by Dixon, Ruby
I take the bite—you don’t waste food, not in the After—and shake my head at him. “I just had breakfast. I’m not hungry anymore.”
Vaan doesn’t grasp enough English yet to make that out, though. He picks another chunk off of the chicken he’s roasted and offers it to me. “Eat.”
“Starting to wish you hadn’t learned any words,” I mutter as I take the second bite in my mouth. When I try to pick up a bottle of water, he growls and gives me a warning look. “Fine, you do it,” I tell him with exasperation, and he does just that, twisting off the top and feeding it to my lips. He doesn’t want me to push my wrists at all…or maybe he just likes babying me.
Either way, it’s both exasperating and wonderful. I’m getting a little tired of roasted chicken, though. The only thing Vaan has ventured out to hunt for have been chickens. There is a small flock of wild ones that wanders up and down the highway near here and that’s about as far as Vaan will venture from my side.
So I have chicken for breakfast, chicken for lunch, and chicken for dinner. It was heaven on the first day, but by day five, I’m ready to eat something different. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that, but I think whoever coined that phrase didn’t eat unseasoned chicken for three meals a day, five days in a row.
“Eat,” Vaan says again.
“No.” I wrinkle my nose, turning my head. I couldn’t possibly eat another bite. Luckily, “no” is one of the words that’s in Vaan’s English vocabulary, so he shrugs and eats the rest himself, crunching into the chicken carcass, bones and all.
I try not to watch him eat, because it’s not his fault I find bone-eating weird. It’s perfectly normal for him and I don’t want to judge, even when the bones crack and make grisly noises between his sharp teeth. Instead, I think about how far Vaan has come in the last few days. After we kissed, I lay in bed, pretending to sleep and realizing that I was an idiot. Of course Vaan can speak English. Just because he wasn’t born with it in his head doesn’t mean he’s less intelligent. He knows my name, and we’re able to gesture back and forth, but how nice would it be to be able to truly talk to him? The moment he repeated “kiss me,” I realized that it was possible for him to learn more of my language and for us to speak.
The next morning, I wasted no time, determined to teach him some basic words. “Yes” and “no” he’d already grasped. After that, we went to “eat” and “drink” and “bathroom” and “sleep” and have continued expanding on the basics. He knows maybe a handful of words now, and some of them I have to teach him over and over again. Like my name, things don’t stick when he gets in one of his dragonish “moods,” and then I have to remind him.
Even so, being able to tell him when I need to use the bathroom and without having to do a jillion gestures? It helps.
In the five days we’ve spent glued to each other’s sides, he hasn’t asked to kiss again, though. Either he doesn’t remember or won’t ask, but it hasn’t come up. It’d make me wonder why, except that he constantly watches me with that hot, hungry look in his eyes. I know that all I need to do is snap my fingers and he’d be on me in an instant, all devouring mouth and roaming hands.
I…think about snapping my fingers a lot.
All the time, actually.
Is this how Amy felt, I wonder? She’d told me it was like being caught up on the edge of a hurricane centered around a dragon, and she’s right. Vaan’s made it clear that I’m the center of his world, and it’s a sensation that’s far too easy to get comfortable with. I originally wondered why Andrea was so fascinated with the thought of a dragon for a lover-slash-mate. I’m not wondering anymore. I totally get it. I remind myself that it’s because of Vaan that I’m taken away from Fort Shreveport, and I should resent him. That they might need me and I’m not there. I should be mad.
But I’m not.
It’s that hungry, lonely core inside him that calls out to me. That broken part deep inside that speaks to all my broken parts hidden below the surface. I know what it’s like to have the world change on you, to be forced to survive any way you can, and he looks at me as if I’m the one hope he has, the only light shining in the darkness. It’s the way he watches me so desperately, as if his entire being might shatter into a thousand pieces if something were to happen to me. I feel his need and it calls to me.
I wouldn’t say that I’m in love—that’s something that comes with time—but I understand Vaan, and I don’t hate or fear him anymore.
But if Vaan and I are going to be friends—or more—we have to come to an agreement of some kind about how we’re going to proceed. That conversation’s been put on hold while I’ve been utterly dependent on him, but now that my wrists are improving, it should come up soon. If I don’t want to be his mate, I need to let him go so he’ll be free to find someone else.
I just haven’t decided what I want yet. There’s a part of me that thinks it’s smartest to tell him no once and for all, to go back to Fort Shreveport and do what I can to help Amy fix the mess I’ve created, to be there for Daniela and help her recover from her ordeal. To be a team player. Not the captain of the football team, just a good team player…and then there’s the dark, selfish part of me that makes me want to say “fuck it” to all the responsibility. To listen to the knot of dread in my belly whenever I think of Fort Shreveport and all the responsibility that comes with it, and run away with the dragon to live a wild and free life full of awkward but intense kisses and chicken for breakfast.
I hate that the second option’s so damn appealing. I should want the first one. It should be obvious…and yet, I keep thinking about what it’d be like to be truly mated with Vaan. To share that bond that Amy shares with Rast.
It’s a hell of a temptation.
I must be frowning, because Vaan finishes off his chicken and puts a hand in my hair, stroking it hard. I endure the petting with an awkward smile. What’s a little chicken grease in hair that’s already dirty and snarled, right? He watches my face, peering at my eyes as he pets me.
It’s a strange ritual he’s taken up, and one that he does several times a day to the point that I feel like I’m going to go bald if it continues, but it makes him happy, so I endure it.
“Gwen,” he rumbles in that almost-purr.
“We should talk about what comes next,” I tell him, even as he pets my hair again. Pet pet pet pet pet. I do my best not to wince and continue. “Like, are we going to go back to Fort Shreveport? Or are we going to stay here? Because if we’re going to stay here for a while, we’re going to need more bedding, or someplace to take a bath.”
“Bath?” He cocks his head and gets to his feet, hauling me to mine. “Bath-room? Yes?”
“Er, not quite. That’s my fault. There’s a big difference between the two.” I pat his shoulder awkwardly. “Bath is wash.” I gesture at scrubbing my hair, then my arms. “Wash. And more clothes. Really, we need a lot of things. This is okay for now, but it’s not a good long-term shelter.”
He pauses, studying my face. “Gwen, speak.” He taps his mouth and shakes his head. “No.”
I know what that means. I’m giving him too much at once. He doesn’t understand it. I rub his arm again, because touching him’s pleasant. I find myself touching him a lot, actually. Any excuse to do it, and I’ll touch him, several times a day. I know I’m doing it, and I should stop, but…I don’t. Flustered at the realization, I pull back. “Sorry. You’re doing the best you can and I’m throwing the kitchen sink at you. Let’s start smaller.”
“Gwen, no bath-room?”
“No.” I grimace, because I’m the world’s worst teacher. “I—”
I break off because Vaan’s eyes immediately flare to black, a signal that his mood’s changed and something’s wrong. I’m learning that black eyes are bad, gold eyes are happy, and deep amber means frisky-times. They swirl between colors usually when he’s moody and are harder to interpret then, but black is bad, bad, bad. He stiffens a split second later, his fangs bared, and then Vaan’s enorm
ous golden body explodes into the room. Shelves go flying, I skid backwards, and then the roof collapses as my dragon flings himself straight up out of the building.
The roof crumbles around me, pieces of plaster and ceiling tile falling down amidst the wreckage of the shelves. I cough, waving a hand in front of my face and wincing at the flare of pain that returns. “Vaan?”
There’s no answer. The dragon’s gone. I peer up at the now-broken roof, waiting to see if he’s going to return, but it’s quiet.
Well…shit. What the hell happened just now? I push my way through the rubble, a little surprised none of it crashed onto me and flattened me. Maybe the force of Vaan’s momentum made it fly out instead of inward. I glance around me at the destruction, and as I do, a broken sheet of drywall topples down to the ground. Maybe not. I give my hair a shake to free it from the worst of the dust and then head outside. A breeze wafts over me, cooling my skin as I glance around, looking for a huge golden body in the air.
Vaan isn’t hard to find, though he’s not in the air. He’s on the ground, a few parking lots over, his attention focused on something brown thrashing on the pavement. As I watch, he pins it with one big clawed foreleg, regards it, and then leans down and snaps it into his jaws.
I wince. I think I’m seeing dinner caught in action. It’s not the hunting that bothers me as much as the realization that Vaan’s not getting less crazy with the time that passes. He just destroyed our shelter because of an impulsive hunt, and now we’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay. More than that, his actions make me realize that I can’t go back to Fort Shreveport. Not with him. Not when he could go nuts at the flip of a switch and destroy a building—or people—without even meaning to.
He just doesn’t remember anything. Nothing sticks.
I knew this, and yet…I’m surprised at how achingly hollow it makes me feel. It’s not Vaan’s fault. He is who he is. I just wish…
I bury those thoughts as he lifts his head, the brown form hanging from his jaws. A deer, maybe? He half flutters, half strides back to me, crossing the distance of two parking lots in a matter of moments. Then he lowers his head and spits the food on the ground in front of me. He rubs his jaw with one leg as if offended, then steps back, watching me.
It takes a moment for it to sink in that he’s brought it to me.
It takes a moment more for it to sink in that it’s not a deer.
The lump on the ground in front of me is wet with dragon drool from being in Vaan’s mouth, but I don’t see spindly deer legs and hide. I see brown fabric and skin so dirty it’s lost all color except the color of dirt. I see filthy hair and an arm, bruised and covered with old scars.
It’s Mara.
“Oh god,” I whisper aloud. She didn’t go to Fort Shreveport after all. She came back and Vaan ate her. I press my fingers to my mouth, fighting back bile. When his eyes went black, I never imagined…
The dragon shifts on his feet, moving closer. He lifts one foreleg, and for a moment, I think he’s going to grab me. Instead, one scaly, massive paw gently strokes my hair. Petting me. The claws practically curl around my entire face, but he never touches me with them. He just carefully strokes my hair and watches my face, his eyes whirling with emotion. It’s like he’s waiting for something.
When the dirty, slobber-covered mound whimpers, I realize what he’s waiting for.
Mara’s alive…and he’s brought her to me.
21
GWEN
I push Vaan’s claws aside and race to her. “Are you okay?”
Mara doesn’t answer. She just quivers in place, utterly silent. Her eyes are blank and staring, but they’re open.
“Where are you hurt?” I ask, running my hands over her arms and ignoring the pain that shoots up mine. “Where did he bite you?”
“N-no bite,” Mara manages, gasping with fear. She curls up into a tiny ball and hugs her legs to her chest, the most pitiful human I’ve ever seen. “No bites yet.”
No bites? I frown down at her, confused. A moment later, Vaan’s big claws move to my hair and he starts to pet me again, making that soothing rumble in his chest. I don’t understand. He didn’t eat her? Does he expect me to? I glance up at him and he lowers his enormous head, peering at my face before nudging me with his nose in a dragonish nuzzle.
“Show me your teeth,” I tell him, scarcely believing this to be true. I put my hands on his mouth, feeling the hard scales that line the edges of his mouth, the leathery lips in this form. I peel one back, even as Mara moans in fear. I ignore her, grimacing wide at Vaan and gesturing. “Show me your teeth.”
He displays them for me in what should be an utterly terrifying display, but all I see are pearly white fangs without a hint of blood on them. I lean in and inhale his breath. It’s hot and acrid, but it doesn’t smell like blood like it does after he’s been hunting.
I turn to look at Mara again, absently caressing Vaan’s muzzle as I do, piecing things together.
There’s no denying that Vaan freaked out. The black eyes don’t lie and I know he can’t control them. I don’t think he would have burst through the roof if he knew it would have put me in danger. That was definitely all impulse. Even so…he didn’t kill Mara. He must have smelled or heard her, but when he got to her, decided not to kill?
Instead, he brought her to me.
Is it because I asked him not to kill her a few days ago? I look at my dragon in wonder. “Did you remember that, Vaan? Did you remember what I asked?”
He only noses my hands again. He can’t answer.
At my feet, Mara moans. I give Vaan one last affectionate pat, still reeling with what’s going through my mind, and I kneel next to her. “He’s not going to kill you,” I tell her, hoping I’m right. “But you need to tell me if you’re injured.”
Terrified eyes focus on me, and she slowly shakes her head. “N-no. Not injured. Just wet.”
“Sit up.” I add a note of sympathy to my voice, because she has to be utterly terrified. A dragon is normally a death sentence. Normally.
Unless…
A horrifying thought occurs to me. What if Vaan’s getting himself a backup plan? What if she’s Option B in case it doesn’t work out with me?
The thought is shocking…almost as shocking as the hot stab of jealousy that flares in my chest. Damn it. I shouldn’t be jealous. He’s not my dragon. I don’t even want him…right? Funny how things change after a week or so.
Before I’d left the fort, I’d have gladly pawned Vaan off on to anyone who wanted him. Wasn’t that what I was trying to help Andrea with? Get her to shack up with him so he’d stop being a problem for the fort? Except now the tables have turned a bit and I’m not liking the feeling at all.
I glance over at Vaan, and the dragon nudges me with his nose. One big foreleg strokes my hair again, and I feel a little better. I haven’t been thrown over yet, it seems.
I don’t know why I should care, but I do. I reach up and pet one of Vaan’s claws, and I tell myself it’s to comfort him and not the other way around. “Why are you back, Mara? I thought you were going to go to Fort Shreveport? It’s safe there.”
“I was going to,” Mara says in that small, terrified voice of hers. “But it was so far to walk alone, I got scared. I hid n-nearby hoping you g-guys would leave soon and I-I could stay here.” She lets out a small, hiccupy sob. “Everyone knows forts aren’t s-safe.”
Any lingering jealousy I feel at her reappearance disappears with that. She’s right. As a woman alone, forts aren’t safe. Hell, even several women together aren’t safe in a fort. Haven’t I experienced that in the past? Isn’t that why so many of us left Fort Tulsa at once to strike out on our own? We were tired of being prey in a place that should have represented safety. Of course she’s not going to trust a stranger who tells her that another fort is safe. Of course she’d rather stay here alone.
I’d have done the same thing in her place.
I give Vaan’s scaly foot one last pat and t
hen move out of his embrace, heading to Mara’s side. I help her up, ignoring the filth covering her and the dragon drool adding to the mess. “I don’t know that you’re any safer here,” I tell her truthfully, helping to straighten her questionable clothing. “Vaan is volatile at best. I don’t know how to make him listen to me.”
She looks at me in surprise. “You don’t control him? But…you said…”
“I’m pretty sure I’m safe with him,” I amend. “I’ve been with him for days and he won’t hurt me, but I don’t know if that extends to anyone else at all. Like I said, he’s volatile. That’s the best word I can think of to describe him.”
“I don’t understand,” Mara says softly, huddling behind me when Vaan leans in. “How did you make friends with him then?”
Are we “friends”? That’s an interesting way to look at things, though I don’t know if it’s totally accurate. “Friends” implies that there’s a choice in the matter for either party, and I don’t know that I had a choice. I don’t know that Vaan did, either, or if he feels compelled to grab me because mine is the strongest scent that tickles his nose. I don’t know, and I can’t ask. At least, not yet. Being able to really, truly talk with him involves more than I’m willing to give.
But a few moments ago, I was jealous that Mara was here and that Vaan might be interested in her. Mixed signals much, Gwen? The thought plays in my head over and over again.
Friends.
Ha.
But if Vaan took off and left me alone, choosing Mara over me, I’d be hurt. It’s a weird realization to come to. I shouldn’t care, but I’m coming to the slow realization that there’s a lot of things I should be thinking that I’m not.
I wonder if Amy felt this torn between loyalty to the human race and attraction to her dragon? Because when I look at Vaan, I don’t see a scaly monster, devourer of humankind (no matter the truth in that). I see a man with unusual skin and horns, unable to speak the language but still human. I see a man whose mind is damaged by the situation he’s in, but who touches me reverently and is so protective that I feel safe for the first time in seven years.