Page 80 of Edge of the Wild

But they were words said with force, with anger. And there was also a command:submit. Above all, submit.Bend to me, bind to me.

Oliver knew pain, formless and sharp, like the worst sort of headache. It was the drake’s pain, and now it was his. It intensified with every heartbeat, until the vast plane of blue became white with anguish, and black crowded in around the edges.

Stop!A scream inside of him, dredged up from somewhere deep; he could feel the word echoing, tolling like the chime of a heavy watchtower bell.Stop! Leave him alone!

There was a tremendous roar.

And all the colors vanished.

Oliver blinked, and could see again. As the last sparks of white faded, he could see that he’d gone down to his knees in the snow, and that a man stood over him; stood holding a sword, squared off from the dragon, protecting him.

It was Erik.

“Wait!” Oliver gripped the back of his cloak with both hands and used it to haul himself upright, knees wobbly.

His head was remarkably clear, though. And he was certain of something, more certain he’d ever been in his life. “Erik, wait!”

“Get back from it.” Erik tried to drive him backward; used his free hand to try and keep him tucked away. “Get back!”

“No.” Oliver ducked under his arm and moved to stand in front of him.

“Gods – Ollie, come on.” An arm like an iron band clapped around his waist, and the sword flashed in his periphery as it was brandished.

In front of them, the dragon stood very upright, its neck straight, its wings half-spread; it looked more affronted than aggressive. Because itwasn’taggressive. Oliver knew down to his bones that it wouldn’t hurt them – or, well, that it wouldn’t hurthim.

“Lower your sword,” Oliver told Erik.

In answer, Erik dragged him three steps backward. “You’re insane,” he growled. “We have to–”

“Lower your sword.” He didn’t shout, but he’d never heard his own voice sound like that. As commanding as any king. “He won’t harm us. Just…” He found a bit of temperance, a note of pleading, though his whole body vibrated with energy. “Please, Erik. Trust me.”

It was, without question, the most he’d ever asked of anyone.Trust me in the face of great danger. Trust me that I know this creature of myth and legend won’t eat us whole. Erik’s breath came in sharp pants, hot against his ear; his chest heaved against Oliver’s back. He didn’t speak…but after a moment, the sword lowered.

As did the dragon’s head.

Erik hissed a wordless curse.

Oliver reached out an empty, bare hand in supplication.

“Ollie,” Erik growled in his ear.

The dragon approached, one step, and then another, and then it stretched out its long neck. Close enough that Oliver could smell the sharp scent of frost that clung to it; close enough to see its slanted nostrils flare; to see the black pupils expand in the bright blue eyes.

Slowly, slowly, it pressed its muzzle into Oliver’s palm. Scented him. The skin there – pearl-white – was softer and warmer than he’d expected.

Oliver couldn’t breathe. Erik was immobile against his back.

Just as slowly, the dragon withdrew. Then its wings unfurled with a snap, and it leaped aloft, wings beating hard, breeze sending snow and ice everywhere. In a matter of moments, it had disappeared over the tree tops, leaving behind a depression in the snow.

All around them was silence. Oliver could hear the receding flap of the drake’s wings, and clumps of snow sliding off branches; could hear the faint moans of the dying.

Then Erik snapped.

He let go of Oliver’s waist so he could grip the shoulder of his cloak and spin him around. Moonlight carved harsh lines in his face, painted furious blue eyes and bared teeth.

“Erik, I can explain.”

He drew a ragged breath, chest swelling with it, and Oliver couldseethe tirade in his gaze, was already mentally flinching back from it.

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