“You watch me closely,” he comments.

“Just noticing how you’re able to hide in plain sight.”

He grins. “I cannot fool you, can I?”

“I knew what you were the moment you introduced yourself.”

His eyes gleam, and the charming smile on his face seems a little more strained. “Go on. How did I give myself away?”

I’m silent as Emma returns with a second plate of food. She sets it in front of me without a word and then hustles away again, and then it’s just me and Azar once more. I reach for a fork.

Azar puts a hand over mine, stopping me. “How did I give myself away?” he repeats, each word enunciated slowly.

There’s no mistaking the menace in his tone, or the demand. I feel a skitter of fear. Dakh growls inside my head, and I know I have to remain calm. I lick my lips and slide my hand out from under his. “Your scent. You smell like a dragon.”

He relaxes, leaning back in his chair once more. “Is that all? Easily fixed.” He seems pleased once more and gestures at my plate. “Eat your food.”

My appetite has soured, but I’ve learned that you eat whatever is put before you. I pick up my fork and take a bite. I’m silent, waiting for Azar to lead into what he really wants from me. There’s a reason he has me here with him. He seems like the type that is quite proud of himself, and I hope that means he’s going to run his mouth a bit and tell me more about him and this situation. Knowledge is power, and if he’s going to pump me for information, I’m going to do the same to him.

“I’d prefer that the others don’t find out about my true nature,” Azar says casually as he bites into a grape. “They don’t know the truth of who I am and prefer to see me as a strange human instead of the enemy.”

I shrug. “There’s no incentive for me to tell anyone anything.”

“Precisely. And I would so hate for you to have an accident when I feel we can work together.”

And there’s a threat. Lovely. My skin prickles with alarm, but I force myself to remain calm, cutting my pancakes. “Work together?”

“Yes. It’s clear to me that you’re not like the others. You’re clever. You’d be surprised at how rare such a thing is in this human world.”

I ignore the vague insult and decide to spin things on him. “You’re not like the others, either.”

He’s intrigued, I can tell. He pauses in his picking at the fruit and gazes at me. “Do go on.”

“You speak really good English, for one. And you’re not crazy. As far as I can tell, you don’t have a mate to anchor your thoughts, so clearly whatever it is in this world that makes the others insane doesn’t affect you. I’m rather curious as to how that’s possible.” I decide to lay it all out on the table so he can see how much I do know. “My dragon won’t speak aloud, and he hasn’t shown the slightest inclination to learn my language. He’s also not interested in blending in, but you seem to have that under control. It’s just interesting to me how very different you are.”

“Why wouldn’t we be different?” The arrogance practically oozes from his thoughts.

“You’re drakoni, too, aren’t you?”

Azar’s lip curls slightly. “Not like your mate.”

That makes me pause. “There’s more than one type of drakoni?”

“And are there not many kinds of humans?”

“Actually, no, I thought there was only one kind.”

“You have humans who wear uniforms in your little fort, do you not? There are leaders, and then there are followers. There are fighters, and there are the ones who stay at home and rear the young.”

Ah. So he means class instead of race. Are you following any of this, Dakh? Does it sound familiar to you?

I…I do not know. Dakh’s mind feels distant, as if he’s turning inward on himself. It does not sound wrong, but I am looking for memories of it and I find nothing but ravens.

It’s okay, babe. He could be lying.

I do not think he is.

“You seek to see if I am telling the truth? Does your dragon remember, then?” Azar’s gaze is laser-focused on me.

For a moment, I think he’s snooping in our thoughts. But I’ve probably just paused for a long, quiet moment and he figured it out. “He doesn’t remember,” I tell him, figuring that’s safe enough to offer. Which is another thing, but I don’t want to change subjects. “So you’re not like the other drakoni because…why? Because you’re not a fighter?”

“I am not,” he agrees, inclining his head. “The drakoni that you know of serve my kind. We took them out of the deserts where they huddled in their mud huts and squabbled like children and brought them up to serve us. They are our warriors, our defenders, our troops.” His smile grows broader, even more smug. “No, I am not like them at all.”

Deserts, Dakh says thoughtfully. I remember this. We serve…his kind. Not willingly, but we serve.

What are his kind?

They inhabit a place called Salorian. It is like your Fort Dallas but much larger. And strange.

Interesting. I decide to try and toss this back at Azar. “So his kind are a desert people that you, what, enslaved?”

“They have a unique ability that is lost to my kind.” He takes a sip of water and picks at his pancakes, less interested in eating than he is in talking to me.

“Dragon form?”

He makes a pfft noise, as if I’ve insulted him. “I can change to battle form if I choose. I am not as skilled at it as they are, as I am not, ah…” He ponders, considering the right word. “Bred for it.”

“Ah.” Well this conversation just gets more and more distasteful.

“The drakoni are brought up to be warriors from the time they are born. They train for it and have rituals. They do not care how much blood they shed. And they breathe fire, unlike myself. It makes them far more effective when they berserk.”

So he can’t breathe fire. Good to know. Another word pricks my attention, though. “Berserk?”

“Yes. One of the reasons why they are so prized as fighters is their ability to easily slip to berserk. It is something they are taught at a young age. When they are challenged, they can berserk and lose themselves in a fight. I think it is why they are so crazed now, here in this world.” He gestures with one pale golden hand. “Something here triggers their ability to rage, and there’s not a good way to turn it off.”




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