Marked by the Dragon

by Kayla Wolf

  That was what all this was designed to teach her, she decided, sitting up from the brooding ball she’d curled herself into on the bed. All of that soulmate nonsense—love, romance, sex—it was all just a distraction. An alluring distraction, true, but a distraction nonetheless from what was truly important. What was important was her family. She and her father—they were all they had, in the face of a world that seemed determined to destroy them. And her father wasn’t a very proactive man, so it was going to fall mostly to her to keep them safe. That suited her fine.

  Step one was to deal with the coyotes. Caleb had been vanquished for now, but she didn’t trust him to stay away for long. They were in danger here, that was for sure. All the more reason to get going back to Colorado as soon as possible. As far as she was concerned, the coyotes could keep this territory. Well, maybe not all of it. She’d want to take the chickens with them. Far too used to having fresh eggs every morning. But there had been something dangerous, something vengeful about Caleb… she was worried that they might want a little more than their territory. They might want revenge. Well, they could try and claim it if they wanted. She and her father may have been peaceful farmers these days, but she knew how to fight, and so did he. Let the scrappy little dogs try to fight two fully-grown dragons.

  The next step was obviously to get their land back. Part of her wanted to fly straight up to Colorado that instant, to meet with the king and plead her case. But she knew that it would be too dangerous to leave her father undefended down here. What if they both went? Then they’d be leaving the farm undefended… and the sacred stone, for that matter, which she didn’t know how to remove. No, she’d need her father on her side if they were going to fly back to their home and plead their case for their territory. And that would be a long conversation. Perhaps if she explained David’s betrayal, really emphasized the seriousness of their position here?

  That was a worrisome thought. What if her father didn’t see David’s actions as betrayal? He was just the type of dragon to forgive something like that, she thought irritably—she knew him well enough to predict his actions. But even he must see that things were escalating with the coyotes. Even Charles must be having some second thoughts about their future in this place. She’d have to talk to him. Find a new tactic, somehow, find some way to convince him that they needed to make a change. They could rebuild what they had down here, couldn’t they? She found herself sketching out lines of argument, mentally playing both roles in the conversation. The problem with that habit was that her version of Charles was always much more reasonable and easy to convince than the real thing.

  Frustrated, she rose to her feet, running her hands through her hair. The whole room still smelled of David, and she was disgusted to realize that despite her fury and hurt with him, it still smelled good. Only one thing for it—the whole room would need to be purged. It might be therapeutic for her, too. For a long time, they’d done all their laundry by hand, until sometime in the 1970s when Quinn had snapped and flown into town to purchase a washing machine of their own. It had taken some fiddling to get it set up, but it cleaned all their clothes and bedding very well, these days.

  She pulled her clothes from the night before back on, then turned to stripping the bed, working quickly and aggressively. It felt good, tearing off all of the evidence that he’d ever been there. She bundled the sheets up in her arms, resisting the urge to inhale them one more time—then kicked the chair away from the door and stormed into the house. She was half ready to confront David if he was still there—but to her relief (and a little pang of regret she did her best to banish) the living room was empty. Well, good. With any luck, he was halfway home by now. She stormed to the laundry machine, ignoring the hot tears that were standing in her eyes. She was just under a lot of stress, that was all.

  She stuffed the sheets into the machine, putting an extra scoop of laundry detergent in for good measure. As she watched the machine fill with water, she felt a grim sense of satisfaction. It would take longer to purge the memory of his touch from her mind, but this was a good start. She went back to her room, trying to smooth the tension out of her shoulders. She’d washed the pillowcases and the cover on the comforter, but as for the pillows and the comforter themselves… she scooped them up and carried them outside to the laundry line. The sun was high by now, and she knew that a few hours of airing would be more than enough to banish any lingering traces of David, whose name she was trying very hard not to even think of.

  Back in the guest room, she opened the curtains and the window wide, letting the desert wind into the room. Then she stood in the doorway, hands on hips, satisfied with her work. A stripped bed, an empty room… before too long, all traces of him would be gone. From here, at least. But what could she do about her own memories of him?

  Well, for a start she could have a long hot shower. Short as it was, she felt like the smell of him was lingering in her hair, and she wrinkled her nose with distaste as she stalked back towards the bathroom near her room. Nothing like a long, hot shower to make a girl feel better—wasn’t that what all the songs said? Wash that man right out of your hair? She scrubbed every inch of her body under the scalding water (she’d always loved a very hot shower) and washed her hair twice, just to make sure. By the time she padded out into the living room in fresh clothes and damp hair, she was feeling a lot better. Not great, still, but better.

  There were chores to do, technically, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care much. So after she’d hung the freshly-washed sheets out to dry, she curled up on the sofa with the book she’d been trying to read for the last week solid. It was a useful distraction, but she found herself tuning out of the sentences—her mind trying to stray to David, to torment her with memories of the night they’d spent together. It was only natural, she supposed, gritting her teeth in frustration as she started the same paragraph for the tenth time. It was all so recent, so fresh—and it wasn’t as though she’d ever connected with someone like that before. She was bound to go through some kind of grieving process, right? At least she’d never see David again. After a while, the pain and the anger would fade, and these horrible few days would just be a distant memory.

  Quinn felt her frown deepen as she thought about the future. She was determined to move back to their rightful home with her father. But wasn’t that where William lived? It stood to reason that David would be there too. She’d be forced to see him again. Treacherous, she felt a burst of something like happiness at that idea and firmly suppressed it. Seeing David again was a bad idea. But she supposed she’d just have to deal with it. After all, she was hardly going to let him stop her from reclaiming her rightful territory, was she? Of course not. He’d just have to stay out of her way, that was all.

  The gentle clearing of a throat pulled her from her irritable reflections, and she glanced up to see her father standing a few feet away, his blue eyes worried. She blinked up at him—he was wearing the clothes he usually worked in, and she felt a slight pang of guilt. Charles had been getting on with things while she was moping around, deep-cleaning the guest bedroom and trying to handle her own stupid feelings. Well, she’d make up for it by working twice as hard the next day, or something.

  ”Sorry, Dad,” she tried, putting the book down. “I’ll get to my chores soon, I just—”

  ”They’re done,” Charles said simply, waving a hand. “Don’t worry.”

  ”Done? What about yours?”

  ”Done, too. Don’t worry yourself, sweetheart.” She wrinkled her nose at that nickname. He hadn’t called her that for a long time. He usually only defaulted to pleasantries when he was worried about her. Did he know what had happened, with her and David? She supposed it wasn’t too hard to fill in the blanks. A pang of worry gripped her. She hoped it hadn’t reminded him of her mother too badly.

  ”How are you doing?” he asked her gently, tilting his head to the side. “How are you feeling?”

  ”Fine,” she said cautiously, an automatic response. B
ut he moved closer, sat on the end of the couch. She could tell from his body language that he was uncomfortable with this, but she had no idea how to help. It had been a long time since she’d talked to her father seriously about her problems, her feelings. So many of her feelings had to do with wanting to go back home, and he’d been so avoidant about that subject for so long… but this time, at least, they had something else to talk about. “Not fine,” she relented, shutting her eyes for a minute. “Not fine at all.”

  ”David,” Charles said simply. “You two—”

  ”Yep, us two,” she said, gritting her teeth. “What a stupid thing to do.”

  ”Not stupid,” Charles said quickly, putting a steadying hand on her ankle. She rolled over on the couch, stretching out a little to put her feet in his lap like she’d used to do when she was little—he smiled a little, clearly remembering those days too, and patted her vaguely on a foot. “It’s not stupid to care about people, Quinn—”

  ”It is when they’re our worst enemy,” she snapped, feeling all her resentment and frustration flare up again. Maybe the ritual cleaning hadn’t been as therapeutic as she’d hoped, she thought ruefully, feeling her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “He’s William’s son, Dad! His actual son. They’re the family that took everything from us, that destroyed our lives, that—”

  ”I know,” Charles said softly. “I know they are.”

  She stared at him. This didn’t feel like a fresh revelation. A horrifying suspicion rose up in her chest. “How long have you known?”

  The old dragon sighed, not dropping his gaze from hers. “Quinn, I knew William for hundreds of years. I saw those emerald eyes every day of my life for a long, long time. Do you really think I’d miss a family resemblance like that?”

  ”Why didn’t you tell me?” It felt like her whole world was dropping away. But somehow, though she expected to feel angry with her father, she couldn’t. It was just like him, to avoid a subject like this, she thought dully. Of course he hadn’t told her. Why would he have? That might have led to conflict, and if there was one thing Charles was good at, it was avoiding conflict. Even important conflict, essential conflict, the kind of conflict that moved things forward and made things better.

  ”I didn’t want you to hate him before you had a chance to know him,” Charles said gently. “Quinn… you’re a lot like your mother.”

  That blindsided her. For as long as she could remember, Charles had avoided the subject of her mother at all costs. Now he was voluntarily mentioning her? This day was just shock after shock after shock, she thought irritably. When was she going to get a break from all this?

  ”How’s that?” she managed to ask, aware that her father may well lapse into one of his thoughtful, pensive moods and refuse to elaborate further on what he meant. For all that she was spiraling emotionally, the promise of information—no matter how sparse—about her mother was thrilling.

  “Incredibly strong,” Charles said simply. “You’re a force of nature, Quinn. Like a wave, like a rainstorm. You’re one of the strongest people I know. I’m a little in awe of you if I’m honest. The same way I was in awe of your mother. She was strong like you. Stubborn, some would call her. She had good instincts, she made snap judgments, and she stuck to them without hesitation or equivocation. It was a great strength... but it was also a weakness. Things change, Quinn,” he said simply. “The world isn’t simple black and white, us versus them, allies and enemies. Your mother… wasn’t very good at seeing shades of gray. I think you inherited a little of that blindness.”

  ”So I’m blind?” Quinn said. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. “The son of our worst enemy comes to stay with us, and I’m the jerk for not welcoming him with open arms when I find out who he is?”

  ”Quinn—he isn’t his father.” Charles spread his hands. “I mean, how much like me are you?”

  She couldn’t help but grin a little at that, despite the irritation coursing through her. “I mean… we like the same music.”

  He laughed. “All the same. I wouldn’t want my mistakes—my crimes, my errors in judgment, my weaknesses—to be visited down upon you. So when I met David, when I realized who he was… I extended the same kindness I would want my enemies to extend to you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “But he didn’t tell me who he was. He lied—”

  ”He didn’t know what his father did.”

  ”How do you know that?” Quinn demanded, sitting up. “How do you know he didn’t come here to steal the stone?”

  ”I don’t,” Charles said simply. “That’s the truth. I don’t have all the answers, Quinn, I wish I did. But I have some corroborating information. One—he flew all the way down here on a hunch, just because he’d heard that we might need help. Two—he protected us from Caleb, put himself in harm’s way, fought for us. Three… he loves you.”

  That one felt like a punch to the face. Quinn recoiled. “What?”

  ”I’ve seen that look before,” Charles said simply. “I know what it means. I talked to him this morning, Quinn. I’ve never seen a man look so destroyed. He loves you, sweetheart. What you do about that is up to you, but it’s the truth.”

  ”I don’t—it doesn’t matter,” she whispered, embarrassed by how hard her heart was pounding. “I don’t care.”

  ”You don’t have to see him,” Charles said. “But I asked him to stay. The coyotes—”

  She stared at him. “No. No way. He’s not coming into this house—”

  ”He’ll stay outside,” Charles said quickly, raising his hands. “You won’t have to see him. But with the coyotes on the warpath, we can’t turn away help. He can fight. We can use the manpower.”

  She ground her teeth. What he was saying made perfect sense—she couldn’t fault the logic. Three dragons would fare a lot better than two against an attacking force. And besides, she didn’t have it in her to pick a fight with her father. Not today.

  ”Fine,” she said finally, and she felt Charles exhale with relief. “I’m not happy about it, but fine. But Dad—we have to go back. We can’t stay here. We need to reach out to the new king, try to get our land back. Please.”

  ”You’re right,” Charles said softly, and she could tell what the admission cost him. “I’ve loved this place, but it’s not our home. But we can’t leave, not now. If either of us goes, the coyotes will take the opportunity to attack… and we can’t risk being left homeless.”

  ”I know,” she said softly. “I’ll think of something. We’ll think of something. God, what a terrible day,” she almost laughed, burying her head in her hands.

  “We’ll get through it, sweetheart.” He squeezed her ankles with his hands, just gently—a bizarrely comforting gesture. “We’ve got each other. That’s enough.”

  She smiled, feeling tears rise to her eyes for the hundredth time that day—but this time for a different reason. If nothing else came out of all this heartache, she was at least grateful to feel a little closer to her father.

  They’d figure this out. One way or another, they were going home.

  Chapter 13 – David

  David spent the day wandering and wondering. After giving Charles a hand with some of the farm chores—it went without saying that they’d be covering Quinn’s share of the day’s work, and he felt that was only fair—he was left pretty much to his own devices. Charles told him there was a fairly roomy shed down the back of the farm, mostly empty, and offered to set him up a bedroll and a sleeping bag there, but he declined. If he was going to sleep rough, he was going to sleep under the stars. Besides, the idea of being in a bed that didn’t have Quinn in it was heartbreaking, now. He didn’t think he’d ever slept as well as he had the night before, his arms wrapped around her.

  Best not to think about that, he decided, feeling his chest ache awfully. Best to focus on other things. Like figuring out what he was going to do about the impending coyote attack—if there was going to be one. But from what Charles had said—and from what he remem
bered of the look in Caleb’s eye—it seemed sensible to prepare for an all-out assault.

  He’d read a few books of military strategy in his time. Largely his father’s interest, and not his—for a little while he’d thought he might be able to get closer to the man if he took an interest in his hobbies. They got on pretty well when they talked about fighting, after all. But it hadn’t been very effective. The books had been drab, and boring, and pretty dark, when he thought too closely about them—he found the dry, clinical language used to describe the violent deaths of living, breathing people repellent. So he’d quietly given up on the topic. Still, a few of the ideas had stuck with him, as ideas tended to do. The books he’d preferred had been about medieval castles. He’d liked the idea of sieges, of the huge trebuchets and similar siege weapons—machines designed to destroy buildings, not human beings. It had actually made him realize how distasteful he truly found violence—how hypocritical he was for getting into fights night after night.

  Would the coyotes rush the walls, he wondered? The garden wasn’t exactly a fortress. The walls were more about keeping sand out than enemies. And why wouldn’t they be? After he and Charles had parted ways, he went for a long walk around the perimeter of the garden, scrutinizing the walls. They were built from the same rock as the nearby bluffs. They were very easy to climb, too, he discovered. Plenty of hand and footholds between the stones, and a smooth, flat top to perch on before dropping easily down to the ground on the other side. Well, that wasn’t ideal, but what could he do about it?