Page 49 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)
The poignant warmth of his words fades quickly for me, shifting into a resentful jealousy because he can sleep, and I can’t.
Despite how exhausted I am, despite how I advised him not to think , I can’t stop the churning of anxious thoughts in my head.
During the daylight hours, when there are people and distractions, I can laugh off the worries and make a joke of dreadful things…
but at night, in the darkness, there’s no one for whom to put on a show, no one to be aghast or amused by my humor.
There is nothing between me and my goddamn brain.
I think about the flask of liquor a few times. Though I’m sorely tempted to get up and fetch it from my things, I don’t want to risk disengaging my body from Ashvelon, for fear that I’ll wake him.
I stare into the darkness, seeing the ever-present image of the flask.
The fact that it’s so boldly prevalent in my thoughts, wielding so much influence over my mind, angers me.
For the first time, I admit to myself, clearly and firmly, that I’m slipping beyond a harmless affinity for wine into something else.
An obsession that, if I allow it to continue, could spiral out of my control.
That is unacceptable. I refuse to let anything control my life or my actions except me .
Closing my eyes, I focus on Ashvelon’s quiet breathing.
When my mind wanders to thoughts of Kyreagan and Serylla or to worries about the clan, I jerk on the reins sharply, dragging my thoughts to a different path, to the last romance novel I read.
I plunge my brain into my memories of that story, mulling over the bits of dialogue I can recall.
I follow the plot in my mind, scene by scene, until…
Until it’s morning, and Ashvelon is brushing back my hair, quietly urging me to wake up so we can leave before he shifts again.
Relief washes over me, a sense of personal triumph because I resisted the compulsion of the flask.
But when I’m dressed and ready to go, I don’t leave it behind. I keep it in my pocket.
The inn’s kitchen is alive with activity when Ash and I come downstairs. They haven’t officially opened breakfast to their guests yet, but when I offer a handful of coins in exchange for some eggs and bacon, the cook happily agrees.
We eat quickly, then head outside, taking the lane toward the coast. The fields are a soft, pale green, cloaked in morning mist, and the world is quiet except for the occasional twitter of birdsong from the distant treeline.
After we round a bend in the road, Ashvelon strips down, hands me his clothing, and transforms.
“My dragon side requires more breakfast than a few eggs,” he says. “Would you mind if I hunt? I don’t want to steal animals from the farms in this area, so I’ll need to find wild prey. I’m not sure how long it will take.”
“Take all the time you need,” I reassure him. “I enjoy walking. Maybe I’ll head into the village and do a little shopping. I wish you could come with me.”
“Sometime soon, we’ll fly to a town and—do shopping. You’ll have to show me how.”
“You know I love teaching you new things. ”
I grin at the deep chuckle that rolls through him, but as he bounds away through the mist, my smile fades.
I miss him already. I can’t go with him, though.
I enjoy walking on grass or a nice path, but I don’t particularly fancy stumbling and thrashing through the undergrowth of a forest. Besides, I’ll only interfere with his hunting.
The nearby village has a tiny but well-stocked bookshop, and I spend longer there than I intend to.
When I realize how many hours have passed, I hastily pay for two small novels, stuff them into my bag, and hurry down the road again, back to the place where Ashvelon and I parted ways.
He isn’t there, so I pace for a while until he appears, looking disgruntled and licking traces of blood from his lips.
“I had to hide from a group of tiny humans for a while,” he growls. “And I found it particularly difficult to scare up decent prey. Nothing but rabbits and squirrels, for fuck’s sake. Have you been waiting long?”
I give him a noncommittal shrug. “You’re here now. We should head for the Capital.”
We take to the air again, rising above the Resting Cliffs into the cloudy sky.
We’ve only been aloft for a moment before we see a lone black dragon. I think it’s Kyreagan, though I can’t be sure in the gloom, at this distance. But Ashvelon can see more clearly with his dragon eyes, and he rumbles his enthusiastic delight.
“It’s the prince, then?” I ask.
“With Serylla on his back… and the King of Vohrain in his claws.”
“Fuck me,” I murmur, awed.
Kyreagan alters course to meet us, and as we swerve to fly east alongside him, I call to Serylla. “Are you alright?”
“I will be,” she shouts back.
I can hear the exhaustion and pain in her voice. I can only imagine what Rahzien put her through, and my stomach twists with nausea at the thought of everything he might have done to her while she was helpless in his possession.
She could probably use a stiff drink.
I reach into my pocket and take out the flask. Reluctance drags at my hand, urging me to put the flask back in my pocket and save it for myself, because what if I need a drink? What if I want to ease an emotion, soften a blow, subvert my own boredom, or stifle the gnawing teeth of regret?
What if I can’t handle the painful parts of my life without it?
The dread and the decision only take an instant, though the struggle feels longer in my head. In one burst of determination, I throw the flask to Serylla with all my strength, guiding its arc a bit with my magic.
She catches it and asks, “What’s in this?”
“I figured you could use a drink. Where are you headed with him ?” I point to Rahzien, who is watching me over the top of the gag they tied around his mouth. “Going to drop him in the sea?”
“We can’t,” Serylla calls. “My life is bound to his.”
Well… fuck.