Page 70 of Bride of the Black Dragon
And then I see him.
He’s curled in the corner of the room, knees pulled to his chest, his massive frame hunched in on itself like a wounded animal. At first, I don’t believe it’s him—it can’t be. This is not the powerful, towering warrior I know. This is a ghost…a shell.
“Xaren,” I whisper, rushing toward him.
I drop to my knees at his side and reach for him. The moment my hand touches his bare shoulder, I jerk back.
He’s cold—so cold.
Not just cool to the touch—cold, damp, and clammy, like he’s just climbed out of a river in midwinter.
“Oh gods…Xaren, what—what happened to you?”
His skin is wet—he must have washed recently. That much I can guess from the faint scent of lye soap lingering beneath the dungeon rot. But he hasn’t dried—his black hair hangs limp, plastered to his temples and neck. His skin, usually a warm bronze kissed with gold, is pale and ashen. He’s shaking.
He’s always been so hot—so alive—from the fire of his Drake inside him. What could make him like this?
He lifts his head slowly…too slowly.
And when his eyes meet mine, I gasp.
His eye—his human eye—is dull and listless. But the other…his Drake’s eye…
It’s gone.
Or no, worse. Not gone—it’s empty.
Where there was once a brilliant molten gold glow, now there’s only a flat gray orb. Sightless…lifeless.
“No…” I breathe, my heart plummeting. “No, please…”
“Elaina?” His voice is a hoarse rasp, barely audible. “Little dove…is it really you?”
Tears sting my eyes.
“It’s me,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his broad chest. “It’s really me.”
“I dreamed of you so often…it’s hard to tell what’s real anymore.” He tries to smile, but the muscles in his face barely move. “They told me you were coming. They even…bathed me. To get the dungeon grime off, I guess.”
I nod, burying my face in his chest.
“That’s why you’re wet. But why haven’t you dried yourself? Why are you so cold?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“My Drake’s fire is almost gone. I can feel him…drifting. Dimming. Like a candle burning out.”
Then, he presses his face to my hair.
“But now…now that you’re near me, I can feel him stirring. Just a little.”
I pull back just enough to look into his face—and I see it. A faint shimmer. A flicker of gold returning to his eye. Barely there, but…real. Alive.
Maybe touching him really is helping. But it’s not enough—I have to do more.
“Come on.” I take his freezing hand in mine and tug gently. “Come with me.”
He lets me pull him to his feet. He’s wearing the same ragged trousers he donned the night he Shifted for me and nothing else. Well, besides the hateful collar. It’s still bound tight around his throat—the cruel black iron padlocked in place.
