Arsenic Dragon (Dragon Guard of Drakkaris Book 3)

by Terry Bolryder

  Her mind swirled, the painful fog that had been circling since the event in the tree lot coming closer, caging her in hurtfully.

  She didn’t want to think about that. She’d been trapped in hell once, and if she had to live with these dreams, with these memories of what happened to her forever, or face an unsafe world alone, there seemed to be no escape.

  She felt tears fall from her eyes unbidden, the first time she’d cried in some time. She was sure she’d dried up long ago. There’d been no point in crying anymore. It brought everything she’d been pushing away too close to home. She touched her tears and brought them in front of her face to study them in disbelief, then bolted away from the table, running to her room.

  Running for the only sanctuary she had, no matter how insufficient it might be.

  CHAPTER 9

  Arsenic had no idea how he’d fucked up. He just knew that he had. He looked at the scattered popcorn, the wreaths for a tree that would only be up for a day, and pondered the painful notion that everything was just too late.

  He should have been there sooner. Should have been there to prevent whatever gave her memories she wanted to forget. He should have made sure that… that what?

  He wasn’t her mate. She wasn’t his responsibility… yet his dragon roared at the thought of her hurt, more enraged than ever before.

  So it was odd that it was that moment his phone decided to buzz. He rolled his eyes as he reached in his pocket, surprised they had waited almost a whole day to check in on him. The name on the screen was Cadmium, and he made a mental note to change it to “Asshole” in the contact info.

  How’s it going?

  He thought about lying, about telling Cadmium that he’d already made life so good for the human that she didn’t even want her memories erased and that she was begging Arsenic to mate her.

  But the oracle had already forbidden it, and besides, it had nothing to do with what Farrah wanted.

  Still, there was a part of Arsenic that felt he was flying at the thought of such a faraway dream.

  He decided to text the truth and hope Cadmium would take mercy on him and not tease him for once.

  Bad. She’s crying. He set the phone on the table and awaited a response. After a short pause, there was one.

  Only there a day and she’s already crying? Impressive, even for you.

  Arsenic let out a hiss and tossed the phone at the wall. Then he gasped and scampered after it, picking it up and seeing, relieved, that it was okay. He might hate Cadmium with most of his soul, but right now, he was his connection to any hope of making things right with Farrah.

  Hey. You’re the nice one. Help me, douchebag.

  Arsenic sighed as he waited again.

  Only if you ask nicely.

  Arsenic let out a growl and resisted the urge to chuck the phone again. He wasn’t sure it would withstand another hit. He stared at the phone, trying to figure out exactly how to tell Cadmium to go blow himself.

  To his surprise, the phone lit up again.

  Fine. Casey told me I have to help anyway. Go find her. Be gentle. Don’t touch her, but try and ask her what is wrong. Help her talk about it. If you are gentle, you will draw her out.

  Gentle? Arsenic had always been about as gentle as one of those raging bulls they liked to poke on TV and about as frustrated as one for a lot of his life. What did he know about being considerate and caring?

  But looking up at the bedroom at the top of the stairs, he couldn’t stand that Farrah was up there feeling alone. If he knocked, would she even admit him? If she needed him, would she still make him leave her alone?

  His phone lit up.

  You better not be sitting there like a constipated mess. If you do, I’m going to keep sending you texts. We can talk about my past sexual exploits if you want… since I know you probably don’t have any of your own.

  Arsenic’s eye twitched, and he snapped up the phone and typed out a quick text.

  I’m going.

  He walked up the stairs to the door, feeling a little as if he was facing his own execution. Whatever he’d done, it had spurred her crying, and he was probably the last person she wanted to see right now.

  But on the other hand, he was the only option, and deep inside, he was pretty sure she didn’t want to be alone right now.

  He knocked softly on the door and waited for a few seconds for a reply but heard only sniffles.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, resting his hand on the hard wood between them. “I don’t know what happened, and it’s not my place to tell you to talk about it. But I’m here if you want to.”

  “It’s fine. You can come in,” she said in a muffled voice from behind the door.

  He opened the door to see her sitting in the middle of her bed in a small ball, her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth slightly. There were tears on her cheeks, but she wiped at them and shook her head, smiling grimly.

  “I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ll be down in a while. You can tell your boss not to worry.”

  “I’m not worried about my boss. I’m worried about you,” he said, walking inside the room gingerly. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I’m okay. Really.”

  He cocked his head as he watched a tear roll down her soft cheek. Then another. She seemed frustrated by them, swatting at them with little swipes of her hand.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not fine. I may not know much about humans, but I do know excessive leakage from the eyeballs is not fine in any species.”

  She laughed and wiped more tears. “It was just hard there, you know?” Her voice broke slightly, and she kept her gaze pinned on the bed, on the gray and white covers beneath her.

  The bedroom was small but nice, with a window with soft drapes that still let in a good amount of natural evening light. It was homey and smelled of… her. Warm and spicy and a little bit crisp.

  “How was it hard?” he asked, wanting to go forward but staying at the door until invited to go farther.

  “I can’t… I really can’t talk about it. It’s just been so long since I felt… safe.”

  “I don’t understand. As long as you are with me, you are perfectly safe.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way,” she said, looking regretfully at him. “Look, I barely know you, and I do know that you can kill things with a sweep of your hand that I could never hope to manage. What if you could hurt me?”

  “I could never,” he said. But he wasn’t sure how to convince her of that. She was right. She’d been hurt by shifters, creatures like him. And his strength was much greater than hers. She had no hope of being able to defend herself against him.

  And then he had it. The perfect idea.

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a very special dagger. He turned it in his hand and held it out to her, handle first.

  She hesitated, staring at it.

  “This could kill me,” he said. “Made from a special metal on my planet. You can hold on to it. There’s a sheath on the blade, so you shouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself. It’s easy to pull off if you need to. I do ask you to be careful because a tiny nick to either of us could prove fatal.”

  She took it reluctantly, looking at the sheathed blade in both hands. “But why are you giving it to me?”

  “Because I’m about to do something out of pure instinct, and if I’m wrong, I want you to know that you’re the one in control here.”

  “Do what?” she asked, but before she could react, he was on the bed with her, scooping her up and holding her tightly in his arms.

  She flinched a little, struggling as he cradled her in his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

  “I hope this doesn’t seem weird to you. I have seen other dragons do this to comfort their mates.”

  She twisted to point the still-sheathed dagger at him, eyes wide with fear. “I’m not your mate.”

  “I know,” he said calmly. “And if you want to kill me, you can do it. But I want you to feel safe. With my
body around you, protecting you, maybe that will suffice. It will go no further than that. I swear it.”

  She went still for a moment, then stopped struggling, and then he heard the knife plop out of her hand, landing on the side of the bed, tossed aside.

  The next second, her hands were clutching his shirt, and he felt her tears wetting the front of it.

  He froze in shock for a moment as he realized she was crying against him. He, a deadly assassin, had a tiny human clinging to him for comfort. For protection.

  More incredibly, he thought as he looked over at the knife, she trusted him.

  He didn’t think he could ever explain in a million years how that felt.

  Silent tears turned to soft sobs of agony that rent at his heart.

  “They did so many things,” she said, looking up at him. “I don’t feel like I own my own body anymore. So many experiments. I was just a thing, a toy. Some of it hurt physically, some emotionally. I don’t even know how to deal with all of it. It just… hurts.”

  “Sometimes…” He paused, wishing for the right words. Somehow, they came to him. “Sometimes, letting something hurt is the only way we can deal with it. Some things just have to hurt.”

  She went still at that and then seemed to let it all out, sobbing loudly against his chest, cursing some unknown violator and at times screaming out her rage.

  He held her through the shaking, through the violence, until it abated to soft, heart-wrenching sobs of resignation that pained him more than anything before.

  Still, all he could do was stay there. As he’d told her, sometimes the only way to deal with something was to hurt, and if she had to hurt, he could hurt along with her.

  As she slowly quieted, catching her breath between sobs, relaxing slightly in his arms, he looked down to see her watching him.

  Her blue eyes were clear like the sky after a storm, though the whites of her eyes were red and angry. Her mouth twisted slightly in a crooked expression, something like concern. “It did help,” she said quietly. “How did you know?”

  He kept his arms around her, not wanting to let go. “I suppose… Not to tell you too much about me, because you don’t want to know… But I suppose I’ve been hurt a few times, too.”

  She rested against his chest and sniffled a few more times. “I’m sorry for that. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  Her hand stayed wrapped in his shirt on his chest. “You were right. I do feel safe.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, throat dry, body still frozen in concern for her, in fear of doing the wrong thing.

  She snuggled in against him and stayed there for a while, drifting into sleep as the room grew darker. When it was fully dark outside and the moon had risen, he turned with her in his arms to face the window, wondering if the moonlight would wake her.

  When she stirred, luminous eyes blinked up at him, reflecting moonlight.

  He thought it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stretching awkwardly, and pushing herself softly out of his arms. She pulled at the covers on the bed. “I’m so oddly tired. I guess the memories took a lot out of me.” She snuggled under the covers, and he helped tuck her in. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” he said, walking over to stand by the door.

  She rustled around in the covers, trying to get comfortable. “Thanks again, Arsenic. You’re one in a million.”

  He didn’t really know what that meant, but he supposed it was a compliment, judging by the soft smile she gave him before slipping her head onto her pillow.

  He waited until she was softly snoring and went over to the window, making sure it was securely sealed and locked.

  Then he walked out of her room and closed the door gently so it wouldn’t wake her up.

  The partially decorated tree awaited him downstairs, Christmas long forgotten.

  He sat on the couch in the living room, thinking about everything that had happened, how it felt to have Farrah cry in his arms.

  A buzz of a text brought him out of his stupor, and he pulled out his phone only to hear it receive another text, then another.

  He swiped his phone open to see multiple messages from all his dragon brothers, wishing him Merry Christmas. Right now, they’d been exchanging presents, having fun, eating wonderful holiday treats.

  But Arsenic didn’t miss any of it. He was content to be here in this little house, looking out at the snow, wondering if it was possible that the fragile, complex, strong, beautiful woman in the upstairs room could possibly be his mate.

  If that could be true, it would surely be the most wonderful, improbable Christmas gift of all.

  CHAPTER 10

  Farrah was surprised by how much better she felt the next day. She was sore, yes, as if the sadness she’d felt had stretched her in ways she hadn’t expected, but she also felt a sense of relief and satisfaction, as if she’d actually survived something terrible and could see the storm moving farther away on the horizon.

  She knew there would be more storms, more memories coming, at least until she had her memories erased, but in the meantime, it felt good to live again.

  She owed Nic a huge thank-you for being there last night. The knife he’d left her was gone, so he must have taken it back. Was he worried she’d hurt herself or just didn’t like to leave weapons around?

  It had taken her so off guard when he’d handed her the weapon, made it clear she was the one in control. And then he’d held her, just charged past all of her defenses and given her what she really needed but also desperately feared—touch, comfort. His touch had been so warm and almost… human. Yes, if she hadn’t known what he was, she would have said human. His muscles had held her so tight but so gently. The first time she saw Nic striding toward her in the castle, she never could have imagined he had another side.

  Caring. Nurturing. Kind.

  And then he’d said he’d been through things, too. Did she want to ask about that? She probably shouldn’t, knowing at the end of this, she wasn’t going to remember him. Which was too bad, because she was actually starting to see him as a… friend.

  Maybe more, if she let herself think about it. How hard his body had felt, how kind he was, and how it felt to have such a handsome, strong man treat her as though she were precious and worth protecting and caring for.

  It was more than being a bodyguard, the connection between them. She flushed as she thought about it, wondering if her body was truly coming back to life if she could feel actual physical attraction for someone.

  She took a quick shower and put a headband in her short, reddish curls, holding them back in a style she felt looked girlish and a bit more flattering. Then she pulled on a gray sweater that was looser than she remembered, along with some jeans.

  Perhaps he was right. She should eat more.

  She opened her door and headed downstairs, hearing noises in the kitchen that let her know where Nic was.

  He looked clean and freshly showered as well, though he must have done it earlier, as his hair was mostly dry, falling in beautiful, dark, shiny waves that were totally unfair on an already gorgeous man.

  Strong. Thoughtful. Capable. Smart. Did he have any weakness at all?

  She smiled as she saw an apron tied around his waist as he busied himself in front of the stove, turning knobs and stirring multiple pots.

  “Here,” he said, turning abruptly with a wooden spoon in his hand, keeping one hand under it to catch spills. “Try this.”

  She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, surprised by how she trusted him. Besides, something smelled incredible, and if his cooking was anything like the rest of the skills he possessed…

  She let out a choking noise as the hot, oddly salty yet spicy mush hit her tongue in a horrible combination of flavors. Was that little bits of egg? And cheese? In cream of wheat?

  She put a hand over her mouth, resisting the urge to gag as she looked up at him with wide eyes. He was s
tudying her with such a vulnerable expression, and she had no idea what to do, though there was no way to keep that awful sludge in her mouth.

  He studied her expression and shook his head, putting a hand on her shoulder and bringing her to the sink. “Spit it out. I know it’s awful.”

  She shook her head, and, eyes watering, forced herself to swallow the terrible swill. She gave him a weak smile. “No. It’s great, see?” She stuck out her tongue, showing there was no more food.

  He stepped back, releasing her and staring with folded arms. “Hmm.” He pulled out a chair at the table and motioned for her to sit there. “You are a bad liar.”

  She sat down, wondering if she was really going to have to eat more of the terrible stuff, but was surprised when he got out a bowl and served up a generous portion from another pot. He set it on the table in front of her and then walked over to the oven and opened it, letting the smell of fresh muffins waft out.

  He pulled the tray out and let them fall onto a fresh hand towel, and on the counter, she saw a recipe book open near him.

  He served himself a bowl of mush, put the muffins on the plate, and brought both to the table. He set them in front of the chair across from her and then brought two glasses of fresh orange juice over as well.

  She looked at the spread. The mush looked nothing like the one she’d eaten, and she saw no evidence of egg.

  He looked at her nervously. “I… uh… I’m a stubborn cook. Stubbornly bad at it. I cook without a recipe, just thinking about what I like, but it never works. I guess I thought maybe someone could tolerate it like I do, but I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s all right. I owe you after last night. I mean—”

  He gave her a glare. “You owe me nothing. I was the one who received the gift last night.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, reaching for her orange juice to take a swig before she braved the oatmeal in front of her.