by Ruby Dixon
I gently extend one wing, swallow hard, and prepare to make the smallest stitches I’ve ever made.
It takes all day to stitch Zohr’s wings back together.
It’s almost like working on a bird. There are tiny tendons and hollow bones that seem impossible and downright absurd on a dragon. But then I think about the fact that he turns into a human and maybe I need to throw “impossible” out the window.
I stitch tiny lines, sewing his wing back together into the world’s most delicate canvas. I make my stitches as small as possible, but that takes time and effort, and I grab a pair of reading glasses that I find that help me focus. They give me a blistering headache, but I can see closer, at least. Once one wing is done, I carefully fold it back into place and tuck it under the torn muscle before stitching everything closed.
Please let me not be making things worse. Let it help his wings. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like for him to lose the ability to fly. I’m going to do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.
By the time I finish his second wing and close up the last of his wounds, I’m exhausted and shaking. I wash my hands, get fresh water and gulp it down, and then move to lie next to Zohr on the sheets.
I wake up sometime later with intense thirst. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s not my own thirst.
It’s Zohr’s.
I touch a hand to his brow, and he’s scorching hot—hotter than normal. Shit. I crush a few expired aspirin into some water and dribble it into his mouth, then wipe down his body with cool cloths. The sun’s finally set and the intense heat in the apartment’s starting to fade. I open the windows more, even though it’s not safe, and soak sheets with water and drape them over his body, changing them out regularly.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep. Zohr needs me.
This is my fault, too.
He wouldn’t have been imprisoned if it wasn’t for me. Now I have the added guilt of the destruction of his wings. He tore free from his bonds to save me, because he felt I was in danger. I’m horrified and sickened, and if he dies, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
So I’ve just got to make sure he doesn’t die.
I spend the entire evening swapping one wet sheet for a newly dampened one and dribbling aspirin-laced water into his mouth.
The sun rises, and the day promises to be another hot one. I consider trying to find an apartment with better airflow, but when I look out on the skies, I see red dragons in the distance. Shit. This is a dragon attack day, and the reds will be attacking until dusk all week long. There’s nothing to do but hide and hope they don’t nail the building we’re in.
There’s a breeze this day, at least, but with it comes the smell of ash and char. I nap for a few hours and then begin my process of wetting Zohr’s overheated skin down once more and trying to get some water inside him. He tosses and turns fitfully, and with every passing hour, I worry more and more that I’ve done more harm than good. I don’t know how to heal a dragon. What if I’ve done things all wrong?
I place another wet sheet over his body to cool him, and lie down next to him to catch a quick nap. The moment I do, a flurry of images fill my mind.
Deserts.
Distant, hard mountains against a reddish sunset sky.
Sand. So much sand. Impossible heat. The comforting smell of fire. Wings. Flight. I can feel the breeze ruffling through my wings, and I gasp at the intense joy that rushes through my system. This is Zohr, dreaming. He’s flying in his dream and it’s the most incredible thing. It feels free and light and wonderful. He dives high and then swoops low, landing at the feet…
Of a woman. A beautiful woman with reddish-gold skin and long, flowing hair that’s the same shade. She’s naked, and as I land, she rises to her feet. Her eyes are bright, liquid gold and she looks down on me with such intense love…
I gasp, my eyes opening.
Another woman. Zohr lied to me. Or maybe he doesn’t remember. Sasha says the dragons have fractured memories of their past and that Dakh can’t remember much of anything. But it’s clear that Zohr has some images from his world before. The desert is burned into my mind, a beautifully hellish, bleak landscape. The woman is less clear, and even now as I try to recall her, all I get are images of bright reddish-golden skin and a beautiful smile.
And love, so much love.
Envy rushes through me, and jealousy. Why should I care that there’s another woman in Zohr’s past? That he loved someone else before he got trapped here and forgot all about her? It shouldn’t matter. I’m not in love with him. We’re only “bonded” because it was necessary to save him.
But…I had sex with the guy. I can’t not have some feelings for him. And right now, I’m feeling a lot of things with the vision of the woman in my head. I touch my mind to Zohr’s again, trying to see if he’s still dreaming about her, but all I get is chaos and anger. His face is rigid, his eyes flicking back and forth under his lids, as if his dream is an unpleasant one.
I touch my hand to his cheek. “I’m sorry. I guess you lost her and I shouldn’t be jealous.” But I am. The only person in the world that gives a crap about me at the moment is him, and he’s not even mine. I wonder if he remembers her, will he regret that he’s mated to me?
Another horrible thought crosses my mind. What if he blames me for stealing him away? I instigated our mating. I practically fondled him until he got hard because I needed to talk to him and that was the only way I knew how to connect our minds.
Oh god, am I the bad guy?
I look down at Zohr, his burning cheek under my hand. He’s calming, his bad dreams fading with the touch of my fingers.
I have so many questions and so few answers.
16
EMMA
Zohr’s fever rages on through the next day. It’s a long, miserable one with a lot of heat and very little relief. The red dragons rage overhead, pinning us in our hiding spot. Luckily, they’re not coming near the apartment complex, but I can’t go outside and risk anything in case they smell me. Now that I know how much Zohr relies on his sense of smell, it makes me doubly anxious about another dragon catching my scent.
I wash his wounds, and I’m worried about how dark a gold his skin is against the stitches. I compare my own stitches on my head in the mirror, and they don’t look anywhere as inflamed as his. But then again, I’m comparing dragon physiology to human, and I might just be worried over nothing.
I use the rest of my mouthwash to bathe his wounds. Because I’m paranoid that he’s going to die on me, I wait until it gets dark and arm myself with an old flashlight and hunt through the other apartments looking for supplies. I find two more bottles, some toothpaste for myself, and more duct tape. I also find some old kids’ clothing that fit if you squint just right. They’re a little tight, but I don’t care. Clothing’s clothing, and I’m too far away from my old store to be picky. Maybe if Zohr recovers we can go scavenging together.
When, I correct myself. When Zohr recovers.
There’s old water damage in the last two apartments I rummage through, so their contents are disgusting and long rotten. I’m a determined sort, so I sift through them anyhow, but when the stairs collapse on me, sending me tumbling onto the refuse below, I take the hint. Enough scavenging for now. I rub at my bruises and scrapes. They’re going to be ugly tomorrow, but overall I’m fine. I have what I came for.
It’s super late at night when I return, and not even my dim flashlight can help with the creepy feeling. I remember when I was a kid, I was afraid of ghosts and things that go bump in the night. Now I’m scared of rogue dragons or nomads looking for a little companionship. I click my flashlight off at that last thought and decide I don’t need the light that bad. It’s completely dark when I head back into our apartment, and so when a big shape rises in the shadows, I let out a yelp of surprise.
“Emma,” Zohr whispers, his breathing ragged.
“Zohr, you scared the shit out of me.” I put a hand to my
breast, willing my thudding heart to calm down. ”You’re up? What are you doing out of bed?”
“Emma,” he says again, drawling my name out. He moves closer to me and buries his face against my neck, inhaling deeply.
“Um, Zohr?” I pat his shoulder, and I realize just how burning hot his skin is. Still fevered. Oh no. He feels hotter than ever. “Let’s get you back into bed and I’ll cool you down, okay?” I sling the pack off my back and dump it by the door. “I’ll help you out.”
“Em-mah.” He murmurs my name aloud, and one big hand curls around my neck and cups the side of it. I feel the prick of claws against my skin and realize that he’s got claws in his human form. How did I never notice that before? Maybe I was distracted by all the golden skin and the horns nestled in his thick, tangled hair. Either way, I’m noticing them now.
I go still, waiting to see what he does. He could snap my neck in a heartbeat.
Zohr leans in and nuzzles my throat, rubbing his heated cheek against my skin. It’s like he’s trying to bathe in my scent. Maybe it helps him in his fever-madness. I touch my mind to his—or try to—but I get a lot of nonsense and garbled thoughts. He might as well be asleep for all that he’s there.
“Come on, Zohr,” I tell him soothingly. “Back to bed.” I slide my arm around his waist and lead him back toward the makeshift bed.
The sheet I have down on the floor is soaked and warm, possibly from sweat, possibly from the water I’m constantly drenching him in to cool down his skin. I switch it out with another fresh sheet that I have waiting nearby and then pat the linen. “Come lie down and I’ll bathe you.”
His eyes swirl bright gold, and instead of doing as I tell him, he tugs at the tiny, tight shirt I’m wearing, as if he wants me to be naked, too.
“Nice try,” I tell him with a small laugh. “But I just found this, so let’s not rip it.” I point at the bed and then take the large bowl into the kitchen for fresh water. I’m not entirely surprised that Zohr follows me. Maybe he needs company, even in his delirium. I send happy thoughts in his direction, along with reminders of cool water and fresh wet sheets to drape over his heated skin. Heck, the air’s so stifling that it sounds like a good idea to me, too.
He runs one super-heated hand along my arm as I fill up the bowl, inhaling and rubbing his nose against my hair. I ignore it as best I can, and when the bowl is full, I prop it up against my hip, put my arm around his waist, and try to lead him back to bed again. “Come on, Zohr. Let’s lie down and work on that fever, okay?”
The dragon-man leans heavily on me, and it takes all of my strength not to drop him—or the water I’ve got balanced on my hip. We half stagger back over to the sheets and I set the bowl down on an old end table, then gesture that he should lie down.
He slides his arms around me and pulls me against him. “Em-mah.”
It’s strange that he says my name differently than he has in my head. It’s more guttural, fiercer. Weird. I pat his side, careful to avoid his wounds. “On the ground, Zohr.”
His eyes get this strange gleam, and I feel a shiver move through my body. What’s he up to? He slides down to his knees and then pulls me against him once more. His arms wrap around my hips and he buries his face against my breasts, rubbing.
O-kayyyy. A delirious Zohr is apparently a horny Zohr. “You really need to sleep it off. You’re not yourself right now.”
The rumble low in his chest tells me that he doesn’t care. That he’s enjoying himself just fine. He rubs his face against my breasts again, and despite the layers of clothing, when I feel his nose skim over one nipple, I can’t help but gasp.
The arms around my waist tighten, and he looks up at me, his eyes whirling with rich gold. His nostrils flare, and I know what that means—he’s scenting me. More than that, he’s scenting my arousal.
“I like you,” I whisper to him. “I do. And I’m down with playing, I promise. We just need you to get better and then we can have sex as much as you like—”
His gaze slides from my face to my breasts. He stares at them thoughtfully, at the cartoon character adorning my front, and then reaches up, grabs a handful of the tightly-stretched fabric, and tears it from my body.
I gasp, struggling to get away. I push a hand against his chest. “You dick! Do you know how much a shirt goes for in the forts nowadays? You—” I squeak as he releases me and I tumble backwards onto the nest of blankets.
A moment later, Zohr’s over me, his eyes gleaming. “Em-mah,” he breathes, and then climbs over me until I’m caged by his arms and legs, my body flat on the floor. He leans in and pushes his face between my breasts once more, breathing in my scent. His nose rubs against the valley, then he grabs at the material of my bra and shreds it, right between the cups. The bra flies apart, and my breasts bounce, uncovered.
And he nuzzles them again.
My next protest dies in my throat, because heat is pooling between my thighs. I’m responding to him, even if I’m questioning if this is a smart idea. I know he’s fevered and delirious. I know he’s not in his right mind and his back is probably killing him. But with the look on his face right now? I don’t think he’s considering his back in the slightest. He’s more focused on me and drinking in my scent.
I’m a terrible person, and weak, because I’m not really fighting much anymore. I’m too fascinated with what he’s doing.
Zohr lowers his big golden head and skims his nose across the valley of my breasts again. He licks the soft skin there, and I gasp when I feel his tongue rasp over my flesh. It’s a little prickly, a lot like a cat’s tongue. I’m not sure what to think about that. He growls low, then continues to lick my skin. First the space between my breasts, and then moves slowly over to one side, heading for the tight, aching nipple that is just begging to be tasted.
I shouldn’t want this. I should be above this. I need to think like his nurse.
But then his tongue traces a little circle around the tip and I’m lost. I cry out, arching under him. That raspy tongue across my nipple? It feels like the most ticklish, most delicious thing ever.
Zohr growls again and drags his tongue over my breast. His hand moves up my arm, caressing it, and when I try to touch him, he pins it down to the blankets. That’s all right. I let him take the lead, panting my need. As long as he keeps putting his mouth on me, I don’t have to touch him.
Emma. My name isn’t coming from his lips this time, but his thoughts. He sends me a barrage of images, all of them scattered and filthy and utterly fascinating. I can’t make sense of them—they flit through my mind too quickly. But I get the gist. Zohr’s in his head enough to want to mate, despite his fever. He wants to claim me.
I’m not hating the idea. Not in the slightest.
With one big, clawed hand, he cups my breast and teases the tip of it, flicking one nipple with his talons while his tongue teases the other. I want to touch him, to drag my hands through his hair, but he’s still pinning down my one arm, so I hold on to my wrist with my other hand to give him free rein. If it feels this good, I’ll let him do whatever he wants to me.
Mine, he sends, and his need pounds through my mind like a hammer, his thoughts brutal and fierce.
Does he expect me to disagree? I’m not. Right now, I want to be his more than anything. Yours, I send back, caught up in the moment. All yours.
Scent…his thoughts are jagged, but I get the sense that he finds my smell appealing.
I know, I tell him. I washed off the perfume. I did while he was sleeping, because I worried it would make his head ache, especially given the small, stifling confines of our hiding space. Is it okay?
Emma…mine. His thoughts are feral with hunger.
Yours, I tell him again, and I’m getting caught up in his wildness. Touch me, Zohr. I want you.
He lifts his head, and our eyes lock. His gaze is such a deep gold that I moan, feeling a ripple of pleasure through my core. Did a human man ever look at his woman so hungrily? I’m fascinated by the intensity o
f his need and it makes me want to know what it’ll be like to be claimed by him, truly, truly claimed.
Mine, he sends again, and then his head dips lower. His mouth grazes my stomach, and then he releases my hand a moment before he moves to my new sweatpants (also tight and the wrong size) and uses his claws to tear them free. My protest dies in my throat, because he shreds my panties next, and then I’m lying out underneath him like a buffet.
Zohr lowers his head to my pussy and inhales deeply.
I squirm, because that seems a little strange to me. It’s not something a human guy would do—ever—and I don’t know how to react. I slide a hand down my belly to push him away, embarrassed.
He flicks my hand away, as if I’m bothering him, and inhales deeply again.
“Zohr,” I protest.
He only growls at me, as if trying to silence any sort of protest I have. Fine then. I swallow my awkwardness and lie patiently under him.
He continues examining me in his leisurely way, gaze utterly focused on my naked lower half. I’m nervous under his scrutiny, which seems silly. We’ve had sex. We have a mental connection and our thoughts are shared. Why does it matter that he’s looking at my pelvis as if he’s never seen one before and he took a deep, long whiff of my lower half? But the truth is, he’s still a dragon and I don’t know what to expect of him. He doesn’t think like I do, and in moments like this, it becomes incredibly clear that we’re not the same.
It’s both fascinating and a little frightening.
Emma, he murmurs again, and he lowers his face. I think he’s going to take another long, awkward sniff, but instead, he pushes my thighs apart with one hand and gives my folds a slow, thorough lick.
I can’t help the little squeal that escapes my throat. My nerves feel shredded and I feel all tense and fluttery and excited all at once. He groans, and a burst of pleased thoughts echoes from his thoughts to mine. He likes my taste. No, he loves it. The wave of hunger that sweeps through next startles me, so much that I’m too distracted to notice that he’s lowering his head again.