Page 162 of Forcing Fate

The dragon shrieked as its great wings pumped hard, throwing itself back into the sky. Breathy moans in place of screams wrenched from my throat as I jerked my right arm free and clawed at my left. Why couldn’t I scream?! I sank my nails into the branch, shredding the bark. Warm sap spilled over my arm.

‘Let her go!’

The branches fell away, and I charged further into the clearing. I would rather face an irate dragon than some monster I couldn’t see. I looked up at the sky, not seeing the creature, and took off across the expanse.

A vine seized my ankle, and I stumbled. I kicked at it, trying to free myself. It held fast. I froze, looking up as a cold shadow enveloped me again. The dragon swooped down, its golden eyes burning like an all-consuming fire. It opened its maw, revealing rows of sharp teeth perfect for cleaving skin from bone. Its flammable oils shot out at me, and I screamed, dreading the flames to come.

I choked against the cold liquid, threatening to drown me. Jerking up, I coughed and tried to catch my breath as I scanned the room.

General Rafe stood beside me with a dripping bucket. Jamlin was at his side, watching me with curious eyes. He held his arm, which dripped blood. Korzak towered behind them, staring at me with pure horror in his wide, childlike eyes. And Collins lingered at the foot of my cot, watching me warily.

They were all in a state of undress—I’d woken them.

“You with us?”

I looked back at General Rafe. His voice was rough and groggy. But his eye was sharp, aware, and skeptical.

He wore nothing, save his under-breeches.

I peered down at my sopping wet clothes. Shame burned my cheeks. “Yes, sir,” I whispered.

The men heaved a collective sigh of relief, and General Rafe threw the bucket. My eyes followed it as it clanged against the wood floor.

“Korzak, get her a spare blanket. Collins, lend her a clean uniform. Jam, take care of that arm.” He rattled off orders, and the men moved to obey.

I looked to where Zephath laid on his side, under a fur-lined blanket, anger furrowing his brow. I pulled my knees up to my chest and held myself, shivering in my wet clothes.

“Avyanna–”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and turned to General Rafe, carefully keeping my eyes above his neck.

“Will this be a common occurrence?” he asked. His tone carried a sense of understanding, but also dread.

“No, sir,” I whispered.

He rubbed at his wounded eye. “Thank the dragons,” he muttered.

“I—I apologize. I didn’t mean–”

“Stop.” His gruff order caused me to snap my mouth shut. He sighed and sat on the dry edge of my cot, watching as the men rummaged through their things by the meager light of a single candle. “The one place we have no dominion over is our dreams. Your night terror unnerved us—not because of your dream, but your struggles.”

I held myself tighter and stared at my cot. My mind was fuzzy, and I didn’t trust my eyes not to wander.

“Do you remember in my quarters, when I woke you the same way?” he asked wearily.

“Yes, sir.”

“I was not angry because of your terror. I was angry because of what it reminded me of.” He paused until my gaze lifted to his. “I’ve heard too many women scream to have slept well after I woke you.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathed.

Pain and unspoken horrors riddled his features. Sometimes, I forgot the things he must have seen at the front, the things he must have witnessed. The things he must have done.

“The others are disturbed for their own reasons. Korzak and Collins, because they’ve never witnessed a true night terror. The rest, because it triggered a memory.” He blinked and became the teasing man he rarely let me see. “Or another reaction they’d rather hide.”

“Begging your pardon?” I asked, confused, as Korzak approached with a thick blanket.

“Having a woman moaning, writhing on a bed in a room full of men–”

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