Page 100 of Princess Avenged

Although the light source is gone, everything cast in dullness again, the aircraft is bright and beautiful in contrast.

“Is it alive?” Crusher mumbles, and I realize that he’s right.

Whatever this is, its wings would span a football field, and its body is even longer. It moves like a serpent, but also like an eagle. At times its massive wings flap, but the creature also soars. And its long body undulates as if it’s an eel moving through water. All I can do is stare. If this thing means to kill us, we have no defenses, so I see no point in taking up a combative position. And there’s nowhere to run.

It’s less than a mile away now. Its eyes shine with near blinding light, and its body is covered in scales or armor, the sections made up of multiple metallic tones, like an oil slick—but more beautiful. Silver, teal, magenta, aqua. Each time the creature moves, it changes color, and as it approaches, a long stream of fire erupts from its mouth, leaving a bright streak of flames along the ground beneath its path.

As the fire illuminates the landscape, horrid screams rise. Whatever is down there, whatever awoke, is alive—or was. Lumbering creatures whose shapes I don’t recognize, move away from the fire and rage toward the sky.

The flying creature resembles some dragons of folklore, and it’s most definitely heading toward us, so I return my focus there, fighting to contain the trembling that’s threatening to erupt from inside me.

Adventure. I wanted some adventure in my life. I wanted to see new things. Even if I die today, I will have accomplished that.

The portal is our only means of escape. I glance to the side to make sure it’s still there and open. But Crusher makes no effort to move us, and Phil seems paralyzed, crouched and turned away from the approaching creature.

As it gets near, the dragon slows, and hot wind from its beating wings scalds my face as it hovers near the edge of the plateau. Its eyes are multi-faceted, like diamonds. They seem to emit light, and on its chest, there’s a crest of some kind. The symbol looks like part of the dragon’s skin, and I’m no longer sure whether the creature’s beautiful exterior is armor, or scales.

But watching it move makes me think scales. From this close, above and to the front of us, I see its muscles rippling as its wings move to keep it in place. Both its legs sport claws at least ten feet long, and the ends of its wings have protrusions like spikes.

“Who dares bring this creature here!” A female voice fills the air.

Confusion floods inside me. Not only did I not expect this dragon to speak, but certainly not in that voice, or in a language I could understand.

Then the dragon’s angle shifts, and I spot its rider.

A woman, dressed in shiny, royal blue leather rides the beast, and the breast of her jacket bears the same crest as the dragon. Her skin is luminous, almost silver. Her eyes are a vivid bright green, her lips ruby red, and a series of long, pink braids stream behind her. Like her mount, this woman defies the dull light here—as if she brought her own illumination. The rest of this world remains in black and white, but this pair are in technicolor. The sight is beautiful. I’m in utter awe.

The rider directs her attention toward Phil. The dragon flaps its wings, it flexes its talons and then they gouge deep lines in the rock as it lands. The rider glares at Phil, and then, to my horror, the dragon’s wing knocks Phil off his feet. Stepping to the side, the dragon pins Phil to the ground, its long talons forming a cage around much of his body.

“Don’t hurt him!” I shout, and the rider turns toward me.

“As you can clearly see, we have not.”

My heart is beating out of my chest. So is Crusher’s behind me.

He nudges me toward the opened portal. “We need to go. Now!”

“Which one of you is the leader!” she yells. “Where have you come from! And why? Answer, or you will feel Zogar’s burn.”

Her expression changes. Her green eyes seem to flash white for a moment, and then the dragon turns its head. Another long stream of fire erupts, scorching the edge of the plateau, and the fire continues to burn like lit gasoline. The pair move so seamlessly together, it’s almost like she’s part of the beast.

I push on Crusher’s arms. “Let me reason with her. Please.”

Crusher’s eyes are wide, but instead of fear, I see admiration, and he loosens his hold.

I step forward. “I am Princess Anastasia, daughter to the one true vampire king and Ambassador for the Vampiric Council.”

“They call me Rosomon,” the rider says, “and this is Zogar.” She strokes the dragon’s body, and it visibly shudders in pleasure. Then it bends its legs and folds one of its wings under its body, bringing Rosomon closer toward us. The movement’s so fluid I question my eyes.

And then, pressing down against her saddle’s stirrups, she straightens her legs to rise from the dragon’s back.

I gasp.

Blinking, I try to talk myself out of what I just saw.

The section of the dragon where she was seated isn’t an external saddle, but part of the dragon. And the ridge her foot pressed on isn’t a stirrup. All of it appears to be part of the dragon’s body. But that’s not the part that made me gasp.

Several pommels protrude from the dragon’s neck and back, like blunt-tipped spikes, spikes which become decidedly more pointed as they extend down the dragon’s body and onto its tail. The spikes near its tail are longer and sharper than swords. They glint like platinum, even in the low, flat light.

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