Fire in His Blood

I must do something.

I cannot help myself. I reach for her again, needing to touch that velvety skin, so very different from my own. She is so smooth, so soft. She flinches and turns away, and her lovely warm scent grows thick with fear. Madness churns inside me again, this time crossed with self-loathing. I cannot—will not—touch her while she fears me so. I close my eyes, willing the gnawing madness away. Only for a little while.

Pull her close. Taste her. Bury yourself inside her. Fill her with your seed. Claim her as your mate. Do it. Take her. Fill her veins with your fire.

No. Not yet.

First I must find a way to calm the fear that is choking her.

I get to my feet and step away from her. Walking in my old form feels different, but good. It has been a long time since I have experienced my two-legged form, and it feels like stretching unused muscles. I must walk away from her, though. If I stay close, I will not be able to resist touching her…and then she will fear me forever. Just the thought of sinking myself into her…

Darknesshungerkillangerfrustrationrage

No.

I think of her softness. Her scent. I close my eyes and picture her pale, round face, her eyes bright green. I like their brightness. I will think of them when the madness creeps in. I take a deep, calming breath. How can I make her happy?

Ah, yes.

I will feed her. That will bind her to me. She will see that I can provide for her, that I am strong and fierce. That I can protect her from any others that would try to claim her. Under my wing, she will no longer be afraid, and she will sweetly succumb to my advances. She will bare her soft body for my claiming, and her green eyes will be bright with passion when I push into her—

Darknesshunger—

No.

My mate comes first. With the thought of her in mind, I glance back. She’s sitting up now, curled protectively around herself. Her face is hidden under her bright, enticing red hair. I focus on that bright splash of color, feeling need race through my body—

But then I notice her shivering. Still frightened. I growl low in my throat at the sight. My mate should not be afraid.

I will fix this. I will show her she never needs to fear me.

I walk slowly to the edge of the crumbling tower and leap off. Instinct surges, and my form shifts instantly back to dragon wing and dragon scale. The moment I do, the wildness and the rage consume my mind. Darknesshungerkillangerfrustrationragedarkdarkdarkragehungerfrenzyragedarknessviolencekilldestroy

A small sliver of light remains in my mind—green eyes—and I cling to it through the fever of my thoughts. I flex my wings and dive deep, in search of something with which to feed my mate.

6

CLAUDIA

The dragon is…gone? I stare at the open expanse of sky in a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

No way.

I get to my feet slowly, my knees wobbly. It doesn’t seem real. It’s almost like if I close my eyes, I’m going to feel his big nose sniffing my hair, moving over me. I shudder, hugging my shoulders. I expected to be dead by now. The moment the soldiers hung the red banners, I knew I was a goner. I’ve been through countless dragon attacks over the years. I’ve seen the destruction they can wreak. I’ve seen people carried away in the mouth or claws of a dragon, and they never come back. Probably eaten.

So why didn’t this one eat me?

Or better yet…how the heck did it turn human? I can’t stop thinking about that. I’m twenty-four years old. The dragons destroyed everything seven years ago. Between now and then, with my hardscrabble life, I thought I’d seen everything there was to see. Every depraved sort of action, every death imaginable, every dragon attack. But I didn’t know they could become human.

More than that. He’d looked at me with intelligence in his gaze. He spoke to me.

Who—or what—was he?

I’m glad he’s gone, but I’m full of questions. Is he a shapechanger? Is this one not really a dragon and that’s why he’s not in pattern with the others? Or are they all shapechangers?

Oh god. Can all of them speak? Are they all intelligent? It’s never even crossed my mind that they might be smart underneath all that viciousness. I’ve thought of them more like…sharks or snakes or some other nasty predator. I’ve never considered there might be a person underneath it all. That makes the destruction and rampage all the worse.

And yet…the man-dragon I met didn’t kill me. He hadn’t even hurt me. He’d touched me, and when I told him no, he pulled away.

He was almost kind.

Almost.

Is this how the girl from Fort Orleans tamed a dragon? She met him as a human? I think about the man-dragon and his really, really naked body with his really, really big equipment and the really, really possessive look in his eyes. I’m pretty sure he didn’t want to play checkers with me. Did…did the Fort Orleans girl ‘tame’ the dragon with sex?

Was that what they expect me to do?

Are they fricking crazy?

I can do a lot of things to save my hide, but I’m not sure I can do that.

I take a few steps forward, scanning the skies for a flash of golden wing. Nothing. He’s gone, then. He might be gone for good. I’ve possibly missed my window of opportunity to ‘tame’ him with my vagina. Yeah, not like I was planning on doing that. Besides, Fort Dallas and its citizens sure were quick to throw me to the dragon. I don’t plan on helping them ever again.

All I care about is Amy and Sasha. I need to get free from here, retrieve them, and then figure out what to do next. Maybe we can hightail it down to Fort Orleans. Maybe we can hide out in a safe place and wait for a brave nomad or two to swing through the area again and hitch a ride with him. As long as I have a plan of action, I’m good.

And none of my plans involve sitting around here waiting for another dragon to come by.

I move to the pole that I’m chained to and tug on the cuff binding me there. Still solid. Damn. That sucks. I was hoping I’d missed something in my panic. Guess not. I stare at the cuff on the pole and then look around for something to use as a saw. I find a long, thin piece of metal as wide as my finger and grab it. It won’t work as a lockpick or a saw, but I jimmy it in between my ankle and my cuff and push against the two, hoping to somehow stretch the metal. It’s a long shot, but it’s what I’ve got. My ankle’s bleeding and the cuff gets slippery, but I keep going. There’s no option to stop. I have to get out of here.