Page 22 of Wings of Frost and Fury
At the same moment, an apprehensive shudder wrinkles the skin beneath my scales. Something sizzles faintly in the air, a power that makes my tongue tingle.
Fuck. We underestimated her.
“Get out,” I rasp. “Get out now.”
Fortunix tries to turn his great body, but he’s huge and slow. The doors are already closing, pulled together by some invisible force. They slam shut, and a soft, mocking laugh echoes through the shadows.
“Too easy,” says a feminine voice. “I expected more of a challenge, really.”
Fortunix bellows and flings his body against the side of the stable. He should be able to smash through the ancient wood easily, but the instant his shoulder strikes it, there’s a flash of purple light and he rebounds off the wall. Lightning sizzles across his scales briefly before dying out. He looks shaken.
He tries his fire next, but the same thing occurs. The stream of flame doubles back at him, and while he can’t be damaged by his own magic, the sight seems to unnerve him even more.
“Filth,” he snarls. “You’re a treacherous whore and a piece of shit just like your fucking father.”
“You’re not very nice,” says the enchantress. “I don’t like you at all. Now the other one, he’s quiet. He isn’t trying to break free.” Her voice drops low, a velvety threat in her tone. “Andhedidn’t kill my horse.”
I’ve located the source of her voice—a dark corner of the barn, up among the rafters. She’s standing on a beam, looking down at us. Fortunix spots her at the same moment, and before I can stop him, he vomits fire at her.
The enchantress whisks out of the path of the flames, but she isn’t fast enough, and the blast strikes her right foot and ankle. A glow of purple energy shimmers over her skin, shielding her against the sustained stream of his magic.
Most humans tend to scream and weep when confronted with dragon fire, but the enchantress only laughs, a little breathless. “You nearly got me. Let’s not do that again.” Reaching into her pocket, she flings something at Fortunix—it looks like a handful of dust.
Fortunix tries to speak, but his voice is gone. He barrels out his chest and attempts to spray more fire, but the light of the flames dies in his throat.
“Think about what you’ve done, you big brute,” says the enchantress. “Meanwhile, your friend and I will have a chat.” She turns her gaze on me and waves her hand. “Move a little farther that way.”
Instinctively I obey her, to my own surprise. I shift my body in the direction she indicates, without questioning her command.
The enchantress gives me a delighted smile. “So it can do what it’s told. What a congenial dragon. Give me just a moment, there’s a good pet.”
Perhaps I should speak up, defend Fortunix, and demand that she release him. But she seems willing to converse with me as long as I follow her rules, and I won’t jeopardize the chance to convince her to come with us of her own free will. So I wait while she prances above me on the rafters, casting a line of crystals between me and Fortunix, scribbling words on a parchment, and then dribbling some more herbs and dust on the ground.
Light slants from a small clouded window, a circle of dirty glass near the roof of the stable. The glow reveals golden strands in her dark brown hair. It’s a waterfall of silken beauty that sways and swings as she works her spell.
The way she moves entrances me. I’ve never watched a human woman for more than a few minutes, and most of those women wore the armor of Vohrain. The day is hot, which is probably why this female’s clothing leaves most of her bodybare. She has long legs for her kind, curved in places that seem beautiful to me.
I find her exposed belly intriguing, too. It’s smooth and slightly rounded, with a small divot in the center whose edge is pierced by a jewel. I like the way the gem twinkles when she moves. I like the shape of her arms, the strength and grace in their movements.
I can feel Fortunix’s glare on me. When I don’t look his way, he lunges, as if he plans to catch the sorceress in his jaws. She wards him off with a blast of power from both hands.
Her swift motion sent locks of her hair tumbling over her shoulders. When she brushes it back, I admire the play of the light on its waves.
“I like your hair,” I say. And then I curse myself inwardly for speaking that thought aloud.
“Do you?” She smirks down at me. “I use magic on it. Sometimes I change the color, other times I alter the texture. This is my natural shade, enchanted for smoothness and glossiness, so I don’t have to spend any time caring for it. The spell even keeps it clean, as long as I renew it every so often.”
“The effect is beautiful.Youare beautiful.”
She missteps and wavers on the rafter for a second. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“No.”
She mutters something, then flexes her fingers and twists her wrists upward.
A wall of impenetrable blackness shoots up from the floor of the stable all the way to the ceiling, separating me from Fortunix. The enchantress is in my half of the building, perched on the beam, looking pleased with herself.
“There, that’s better. Now the nasty one can’t see or hear us.” She swings down from the beam to a jutting piece of wood, and from there to the top of a barrel. She hops off and stands infront of me, barefoot and entirely unafraid, despite the fact that I am many times her size.
