Page 47 of Kidnapped Forced Mate

Despite my dragon form, my bones feel meek, and I am barely capable of lifting a scaled arm in attack. My lackluster approach to training earns me a curled fist squaring into my pointed jaw.

Gods! Landon exclaims mentally while his dragon puffs a cloud of apologetic smoke. Are you alright, Stryder?

My jaw twitches from the tightness of the impact, but I nod my dragon head. Yeah, I’m good. I take a huge breath through my dragon nostrils and fill my chest with strength. When I glance over my shoulder, I see my twin and Aragon speaking in their human forms, their brows furrowed intently. Though some of me suspects that they’re speaking about me, I decide to pay little attention and focus on training – as if focusing is possible. Let’s go, I tell Landon mentally, cracking my neck on my shoulders.

Despite my determination to act as if I’m strong enough to take on Landon right now, I don’t intercept his next round of attacks and narrowly escape a puff of hot flames. Still, I persevere, readying myself for another round of humiliation when Aragon steps into the ring.

That’s enough for today, he solemnly declares through the mind link, standing in dragon form between Landon and me.

I know how bad this looks, but I don’t even care that much right now. Before, I’d be petrified of making myself look bad. Afraid of humiliation. I just don’t care now.

Stryder, why don’t you join us on the rugby field later on?

I stare blankly at Aragon when he makes the suggestion, deep down knowing that this is something he planned with Stryker. My twin brother must be deeply concerned about me and wants to help distract me by organizing a rugby match.

It’s not something I look forward to, so I decline with a shake of my dragon head. If I’m useless at training today, I’ll be terrible on the rugby field. It’s not my face I care to save, but I just don’t have the desire and urge in my bones. Nothing interests me anymore, and it doesn’t help that I’m hopeless at everything I attempt now.

I’m in no mood to play rugby, Brother, I say, hanging my dragon head shamefully. I know you’re only trying to lift my spirits, but I’m afraid there’s nothing anyone can do.

I look up to find Aragon’s worried dragon eyes staring at me. Are you sure? He asks.

I shake my head again, growing so regretful that I fear I might just erupt into fiery dragon tears on the spot. It’s something I’ve never been guilty of and something which I don’t want to happen.

Not in front of an arena full of dragon shifters. I’ve already humiliated myself enough to last me the rest of eternity. An eternity in which Olivia will not be a part.

That’s the painful truth that I can’t wrap my head around. One that has me hurrying out of the training arena and, without giving it a second thought, flapping my wings once. Every ounce of power hidden inside me goes through my wings, sending me up toward the clouds in a tornado of dust I leave behind.

Once I’m safely above the clouds, I turn to gaze over the island from outside the dome. Only I’m able to see it from out here since the protective dome shields our existence from the humans like the finest cloak of invisibility.

My dragon sighs despondently, the once beautiful Aurora Island no longer appealing to me. Despite my frequent travels to the mortal world in the past, I'd always return to the place I call home, basking in its ethereal beauty. Seeing the island through the lens of a broken heart makes it lose its appeal. The island appears bland, not as stunning as it usually is. All because the one aspect that made it complete, magnified its beauty, is gone now.

Olivia Jackson.

I hadn't realized it before, but Olivia was the one who made everything even better than it was before. Not just the island, but I, as a dragon shifter and as a man. With her, I was slowly able to forget about the freedom I so strongly desired, finding the freedom I craved on her lips. Her kisses ignited something so deeply buried inside me, that I didn't realize how much I was missing when she wasn't a part of my life.

My dragon sighs, my slitted eyes growing despondent as I turn my gaze away from the island. Olivia might have served as a catalyst for my growth as a man, but she's not here anymore. She left me and didn't give me a chance to explain myself. All I can do now is try to salvage what's left of my life, even if it isn't much.

***

“Can I get you something to drink, Sir?” the bartender across the counter asks.

Pulled from my thoughts, I turn back to him and stare at my fingers steepled in front of me. It's so unusual to find myself seated at a bar without a drink to quench my thoughts. Chuckling under my breath with little amusement, I nod at the waiting bartender.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” I tell him while I reach into my jacket to extract the bag filled with dragonclaw. But once it comes out, I barely feel the usual excitement I do when I'm about to get shit-faced on the herb.

Sighing discontentedly, I pour the contents of the bag into my drink as soon as the bartender passes it across the counter. I notice him staring, but all I do is offer him a shrug and a wistful smile, signaling for him to go about his work without asking any questions.

Even if he did become suspicious of me, what's the worst that could happen? He might call for the authorities, have me searched, or better yet, arrested for the possession of narcotics.

Spending the night in a mortal prison cell doesn't sound like such a bad idea. It's not like I have much to look forward to, and experiencing something I've steered clear of for decades might be the one thing that sparks my interest.

I chuckle to myself again when the bartender instead moves along to the new patrons who enter. I only mildly take note of the group of ladies, lifting my whiskey glass to my lips and taking the biggest gulp.

The burning sensation of the liquor, coupled with the amalgamation of the dragonclaw as it slips down my throat, isn't as welcome as I thought it would be. When I exhale sharply, I can only hope that it takes its course and intoxicates me as much as I need on a night like this.

“Excuse me, Sir,” the bartender comes over and taps on the counter to draw my measly attention to him. I drag my eyes up reluctantly, feeling only mildly sedated by what should have my head spinning by now.

“Y-yeah?” I murmur disinterestedly.

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