Fire in His Fury

by Ruby Dixon

  The clothing is baggy and his face is hidden, his long, golden hair pulled back and tucked away. He doesn’t really look like himself. If anything, Rast looks like he belongs on one of the teen posters I used to have on my wall back before the Rift.

  He looks as if he should be in a boy band. I can’t help but smile. “It looks perfect.”

  Rast grunts and tugs at the collar against his neck, clearly uncomfortable. Is this what you prefer? That I am human?

  It’s weird, because I should like seeing him dressed “normal” but I don’t. All his beautiful untamed savagery is gone. Everything that makes him special is hidden, and when he’s like this, I can’t see his incredible body or the lovely golden glow of his chest. I can’t see the whirl of his eyes. It just looks wrong. “No, actually. I like you the way you are.” I move forward as he tugs at the collar again, and smooth a hand down his front. I can’t feel his warm skin like this and for some reason, seeing him “trapped” in all these layers of clothing really bothers me.

  I don’t want him to be anything other than who he is—proud, fierce, and just a little wild.

  Good, because I already cannot wait to take all of this off. I can feel the disgust rolling off of him.

  “We don’t have to do this,” I murmur. I’m torn between wanting to help the people in need, and wanting Rast to be happy. He’s been against this plan from the start and it’s beginning to worry me. Perhaps I’m not thinking logically about this and should be more worried.

  We will do this, he reassures me. You need female supplies and you want to help them. I wish to help my brother that is in need. There are reasons to go, even if what I must wear is…unpleasant.

  I smile up at him. “I appreciate it.” I put my arms around his waist and hug him, pressing my cheek to his chest. “Thank you.”

  Do not thank me. We are a team. We do this together. His hand rests atop my head as he holds me close.

  “All right, well, when we get in the city itself, keep the brim of your hat pulled down low, try not to make eye contact, and let me do the talking.” I’m nervous, but also oddly excited.

  He grunts. It is not as if I wish to speak to them anyhow. You are the only one I care to communicate with.

  Is it bad that hearing that gives me a little thrill of glee?

  22

  AMY

  We fill our bags with our new supplies and head out. I shove a bunch of packs of underwear in my tote, because you never know when you're going to need to trade with someone, and fresh panties are always in need. Rast just seems happy to be out of his clothing once more, and so we take to the skies to move closer to the city. A review of my map tells me that we should be hitting the outskirts soon, and my suspicions are confirmed when I see fresh graffiti on a faded billboard. It's nearly white from age and weather, but written in big, bold lettering is:

  FORT SHREVEPORT, EXIT 13. LOOK FOR GREEN ARROWS.

  ALL HUMANS WELCOME -- EXCEPT NOMADS.

  “Friendly,” I murmur to myself. While it makes sense to exclude nomads, I'm not sure that I find the suggestion particularly welcoming. It means that someone's lying about the place being “friendly” or that they've had a lot of trouble with nomads in the past. Neither one is a particularly great option.

  Say the word and we will turn around, Rast tells me.

  No, let's keep going. I want to see what the fort looks like. I admit that I'm curious how another fort is run, but it's more than that. I can't stop thinking about the note and the other dragon. Is there another woman who's been singled out by a dragon? If so, she'll need my help. I can't imagine how terrified she'll be. I need to reassure her and let her know that everything's okay. That it's not a death sentence like it might seem.

  I want her to know she's not alone in this.

  As we continue east, the streets get more clogged with dead automobiles, and the buildings go from occasional to clustered. The ruins are everywhere, just as bad as it is in the heart of Fort Dallas. I see burnt-out shells of old buildings, car lots where the asphalt is hidden by the sheer amount of leaves and debris that has slid between the now-dead cars. I see a few grocery stores that were clearly ransacked long ago.

  Smoke, Rast tells me. On the horizon.

  I raise a hand to my eyes and squint around his neck, trying to see what he sees. He ducks his head a little as he flies, and then I see it. It's a tiny plume of smoke, but it's there nevertheless. You think that is people smoke or dragon smoke?

  Dragon smoke, he tells me. I can sense that he's nearby. We approach his territory. I do not think he will be welcoming, though. Already he has sent warnings to me.

  He has? I feel a twinge of worry.

  He is in full courtship mode, Rast agrees. He will not welcome another intruder.

  Oh. Point out that you're mated and I'm with you and we're here to help. I don't like the thought of playing matchmaker since I know one party is probably terrified out of her mind, but I remember what Rast said. Why is it fair to help one and not the other? He's not wrong, and I'm determined to play a neutral role in this. I want to help solve the problem, no matter what it means for the human or dragon.

  I haven't figured out the details yet, but I figure we'll wing it.

  No pun intended.

  As we zoom along in the air above the broken highway, I see a few more green arrows here and there, all pointing toward the direction we're headed—toward that plume of smoke. I don't think it's a dragon attack day—something that you could practically set a schedule by back in Fort Dallas.

  If he smells a female, it will not matter what day it is. He will not stop until he finds her.

  Is it safe for us to approach? I ask. Can you talk to him and let him know we're here to help?

  I will try.

  There's a long pause and I feel Rast's mental connection grow a little distant, as if he's distracted. I stroke his scales as he flies, because I know it's tough for him to talk to others of his kind when their minds are insane. I can only imagine what it does to his head. I keep petting him and touching him, letting him know that I'm here with him.

  We sail along on the wind, and in the distance, I see a large shadow in the sky. That must be the dragon. He continues to fly around, circling one particular area like a buzzard over a kill, and I shiver at the sight of him. It brings back a lot of bad memories. I think of Fort Dallas, and I wonder if Kael got Claudia's scent one time when she left to go out on her scavenging hunts? It would explain why he was attacking the city over and over again, out of pattern. So many things fall into place with the more information I get. It's fascinating, and it makes me wonder if a lot of the problems between humans and dragons are that we simply don't understand each other.

  It makes me more resolved than ever to be that bridge, that communication link to help both parties. If Rast and I can live happily together, there's hope for others, too. Look at my sister. Sasha. Emma. We've all done the unthinkable—paired up with the enemy. And everyone is happy. If we can do it, maybe others can, too. I refuse to believe that there's anything special about us…or at least, about me.

  You are special, Rast tells me. Never doubt that.

  His thoughts seem focused once more and I glance up to see that the dragon is veering away. He's spouting flame but heading away from the spot he'd been circling over. Did you talk to him?

  I did. He is lost, though not as bad as others. Rast seems thoughtful. He does scent a mate down there, but she hides from him. I told him my mate and I will help him find her, but he cannot attack the city for two days. That should give us enough time. His thoughts strain again, and he pauses. After a time, he adds, I had to remind him. I will need to stay in constant contact with him because he cannot remember.

  Okay. I stroke his scales. Can you do it?

  I can. Vaan has a strong mind. He is quick to grasp things…and just as quick to forget them, but I will do what I can to keep him calm. Is two days enough?

  I hope so. We'll find out. And if it's not, we'll
make sure we're long gone before this other dragon comes back.

  Vaan, he reminds me. He has a name. I do not think it is all of his name, but some of it. His thoughts grow pensive. I am not sure if my name is all of my name, either.

  You've mentioned that before. What do you mean?

  My brother's name was Hitaar. My friend was Jurik. They are both longer on the tongue than mine. I think there is some I do not recall, some part that was broken when we came through. His mind grows sad. Some part that might be gone forever.

  Not forever, I tell him fiercely. Never. If you had it once, you’ll have it again.

  Rast gives me a mental nudge, as if he wants to hug me but can’t. I am lucky to have you, my mate.

  Funny, I feel the same. I pet his scales. Let’s focus on the task at hand and we can show each other how lucky we are later. I blush even as I send it to him, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing’s going to separate me from my dragon. Not now, not ever.

  We stay overnight at another department store and head out this morning. It’s early afternoon when the gates of Fort Shreveport come in sight. Because we don’t know what kind of dragon alarms they might have, we don’t want to set them off. The last thing we need is to show up when the fort's on lockdown, because then no one will let us in.

  I'm a little surprised to see that Fort Shreveport is a middle school sandwiched in-between abandoned suburbs. I shouldn't be surprised, though. In the After, a sturdy building is a good shelter, no matter what its original purpose was. This one's still standing, so that makes it home to someone. Heck, Fort Dallas is a series of shanties wedged between old car garages and cement buildings because that’s what’s safe. People welded a bunch of old car frames together to form the barricade around the “fort” in Dallas, so the fact that this is a heavily fenced middle school shouldn’t be that weird. Safe is safe.

  The other dragon, Vaan, has left the area, but Rast tells me that he’s anxious to return, his crazed thoughts constantly creeping up against Rast’s more calm ones. So instead of heading in to the gates of the school, we double back, flying over the crumbling suburban neighborhoods that cluster around the school itself. We fly out until the school is out of sight, and then land. Rast remains in dragon-form while we walk in, careful to keep low so no one can spot us.

  This part of my plan, I didn’t think through so well. I knew we could fly close to the city, but I didn’t think about how we’d get inside the city. It’s not like we can fly one street over and just have Rast shift forms—they’ll notice an enormous dragon disappearing. So we have to take things a lot slower. When we get too close to the city for it to be safe, Rast shifts to human form. He changes into his clothing, clearly hating every minute of it, while I desperately try to find a car or bicycle in working order. I’m wearing a long scarf-like skirt and a T-shirt with my sneakers, having changed to something more practical than the prom dress. I kind of miss it, though. Maybe we’ll go back and play dress-up again after this is done. I loved being a princess for a day.

  Of course, since we’re so close to a fort, anything in this area that was useful is long picked over. I’m determined to walk every step of the way in, but Rast puts an end to that. He shoulders both backpacks (since we made one for him for appearance’s sake), then lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing and carries me.

  “I can walk,” I protest, even as my arms go around his neck.

  You can. But it is my pleasure to carry you. And you are tired.

  I am tired. Day after day of travel has really worn me out. It doesn’t matter that I’m riding all day on his back. I’m not used to the physical exertion of being out and about. Couple that with the never-ending Texas heat, my period, and everything else? I’m too wiped to argue. I just adjust the brim of his cap so it goes low over his eyes and then stroke the long braid of his blond hair. “We probably should have cut this to make the disguise perfect,” I murmur, “But I can’t bear the thought. I love your hair. It’s as wild and free as you are…normally.” Even now, I hate to see it braided and confined. It feels wrong.

  You can comb it out for me later, he promises. For now, we will pretend to be as human as we can.

  I study his face. I don’t know if this is a great plan. Even in “disguise,” Rast still looks otherworldly. His eyes are covered with sunglasses, the cap over his head, and his clothes covering his body can’t really hide the fact that he’s alarmingly big and muscular. Nor can it hide the fact that he’s wearing long sleeves in early autumn, which is ridiculous for Texas. He’s not sweating. His skin is a strange, coppery gold that has a pattern if you look closely.

  And he’s got miles of hair, fangs, and thick fingernails. At a quick glance, he might pass for human, but anyone with half a brain will figure out right away that he’s “other.”

  If they do, then I will shift forms and protect you as I should, in my battle-form. There is nothing to be afraid of.

  He’s right, of course. “I just don’t want to be wrong.” I want this to go well because I’m the one pushing to help people. I feel like this is my only chance to show Rast that humans aren’t as awful as he thinks they are. That we’re not all smelly bastards sitting around destroying and stinking. That humans are just as thoughtful and clever as his own people. We’re just different.

  You may say it, but I do not believe it, he tells me with amusement. I will never believe that someone that smells as if they rolled in their own dung is intelligent.

  I smack his chest lightly, because I know he’s teasing me, and then let my head rest on his shoulder. It’s still quite a walk to the front gates and I’m tired. “I’m sorry my plan wasn’t a better one.”

  Your plan is fine.

  It would be if I could walk properly, I think.

  There is nothing wrong with you, Rast sends me with another one of those fierce mental blasts that always feel like they rattle my teeth. We have different strengths, that is all.

  I’m not sure I have any strengths.

  Your heart is kinder than any I have ever met, he tells me immediately.

  I’m flattered…until I remember he doesn’t have a lot of his memory. “Hmmm.”

  I may not, but I know this is truth. You are good to your core. You want to see only the best in those that surround you.

  I toy with his braid, fascinated at how thick around it is—bigger than my wrist and as gold as the rings I played with yesterday. “Maybe because I’m surrounded by the best people? My sister is wonderful, and you are the most thoughtful, sweetest man—”

  No, he abruptly tells me. I am not one of the good ones. Just because I am good to you does not mean that my past is erased, my Amy.

  He sounds so certain that I’m surprised at the vehemence in his anger. He genuinely thinks he’s a bad person. If you were unkind, would you carry me for blocks just because I have a bad leg?

  If you were my mate? Yes. Because your cunt clutches my cock better than any hand.

  I snort. “Liar. You try to sound all badass, but the tightness of my…girl parts has nothing to do with you rubbing my head when I had a headache.”

  Rast just grunts.

  “You can’t convince me,” I tell him cheerily. “You’re the best. Don’t deny it.”

  Amy, my fires, your memory is short. Do you forget that I destroyed another dragon who sought to claim you? Stole you from your friends and family?

  I snuggle against his chest, eyes closed. “Yeah, but I wanted to be stolen. And he was trying to get between our love. Those are all different.”

  I sold myself to the enemy on my world.

  “Necessity. People do that here, too. You didn’t want your family to starve.”

  He is quiet. I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but that’s all right. These things take time. Maybe someday he’ll see himself as amazing, just as I see him.

  Until then, I’ll just keep telling him otherwise.

  23

  AMY

  There’s something about Fort Shreveport tha
t seems…off.

  We approach and I can’t help but feel uneasy. There’s no one on the streets leading to the fort, and I have to remind myself that they’ve been under siege by a dragon. Just because Fort Dallas would swarm with people minutes after the all-clear was given, it doesn’t mean that Fort Shreveport is the same. But still, there should be scavengers out, or hunters looking to bring kills back to the city. Someone. Something.

  Instead, it’s just awfully quiet.

  I have Rast put me down and we link hands as we head toward the iron gates. I can tell the clothes are chafing him in all kinds of ways, but he refuses to tug at the material, determined not to give us away. I also know he’s pacing himself so his steps match my much slower ones, and I appreciate that. It makes it look as if we’re heading into their city full of confidence, so unworried that we’re taking a leisurely stroll up to their door.

  The gate itself isn’t all that big—it’s about six feet tall and wrought iron, with “The Thompsons” worked through the metal. Obviously this belonged in front of someone’s driveway and it’s been stolen. Instead of the car barricade that Fort Dallas had, this one seems more prison-like. Circling the front of the building is an eight-foot-tall chain link fence set into the ground with poles and decorated with barbed wire on top. The school itself looks like it’s been covered with all kinds of metal shingles, from every place imaginable. It’s a patchwork covering, reinforced here and there with the occasional half-melted stack of tires in strategic corners of the building.

  From between the links of the fence, I can see inside, and as I watch, people emerge from the shelter of the building and head out, dragging wagons and carts. There are metal awnings covering nearly the entire fenced courtyard, and underneath them, it looks like rows of plants. Fascinating. As I watch, a lanky boy runs along one row of vegetables and yanks a chain, securing it. As he does, the awnings move up so the plants can catch sunlight.