:Chanda, are you well?:
Immediately, I jerked my head up to scan the battle. I couldn’t see anything but dust and black taamids everywhere. I sent Jalan an image of the Red on his back, bellowing in pain, his intestines tangled around his own legs.
:Excellent. Aren’t you hungry? We could use some help.:
Actually, I was famished. After flying through the afternoon in the horrid heat and fighting the Red, I was more than ready to feast on a few Mambas. Not bothering to take to the air, I trotted into the fray, jaws gaping, and snagged myself a snack.
Hearing her fight—the screaming roars, the clash of mighty dragons, the thundering flames—was torture. Jalan wrapped his left arm around his midsection in an effort to keep his own dragon caged. His beast thrashed, wings stretching, Fire blasting his ribcage, furious that his mate battled another male. In his mind, he knew Chanda would win. Her proud dragon heart would accept nothing less. But his beast refused to lie down while she was threatened.
A Mamba dra’gwar off to the right wasn’t able to control his rising dragon. Howling, he thrashed on the ground, wreathed in Fire. His body split open, folded, and crumpled away, leaving a red and black mottled dragon mewling on the ground. A Krait tried to behead him before he took to the sky, and even his own tribesmen struck, a scimitar curving a gaping red slice in his side.
A dragon wasn’t safe, wasn’t trustworthy. He’d kill his own tribe as quickly as his enemy. He’d kill his own chained Red in a frenzy and turn on the White, too.
The White, Chanda, who fought for Jalan. A fierce smile flickered across his face, but he quickly smoothed it. She was trustworthy. She loved him enough to control her fearsome instincts and kill for him.
Through her bond, he felt her dark pleasure as she fed on some hapless Mamba.
Best he provide more bodies for her to feast upon.
He pushed forward, twisting the enemy’s scimitar aside. A quick thrust with his short sword into the Mamba’s side, and the dra’gwar fell back. Another slash and he sliced open a Mamba’s throat. Too many, surely. He barely made a dent in the robed warriors surrounding the Well. A woman screamed far behind him and his blood boiled higher. These were his people, his kin, and he would not let them be slaughtered!
Two Mambas came at him, blades snaking high and low. Rage boiled in him, his skin burning with Fire. One of them managed to cut his thigh, but he didn’t even feel it. With his dragon riding so close to the surface, nothing could touch him.
A child wailed to his right. Sparing a glance, he could only watch helplessly as a Mamba warrior raised his scimitar.
“No!” His gut twisted, bile rising in his throat. The boy was his nephew, the only child he would ever be able to claim. His younger brothers had been lost to the Fire. His mother, dead of suffering and heartache. And Chanda, his fierce, lovely mate who would never bear his children. Who would never have her own tent in his sepah.
Chanda touched his mind, flooding him with concern. Chains, dragon wings clipped, savage fighting, killing.
He knew the risk. But it was too late. :Forgive me, my love.:
Skin tore open down his back. Fire raged. And wings exploded about him.
Roaring a warning, I scrambled toward Jalan, but it was too late. Black leather wings flapped and Fire overwhelmed his control. His calm acceptance disappeared in a raging flood of flames.
Agony, oh Somma, such agony.
My stone warrior was gone. Forever.
After so many disappointments, all the betrayals and heartaches in my accursed life, it shouldn’t have surprised me that I would lose him, too, that the Gods would ruin such a magnificent warrior.
Rage—my oldest and dearest friend—ate my heart, burned my gut, until I launched at the Mamba dragon. I wanted to kill. I needed to kill. Maybe, then, my heart would stop hurting.
Young in the ways of dragons, though, the fledgling male proved poor sport. Even the chained Red had fought better. I seized the Mamba’s throat and threw him onto his back. He clawed at my underbelly, barely scoring me, but I clamped my jaws tighter and growled.
I remembered holding Jalan. His slight human shoulder in my jaws, his skin fragile on my teeth, and I wanted to throw my head up and curse the moon all over again.
A heavy weight slammed into me, pinning me against the Mamba. With a hateful urge to kill as fierce as mine, the eviscerated Red could not simply lie down and bleed out his life on the poisoned sands. His black spiraled horn slid over my shoulder and plunged into the other male. Screaming with rage, the mottled dragon thrashed beneath me, his claws gripping me close as though I could somehow save him.
Not with a vicious horn in his heart.
The Red rumbled a low purr against my back. His jaws worked on my shoulder, not biting, exactly, but letting me know he was there. He touched Jalan’s mark, and my stomach clutched with revulsion. I should have ripped the Red’s heart out and eaten it.
With a slam of my shoulder, I broke his horn off. Bellowing, the Red tried to crush me, dropping all his impressive weight on me. I called forth my rage, my hatred, the blazing power of the Fire I carried in my heart. I glowed as brightly as the moon above.
The full moon...
Writhing, I fought the curse. I needed to be a dragon to fight for Jalan. I wouldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain.
As always, though, I was powerless against the Gods. Very human, very weak compared to the monster mauling me, I yanked the black horn out of the dead dragon cooling beneath me. The Red closed his jaws on my shoulder again, shredding my skin. His claws dug into me as he flipped me over. He sniffed at my chest, my stomach, evidently surprised at the change in me. I still smelled like a female dragon, but I certainly didn’t look like one.
Sorrow choked me and tears leaked from my eyes. Jalan, my stone warrior, a beast now like this one. Moonlight flooded my veins in a raging flood of grief. I shoved that magic into the Red, and he reared back in shock. I plunged his own horn into his wide red-scaled chest, driving deep, using all my strength to search for his heart.
A massive black shadow snatched the Red away, rolling in a flurry of wings and scales, roaring in fury. Jalan, my Black. The Red was already dying, but Jalan tore at his throat savagely until he completely beheaded the opposing male.
Dripping blood, black eyes blazing with fury, the Black turned malicious eyes on me.
Did he recognize me at all? As the White, I knew him. I knew his scent, the taste of his skin in my mouth. My skin was already torn from the Red and my blood flavored the air. That could be a good thing—or a very bad thing. A dragon driven insane by blood hunger wouldn’t recognize his mate let alone in human form.
:Jalan.:
He shook his head hard, snarling at my human intrusion. Instead of sending him words, I concentrated on emotions. On images. Things we shared. I remembered flying with him this afternoon, the wind rushing beneath my wings, our devastated homeland spread out beneath us. His joy. His love. My regret.
His response stole my breath. All black wings, night sky, wind in our faces, soaring higher and higher until we nearly touched the moon, and then spinning toward the sands, clutched together, mating a death spiral until the last possible second.
“I can’t fly, Jalan. Not now.”
Did he even understand? The killing rage was gone from his glittering eyes. He came to me, towering over me like a fierce black mountain of flesh and claw. Stretching down his sinuous neck, he ran his rasping tongue over my flesh, cleaning the wounds and licking the blood from my skin.
He rumbled with pleasure. He knew my scent, the taste of my blood. The image he put into my mind was too complex and yet too simple to describe. Mine. He knew I was his, and he planned to keep me until the sands blew away and the moon fell from the sky and the last Keldari died in a punishing blast of Fire.
“Mine, yes, forever.” I whispered, running my hands over his triangular head, down his sleek neck. His neck and his forehead, too, were smooth, but his jaw was lined with gor
geous feather plumes, a dark purplish ruff. The feathers relaxed under my tender strokes to lie smooth against his neck.
Tears trickled down my cheeks. “You did well, my fierce warrior. You killed many Mambas. Look, they retreat, and your people are spared. You saved them.”
Sorrow flooded our bond. He remembered the last Well, the spreading poison. His people weren’t spared—they merely had longer to suffer before dying. Rage filled him, sparking in his black eyes. Pain and fury blazed together higher and higher. He raised his head and roared at the moon, blasting flames and thick smoke as if he could cloud Somma’s curse and bring me back to him.
I couldn’t bear to see him doomed as I. He loved his people, he loved his Gods, he lived to save as many as possible. My Riven heart welled with tears; my chest squeezed with grief. How could I save him from his beast? How could I bring him back?
Magic rippled inside me, rainbows I ignored for centuries with blind eyes, sweet melody I tuned out with deliberately deaf ears. Listening, now, to that music dancing in my blood, I knew only one hope. One way I might bring him back.
I called more power, blazing like the full moon above. I filled my heart with all the emotion he fought so hard to make me feel. The tenderness of his rough hands. His calm, strong acceptance. I felt his Fire respond to mine, braiding together down that blood bond we formed, the memory of sweat and blood, wild love and tender, oil and tears and no promise of the morrow. Not for us. Not for any of us.
“You took my blood. You took my Fire. You took my body. Now take my Riven heart and make me whole once more.”
Magic pulsed inside me, burning my skin, liquefying my bones. I felt his heart pounding in answer and I called him as hard as I could. I tugged on his bond, wrapping him in moonlight and hope where I’d only known hatred before.
“I am Given to you, Jalan tal’Krait. My heart beats for you.”
Our hearts thundered louder. He seized me in razor talons and clutched me to his chest. His wings fought to lift us airborne, but I wrapped him up in my magic, chained him with my heart, my love. “Come back to me, Jalan.”
He didn’t fight me. Sinking to his knees, he curled wings around me. Once again, he accepted me. He accepted my love. And I drew him back. I stifled his Fire, I willed his scales, his wings, his claws to recede.
Until I held my stone warrior in my arms once more.
Chapter Six
Jalan stumbled into his tent with Chanda clutched in his arms and lay her down on the carpets and cushions. Smoothing her dark hair out of her eyes, he caught her tears on his fingers so he could drink her offering.
Laughing softly, she reached up to wipe his, too. Tears he didn’t even know he shed.
“Chanda, my love, what you did... No one has ever been able to bring a dra’gwar back once he succumbs to the beast within. It’s a —”
“Miracle,” she breathed against his lips. “Magic.”
He spread her hair out like a fan on the cushion and buried his face in the silken tresses. Her scent rolled over him, so warm and lush and wild. Yet her heart beat in tandem with his. Her thoughts were his. Her mind and heart were completely open to him, singing with love where only rage had dwelled before.
For a while, he simply held her, listening to her heart, drinking in her scent. He never dreamed to hold her in his tent. The sepah bustled with dinner preparations, warriors drinking and laughing about the fire, relieved that they lived to face another day. They didn’t know that this courageous, magnificent woman wouldn’t have another day. Unless— “Have we broken your curse?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I hoped if I could earn the fierce White’s love that would be enough.”
She tightened her arms around him, drawing his face closer and rolling on her side so she could stare into his eyes. “I love you. That’s miracle enough.”
“But how can I—”
“You can’t, Jalan. Only I can break this curse.”
“Then break it, my love.”
She smiled, a sad, broken smile that sliced his heart in half. “I can’t. Besides, you still plan to sacrifice me to save your people. Don’t you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart stuttering with horror and dread. How could he even think to kill her? He would rather wade into the Venom Sea than harm a single hair on her head.
Someone scratched at the tent flap. “Tal?”
Jalan crawled over to the flap and peeked out. His heart plummeted. “Yes, Shaddad?”
Completely dressed in black with the taamid pulled up to veil his face, Shaddad’Yama offered a tray containing a large bowl of stew, a tea pot, and a flask of wine. “It must be done at dawn as her dragon comes.”
Grief wracked his heart. “Is there any other way?”
Sympathy flashed in the priest’s eyes. “No, my son. Yama has spoken. This is the only way to save the Kraits. That you love her so well makes her a worthy sacrifice. If you can’t do it, let me wield the blade for you.”
Jalan closed his eyes, struggling to breathe.
“No.” Chanda said in a flat, hard voice. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him back toward the cushions. “I want it done in love.”
She took the tray from his trembling hands. “Sit, tal, and let me serve you one time as your mate.”
It was the least he could do, he decided, watching as she moved about his tent. She found the low table hanging from a rope in the center of the tent, and the cups and bowls in a small chest beneath. The Krait weren’t a wealthy people as far as the Keldari were concerned, but he felt pride that his cups were fine china brought over the wild seas from a land far away; to a Green Land port across those rich, fertile fields to Far Illione, the borderland on the desert fringe; and finally across endless miles of sand and dune, of marauding tribes and dragons, to grace her hand.
Smiling, she gestured him over to lounge on the low cushion beside the table. She poured water into a small bowl and took a cloth from the chest along with clean linen trousers, a flowing tunic, and slippers worn inside the tents, plain but soft and comfortable. Kneeling beside him, she carefully wiped his face, hands, and feet, and then she helped him dress. He did so silently, enjoying her touch, her scent, as his heart clawed his throat to ribbons. He gazed at her sleek curves, the fall of her dark hair, the glimmer of love in her eyes, and tried to imprint her image on his mind and heart for all time.
Once he was dressed and comfortable on the cushion, she washed herself, rubbing some oil into the dragon scratches to speed healing. She didn’t bother dressing. He had no feminine clothing in his tent anyway.
Kneeling beside him once more, she poured tea. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sipping, closing her eyes even while her lips twisted slightly. “I forgot how strong and bitter our tea is. Surprisingly, I missed it.”
Opening her eyes, she offered the cup, carefully turning it so he could place his mouth where hers had been. He took a sip, welcoming the blaze of smoky spices mixed with bitters. The taste was perfect for this one night they had left. “Fire Tea feeds the fire within—”
“—If it doesn’t kill you.” She finished the ancient Keldari saying. “Let’s hope the stew is tastier.”
Their last meal. She didn’t say it, but the thought hovered between them, silent doom echoing in the tent. She picked up the heavy silver spoon and sampled the stew.
“If your taste in oil is any indication, the stew doesn’t have enough sage.” Winking at him, she spooned more and raised it to his mouth. He couldn’t taste anything but ashes. It was enough to stare into her eyes, and put his mouth on the spoon after she took a bite.
No, he lied to himself. It would never be enough. Rage stoked inside his heart; flames flared on his skin. She shivered, glowing as though she swallowed the moon above. Her eyes smoldered, and her lips curved in a teasing smile. Lifting the tray, she stood, deliberately swaying her hips as she turned, giving him a view of fiery dark hair curtaining her slender back.
Clever woman. She turned his useless rage to another kind of fire he could more easily quench. She came back empty handed, standing before him confident and proud. She shook her head and curved her neck like an enticing female dragon.
Still, he forced his hands to remain in his lap. If he touched her with this Fire blazing in him, he would take her like a rutting beast again.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid I’ll lose control. And this time—”
Their last time.
“I can be tender, Jalan.” Solemnly, she sat in his lap and pulled his warrior braid over his shoulder. She began unbraiding it, her fingers gentle and sure. “I don’t always bite.”
It felt so odd to touch him, to feel the Fire blazing in him, the desperate hunger, yet keep my movements so light and careful. Odd, but wonderful. I slowly unbraided his hair, gently combing my fingers through his hair until it fell about his shoulders.
Shaking beneath me, he fought to restrain his beast. I felt his hunger, his need to take me, to claim me as his own for all time. Yet he wanted to simply lie together, to hold me endlessly and look into my eyes, too.
It broke my heart.
Silently, I swore to give him exactly what he wanted, even if—when—it killed me.
I took him by the hand and stood, leading him to the rear sleeping alcove. I opened the roof flap so we could see the stars, the accursed moon, the velvet night sky. We lay together staring up at the sky, touching, but not moving more than feather-light fingers. I circled up and down his chest, his arms, his neck, his beloved face, while he stared up at the sky and quivered at my touch.
“Chanda—” His voice broke and a shudder wracked his body.
“Shhh.” I rolled over on my side, drawing his head around so we could stare into each other’s eyes. “I love you.”
Survive My Fire Page 5