Page 57 of Seduced By the Dragon Lord (Dragon Lords 2)

Collar dangling limply from his right hand, Rathmort glanced back at Orik with an expression that would have been humorous if Orik’s vision wasn’t colored by a murderous red.

With a vile sneer, Rathmort jumped into action, gathering sizzling magic in his palm. Orik didn’t wait for the attack. He sprang forward, lunging for the witch’s throat with his new mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

At the last second, Rathmort dodged, but not before one of Orik’s canines sliced him from forehead to chin.

Bellowing, Rathmort blasted him with a heavy expulsion of magic, hurling him through the air and bashing his newly formed body against a tree so hard, the world dimmed and swirled around him before going completely dark.

He came to on the ground in a pool of sticky blood, still warm. His belly had been lacerated.

He’d been out for only seconds, it seemed, because Rathmort was still kneeling on the ground cupping his face, seemingly shocked by all the blood dripping through his fingers.

Cruel satisfaction seethed through Orik.

The fangs from younger dragons were venomous. Wounds inflicted by them were harder to heal either naturally…or by magic.

Taking advantage of Rathmort’s distraction, Orik made his escape, darting through the forest as fast as he could—which was pretty fast when powered by four legs—but Rathmort pursued with equal swiftness, running faster than any two-legged being had the right to. Was he using magic to keep up?

Orik glanced back, seeing only Rathmort’s vicious bloodied face within a mystic swirling force. His hand reached out, glowing with power. In the next instant, Orik was peppered by blasts of magic. Pain burned his scaly spine and tail, making him trip and stumble, but he never slowed. Capture meant death.

Weaving in and out of the dense trees, Orik became desperate for a clearing so that he might test out his wings for the first time. If he took off now, he’d likely whack into several trees and would never make it through the canopy.

Tree trunks whizzed by as Orik’s claws dug into damp soil and pushed his legs harder and harder. Another quick glance. Rathmort was almost upon him, his usually cold eyes alight with morbid glee. Orik zipped to the right, avoiding a large trunk. Rathmort zipped left.

Suddenly a small gully separated them, big enough to keep either from crossing. Up ahead, Orik spotted where it knit together again. Beyond that was what looked like a meadow. Just a little farther.

Neck and neck, their eyes traveled over the space to glare at one another. Orik’s paws beat the ground, kicking up leaves and mulch in his wake. Rathmort hovered along the ground on the wings of a dark cloud, matching his speed.

Finally, the gully ended, and the two nearly collided. Orik savagely snapped at his attacker. Rathmort hammered him with deadly magic.

Ignoring the pain, Orik forced more power into his muscles, miraculously increasing his speed.

Almost there.

When he burst into the clearing, Orik didn’t think twice. He spread his wings and pumped them hard as he pushed off the ground. He felt his wings catch the air, and suddenly he was flying!

His ascent was awkward and slow at first, and a couple more blasts from Rathmort landed on his spine, nearly knocking him from the sky, but somehow Orik continued his climb until the witch’s attacks could no longer reach him, until he was so high in the sky that he could see the distant silhouette of a kingdom edging the horizon.

He glanced back. Rathmort had vanished into the thicket, unable to follow.

Exhausted, wounded, dizzy, Orik flew for miles. The cold air barely registered. In fact, it was refreshing and likely kept him awake when all he wanted was to close his eyes.

I’m free. Finally free.

He could barely believe it.

As the sun set, Orik had the presence of mind to register the utter beauty of it, like dragon fire igniting the horizon, but when the colors faded and darkness crept over the land, exhaustion pried its way into every muscle. Still, on he went, the hazy light of that kingdom now a beacon.

After what felt like hours more, his delirious mind worried he was following an illusion…a tick of his mind or worse, a cruel hoax by Rathmort. More than once he feared he was back in his cage, only fantasizing that he’d escaped. But the chilly night wind caressing his face and the ache of his wings’ first use assured him this was real.

Depleted and bone-weary, he finally made it to the city. A more glorious kingdom had never existed.

Winding through the streets, he made his way toward the castle, descending carefully. Lacking experience, he crash-landed near the castle gates, rolling end over end until he came to a stop. He came to a set of guards, who gazed at him with a mixture of alarm and concern. Surely his small stature dictated he was a child in dragon form. But just in case…

With the last of his strength, he shifted back to his two-legged form—which he soon learned had been a terrible idea. The pain of his wounds seared his nerves. He was not yet old enough for quick regeneration. Ignoring the pain, he pushed to his feet and stumbled forward.

One guard knelt down to catch him by the shoulders and hold him steady. “You all right, boy? What happened to you?”

He thought he was standing straight and true, but the world around him was swaying. He opened his mouth to push a reply through his cracked and barren throat. Instead, he collapsed, unconscious.

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