Page 32 of Captured By the Scaled Outlaw
“Then I won’t fall,” I roll my eyes, staring him down defiantly. “And don’t act like you’re worried about me, it’s insulting. We’ll get the job done and you’ll get what you want out of me,” I say, mounting the driver’s seat.
Truthfully, if I were to sit in the backseat, the space between him and me would create a significant amount of drag. The force would whip my body around like a rag-doll — during which I could still shoot, but it would aggravate my curse of motion sickness and make me vomit. I refuse to tell Lowell this reasoning, since he would only laugh at me.
“The excess movement from behind would ruin my shot,” I lie.
Frustrated, he throws his hands up in defeat and mounts the cycle again. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your shot, so don’t fucking miss.”
I ignore him sourly, adjusting our positions to sit chest-to-chest. Our bodies radiate heat off of one another again, the scent of sweat mixing with the sun’s suffocating swelter. My face reddens, the proximity revealing a deep tobacco and clove scent embedded into the collar of his leather jacket. I expected that he would smell of must or decay at this point in our journey, but that is not the case. He smellsheavenly.
A large, clawed hand slides underneath my bottom, lifting me with gentle care. I vocalize a scream of surprise, jolting with electricity. Lowell huffs out of his nostrils, the air wafting over my neck and chest.
“Calm down, I’m not trying to grope you. You need to be standing, right?” he asks, annoyed with my flailing.
My rigidity slowly softens as I accept his assistance, placing both feet on the driver’s seat. Lowell’s touch is warm and firm, spanning my entire backside without stretching a single finger.
Although I’m nearly melting from the temperature of the desert, I don’t mind. I even cravemoreof his touch.
When I stand, the arch of my boots cradled by the seat, I lean into Lowell’s body, propping my arms and crossbow on his right shoulder. His tail snakes around my waist, cinching it so tightly it anchors me in place.
The connection at both my waist and chest sends my heart into a frenzy, beating and stuttering with nerves. My stomach explodes with fluttering butterflies when Lowell revs the engine, his grip tightening protectively when I lose balance at the cycles lurch forward.
“Ready?” he calls, flashing me the hand signal for “go” that we decided on this morning.
I give him the hand signal for “yes.”
Lowell spins the bike position so that I face the Orageist Giant, its beady eyes focused on the leaves it’s plucking from a tall bush.
The sight on my crossbow drops the Orageist Giant into my reticle as I raise it to my eye-line. After our previous encounter, I’m thankful it’s a large target; however, I realize its weak points are much too small to hit accurately from this distance.
My first shot is a miss, bouncing off the Giant’s thick skin and into a bush.
Shit,I think, loading my crossbow with anxious haste.
I line up with the Giant again. Shoot. Miss.
“Dammit,” I curse under my breath, chewing on my lip.
Load, aim, miss, load, aim, miss, load, aim, miss. Again and again, until Lowell pries me from his body to prevent me from shooting another bolt.
I glare down at him, my jaw tight and mouth tilted down, ready to snap at whatever rude comment he has for me.
Instead, Lowell’s brows are drawn in worry. His snout puckers slightly in concern. “Hey,” he says softly over the engine’s roar. “Just take a deep breath, okay? I can feel your heart beating through my tail.”
I tense further from shame rather than anger. I’m embarrassing myself.
Lowell pats the small of my back with the tip of his tail, a gesture that makes the corners of my mouth twitch.
“Relax,” he whispers, faintly. “I’ve got you, so take your time.”
I load up the crossbow once more and aim.
I can do this,I assure myself, moving slower to aim than before.
When I finally pull the trigger, the Orageist Giant belts out a screech so shrieking it could shatter glass. Its eyes snap to Lowell and me, all six legs engaging to sprint directly at us.
“Get that bow loaded again. We gotta move!” Lowell shouts, darting us off in the opposite direction of the raging beast. I’m yanked back from the torque, the bolt in my hand falling to the ground.
Focus, I think.Remember what Grandma wrote. Giants’ movements are predictable. Use it to your advantage.
