Page 12 of Consort's Dragon
Griff woke slowly,his mind sluggish and his body stiff.It took a moment to realize he lacked clothing and lay on a hard, rocky surface.Not something he’d recommend.The rough surface scratched his flesh when he rolled to his back with a groan.At least he wasn’t cold.The warm air kept him from shivering.
Opening his eyes, he blinked at the pink and orange colored sky, the dawning sun filtered through a thin, hovering mist.Somehow, he’d ended up outside.Odd, because his last recollection was of being in some tunnels deep inside a volcano.
A grunt left him as he pushed himself to his feet, swaying woozily.Confusion knit his brow as he noticed that, while completely nude, he still wore his boots.A look he didn’t recommend for any man.
As the fuzziness began to fade, he took stock of his situation.It wasn’t good.The word “bleak” along with “fucked” came to mind.
The ledge he stood on jutted from a wall of sheer stone.A peek below had him swallowing hard because while there happened to be a lake, the red and orange of it meant it was the lava—not the watery—kind.
Stranded inside the volcano and worse, while he could see freedom overhead, forget climbing.The wall had few handholds, and the slight depressions and protrusions that existed were spaced too far apart.Not to mention the distance he’d have to scale, more than even he, with his significant strength, could manage.
As to how he got here…
Last Griff recalled, Basil—a man he’d once called uncle and thought long dead—had drugged him, but then what happened?How had he arrived at this forsaken place and why did he have no clothes on but for his boots?Boots looking worse for wear, the leather singed as if he’d stood in a fire with them.A layer of soot covered his bare flesh, but at least he saw no injuries, nothing new at any rate.
I have to escape.But how?Obviously, someone had dumped him, which meant there had to be some kind of access.Maybe a secret door?He searched, running his fingers over the wall to see if he could locate a hidden trigger.He found nothing even though he stroked the wall more thoroughly than his last lover.Frustrated, he pounded it hard enough to scrape his flesh.
When no exit magically appeared, he took to looking outward and saw no sign of life.Heard not even the chirping of birds.
The silence grated.His voice echoed as he called out.
“Avera!Simhi!Monty!”The names of his friends and the little queen he’d kidnapped and grown fond of—so fond he’d travelled to Verlora despite his vow to never set foot on it again—bounced around, repeating mockingly, but even worse, no one replied.Did they live?Who knew given that bastard, Basil, showed no shred of humanity when he drugged Griff.Who knew what the man could be capable of.Look at what he’d done to the child he’d once carried around on his shoulders.
Griff had already planned to murder the man, but if he’d hurt his companions, he would definitely make his demise more painful.Torture wasn’t usually Griff’s thing, but in Basil’s case, he would make an exception—if he ever escaped, which seemed less and less likely as time passed.
The ledge didn’t provide much space to pace angrily.It also had nothing to eat or drink, a lack he noticed as his stomach grumbled and his tongue went dry.How long had he been here?They’d entered the tunnels of Mount Etna as night fell and now morning crested, meaning he’d lost hours.
Those hours multiplied as the sun crossed the sky, burning off the mist, its rays reaching him on his ledge, toasting his skin.As afternoon waned, despondency knocked, its insidious voice whispering and reminding Griff that if he couldn’t escape then he faced certain death either by starvation or dehydration.An awful way to die, which made him think of the lava below.He could always leap for a quick end to his suffering.
A scratching noise had him peering over his ledge to see the dragon that had been terrorizing Verlora climbing the stone, its claws easily finding purchase.It was bigger than anything he’d ever seen.Of course, it headed for Griff because his day wasn’t already shit enough.
No weapon to fight.Nowhere to hide.His life would end as a snack for the mighty beast.
Despite the futility, Griff retreated until his back pressed against the stone wall.While fear did tense his muscles, he remained standing rather than cowering.He wouldn’t die huddled in a sniveling ball.
Bravery proved slippery to hold on to as a massive head peered over the ledge.Up close, he could see the layering scales giving it a formidable armor.Even his sword made of wolfframm—the mightiest of metals—might not have penetrated.
Two huge eyes stared, the dark orbs with streaks of mauve reflecting Griff’s naked body.He almost covered his cock, its shriveled size embarrassing.
When the beast huffed through its nostrils, blowing steam, he closed his eyes, ready for death.
Rather than die, he heard a voice.
Inside his head!
Hello, there.
His eyes shot open.“Who spoke?”
Me, of course.What a dumb question.
Griff stiffened.Surely it couldn’t be the dragon speaking.He must be going mad.Delirious from thirst and hunger.
And here I thought all the blooded died.
“I must be sleeping.”He closed his eyes.This was a nightmare.Had to be.Dragons didn’t talk.
Ignore me, will you?Perhaps you’ll be more amenable to conversation in a few days.The dragon shifted as if to descend and Griff exclaimed, “Hold on, are you actually talking to me?”
