Fire In His Spirit: A Post-Apocalyptic Dragon Shifter Romance

by Dixon, Ruby

  Vaan.

  Wait. I am Vaan.

  I blink down at her, confused. Through the storm, I can see delicate golden-brown skin and a wealth of dark, curly hair on the female beneath me. That hair.

  I…this is my female.

  I think.

  I lean in and breathe deeply of her scent, trying to orient myself. The clouds threaten to roll in and drown my thoughts once more, but her scent helps. There is no arousal smell to this female. If she is mine, why does she not want me? Why is it that all I smell is fear? Does she not wish to mate?

  Did she…did she not challenge me?

  Or am I imagining such things?

  I rear back, uncertain.

  "Vaan," she pants, her eyes wide, the whites showing bright against her beautiful face. That hair. Such beautiful, thick hair. I like it almost as much as her scent. She pats her chest, over her frantically beating heart. "Gwen."

  Gwen.

  Gwen is my mate. I remember now.

  She is frightened of me.

  Despair threatens to overwhelm me, and I back off of her in a hurry. I retreat a few steps, crouching low. I hate that she gasps for breath, and that her fear smell is coating the air around us with its poison. I hate that her heart beats so frantically I can hear it even from this distance.

  I hate that my fangs throb, aching to sink into her even now.

  As I watch, she raises a trembling hand to gather the yellow material to her chest, as if trying to cover herself. And I growl because I am furious with myself for frightening her.

  It is clear she wants something different from me. Something more. I will have to figure out what it is. Perhaps food will rid her of her fear. Once she sees how I can provide for her, she will roll to her belly and welcome me into her body.

  Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

  11

  GWEN

  I clutch at the shreds of my shirt as Vaan shifts to dragon form and pounces into the air. My hair is buffeted wildly about my face by the wind generated from his wings, and leaves and dirt rain over my skin as he takes off and flies away.

  Okay…that went well, I think sarcastically. I watch him fly off until he's no more than a golden speck in the sky and fight back the urge to run away screaming. I stare at the thick trees lining the edge of the trailer park, taunting me. It'd do no good to run. If he picks up my scent no matter what I do, he'll just find me again.

  And I don't want him angry. Not after what just happened.

  I try to knot my shirt into some semblance of modesty again, and then give up when I realize it's mostly just shreds and sleeves at this point. I thought he was going to rape me. I really did. It was…it was like he lost control of who he was. I don't think he remembered who I was, even, until I said my name. He stared down at me for a moment with utter confusion, and then there was no mistaking the look of horror that crossed his face.

  I don't think he wants to hurt me. I just don't think he's in control, not entirely.

  For a moment there, it had been thrilling to hear my name from his lips. To see the fascination on his face. To realize how strong and powerful he was—and how utterly entranced by me. It was ruined the moment he shredded my shirt, though.

  I glance up at the sky, but no dragon's returning. If he's flying off for real and not just fooling around, he might not be back for a while. Well…I look around. I can sit in the dirt and cry, or I can find myself a new shirt and see what I can scavenge from this trailer park.

  I get to my feet, dust off my jeans (and my pride) and head to the closest trailer.

  12

  GWEN

  Every survivor in the After has turned scavenging into a fine art. It doesn't matter how trashed or nasty an abandoned place is, there's bound to be something to scavenge for usefulness. Sometimes it takes imagination, and sometimes it takes a strong gut. But there's always something to be found, even if it's just information.

  I head into the first trailer, taking careful steps as I go inside. The windows to this one were left open and the floor is soggy and warped. The ceiling overhead sags with water damage and is thick with mold, so I retreat outside, find the shreds of my shirt and press a sleeve to my mouth and nose as I dig through the remnants of a lost civilization—a civilization I used to belong to. Some people find scavenging fun, but I mostly find it sad, because I think of what used to be. This trailer's full of those types of relics, all water-logged and useless. Stacks of DVDs and old VHS tapes cover the tiny table, and it looks like a critter made its nest on the bed and then abandoned it. The clothes in the tiny closet are destroyed, chewed by mice and ruined by more mold. I move forward and pick through the kitchen and find an old copper pot. That'll be useful, provided I can find somewhere to rinse it. I take it with me and keep hunting.

  In the very back of the trailer, in a cubby that must have been a bathroom, there's a skeleton. The bones were picked clean long ago, and judging by the gun parked near the head, it wasn't death by dragonfire. All right, that tells me plenty. If this guy was left alone long enough to be a skeleton, that means no one found the body. That means this place is remote, because no one would leave a perfectly good gun with a dead guy. I pick it up and study it. Looks like a Glock 22, which means it probably came off of a police officer at some point. I pop out the magazine. Still has four rounds. Nice. I pop it back in, put on the safety, and then set it in my pot. I check the dead guy's pockets, apologizing as I do. "Sorry to be rude, mister, but I need whatever you have more than you do." I find a wallet with a few condoms stuffed inside it (optimistic of him), several twenty-dollar bills (now useless), and a photo ID.

  My dead guy was handsome. Young. A cop. It makes me sad to see his photo. It's easier when they're faceless masses. "I'm sorry, Jimmy Hufferson," I tell him as I set his ID down on the counter. "You took the easy way out. Sometimes I envy you."

  The address is Saranac, Louisiana. Means nothing to me other than we're still in Louisiana. All right. Someplace remote, then. Figures. Even if I wanted to escape the dragon, it's not feasible if I'm in the middle of nowhere.

  A brown girl by herself alone in the woods in the deep South? Please. I know how that story ends. I dig around in his bedroom until I find a holster and a belt, put it on, and then slide my gun home. Already I feel better. I put my makeshift mask back over my face and head out of the trailer. Doesn't bode well for the next one, but I check it out anyhow. The door's secured, and it takes the butt of the gun to bust through the glass and then break my way in.

  "Jackpot," I murmur as I step inside. For a change, it's good that I'm in a remote location, because this place is pristine. It hasn't been touched since its occupant left. There's an old mattress on the floor instead of a real bed, but the sheets and blankets on it still look decent. They need a good airing out, sure, but they're usable. There's even a pillow. I head farther inside and immediately check the kitchen. Empty except for a lighter. That's disappointing. "I guess that's why whoever was here left, eh?" I say to no one in particular as I pocket the lighter. I check every cabinet twice, just in case I've overlooked a can tucked somewhere, but no dice. The bathroom has a freshly wrapped bar of soap, though, a wide-toothed comb, and there's a few T-shirts in the closet that look like they'd fit me. Score, score and score. I slide one over my ratty bra and get a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging off the closet door. My face is leaner and harder than it was in the Before, but since there's no hairdressers to be found, I've let my hair go crazy, and as a result, it's a wild, thick mess of waves. It actually looks kinda nice. I'm thin and bony, though, and I wrinkle my nose as I grab one miniscule tit. Not much there anymore. Oh well. "Too bad for you, Vaan."

  And then I laugh at my own joke. It's either that or cry and I'm tired of crying.

  I feel better with a shirt covering my nakedness and a gun at hand. Like I've got shit under control. I head out of the trailer and do a quick check of the others, but they're either impossible to get into or emptied out already. That's all right. I've got
plenty. I air out the sheets, hanging them from a few nearby trees, and then make a fire in what was once clearly a firepit, if the circle of white stones in the tall grasses is any indication.

  Twilight comes on, and out here in the woods I can hear the cicadas like crazy. It's kind of creepy and I realize just how lonely it is without other people. I've been in forts ever since the Rift appeared, and there are always people around in a fort. Dee and I have been inseparable for the last seven years, and Andrea's been my roomie for the last two. I don't know that I like being alone. I certainly don't like being alone out here in the dark.

  "Come back anytime, Vaan," I tell the empty air as I slap away mosquitos. "I won't even scream at you."

  Well, maybe a little. I'm only human after all. And he is most definitely not.

  As it gets darker, I start to worry. Surely the dragon didn't just…leave me? Like, was I not friendly enough? I chew on my lip, worried. I thought I was doing pretty damn good considering the situation. He can't paw at a girl and expect me to just be okay with it out of the blue. He has to know that I'm going to be afraid, doesn't he?

  A slightly more terrifying thought hits me.

  What if…he forgot me?

  Goosebumps prickle my arms and I stare at the shadowy, dark woods around me. I think of Vaan and that awful blankness in his eyes for a long moment, until I said my name. It was like he'd spaced out. What if he spaced out and forgot where I am and I never see him again?

  No matter how frightening the dragon is to me, that might be worse.

  Long minutes pass in silence. I think of Daniela, my poor, fragile sister who used to be such a happy person. I think of Andrea. I think of Amy and Rast and their plans for Fort Shreveport. Hell, I even think of Liam. I want to go back. I don't want to end my days out here in some bumfuck nowhere abandoned trailer park because a dragon forgot me.

  Forgotten. Lovely.

  The trees rustle and shake and I look up in time to see a catlike gleam of dragon eyes. A few moments later, a heavy form lands with a thud nearby and nearly puts my fire out.

  I don't even care. I haven't been abandoned, and relief courses through me. I jump to my feet. "Vaan!"

  The dragon stalks out of the shadows, dumps a dead deer on the ground, and then changes to his human form.

  Hunting. He didn't forget me after all. Giddy with relief, I fling myself across the clearing and throw my arms around his neck. Heck, he could be one of the Brothers of Ash at this moment and as long as I wasn't abandoned, I'd be thrilled to see him. "Vaan," I say again happily, hugging the dragon's neck. "Thank you for coming back."

  His skin feels scorching hot against my own, but not sweaty. Not unpleasant, either. I feel his hand hesitate against my back, and then he touches me gently. Reverently. Claws trail up my new shirt and then he buries his fingers in my hair. A moment later, he buries his face there, too.

  I stiffen and then force myself to relax. I'm the one that hugged him, after all. "Remember me, Vaan? I'm Gwen."

  "Gwen," he says thickly, and lord, the guy really does have an amazing voice. The rich baritone rolls through the air, and I sigh with contentment.

  Funny how a person's perspective can change in a few hours and the threat of abandonment. I pull back from Vaan and smile at him, determined to befriend him. "We're going to make this work, damn it," I say, and then tug him forward. "Come sit by the fire with me."

  He looks down where I'm touching his hand, and when I give his fingers a little squeeze, he returns the gesture. "Gwen," he says again.

  "Yup." When he comes toward the fire, I can see there's blood smeared on his golden face. I gasp at the sight of it. "Are you okay?"

  He cocks his head, his expression that strange blankness. But he says my name again and squeezes my hand once more, so I don't think I've lost him completely. I reach up and touch his cheek with my free hand, looking for wounds.

  Immediately, he turns his face toward my palm, nuzzling it, his eyes closed and a look of rapture on his face.

  Oh.

  I'm shocked at the tender gesture. I'm even more shocked at how I respond, the little thrum of pleasure racing through my body when his lips graze my skin. But then blood smears on my skin and the moment is ruined. "Yuck, my friend," I say softly, pulling my hand away. "Let's get this cleaned up and look for wounds."

  I manage to get him to sit by the fire, ignoring the hopeful look on his face. I think he's not-so-secretly hoping he gets to nuzzle my hand again. Instead, I spit on the edge of one of the T-shirts, grimace at the fact that we have no water, and then swipe at his face. "I'm sorry about the spit-shine," I tell him, doing my best to wipe the red smears away. "I just want to make sure you're not hurt."

  He remains completely still for my touches, watching me with a bit of puzzlement on his face, as if he's not entirely sure what I'm doing but doesn't want to interrupt. It's kind of cute, and if I wasn't so on edge, I'd laugh. There's no wound on his face, though, and when I'm done cleaning his skin, I feel like an idiot. "It's from the deer, isn't it? Of course it is. You're a hunter." I wipe my hands and turn away. "And me, I clearly know nothing about dragons."

  Vaan immediately grabs my arm, pulling me back toward him with a growl.

  I yelp in surprise, and his eyes flash dark. He immediately releases me and we both stare at each other for a moment. His eyes have that odd blankness to them again.

  "Vaan? It's me, Gwen," I tell him softly.

  Recognition dawns on his face and I can tell the moment he focuses again. "Gwen," he says, and taps a hand on my chest.

  I smile at him, but inwardly, I'm worried. How often are we going to have to do this?

  13

  VAAN

  Gwen is…not happy. At least, I am not sure she is happy. It is difficult to read her without the mental bond, but it is clear that everything I do is wrong, and this frustrates me.

  I bring her fresh meat, because she must be hungry. She does not eat it fresh and juicy from the ribs, though, but insists on putting it over her fire and slowly burning it until all the delicious blood-taste is leached from the meat. She sips water from her little pot, eats her burned meat, and is quiet. While I was gone, she covered her body in more of the strange skins that humans wear, and the stink of another covers up her scent. I do not like it, and despite my growls and plucking at the thing, she will not remove it. She slaps my hand away and ignores me.

  Confused, I watch her, wary. Is she rejecting my advances, then? I have never heard of a female doing such a thing…but I have also never heard of a female that challenges, runs away, and then refuses to challenge or shift to battle-form.

  She is…difficult.

  But she is mine. I do not mind difficult. I simply wish to understand her so we can mate and I can bond with her.

  My female gazes at me from over the fire, and I struggle to remember her name. It is a pleasant sound, but the longer I watch her, the more it escapes me.

  "Gwen," she says softly, gesturing at herself. Her voice is gentle, her expression worried.

  "Gwen," I echo, nodding. I will remember it this time. I will. Nothing is more important than my mate. I have to remember. I do.

  She smiles at the sound of my voice, and then yawns. She babbles something in her fluid human tongue, then gestures, putting both hands against one cheek. I frown at her until she closes her eyes and mimics noisy sleeping sounds. Ah. She is tired. This is easily solved.

  I get to my feet and immediately switch to battle form, pulling her into my claws. She stiffens, her fear smell swamping the air, and does not relax until I settle down on my haunches and tuck her against me. This way, I will keep her warm and protected, sheltered in my claws all night. Pleased that I can offer this to her, I close my eyes and lower my head.

  Tap tap tap.

  A small human hand knocks against one of the scales on my breast.

  I open an eye, studying her. I do not smell her mating scent, but perhaps she has decided to challenge me after all? She wishes to mat
e before sleeping? I rub my muzzle over her front, and she makes strange squawking noises, pushing me away.

  That is not what she wants. Even if there was a whiff of mating scent, I would catch it, but there is nothing.

  I narrow my eyes and study her. Does she not wish for my protection? Am I not fierce enough to provide shelter for her as she sleeps? Does she doubt this? Frustration is a boiling cloud in the back of my mind, and I take one deep breath. Two. Is there no mating scent because the human’s scent she covers herself with is her true mate? Do I need to destroy him—?

  Hands touch my muzzle. Soft. Delicate. Human hands.

  "Gwen," she says again, guiding my head until I look her in the eye. "Rmbrmi? Gwen."

  I rumble a response. I do not have human lips in this form, but I do remember. I nuzzle her sweet-smelling hair to let her know. It is good she reminded me. Sometimes…I forget myself.

  "Vaan," she says, and taps my scales again. Intense pleasure flares through my mind at my name from her mouth, and I rumble, my fires growing by the moment. I want her to say it again. I want her to say it a hundred times in that husky voice of hers.

  Instead, she pries at my claws, indicating that I should let her go.

  Frustration overwhelms my pleasure and I release her, watching as she crawls out of my grip. She does not wish a protector as she sleeps? Even if she remains in her two-legged form? She is vulnerable this way. Change, I demand with a stab of my thoughts. Change to your battle form. Let us mate and bond. I want so badly to talk to you.

  I want so badly to have my mind back.

  More than that, I want my mate. I want all of her.

  She stretches in an exaggerated move and then points at one of the oblong boxes that stink of long-ago humans and dust. Her gaze meets mine and she smiles at me, happiness flooding through my mind at that small gesture. "Gwen," she says, and then gestures at the box, then makes the “sleep” gesture again.