Page 127 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
“Vaei,”she breathes back without a single moment’s hesitation.“Tir’anor.”
With the next beat of her heart, her thoughts turn to her people. I see bodies littering the ground. Blood staining the grass. She does not need to voice her worries for me to feel them. She does not need to make the request for me to answer the call.
To be her champion. To save the Vale.
Duty pulls me from the warmth of my queen’s body, from the siren’s call of her mouth.
Just as the last of my uncle’s fire evaporates, I glance down to find all three of my aunties gazing up at us, embracing each other as they watch our reunion.
Velda smiles. Glorana sighs dreamily.
Brisa feigns annoyance. “Yes, we’re alive, too. Thank you for asking!”
“Guard each other well so that remains the case,” I implore the women most important to me—all four of them—before I launch myself backward through the shield of Air still encirclingNa’therya, through the shards of broken glass circling the window like broken teeth, and out into the night.
To finally face Malice once and for all.
Chapter 42
Benevolence
Abell tolls in the near distance, crying out a melodious warning.
I shift midair, my inner dragon roaring in delight as my body twists and grows, as my fingers turn to claws and my teeth to fangs.
I scent my uncle on the wind—the very man I intend to rip apart limb by limb for daring to touch my queen. To torment her. Tothreatenher—
The Aether presses in around me, as if to remind me of the pledges I made to myself and to my God while trapped in my nightmare prison. Pledges of mercy and love.
But he tried to kill Aurelia, I protest as my gaze homes in on my uncle, who hovers several lengths away.
Waiting forme.
His maw parts, fangs glistening in a warning snarl. While he waits for me to make my move, threads of Air glitter around him, pulling taut.
I don’t bother waiting to see what he plans to weave.
My wings surge. My body barrels through the night. Shooting across the sky like a speeding crossbow bolt, I fly straight toward my uncle.
And crash against him.
Our forms slam together, crushing the breath from my lungs. Our legs tangle. Our claws scrape against each other’s scales.
Locked in battle, we spiral out of control, wings flapping desperately as we each try to gain the upper hand.
A surprised roar rips from my uncle’s throat as my neck snakes out, my fangs finding purchase in the joint of one of his wings. But the moment my mouth clamps down around his flesh, I have to swallow back a pained cry.
I had nearly forgotten the injuries I sustained in the nightmare realm when I attacked the thorns. Easy enough to forget when wrapped in the arms ofNa’therya.
Easy to remember in the heat of battle.
My gums, the roof of my mouth, and even the spaces between my claws are all filled with wounds from the brambles. Tiny, obnoxious wounds that throb in time with my heart.
I push through the pain. I ignore it as best I can. I could heal myself, but I dare not waste the energy when I need all I have left for battle weaves.
Snarling, I snap at whatever fleshy bits of my uncle I can reach.
Shoulder. Throat. Wing. Foreleg.
