raw and desperate on both sides.

They are tearing out my scales to reach my meat, because they are starving—and I dare not stop moving or struggling for one second, lest they pin me down for good and find access to my vital organs.

They keep trying to scale my neck, reach my head, and claw out my eyes. One of them nearly manages it, but a few of the bolder woman venture into the fray and knock the wolf off me with their stick-weapons .

More screams erupt behind me, and I spin around, leaping toward the source. Two of the wolves are trying to drag Saevel away by his shoulders. The woman trying to defend him is injured and weeping.

I’m about to intervene when Thelise steps forward, sending a blast of power from both palms and knocking the two wolves to the ground.

I’m not sure whether they’re unconscious or dead, but the injured woman drags herself forward with a vindictive shriek and stabs each wolf’s eye, deep into the brain.

Thelise drops to one knee, gasping, her hand pressed to her heart.

“No more!” I snarl at her. “You’ll kill yourself.”

She looks up at me, terror and grief flooding her eyes. I can feel more wolves climbing up my back, gnawing at my body and my wings. Three of them leap up and latch onto my throat, even as Thelise and I stare at each other.

“I want you to know that I love you,” she calls out.

“I will not believe you unless you prove it,” I growl.

“How the fuck do I do that?”

“If you love me, you will preserve your own life.”

She sobs out a laugh and says something in a strangled voice—most likely a curse or an affectionate insult.

One of the large, flat scales protecting my throat starts to peel away, pulled by wolfish jaws.

I groan at the pain and turn away from Thelise.

Whipping my head from side to side to dislodge the attackers, I swivel my neck around and blow frost-fire across my own back, knocking some of the wolves off and chilling others.

All around the bonfire, the women are fighting. Slowly but surely, they are killing off the wolves, one by one. If I can continue keeping most of the pack occupied, we might be able to survive this.

But I’m not sure how much longer I can last .

I rise on my back legs and use my foreclaws to tear another wolf off my throat. My wings beat heavily, dislodging another wolf or two, but more clamber up to take their places.

My body collapses against the ground. I’m no longer on my feet, no longer able to maintain my advantage over the wolves.

My strength is ebbing quickly. I haven’t eaten enough in days, and my limbs are beginning to tremble from exertion and weariness. The carcasses of the two starved wolves I swallowed did very little to sustain me.

Giving in and letting myself be devoured would be easier than this struggle against the tide of my enemies.

But I hear Mordessa’s voice in my head, telling me that every day is worth fighting for.

And I know that Thelise will never forgive me if I yield.

She possesses an indomitable spirit, a fire that not even the Mordvorren could quench.

She nearly died beneath its oppressive influence, but she fought so hard against it.

A lesser woman would have succumbed much more quickly.

Somehow I heave my bulk up again, getting my feet under me.

Somehow I manage to stretch out my wings and beat them, shaking loose the teeth of hungry wolves.

Somehow, even though my energy is low, I summon another blast of frost-fire—probably the last one I’ll be capable of tonight.

Like Thelise’s magic, my energy is not infinite.

My frost-fire can run low, and must recharge.