Fire in His Fury: A Post-Apocalyptic Dragon Romance (Fireblood Dragons Book 4)

by Ruby Dixon

  He grunts, his answer when he doesn't agree with me but also doesn't want to argue. Even now, you still smell fresher than your human hive.

  Of course, that only makes me groan with dismay. I forgot about his heightened senses. He can smell everything. I feel sick. Let's just go, I tell him. And let's try not to think about this.

  It's clear Rast doesn't understand my awkwardness, but then again, what guy can?

  It gets worse with every hour, my cramps beginning and a slight headache from the dry wind turning into a raging migraine. I feel terrible when he suggests we stop early, because according to my map, we can get there today. It's not even noon yet, I protest. We can keep going.

  Not if you hurt, he tells me stubbornly, and circles low, landing in a grassy field.

  No amount of protests from me make him get back into the air, and so I slide off his back and collapse on the ground, clutching my abdomen. Maybe it's the changes in my body because of his venom or maybe it's all the physical stuff I've been doing recently, but my period seems worse than usual and it's miserable. I move to the shade of a nearby tree and use the pack as a pillow to rest my aching head. I'll be fine, I tell him. Just give me a few.

  What can I do? he asks, and I feel his shadow fall over me. I can feel his concern.

  Let me lie here and bleed to death? I joke, but when I feel an immediate flare of alarm coming from his thoughts, I open my eyes and reach up to touch him. “That was a joke.”

  A poor one. He moves to sit at my side, then eases my head into his lap. Do you wish me to hunt you something to eat?

  Not hungry, I tell him, closing my eyes again. My hair's spilling over his naked thighs and dick, and I can't find that I care. His body is warmer than a heating pad, and it actually helps my head a little.

  Rast's fingers stroke over my brow, brushing my hair back. May I touch you?

  It feels good, I admit, remaining still as he caresses me.

  Then rest, my dragon-man tells me. We will go again when you are ready.

  We can't waste time.

  Yes we can. We owe them nothing.

  People are in danger if a dragon's attacking the city—

  Then we will tell them that my mate was sick and I refused to fly until she felt better.

  I'm not sure how an excuse of, “Yeah, we were coming to rescue you but I was menstruating. Hope that's not a big deal,” will go over with these people.

  He growls low. You are my mate. I will take care of you. Do not pretend as if you feel fine when you do not. I do not care about any of these people we go to “rescue.” I only care about one person and if she does not feel well, I am not flying anywhere. His fingers skate over my brow. And that is my final response.

  I say nothing. I feel like he's wrong, but I also feel pretty terrible, so I'm not going to argue. His hands feel good against my skin and I close my eyes, determined to nap. The sooner I feel better, the sooner we can get on the road.

  I wake up a while later and sip some water, realizing that the sun is almost going down and I've slept most of the day away. Rast hasn't moved from his spot under the tree, still carefully rubbing my temples and grazing my forehead with his fingertips. I feel a lot better even if my cramps aren't pleasant.

  We will find a place to sleep and then we will go there tomorrow, Rast insists. I will not argue over this. He gives me a watchful look and then takes the canteen from me when I offer it to him, drinks a sip, and then stoppers it. I know he's saving most of it for me, because that's just how he is.

  And that's fine that he won't argue over whether or not we need to go on tonight, because my plans have changed. While I slept, I came up with a different solution. “We need to go to a store,” I tell him.

  To look for more items to assist your bleeding? He picks up my pack and adjusts the top, making sure it's zipped tight.

  Gah. I can feel myself blushing at hearing it so baldly stated. “Not just that. I think…I think when we go toward the city, you need to be in disguise.”

  Disguise. He repeats the word slowly in his mind, rolling it around. After a moment, he gives a little shake of his head. I do not follow. Explain.

  I straighten my clothing and look over at him. “We're approaching a human city, right? And they're currently under attack by a dragon. They might know that he can turn human. They might not. They might be ready to attack all dragons and I don't want that. So I think we should hide what you are.”

  Hide? I am not letting you go in alone—

  “No, no, not like that,” I murmur, and then touch my dress. “We get you clothing. A cap to cover your horns. Some sunglasses to cover your eyes. And we pretend like you're human.”

  He bares his fangs, a look of disgust on his proud features.

  “And we don't make that expression,” I add quickly, because it makes him look anything but human. When he does that, he's all fearsome teeth and menace.

  I do not wish to pretend to be human. How am I going to do that? Rub dung on myself? Rast sounds offended. Roll in the mud?

  “Jeez, I see how you think of me,” I tell him, hurt.

  His jaw clenches and he moves to my side, cupping my face in his big hands. You know I do not consider you as the others. You are mine. That makes you different.

  “Yes, but I'm still human.” I put my hands over his, squeeze them. “Try and be a little more patient with them, please.”

  Rast grunts, and that's as good an apology as I'm going to get. Tell me more of your plan.

  “Well, I'm thinking that you can tell the dragon that we're going to go into the city and to stop attacking.”

  Because we are going to send out his mate, Rast guesses.

  “Well, I guess we can tell him that.”

  My dragon-man arches his brows at me. Because we are going to send her out.

  “I'm not sending anyone out if she doesn't wish to go. But if we're inside the city then we can help figure out what's going on.”

  His chest rumbles, and I can tell he's displeased by the plan. So you are asking me to lie to one of my people that is suffering? Simply because it is easier for the humans?

  “Well, when you put it that way, you make me sound like a jerk,” I tell him unhappily. “What about the poor human female that doesn't know what's going on? How am I going to convince her that a dragon won't hurt her without talking to her? And she won't talk to me unless she trusts me. She won't trust me if I show up with a dragon at my side. These things take time.”

  His jaw clenches. I see. What would you have me do?

  “Wear human clothes. Just while we're in the city. We don't have to stay there more than a few days if you don't want to—”

  A few days? His eyes immediately turn black. You intend to stay there overnight?

  I stroke his arm, filling my thoughts with soothing images. “Rast, baby, listen to what I'm saying. If I thought it was dangerous, would I suggest this? I don't want to get hurt, either. I think after today it's obvious I'm not good with pain.”

  He pulls me against his chest as if that can change my mind and strokes my hair. I do not like your suffering, either. If I could take it, I would.

  “Well, I would be happy to give you my period, but that's not how it works, unfortunately,” I say, petting his chest. “But humans hide in forts now. It's the only place that offers safety from dragons. Now how would it look if we showed up at the human city and tried to leave at dark? If you were a human, what would you think?”

  I would think I needed a bath—

  I smack his chest lightly. “I'm serious. Think.”

  Rast grunts. You are…not wrong.

  I can't help but smile at how grudging his response is. “I know I'm not.”

  The moment we have finished helping these fools, we are leaving, he warns me. I do not like the scent of a human hive. It attacks the weak spots in my mind. There's a hint of fear in his thoughts, and I wonder if he's imagining the dragon we saw earlier. He was so shocked at how lost the other one was, how mindl
ess. My poor Rast. It has to be so hard to see his people suffer like that and know there's nothing he can do to help.

  I look up at him and cup his jaw. “I'll be at your side every moment. I won't let you go wild again, I promise.”

  He takes my hand in his and presses his mouth to my knuckles. I trust you.

  And somehow, that feels like the biggest gift of all—trust. Trust that he's going to let me take the lead on what could be a dangerous plan. No one's ever let me be in charge before. It feels incredible and a little overwhelming all at once.

  “I won't let you down,” I whisper to him.

  21

  AMY

  Dressing up a dragon is far more fun than I thought it would be. It's completely distracted me from the ache in my pelvis and the general awfulness I feel while on my period. I don't think Rast shares the same feeling I do, though. The only words that can come to mind for how he's acting this afternoon are “extremely tolerant.”

  We hunted up and down the highway for a store that might have clothing. The only ones we found for a while were boutique-type stores that had women's clothing and nothing else. I picked up a few skirts and tank tops, and a second pack to tote around. Still no tampons or pads, so I've been switching out my panties and rags at every stop, which is just as terrible and obnoxious as I feared it would be. It takes some time before we find a store that has men's clothing, and it's an old department store, the doors shattered and covered with shopping carts as if someone tried to barricade themselves in.

  No fresh scents, Rast tells me as we approach. Whoever was here is gone now.

  “Probably because there was no food or water,” I tell him. I recognize the name of the store and remember that they sold trendy clothing, jewelry, and shoes, but little else. In the After, that's just a temporary shelter, not a real home. You stop, you grab a few things, and you continue on your way. We land and Rast helps me down, and I grab one of the loose, rusty buggies from the jumble. “Let's take this into the store with us.”

  Inside, things aren't much better. It's dark, so Rast helpfully blows out a rush of flame…and sets a rack of winter coats on fire. At my terrified squeal, he knocks the rack into the center of the aisle, away from the other racks of clothing. It already smells better in here, he says grumpily.

  Yeah, my dragon is not a fan of this plan at all. But he's going along with it, which tells me that he knows I'm right. I squeeze his hand. “Help me find the menswear.”

  We wander through the store, gazing at things of a past world. There's a back-to-school section, filled with backpacks and pencil boxes and new shoes, all in small sizes. There's a dusty jewelry counter, still filled with rings and earrings of every kind imaginable. I peer at them for a minute, and then leave them behind. Diamonds are pretty but useless now. I can't eat a diamond, and no one would trade a haunch of meat for a pretty bauble these days. Now if the case had been filled with charged batteries…we'd have been rich. Oh well. I'm not looking for a big score anyhow, just some clothes.

  I do pause by the lingerie section in the hopes that there's something I might find for my period woes, but there's nothing useful, so I grab two packs of cotton panties, toss them in the cart, and head on.

  The blankets section has been ransacked. Same with the home goods. There's an area of sparkly prom dresses that looks untouched, and I sigh wistfully at the sight of the floaty creations, because I never got to go to prom or dress up.

  Rast hears my sigh and pauses. You like these?

  “I do,” I admit. “They're completely impractical and useless and I never got to wear one.”

  He moves forward and takes a pink dress off of a rack. It's got two slender straps over the shoulders leading to a beaded bodice, a long pink scarf that artfully goes around the wearer's neck, and layers and layers of pink tulle for a princess skirt. So wear this now.

  “It's not practical,” I protest. “There's no point.”

  You can wear it here. When I pause, he adds, you can wear it for me.

  I hesitate, but then I take the dress and hold it up against my chest. Way too small. I move toward the rack and look for something that might fit me, caught up in the fun of playing dress up. If Rast wants to see me in this, it might be fun to wear for an afternoon.

  I look over at him with a shy smile, and he gives me a nod of encouragement. Wear all of them if you like.

  I giggle at that. “You're only supposed to wear one at a time.”

  Then wear the best one.

  I pull out another one of the pink in a larger size and admire it. I'm forgetting all about being bloated and miserable in the face of an afternoon of pleasure. “Do you like this?” I ask him.

  I like you best naked and moaning.

  I smack his arm, chuckling. “That's not what I asked.”

  He studies the dress. It is soft and pretty. Like you.

  I nearly melt at those sweet words. Beaming at him, I shrug off my practical sundress and bra and quickly slide the prom dress over my body. It's a tight fit, and I can't do up the line of buttons in the back. I turn toward Rast. “Can you do this for me?”

  He frowns, a look of concentration on his face as he studies the two sides of the bodice back. I do not understand how this works. At the mental image I send him, he snorts with derision. Humans are strange. Why have thirty ties when one will suffice?

  “Because it's stylish,” I tell him, holding my hair up so it doesn't snag in the buttoning.

  It takes him some time to finish fumbling with the buttons, and I’m pretty sure he misses a spot or two, but when he’s done and the bodice is fitted, the skirts flowing down to the floor and hiding my bad leg…I feel like a princess. And because I’m feeling princessy, we head back to the jewelry counter and I load my neck and fingers with a bunch of useless, sparkly jewelry.

  You shine beautifully, my mate, Rast tells me. These things make you happy?

  “It’s fun to feel pretty,” I admit to him, holding my hand out and admiring the wealth of sparkle on each finger. “It’s something humans used to do a lot and now we’re lucky just to survive.” I lower my hand and slip it into his. “It’s nice to have an afternoon where we can pretend that the world’s not a nightmare. Where it’s just us and we can do whatever we want without having to worry.”

  We can do whatever we want anyhow, Rast tells me, but leans in and gives me a light kiss. And you are lovely. Your smile is brighter than all of the things you wear this day.

  How can I not love the guy for things like that? I can tell just how sincere he is because I can read his thoughts, and it makes the words all the sweeter.

  I feel like a princess as we wander around the store, my long skirts swishing around my legs. Rast is silent, but occasionally reaches out to caress my arm or touch the back of my neck, silent signs of his affection that I live for.

  I know he isn't keen on getting human clothing, so I want to make sure we get him something decent. I'm a little vain, too, because I want to dress him up and show him off to other humans. I've never had a boyfriend—much less a lover—and I'm proud of how handsome he is. Maybe it's a little selfish to want to parade him around, but I'm just so happy, I want to broadcast it to the world.

  But first, clothes.

  We find the menswear in the back of the store. I pick through a few racks of denim jeans. They look sturdy, but they also look tight and uncomfortable. Something tells me that Rast isn't going to be a fan of skinny jeans, no matter how practical. I head toward the athletic wear instead and pick up a pair of blue track pants. “These might work.”

  For what? He sounds openly skeptical as he reaches out and touches the fabric. Why does it feel slippery?

  “It's for running. The slick-feeling material is popular. It's nylon or something.” I hold it up to his waist, trying to judge his size. He's big and brawny, but not fat in the slightest. “Let's find you some underwear and you can try these on.”

  You like these? He looks down at them with a frown.

 
“I think they're great. Very practical. Why?”

  He reaches out and touches my dress. Something flowing would be less confining. Easier to fight in. I need something like yours.

  I bite back my smile. “Really? You want to wear a dress?”

  Is that bad? He seems surprised. Do males not wear such things? He sends me a mental image of a pale, pale golden man in a long, flowing white robe. The Salorians were the only ones who wore clothing in my land and this is what they wore.

  “No, men don't wear them here. You would really, really stand out if you wore something like that. I'm sorry. We have to blend.”

  He grunts and runs his hand along the stripes on the side of the track pants. How is a warrior supposed to fight in this? It is cut all the way up to my sac. He reaches down and holds his cock in his hands. It will get caught if I move.

  I bite back another giggle that threatens. “That's why guys wear underpants.” I throw a couple pairs of the track pants in our cart and then head over to the underwear section, then grab a pair of boxers from a hanger. “Like these.”

  He squints. These will not hold anything. My cock will get tangled in this as well. He glances back at me. Do you jest with me, my mate?

  I'm trying so hard not to laugh and I doubt I'm succeeding. “No jesting. I promise, people wear them.” I grab a packet of briefs and offer them to him instead. “These might be better?”

  He takes the package and stares at the picture. These look like yours.

  For some reason, that makes me erupt into giggles. “I promise you, I’m not wearing men’s underwear.” I open the package and shake out one pair. “Just give it a try, okay?”

  He does try them. I can feel his silent mental complaints as he slides the briefs up his legs and adjusts them, then puts on the pants. We find a shirt next, an overlarge long-sleeved T-shirt with a basketball logo on it, because most everything else will be too tight on his broad shoulders. Next is a pair of shoes that fit and a baseball cap to cover his horns, and I give him a pair of sunglasses I’ve been holding on to. And then I step back and study my work.