Fire in His Fury: A Post-Apocalyptic Dragon Romance (Fireblood Dragons Book 4)
Page 7
I get excited when I see that there’s a restaurant area inside the casino, because if it hasn’t been picked over, there might be food inside. Even a can of green beans would be welcome right about now.
But the moment we head through the archway of the restaurant entrance, the dragon-man begins to growl low in his throat.
“Are you okay?” I ask in a whisper, wondering what I did wrong. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s staring around us, his nostrils flaring and his eyes completely black.
Oh no.
Before I can try to talk to him, he very carefully sets me down on the ground, his movements surprisingly tender as he watches me settle my weight on my bad leg. When he’s satisfied that I’m not going to collapse, his teeth bare and then in a flash, I’m facing the large golden backside of a dragon as it storms into the restaurant.
“Wait,” I call, and then stop myself just in case he turns all that anger on me. I squeeze my eyes closed and sink to the ground, remembering the casual snap of the other dragon’s neck.
Up ahead I hear screams, and what sounds like a gun going off.
People.
I immediately dash away, looking for cover. I might be sheltered, but I know that people with guns tend to use them, and anyone here won't appreciate me showing up looking for food or clothing. Oh Jesus…clothing! I'm in a bra and panties. Horrified, I crouch behind a water-damaged slot machine that's tipped on its side. My leg throbs at being folded tight, but I can't exactly stretch out at the moment. I make myself as small as possible, watching to see who emerges. Of course there are squatters in the kitchen area. That's where I'd go.
The dragon roars, and I hear an enormous crash. “Run!” someone yells, and there's another scream and what sounds like a clatter of pots and pans. I wince as something even bigger crashes—probably the dragon himself knocking into something—and then it goes quiet.
Only for a second, though. A moment later, the dragon roars out another angry sound, as if he's warning everyone in the world away from this place. I feel a momentary stab of guilt that we're pushing someone out of their home, but survival is survival. I'm just doing the best I can with the hand I've been dealt…and my hand apparently involves a dragon.
Maybe I should take this time and hide, too. Wait for him to leave and then just run away and never look back. Hope that I can find my sister and her dragon again. Hope that I can figure out where I am and how to make it back. Hope that I won't run into nomads or any other dragons.
Or maybe I'll take the coward's way out and stay right here.
The sounds die down until the only thing I can hear is that of the occasional slap of something heavy against a wall. I peek over the slot machine and see the dragon-man still in dragon form, smoke curling from his nostrils, his eyes black as he prowls around the restaurant area. His tail slaps against the wall, making the loud thudding noise again. I slide back to my hiding spot, biting my lip. This isn't my fault, I tell myself. You can't feel guilty if he ate all of them. You don't know them. They wouldn't have welcomed you. They might have been worse than the dragon.
In the After, people cluster in small pockets of humanity. There's Fort Dallas, which is run by the militia, and Fort Orleans. I've heard there are other forts in old cities—there's even a Fort Atlanta—but most of them are so far away that we never hear news or even know if they're around. No one travels because the only people on the roads anymore are nomads, the lawless murderers who are so awful that even the degenerate forts toss them out.
So I can't fret over expelling a few nomads, not when they're awful people. But I don't know what I'm going to do if the dragon comes back to me and he's covered in their blood. Trembling at the thought, I swallow hard and close my eyes, wishing this nightmare would go away. Why did I ever think I wanted a dragon for a mate? Why did I think it would be just like Claudia's relationship? This monster that has me is wild and brutal and I can't talk to him. I don't know what to do.
“Aahm,” he calls in a guttural voice, and I look up to see the dragon's turned back into his human form, his long, knotted hair tossing as he strides forward.
I get to my feet to greet him and feel a stab of sharp relief when I realize he doesn't have blood on him. “I'm going to choose to believe that you let them go without a scratch,” I tell him softly.
He moves to my side and grabs my jaw, but it's not a rough motion. It's surprisingly gentle, for all that I can feel the intense coiled strength in him. He examines me quickly, and then, pleased that I'm not hurt, grabs me by the waist and hauls me forward, taking me into the restaurant.
In a way, it's kind of…sweet? I think. He strides in as the conqueror, his shoulders back with evident pride at defending his territory, and even though I'm terrified of him, I have to find this a little amusing. Dragon-man, conqueror of casino restaurants. If we were friends, I'd probably laugh, but I'm his captive. I can't forget that.
He takes me into the center of the restaurant, where the floor has been cleared and chairs knocked aside, and sets me down gently. Again, he gives me a watchful look as if to make sure my leg behaves, and then waits patiently. My knee brushes against his cock as he releases me, and I flush with embarrassment all over again. “We've really got to get you some pants,” I whisper. “Or get me out of here. I'd be happy with either, I'm just saying.”
The dragon-man grunts at my words as if he understands them.
He just waits on me, though, and I guess it's time for me to take the lead. “Hope all the nomads are gone,” I say to no one in particular, and then step forward. My bad leg wobbles and he immediately swoops in to pick me up. “If you're trying to get on my good side, that's going to be a little difficult after a murder spree,” I tell him, doing my best to sound as firm as Claudia. I point at the double doors that will lead back to the kitchen area. They've been spray-painted with handprints and gang symbols in different colors, but if there's food left here, it'll be in there. My stomach growls again, reminding me that I need to eat.
I let the dragon take me into the kitchen, and then I have him set me down again. It's clear that someone was living here for a while, because there are bedrolls set down next to a line of refrigerators, and there's a pile of empty cans littering one corner of the room, decorated with buzzing flies and gnats. Lovely. Even if these people had clothes, I'm not sure I want them. There's a layer of grime all over this place, and the permeating stink of sweat. Yuck.
When I glance over at the dragon, his nostrils are flaring, his expression stiff. “I imagine this smells pretty ripe to you,” I tell him, and wrinkle my nose.
That earns me a surprised huff that sounds amused. I'm weirdly pleased at that. Maybe all isn't lost if we can't communicate. Body language is universal, isn't it? All right, then. I make an eating gesture and point at a door that has to be a pantry of some kind. He gets a revolted look on his face, and this time I can't bite back my laugh. “I'm only eating it if it's canned and safe, trust me.” I let the irony show in my voice. “I'm hungry, but I'm not THAT hungry.”
A quick perusal of the pantry shows that most everything has been picked through except for a few industrial-sized cans of yams. Oh wow. I haven't had yams since Thanksgiving so many years ago. I point out all three cans to the dragon, and search for a can opener and a fork. There's nothing but a dirty spoon. The water here works, though, and I spend a few minutes scrubbing my find, washing the lids of the cans free of dust, and then drinking my fill from a broken cup I find in the back of a cabinet. The dragon-man watches me with amusement but makes no attempt to help me or stop me.
“I guess you're not too sure what I'm doing, are you?” I tell him, and sigh heavily at my cans. Either they didn't like yams, or they didn't have a can opener. I suppose either one is plausible. I run my fingers along the metal top. “I don't know how to get this open.” I glance back around me in the dirty, lived-in kitchen. “Maybe there's a knife somewhere.” I indicate the can and make a stabbing gesture. “I have to get this lid off.”
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The dragon-man steps forward and examines the can, picking it up in his hands and turning it over. He sniffs it and then looks at me again. I pantomime opening the lid, then eating the contents, and he gives me another one of those “you’re crazy” dragon looks. As I watch, he sets down the can and then presses one thumb-claw against the lid. As I watch, his arm flexes, his bicep enormous, and then I hear the punch of metal tearing underneath his grip.
His claws are strong enough to be can openers. My eyes go wide.
He pulls free, sniffs the contents, and then nods to himself as if suddenly understanding. With his long claws, he hacks at the hole he's punched in the lid until he manages to pry open a fist-sized section, displaying the yams below. The scent hits me and I clap my hands with excitement. “You did it!”
Immediately, his eyes gleam bright gold. I smile at him…and then I realize his cock is getting hard. My fear immediately returns and I watch him, wary. Is he going to fling me on the floor and try to get on top of me again? But he only offers me the can, watching my face with an avid, hungry expression that has nothing to do with food.
I hesitate, and then move forward. I sidle up next to him, careful to ignore the burgeoning erection, and spoon a bright orange chunk of yam. It's syrupy with glaze, and smells so good that my mouth waters before I can bring it to my lips.
The first bite is heaven, and I can't help the little sigh of pleasure that escapes me. “Either I'm hungry as heck or these are amazing,” I tell him.
He moves closer to me and touches my cheek, but doesn't do anything else, just watches me. When I hesitate, he shoves his hand into the can and grabs another yam, offering it to me. I delicately take it from him with my fingers and eat it, licking my fingertips.
I guess this means we're friends. “If we're going to be friends, though, you need a name.” I glance over at him again. “Something…nice and sweet and un-scary. Like Sam. Sam isn't a scary name at all.”
He just touches my hair, pushing it back from my face as if fascinated by it. Or me.
After my belly is full of yams, we search for a gift shop and I manage to find one, after all. I grab a T-shirt to wear that’s far too large and hideously ugly. It fits me like a dress, though, and I’m happy to have it. I feel better with clothing on me.
We explore for the rest of the day, but the casino’s pretty wrecked, and the parts that aren’t are filthy from nomads that have stopped through. By the time the sun starts to go down, I’m hungry again, and tired. I can tell Sam doesn’t like being inside, so we head back out to the roof.
This time, when he changes back to dragon form, I try not to panic. He doesn’t mean me harm.
Sam finds a spot on the roof and just watches me with a sleepy gaze. His tail twitches, and I get the impression he's far more alert than he's letting on. It doesn't matter; I'm way too tired to attempt a prison break, and my leg hurts. The sun has set and it's getting cold. I guess we aren't sleeping inside. I think for a moment back to those dirty pallets in the kitchen and shudder. No thank you. I'd rather sleep with no blankets than lice-ridden ones. I pick a spot on the concrete a few paces away from the dragon and try to get comfortable.
Doesn't work, though. It's concrete. There's no comfortable way to relax and not feel how hard the roof is. Maybe I should have found something in the gift shop to use for a pillow. My legs are cold, too, and I try to stretch my T-shirt down over my limbs.
There's a low draconic snort and then I hear him get up. A moment later, claws encircle my waist and I gasp, arms flailing. I bite back my shriek of surprise as he lifts me into the air. Then he settles back down on his haunches, tucks his forelegs against his chest, and settles me on top of them. His head lowers and he closes his eyes once more.
I remain utterly still for a moment. It's clear when he does nothing else that he realized I was cold and uncomfortable and is trying to give me a better bed of some kind. All right, then. I relax and shift my weight against one tucked leg, and manage to get comfortable. It's warm like I'm sleeping on a radiator, though, and the heat of him lulls me into relaxation.
I'll figure out a plan for tomorrow, perhaps. I'm too tired to think of anything right now. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
RAST
She is learning to trust me.
I watch my fragile human mate sleep against my chest, her mouth slightly parted, her cheek cradled in her palm. The feel of her resting against my scales is…indescribable. I want to caress her, to mount her and claim her as my own, but I am just now gaining her trust.
I can wait a few more days. And if someone comes to challenge my claim on her, I am prepared to destroy.
7
AMY
The next day doesn't provide more answers for me, just more questions. It's clear the dragon has no intention of letting me go. In fact, he doesn't want me out of his sight. I figure this out when he follows me back to the bathrooms again, and then when we go back to the roof and he grabs me in his claws and flies off. He hunts down a cow with me in his grip, snatching the thing with his mouth and then swallowing it in two gulps. It's done so fast I can't even scream, and then we fly back to the roof and he settles in again.
And watches me, waiting.
Okay, well, if I'm in charge here, I want a better place to stay. This isn't a home. I think of Claudia's place, with the hole in the roof so Kael can come and go. I need someplace that's accessible for the dragon but still is more comfortable for me than a hard rooftop. My leg hurts with every step today, so I know I'm going to need to stay off my feet unless I want to be crawling soon.
Some people can handle roughing it, but I can't. My stupid leg just doesn't have the strength. I hate it, and I hate that I'm a burden on everyone. But I can't do anything about it. I head to the edge of the rooftop and then stare out, thinking. A casino isn't the most hospitable place, especially when it's been picked over. My ability to survive on my own is next to zilch, and there's nothing to scavenge. I sigh in frustration and let my gaze move over the parking lot, down the long building…to the hotel at the far end.
Of course. There's a hotel on the premises. Why wouldn't there be? And at the hotel, I'm thinking there will be bedding, at least, provided the place hasn't been completely ransacked. I shield my eyes with my hand and look over at the building. It's very tall, easily fifteen or twenty floors. If I were a scavenger, I might venture up to the top floor, but probably not. Not when anything I find has to be toted back down to the ground. It doesn't make sense.
But it makes perfect sense if you've got a dragon who can take you to the top of the building. I get to my feet and approach Sam. He watches me, his body calm. I think the calmness is an act, though. There's nothing about him that feels calm in the slightest. More like…watchful. And his eyes are whirling with black at the edges, which tells me that he could easily be set off into a crazy spell.
As I approach, the gold in his eyes becomes more pronounced, and I wonder if it's me that's keeping him from flipping out? He hasn't gone on a burning spree since he grabbed me, and most dragons are highly volatile. If that's the case, I need to encourage his happy mood. I smile brightly at him and approach his head, even though a little part of me is quivering inside with terror. I don't think he'll hurt me, though. Not if he wants me for mating. I reach out a hand, testing the waters.
The dragon lifts his head, brushing his enormous snout against my fingers.
“All right then,” I whisper, and feel a bit of pleasure when his eyes go even more gold. If dragons could purr, I bet he'd be purring right now. I move closer and stroke my hands along his nose, learning the textures. Impossibly hard scales, so tight against his skin that it feels like one rippling sheet of metal. I stay carefully to the side of his mouth, because I haven't forgotten that his teeth are long and sharp. “Can we go on a journey?” I ask him. “A small one?”
Sam blinks at me, and in the next moment, I'm petting air and the naked dragon-man with the long, crazy hair is heading toward me.
He moves forward and reaches for my face.
I freeze, alarmed, but all he does is brush his claws lightly along my jaw, then watches my expression. He's…petting me. Oh. Does he think it was a greeting? I fight back a giggle at that, imagining saying hello to the Fort Dallas militia with a nice jaw stroking. Yeah, no.
I let him caress me a moment longer, and then point at the building on the skyline, just across the expansive parking lot. “Can we go there?”
His gaze follows my gesture, and then he points at it as well, one long talon slicing through the air.
I nod eagerly. “Yes. There. More food,” I pantomime eating. I don't know if that's the truth, but if there's anything that's not raided, it'll be the top floors of the tall hotel. “And clothing.” I pluck at my shirt, trying to demonstrate it to him.
Sam's gaze moves up and down my body, considering my clothing. After a moment, he reaches forward and rips at my T-shirt, tearing a hole along the hip. Surprised, I jerk backward to stop him and end up stumbling backward. “What are you doing?”
He growls low in his throat and crouches at my side, reaching for my face again. “Aahm?”
I wince and sit up, ignoring his hands. “I wasn't showing you my shirt so you could rip it off of me. I was showing you so you would know what I want.” I glance over at him, and his eyes are whirling blacker by the second, as if he's inches away from losing it. Okay, not good. I reach out and caress his jaw to calm him. “It's okay.”
Sure enough, the black in his eyes recedes a bit and he touches my face.