Page 52 of Draekora

Please don’t, Alex thought, but outwardly offered another smile and a bob of her head, before turning on her heels and walking away from the last humans who would ever visit Meya and make it out alive.

Seventeen

Hours later, Alex stumbled through the darkstreets of Meya, shivering from the storm that had blown in earlier that evening. Drenched to the bone, her summery clothes offered little protection from the stinging rain and unseasonably cold wind. A deluge of water streamed from the sky that lit up with unending lightning flashes—flashes that reflected off the citadel’s Myrox-lined buildings, leaving Alex in a constant state of near blindness. And yet she continued onwards, determined to make her way back to the palace; back to at least an illusion of safety.

It was only when a vein of lightning struck a golden tree barely twenty feet away, cleaving it in half and leaving a smouldering wreck of nature behind, that Alex realised perhaps she was best taking a breather and waiting for the storm to pass.

The alleyway she was in was much darker than the other streets she’d travelled that night, but she’d chosen it because it kept her on a straight path towards the palace. And given how visually impaired she was from the storm, she needed all the help she could get if she wanted to make it back to the palace before dawn.

Meya, she was realising, wasnota small city. Despite her best efforts to activate her Meyarin blood so she could run with the speed of the immortal race and thus shorten the time of her journey considerably, Alex was still too keyed up after everything that had happened with Aven to concentrate enough to make the change occur. That meant she’d been stuck walking for hours and felt as if she’d barely made any headway.

An ear-splitting crack of thunder overhead prompted Alex to hustle over to the nearest inhabited dwelling, opening the door and stepping quickly inside. Attempting to wring the water from her clothes rather than drip it all through the place, Alex cast her eyes around and noted that she had entered some kind of poorly lit tavern. Grateful as she was for respite from the storm, she didn’t want to judge it based on her initial assessment, but the truth was, she doubted the pub—with a scrawled sign calling itNarsae de Trigon, or ‘The Scarlet Thief’—was the kind of establishment many upstanding Meyarins frequented, given the ragtag patronage. Regardless, she was willing to take a chance with the dubious-looking clientele and ignore their flagrant debauchery if it meant she’d be allowed a moment of rest from her journey.

Glancing around, Alex saw an empty stool at the bar and slowly made her way over to it. She kept her gaze low and avoided all eye contact with the current patrons as she passed their tables and booths, ignoring the skin-crawling feeling of them watching as she walked by, dripping water all the way.

The moment she pulled herself up onto the stool, a gruff-looking Meyarin sauntered over to her from behind the bar.

“Terin doro trae melana sae?” he asked. Meyarin for, ‘What can I get you?’

Having no currency of any kind, Alex shook her head and politely declined service, “Trae osso, atari.”

The barman leaned closer, his stance somewhat threatening. “Naha coran, naha vestu.”

Swallowing thickly as she translated his ‘no drink, no seat’ policy, Alex moved to stand, figuring that she might be better off trying her luck with the storm after all. But before she could make it fully to her feet, a calloused hand came down on her bare shoulder, pushing her none too gently back onto the stool.

“I’ve got this exquisite creature covered, Tohro,” came a raspy sounding voice at her ear, the Meyarin words dripping with smug confidence. “A round for both of us. Actually, make that two.”

Alex crinkled her nose at the repugnant smell emanating from the male Meyarin sliding into the stool beside her. It was as if he’d bathed in enough liquor that the smallest spark of flame would set him alight. And yet, he didn’t seem drunk. His black eyes were sharp, his speech clear and steady.

“I think you’ve had enough fun for the night, Skraegon,” said the barman, Tohro, glancing between the stiffly alert Alex and the newcomer Meyarin watchfully. “Why don’t you go back and finish up with Faluh? She’s looking impatient to retreat to your room.”

“Faluh can wait,” Skraegon said, his gaze trailing lazily over Alex. “And I’ve not had anywhere near enough fun yet tonight. But I’m about to, aren’t I, my sweet?”

Skraegon reached a hand out and traced it across Alex’s shoulder and down the skin of her arm. Feeling violated, she snatched at his fingers and shoved him away from her. She then jumped to her feet so fast that her stool fell over with a crash, drawing the attention of all those around them.

“You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that,” Skraegon said, standing more slowly. “I like that in a girl.”

Not at all comfortable with the eager look on his face, Alex decided that enough was enough. Being struck by lightning was surely better than this. She spun on her heel and made a hasty retreat towards the door, but she barely made it halfway across the room before her arm was grabbed and she was yanked violently backwards.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Skraegon demanded, blowing liquor-scented breath into her face. “We haven’t even started to play.”

Mind blank, Alex couldn’t come up with any Meyarin words to yell at the foul beast. So she stuck with the language she did know and hissed, “Unhand me right now, or I promise you’ll regret it.”

She, of course, didn’t knowhowshe would make him regret it, since he was easily a foot taller than her and at least twice her weight.

Skraegon’s eyes narrowed with his lack of comprehension. “What did you just say?” When she didn’t respond, knowing he wouldn’t understand her anyway, he shook her roughly enough to cause her to wince with pain.

“Let me go!” Alex screamed at him, struggling in earnest now. Reacting from fear, she fisted her free hand and brought it up to smash it into his face, causing him to stumble back a few steps, releasing her in the process.

It seemed as if the entire tavern turned silent and sucked in a collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Skraegon,” Tohro called, scurrying out from behind the bar and quickly approaching the Meyarin who was looking at Alex with scorching disbelief. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it. You just startled her. Look—Faluh’s still waiting for you. Why don’t you go and enjoy your time with her? Your next drinks are on me.”

Skraegon ignored him and raised a hand to his face where Alex had hit him. In a low, burning voice he asked, “Do you like to play rough, youngling? Because I can do rough.”

In the blink of an eye he had her thrown across the room and pushed up against a wall, her arms pinned above her head, his body pressed firmly against hers to trap her in place.

Panicking now, she struggled fiercely against him, but his hold on her was unyielding. She bucked her torso to no avail. She kicked out at him, but he just moved to the side. She even tried head-butting him, but he just laughed and swiftly moved out of range. In her horror-stricken state, she couldn’t begin to try tapping into her Meyarin abilities, and her human weakness meant she was entirely at his disposal.

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