Dragon Bond Page 10

  “I’m aware of my frailty. Trust me. I believe one of the human storm swords would cut the collar.”

  Merath’s head came up sharply. Possibly. Yes, possibly. If I could steal one without them noticing. But the swords warn them when we’re coming, yes? Their owners would sense me. Could you attack them in their sleep? Knock one of the swordsmen out? Then we could—

  Wind battered at the side of the tent, the canvas rippling, a rope snapping. Talon might not have realized what was happening in time, but Merath barked a warning into his head.

  Down! he cried as wood snapped outside. A branch—or a tree—being broken.

  Talon dropped to the ground and rolled toward the corner of the tent an instant before the entire structure was torn from its stakes. The cot and table were hurled over, and canvas battered at him. He lifted his arm to protect his face as it was ripped from its stakes. A wolf yowled. Something heavy struck the earth.

  He jumped to his feet, tripping over broken tent poles that littered the ground. They were the least of his problems. A great mottled gray and green dragon was staring at him. Semptrusis.

  For a second, Talon stood there, crouched as if to spring, as if he could meet her in the air and challenge her, claw and fang. Then she leaped, her wings spreading, her massive maw opening, and he remembered what he was. She was ten times his size, and he had nothing with which to fight her.

  Hating the cowardice, but knowing he had no other choice if he wanted to live, Talon whirled and ran. He grabbed one of the tent poles as he sprinted away, and it almost cost him his life. Semptrusis’s head darted toward him on her long, sinewy neck. Her powerful jaw snapped, inches behind him. If not for the trees impeding her, she would have had him.

  Thick trunks rose all around the flattened tent, and low-hanging branches smacked against her face as she gave chase. Talon leaped behind a stout tree. She smashed into the trunk, and wood cracked.

  He skittered back, afraid the tree would break and fall on him. The tree stood, but her arm darted around it, claws slashing through the air he had occupied an instant earlier. The size of those black claws, each one as long as his forearm, filled him with terror. His dragon scales would have deflected most gashes, but this fragile human skin? All it would take was one accurate cut to crack through ribs and tear out his heart.

  So puny! a mocking voice spoke into his mind.

  Semptrusis.

  She was right. What good was his life in this pathetic form? What good was he?

  “No,” he growled, pushing away the notion, even though the power of her words made his knees weak, and his legs almost gave out. He braced himself and lifted the tent pole like a spear.

  Semptrusis stomped around the tree toward him. He hurled the pole, aiming for an eye.

  Not made for such feats, it did not fly true. It bounced uselessly off her maw, not slowing her.

  Talon whirled and ran between trees, circling back toward the collapsed tent. He was aware of humans shouting, of archers coming after Semptrusis, but he did not wait for their help—he feared they would be too late.

  He snatched up another pole as she chased after him, but there was no time to turn and use it.

  A small tree snapped behind him, falling over. Semptrusis sprang at him. Claws slashed toward his eyes, and he saw his death in those sharp blades. Before they connected, something crashed into Semptrusis’s side.

  Her attack faltered, and she whirled, a growl tearing from her throat. A second dragon had appeared. Merath. He had changed into his true form, and he braved the branches to clamber onto her back. He bit into her shoulder while raking her sides with claws. She bucked him off, hurling him against a tree. She leaped onto him before he recovered his feet. Limbs and wings locked around each other, they rolled through the stream, their bodies crushing shrubbery.

  Merath was strong, but Talon did not think he could match the king’s sister. He had to do something.

  Gripping the tent pole in both hands, he sprinted toward the stream. She had Mareth pinned underneath her, his head in the water.

  As he had seen Zala do, Talon leaped onto her back. He ran up her spine as she bit Mareth, trying to reach her head before she noticed him and bucked him off.

  Semptrusis screeched and jerked up, but he had reached the crown of her head. She whipped her neck to throw him, and he wobbled, but he plunged the tent pole downward before he fell, hoping to find her vulnerable eye from above.

  The impromptu weapon barely sank in before he was hurled back toward the flattened tent. As he hit the ground, a protruding tent stake gouging into his shoulder, he saw Zala and her lieutenant racing toward the fight. He staggered to his feet, wanting to help, even though he felt so useless in this form. At the least, he had to make sure they did not hurt Merath.

  “Not the one with green eyes,” he yelled. Would they listen? Was one dragon the same as another to them? Would they kill anyone with a scaled body?

  Semptrusis reared up, spinning toward him, the tent pole thrusting out of the top of her eye. She crouched to spring, but Merath took advantage of her split attention. He shoved himself to his feet and sank his fangs into her shoulder. She screeched again, battering him with her wings. They went down again, twisting and biting as each tried to gain the advantage.

  Zala risked being crushed by the rolling dragons to get close while her lieutenant circled to the other side of the stream. Zala couldn’t have seen their eyes, not with Merath and Semptrusis wrapped up in each other, clawing and thrashing, but she went for the larger one, the one on top. Fortunately, that was Semptrusis. Though Talon itched to yell instructions, he did not want to distract Zala and Salena. He hunted around and found another tent pole in case Semptrusis broke away and charged at him.

  Other soldiers ran past him, and bows twanged. Arrows bounced off both combatants.

  “Get out of here, Merath!” Talon cried, knowing he would never be able to stop these people from killing both dragons if they could.

  Zala’s blade found Semptrusis’s tail as she and Merath whipped about. The magical sword sank several inches into it. It could not have done more damage than Merath’s claws were doing, but the sting of those swords was extra painful—Talon had felt the blades before and knew. The agony cut through Semptrusis’s battle haze, and she must have realized she was at risk, that her skirmish was taking place in the middle of an enemy camp.

  She screeched with rage and leaped upward. Wood snapped as she crashed into branches, but she found a way into the sky, leaving a shower of leaves and boughs raining down behind her.

  Merath hesitated as Zala and her lieutenant charged toward him, their blades glowing an angry gray, light flashing in the strange metal.

  “Go,” Talon shouted again, though he hated to condemn Merath to fight Semptrusis without help, and that was exactly what might happen if he flew out of the humans’ range.

  You will die, meat lover, came Semptrusis’s roar in Talon’s mind. Pain arrived with the words, like nails being hammered into his skull. He stumbled, falling to his knees under the power of the assault. Normally, he could have deflected a mental attack from Semptrusis even more easily than he could a physical one, but his defenses did not answer him when he called out for them. The collar only throbbed. You will die before you can share any secrets.

  The second time she spoke, the voice was weaker, as if sent from farther away. A small relief. As the pain of her attack faded, Talon grew aware of another pain. He looked down at the gouge in his shoulder. The stake had ripped through the material of the uniform he wore, and blood dripped from the wound.

  He curled a lip at himself, at his frailty. He almost laughed at the tent pole clutched in his hand, as if the puny tool had been a reasonable weapon to use on a dragon. Yet, he was somewhat mollified that he had left one of those poles sticking out of Semptrusis’s eye. Oh, she would heal herself easily enough, but at least he had done something to hurt her.

  “Are you all right?” Zala asked, walking toward him. She
still held her sword in her other hand, the tip of the blade toward the ground. The gray clouds captured within its steel swirled angrily, yellows and oranges flashing like lightning. The weapon must hunger for his blood.

  When she eyed the tent pole, Talon dropped it to the ground. He doubted she worried about him using it on her, but he did not want to make any of her soldiers uneasy. With the dragons gone, they were looking toward their commander now, and toward him.

  “A minor wound,” Talon said. He couldn’t keep his lips from twisting in bitterness. “I am fortunate I did not receive much worse. In this body…” He closed his mouth. She was probably tired of him whining about his pitiful human form. It was all she had, but she used it to kill dragons.

  “Let’s get this tent back up and you bandaged,” Zala said, waving toward his shoulder, the wound visible by the light of the torches that the soldiers had lit.

  “Free me,” he urged, wanting his original form back more than ever. The wound would be insignificant to him as a dragon. “Let me protect myself.” He lowered his voice, his next words for her alone. “And you as well.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, as if she was considering it. But then she looked away, toward the ring of soldiers watching them.

  “I can’t.” Zala dropped her hand. “There’s too much at stake.”

  Chapter 10

  Salena helped Zala raise the command tent again while the men worked on the rest of the camp—all except one tent had been flattened in the battle. Full darkness had fallen, and they lit a few lanterns to help them see what they were doing. Zala could feel Talon’s brooding eyes upon her. He had helped them find branches that could be used as impromptu tent poles, but he hadn’t spoken to her since she had rejected his request for his freedom.

  She couldn’t blame him. A part of her felt some vindication that a dragon was getting to feel what it was like to be forced to cower from a large, powerful creature, one that was nearly impossible to defeat without a storm sword. Even with one, victory was never assured. A part of her was proud that he’d stood up to the big female, evening wounding her. He had suffered enough as a human, imprisoned in that mine for a year. He didn’t need to suffer any further.

  If she did free him, he could take care of himself when that female dragon came around. He could even be an asset, helping them to fight. If he would help them. She had no guarantee of that. Even though he said otherwise now, he could easily turn on her people. If another dragon showed up, one who wasn’t trying to kill him but who wanted to help him escape, as Zala guessed that second dragon had been trying to do, what would he do then? Surely, he would choose his own kind over them. Over her.

  Even if all he did was fly away when he had the power to do so, that would upset her. The next time they met, it would be as enemies, and she wouldn’t have gotten any intelligence or anything useful out of the deal. Worse than that, she would know him, and it would be that much harder to kill someone she knew. Even a dragon.

  “Looks like you’ve got some extra venting that wasn’t part of the original design, ma’am.” Salena poked a hand through a rip in the tent wall.

  “At least it’s standing.” Zala might not have bothered erecting the tent again since they were breaking camp in the morning, but the canvas walls, no matter how ripped, would give her some privacy in case she wanted to talk to Talon.

  She snorted at herself. Talking. Yes, that was what she had in mind. The skirmish should have driven all thoughts of sex from her mind, especially when that female dragon knew where they were and might attack again any time, but Zala couldn’t help but think of Sandirr’s suggestion. It had been as if he had given her permission to do what she’d wanted to do anyway. But he wanted her to sleep with Talon in order to get information, and so that he might remember her fondly later. That did not seem honorable. It seemed manipulative, and she had always loathed manipulative women. She preferred to talk straight and to get what she wanted by using a sword rather than feminine wiles.

  No, her original thought was correct. She should keep space between herself and Talon and not let anything happen. Anything else.

  Salena walked over with a broken stick in her hand. “I think this is what’s left of your table.”

  “It’s firewood now,” Zala said.

  At least she had found her tile set and her coffeepot. She had missed her coffee the previous morning, and she fully intended to rise early enough to make some before heading out. Some luxuries could not be sacrificed, even in the field.

  Salena yawned and tossed the table leg aside.

  Zala patted her on the arm. Neither of them had slept the night before, and she felt guilty for keeping her lieutenant awake. “Thanks for your help. Get some sleep. We’ll leave at dawn. The sooner we get into the tunnels where that female dragon can’t follow us, the better.”

  “Agreed.” Salena saluted and headed away. She sneaked a long look at Talon as she went. He now leaned against a tree, his jacket still open, just enough lantern light reaching him to highlight the bumps and valleys of his muscled abdomen. Maybe Salena intended to find her private spot by the creek again.

  Zala doused all except one of the lanterns, picked it up, and lifted the tent flap.

  “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll bandage your wound?” she asked, meeting Talon’s eyes. “I believe my first-aid kit survived the attack.”

  “And then?” he asked, his eyes hard to read in the shadows.

  “And then you can get some sleep. Here or outside.” She shrugged, trying to suggest she did not care either way, but she wanted to keep an eye on him so he wouldn’t sneak out to meet that other dragon.

  Sure, Zala, that’s the reason you want him in the tent.

  Talon pushed away from the tree and walked toward the tent. He ducked inside, and she followed him in, her stomach fluttering as nerves teased it.

  She didn’t know why. She was going to bandage him. That was it.

  The cot lay sideways on the ground, and Talon set it upright and draped the blanket over it. Zala rested the lantern in the corner, missing her table already. She had set her tile set and dented coffeepot and tin mug over there too. She pulled her first-aid kit out of her rucksack and grabbed a canteen.

  “Have a seat,” she said, waving at the cot, the only remaining furniture.

  Talon stood in the middle of the tent, his hands clasped behind his back, his head lowered because the replacement support pole was not as tall as the original had been. The canvas drooped, brushing his hair.

  “I will not leave if you cut off my collar, not until I’ve helped you, as I said I would.”

  Zala sighed. She had feared he would ask again. “Take your jacket off, please.”

  He blinked and looked down at his chest.

  “So I can wash your wound,” she said.

  “Oh.” He winced as he drew his injured arm from the sleeve.

  Zala poured water onto a clean rag in the kit and stepped close, dabbing it to the gouged flesh. Once again, she grew aware of his body, of how close they stood to each other, of how easy it would be to run her hand down his muscled arm. His head turned, those violet eyes gazing at her, watching her work. She made herself focus on the wound and nothing more. As soon as she had cleaned it, she laid a bandage over it, wishing she had some healer’s poultice to keep infection away. Could dragons get infections? Who knew.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly as she finished. “I regret that I need you to save me so often.” He did not add that he would not need saving if he could shape-shift, but she knew he was thinking it again.

  “You weren’t doing half-bad with those tent poles,” Zala said.

  “Yes, I nearly knocked off one of Semptrusis’s pimples.”

  She snorted. “Do dragons have pimples?”

  “Hm, more of a scale rot that we find irritating.”

  “Well, I believe you did more than irritate the female dragon.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Zala finished with th
e bandage and stepped back, pleased that she had resisted the urge toward unprofessional touching.

  “I would like to do more than irritate her,” Talon said, running a finger over his collar. “And the same is true for Hul. I do not want them to lead my kind any longer.”

  Zala removed her sword belt and sat on one end of the cot. She threaded her fingers together, leaned her forearms on her thighs, and stared down at her clasped hands.

  “I know you want that collar off, but my people are made uneasy by your presence already. Seeing you without it, with your pretty purple eyes flashing at them, would make them question my sanity.” Zala smiled wryly. “Maybe they’re already questioning it. I believe that you mean what you’re telling me now, but I worry you’ll have different thoughts once you’re back in dragon form. None of your kind has ever given us a reason to trust you, and I keep thinking you’re using some magic on me, even now, and that I’m being very foolish for falling for your...” She waved toward his bare torso, wondering what he would think if she returned to kissing his chest.

  “My...?” Talon touched his chest and looked down as if he couldn’t imagine what she meant. Maybe he couldn’t.

  She didn’t want to explain the appeal of licking those ridges of muscle, of inhaling his heady scent, or burying her face in his taut flesh and rubbing herself against him. “Falling for you. For human you.”

  “You don’t think you could fall for... dragon me?”

  She certainly couldn’t imagine licking something scaly. Especially if scale rot was involved.

  She smiled sadly at him. “I don’t think dragon you would be the same being.”

  Talon sat on the other end of the cot, leaving a couple of feet between them. Zala wished the space were not there, but he hadn’t hovered close since she had corrected him on it earlier that day. Now she wished she hadn’t.

  “I don’t understand why you would be interested in human me at all.” Talon sounded truly puzzled. “I don’t know how to fight in this form, and you keep having to save my miserable life.” His face twisted into that expression of disgust again. “I make a pitiful human. I don’t know how some of you become such competent warriors.”