Page 30 of Dragons' Bride
Even I know that Quinton can no more shift than he can fly just now. With the Phoenix safely through the rift and the piranhas busy devouring the shadow serpent, Dane had ordered a boat lowered into the water. The sailors made efficient work of slinging ropes around Quinton’s limp form, but it had taken half the crew and an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys to haul Quinton’s dragon up onto the deck. I don’t know how Quinton had endured the process, but the dragon’s patience had clearly run out – as evidenced by the fact that he snaps at anyone who comes too near his wounds.
And there are a lot of wounds. Quinton’s once radiant scales are dull, his flesh gouged and bloody. His left hind leg is twisted at an unnatural angle that is dizzying to look at, and the copper scent of his blood and pain hangs thick in the air.
The crew keeps their distance from him the best they can, uneasiness rolling off the seamen in palpable waves. Even after everything Quinton did to save the Phoenix.
“I believe the problem lies in the three spikes still embedded in his neck.” Corvus purses his lips, his attention shifting briefly to the other wounded who are being laid out on the deck. The falling debris had crushed and broken limbs on more than one sailor. It’s clear Corvus wants to tend those patients and not this conversation. Not Quinton. “The venom in the spikes is still active. If you remove them, the shift should be possible and I will tend to the prince at once.”
Tavias’s lip curls to reveal his canines. They’d already tried doing just that, and Quinton had thrashed and snapped his jaws so violently that even Tavias and Cyril backed off.
“Handling the spikes is too risky,” Captain Dane says with a calm no one else is bothering to even pretend to display. “What are our options, Corvus? Can you tend to the prince in dragon form?”
Corvus huffs. “Pray tell me, how do you imagine I set a dragon’s bone? We’d need to rig a bloody rope system just to get enough force.”
“Then rig it,” Tavias growls.
“Stars take me. I was being facetious. Sea-hardened warriors must be held down for much of what needs to be done – the dragon will kill me for attempting half of it. With all due respect, Your Highness, in his current state Prince Quinton is liable to rip half the ship and crew to shreds if he gets upset.”
Tavias’s hand curls into a fist, but Captain Dane cuts in before Tavias can take a swing. “So what do you propose, sir?”
Corvus waves a hand toward Quinton. “We wait until he goes unconscious all the way and is safer to deal with.”
“You mean let him be poisoned?” Tavias demands. “Or just wait until he bleeds –”
I stop listening to the pointless debate, drawn instead to the dragon’s eyes. They are open now, the vertical silver pupils shrouded in suffering.
“Hi there,” I whisper, trying to remember everything the princes have told me about their dragon forms. I try to find the Quinton I know and dislike behind the intelligent silver gaze, but all I see is a beautiful and terrifying beast who saved the ship and now needs help in return. “Are you hanging in there?”
I step toward the dragon.
The silver pupils narrow. The dragon flares his nostrils. It’s probably a warning to stay away, but I’m feeling the contrary. There is a whole ship of people staying away. Someone needs to come forward instead.
I take another step toward him, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. The logical part of me screams that this is a terrible idea, and starts listing all the things that can go wrong. The rest of me cannot care less. As I draw nearer, the dragon's eyes – now twin orbs of molten silver – lock onto mine in earnest. There is pain in his gaze, with vulnerability and aggression hidden beneath the layers of his agony. But also, the faintest flicker of recognition.
Yes. You know me.I confirm with my soul.I want to help. So… don’t eat me, alright?I repeat the last plea silently as I come within range of his powerful jaws.Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me.
Taking it as an encouraging sign when I am within arms reach and still alive, I stretch my hand out tentatively toward the dragon’s muzzle. My breath halts as light glistens off his sharp teeth, my fingers shaking as I brush his scales. Instead of being warm, like Hauck’s dragon had been, Quinton’s scales are cool and clammy. A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure what that means exactly, but it can’t be good.
I brush my hand down his muzzle, in what I hope is a soothing caress.
“Holy bloody stars, Kitterny. Have you lost your mind?” Cyril’s deceptively low voice catches me in the back as what I’m doing finally registers with the others on deck.
A wave of tension rolls through the air and I feel everyone’s attention burning into me. I’m certain that the only reason I’m not being tackled to the deck right now is because everyone is afraid of upsetting the dragon, who is puffing out small growls.
Cyril draws an audible breath. “You are beside a very large, very powerful, and very injured animal.” He announces each word as if speaking to someone soft of mind. “You need to back away at once. But go slow. Do you understand?”
The dragon's eyes flutter closed as he leans into my touch, a low rumble resonating deep in his chest. The fae Quinton might be an utter asshole, but his dragon has already stolen my soul.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure the dragon.
“Oh, yes you are,” says Cyril. Though he keeps his voice in check, I hear the iron command behind it. “That’s an order, Kitterny. Move back.Now.”
Ignoring Cyril utterly, I reach out and stroke the dragon’s neck. I’m pretty sure there will be consequences for all this, but I don’t care. I can no more back out and leave the dragon alone in pain than I could cut my arm off.
“I’m here to help,” I say, hoping the dragon understands me just now. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but the shadow serpent left three spikes in your neck. And they need to come out.” I slide my hand toward where the spikes are.
The dragon lets out a low warning growl of displeasure.
“Kitterny,” Cyril hisses through his teeth. “Back off. Now.”
