Page 70 of Demonic Prince

The tavern is already crowded, boisterous voices raised over each other. The tavern keeper frowns at me when I enter, though she doesn’t say anything. Her name is Maggie. She feeds me and lets me sleep on the floor by the hearth in the kitchen.

I keep my head down and tighten the kerchief that covers my red hair. I grab a broom from the corner. Hiding in the shadows, I sweep and pretend to be invisible.

One of the men staggers up from his table and shouts for more beer. I ignore him, since I’m not serving the tables tonight. Sometimes I pretend to be a barmaid in the tavern, though I’m not good with the customers. Maggie says I don’t smile enough.

The man who shouted for beer wanders over to me. I tense, waiting for him to yell at me, but he grins instead. He grabs his crotch and suggests something crude. I stare blankly at him, since I’m not interested. He could never be my mate. He doesn’t even know I’m a dragon or that I can bite off his head.

Behind him, another man stands at a distant table.

My stomach plummets. Every ounce of blood in me goes cold.

Him.

He turns around, his battered armor glinting in the firelight. He wears a bastard sword. He’s tall, brutish, and has hands like sledgehammers.

The dragonslayer.

Why is he here? Did he track me all the way to Quickmire?

A strangled whimper escapes me. I’m gripping the broom in both hands, though it’s useless as a weapon. I don’t even know his name. I don’t even know who he is beyond being the dragonslayer who…

It’s too painful to remember.

The drunk man in my way catches me by the arm. He seems angry that I’m ignoring him, that I didn’t want him after he grabbed his crotch.

I smile the way Maggie wants me to, but I let my teeth sharpen.

When the drunk man swears, I yank my arm free. I have eyes only for the dragonslayer. He’s walking across the tavern, his cold blue stare pinning me to my spot. He stops in front of me but doesn’t draw his sword.

“Do I know you?” he says to me.

He doesn’t remember. I’m spiraling down into a dark chasm. Everything that happened to me meant so little to him.

He. Doesn’t. Remember.

I speak in a hoarse murmur. “You killed my mother.”

The dragonslayer stares at me without understanding. “Who are you?”

The broom splinters under my claws. I toss it away, useless kindling, and tear the kerchief from my red hair. I double over with the pain of holding back my transformation.

His disbelief turns into shock. “You.”

My wings snap free from my shoulder blades. Scales rush down my skin, armoring me, and my skeleton jerks and grinds into a bigger shape. The dragonslayer draws his bastard sword. Fear glints in his eyes and stinks in his sweat.

The dragon breaks free.

When I roar, they all scream.

I breathe fire. The blast hits the dragonslayer and rushes through the tavern. The flames are so bright they almost outshine my rage.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

“Pyrah!”

I jolt awake. I’m lying in the tower of thorns with Rook kneeling beside me. I’m shaking, every muscle in my body restless with the need to run or fight.

“Pyrah. Look at me.” He waits for me to obey. “You were having a nightmare.”

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