My magic meant that I would turn into a monster, and I could not bear it.
The rift between me and Ingrid, which had slowly started to heal, was also torn open again. I had known that she was my keeper, of course, but the word suddenly began to resonate in a different way: Zookeeper. Beekeeper. Animal keeper.
Dragonkeeper.
She was my master and my jailor, and I could not forgive her for it. Even the sacrifices she’d made for me during that long flight from the desert began to seem less personal and therefore less meaningful. So she almost gave her life for me—so what? The woman is a proud member of a line of Dragonkeepers stretching all the way back to the Crusades. I’m sure she’d have done the same for any dragon in her care.
My relationship with Gunn didn’t fare much better. After learning what I really am, my old crush on him began to seem more and more pathetic, even shameful.
Oh God. When I think about all those fantasies!
How long did I cling to the desperate hope that he might love me one day, in spite of everything? How long did I keep thrilling at his touch, his presence, his nearness? And all the time he knew what I was. What I would turn into one day.
The mere thought of Gunn makes me shudder with humiliation now.
What a stupid, stupid girl I had been.
At the moment I am still living at the Pendragon mansion, despite everything that happened. The truth is that there’s nowhere else for me to go: both the Skykeepers and the media are still howling for my blood—wanting either a scoop about “the real Jezebel” or to shoot me in the head.
To be honest I’m not quite sure which option I’d prefer at this stage.
My Skykeepers remain bound to me, and although I continue to feel a strange sense of comfort in their presence, I can’t say that I enjoy their company or appreciate their loyalty as much as I did before. I’ve also stopped correcting them when they call me “their Queen”, because I finally understand that this is not some courtesy title they awarded me because they think I’m awesome. They pledged themselves to a dragon, and this is what one calls a girl like me after she transforms into a dragon: a Queen. When they look at me, that’s what they see and what they’ll continue to see, no matter how often I insist that I’m simply “Jess.”
Daniel recovered from his shine-sickness but he remained a bit star-struck around me, which didn’t help. Sofia did her best to soften the reality about what I am by all kinds of legends and stories and theories, but the truth is that I found it almost impossible to listen to her. I’ve had enough of people bending and evading and twisting the truth.
It is what it is, and I am what I am.
The half-dragons stopped visiting my dreams, for which I’m grateful. The Pendragons are avoiding me too, for which I’m even more grateful. Zig still acts as my bodyguard, for which I’m not at all grateful, especially now that I know he’s planning to run his sword through me as soon as I grow fangs and a tail.
I have no idea how to make any of this any better.
And so, for now, I continue to put one foot in front of the other. I breathe. I eat. I sleep. I wake up. I brush my hair and I dress myself and I do what people tell me to do. And yet, all the while, the image I can’t get out of my head is not that of a fire-breathing dragon, whether magnificent or terrible, but of Salvador Dali, helplessly flailing around in his old-fashioned diving suit.
Admired as something special. Cut off from the world. Honored and revered. Ridiculous and absurd. Completely misunderstood. Slowly suffocating, but unable to reach out to anyone.
I guess it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that fucking analogy.
* * *
Jess’s story continues in Treasurekeeper. Click here to see what happens next!
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About the Author
Ripley Harper writes stories about young women who kick serious ass. She’s fascinated by myths and legends, old religions, ancient history and conspiracy theories. She’s also quite partial to a slow-burn romance, especially when it involves an (absolutely smoking hot) arch enemy.
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Fireborn
Copyright © 2020 Ripley Harper
All rights reserved.
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.
Cover art by Tertius Heyns
Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2) Page 32