Page 56 of Dragon's Flame
There was another dragon, a gold one, braced behind him, blocking the door with his bulk, and the few non-dragon men who were present were running around like they were lost.
“Where’s the girl?” Rax demanded.
“How the fuck do you know what’s happening?” Tarian shouted, as he shifted back.
“I talked to the dog!” Rax said. “Who apparently has more common sense than you!”
Tarian was seconds away from flaring into his dragon again, to take out his impotent anger on his brother, when the golden dragon picked up some kind of armored vehicle with its claw, and shook what was inside out—some sort of white, wriggling, car-sized worm.
It was responsible for everything that’d happened. It’d been his bad decision to give Seris a piece of his soul, but past that? All of this wasthishideous creature’s fault.
And the remaining men gathered around it, as if to make a last stand. Tarian barreled through them and started tearing his way through the creature’s soft, milky-white flesh until he found a string of hearts and crushed them.
The second he did, any men who remained—some of whom who’d been reduced to stabbing him, after they’d run out of bullets—collapsed.
As did the cocoon from its wall, falling to the ground, suddenly unanchored, sending up clouds of ash.
The golden dragon shifted back into a man at once. “Well, I thought that was going to be more difficult, but it turns out my dragon has just as many questions as I do—and he would rather I ask them with my human tongue,” said a dark-haired man with golden eyes, storming up, and Tarian recognized him, it was Damian—another dragon in Rax’s circle.
“I found her!” Tarian said, beating his own chest. “Kenna! Of a kind with my Seris!”
Rax groaned and shook his head, whereas Damian’s gaze was more kind.
“She was here,” Tarian said, placing a hand over his heart. There was nothing in front of him except for a massive pile of ash. “But now she’s dead. They were going to kill her. I couldn’t stop them. And so she asked me,” he said, falling to his knees. “I burned her. With my own fire. My only love. Lost to me again, and I am forced to pray that this time it is permanent, because I do not deserve her in this Realm or any next.”
The scent of war was all around him, the foul funk of the creature he’d destroyed, the blood of men, blast-charred dragon, and smoke curling from the embers of his love, and he knew he would have to sift through the ashes to dispose of Kenna with the reverence she deserved.
It would only grow worse to think on as time passed by, but he could not bring himself to do it yet. Rax walked up to him and sighed, settling a hand on his shoulder. “How can I help?”
“I need to find her body,” Tarian said. “If anything is left.”
Rax looked past him, to Damian, who nodded. “Are you sure? We could do it for?—”
“Help or don’t,” Tarian snapped. “But I’m not leaving.”
“Suit yourself,” Rax said. “You always have.”
Tarian’s jaw clenched, but his brother’s words were true. He turned and walked back to where the webbing was, pieces of it looking like sharp, dark shards, from where they’d crystallized beneath the heat rather than burned. He started digging through, one handful at a time, his hands turning black where the ashes stuck to the wet blood of the final creature he’d disposed of—and his brother came beside him, to help, brushing away chunks that needed only a breath of pressure to dissipate into grainy clouds. And then Damian took his right, and even Rocky came up, whining while digging assiduously at their feet, the ash turning his cream-colored fur gray.
Then the dog plunged forward, digging without fear, burrowing far faster than they could, making wild yips.
If Rocky came back with Kenna’s burnt arm, Tarian would never recover—but what happened next was far better than that.
“Don’t lick me,” complained a familiar voice, followed by a giggle.
All three of the men paused as one, and then two of them redoubled their efforts, whereas Tarian staggered back, searching for her with his heart.
There was nothing—their bond was gone.
But somehow?—
“I’m here,” Kenna’s voice said weakly, and gave a soft cough, just at the same time as a grimed hand poked out. “Help?”
Tarian rushed forward, working the final few inches in toward her. She was spitting ash and shells out, and her hair and clothes were gone, but her skin, her perfectly lovely skin, was intact, scars and all, as was the rest of her.
“Tarian?” she said, sagging into him.
He caught her at once and hauled her out.
