“That would never happen. You know that, right?”
Taking out several drink pouches, I busied myself, shoving them through the bars. My throat had closed up, and I needed a minute to leash my emotions. “I do know that now, but such knowledge was lost on a young warrior facing death at a tender age.”
“What happened?”
“I’d like to say that I plucked myself up and kicked through the vent like a true warrior. The truth is much less heroic. One of the older warriors heard my weak sounds, tore open the vent with his gigantic claws and got me out. He immediately took me to my sire who was even then grieving the loss of his mate and my older siblings. Holding out his hands for me, he drew me close and made haste for engineering to oversee the repairs.”
Wrapping my caudal in my lap, I rest my hands on it, much like I did all those years ago. “Again, we were victorious, but that victory cost us many lives. Warriors I looked up to during my short life were no more, wiped out of existence by mercenaries bent on stealing our fortune. My sire refused to release me a nice long while.”
Her hands reach through the bars to land on mine, and, for a brief second, the throbbing pain in my chest eases up. Sitting there staring at her hands on me, the idea enters my mind that rather than being the cause of my strange malady, she is the cure. My wings grow stiff as I realize that perhaps she is both. When her quivering voice reaches my ears, I glance up at her face.
“It breaks my heart that you had to suffer through such a traumatic event when you were still so young. No little boy should have to endure something like that.”
Pulling away from her touch, I reply indignantly, “I’m not weak.”
Her eyes get wide and her mouth drops open. “I never said you were.”
Coming swiftly to my feet, I tuck my wings neatly behind me and lift my chin. “Nor do I fear death.”
Slowing standing, she seems thoroughly confused. The words that come out of her mouth hit me square in the chest. “Of course, Tarion of the Hielsrane does not fear death. It is death that should fear him.”
Giving the woman a sharp nod in recognition of her truthful but nonetheless complimentary words, I refuse to succumb to my emotions. “Tarion of the Hielsrane craves battle and has never been defeated.”
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “It’s because he is a Drakon Prime.”
I relax my wings slightly. “Sleep well, Carissa of the Maeberry.”
“You too, sir.”
Turning towards the door, it takes me a few moments to will my feet to move. I don’t know why it is difficult to walk away from this human brooder, but I force my feet into action. Closing the door behind me, I try to process what just happened between us.
I have never spoken such intimate details of that day to anyone, even my sire. Males do not normally share feelings about the tragedies of their life. What in the hell is wrong with me? I begin to wonder if the human has some type of mental ability to force me to lower my inhibitions.
Surely, my sire never behaved in such a fashion with his human. I think of contacting him but disregard the idea almost immediately. My sire is a clever warrior, and he may be able to uncover my new weakness. No warrior worth his wings would let that happen.
Turning the situation over in my mind, it occurs to me to wonder if this is perhaps the quality that makes human females so coveted. Their innocent allure prompts a warrior to unburden their soul. I know my painful memories have diminished in her company. I’m unsure if I should feel grateful or furious.
I will not allow her to trick me again. In fact, I will go to her cell often and force her to speak details of her life, while I guard my own. Beating her at her own game will prove I’m superior. Yes. That is exactly what I’ll do.
5
Carissa
Good holy God, what was that all about? My dragon captor just turned into a big old softie. First, he shoved tons of food at me, insisting that brooders should be plumped up. Ha, like that would ever happen. There isn’t enough food in the verse to pad my skinny ass.
Tearing into a third food bar, I vow to take advantage of his hospitality. The little voice in the back of my head tells me I’m being gluttonous and ungrateful. I shut her right up by tearing off a big chewy bite of goodness, enjoying the naturally sweet fruit bar. The case has different kinds and I know red means fruit, brown means grain, green means vegetable and black means there is some dodgy form of meat inside. I literally hate the ones made of meat, but I’ll eat them to stay alive. When that little voice persists, I remind her that feeding me well is
