I don’t want anything to disturb her peaceful state. Speeding up, I faint a pounce on the center attacker, but then go for the left one. I grab it by the throat and let my claws penetrate the thick skin, working them into the creature until its cold blood is gushing. I can feel its main blood vessel in the middle of my grip, pulsating hard. I squeeze it and rip it out.
The predator, who is not quite the apex he thought he was, runs off aimlessly, colliding with trees and bleeding out somewhere in there.
The second one realizes that attack is the best defense and comes at me in long, silent bounds. I lazily get out of its way, consider sticking a foot out to trip it up, then decide not to. It might be noisy.
Instead, I swing around and kick the charging monster right above its open, toothy gape. There’s a muted crack and the attacker drops to the ground, unconscious, but possibly not dead. I eliminate that possibility with one long, clawed finger stabbed right into its heart.
The third predator has already thought better of it and is escaping as fast as it can.
Jennifer is poking the fire with a long stick when I walk past her and rinse the blood off my hands in the somewhat pungent and stale water of the swamp.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“No,” I reply and sit back down beside her. “Most things are not, as you well know. But things are not worse now than a minute ago, which I think is what you were really asking.”
“Um. Right. I think you ripped your pants.”
Indeed, there is a small rip above the boot. “I have no idea how that happened. It’s not enough that I’m walking on the ground like a lesser being. Now I also have to look like a bum.” I try to mobilize anger, but it won’t come to me.
Jennifer reaches over and tests the rip with her fingers. “How does that work, with the clothes and the dragon form? I mean, when you change from dragon to man or the other way around?”
Oh, the pedestrian concerns and thoughts of this species.
“They are special clothes that change along with me,” I make up. “Magic.”
Jennifer hides another yawn behind her hand. “That’s what I thought. You don’t know, either.”
I stiffen. Half of me wants to grab her hair, lift her up, and kick her into the swamp. The other half wants nothing remotely like that.
“One day you will provoke me once too many, and I won’t be able to stop myself from hurting you really badly,” I growl.
“Why would you want to stop yourself?” she asks, so unconcerned that it is an insult in itself. She’s totally sure I won’t harm her.
The worst part is that I suspect she’s right.
“Why, indeed,” I say as flatly as I can, completely at a loss. I’m not myself anymore.
She lies down and curls up, then adjusts herself and puts her head on my thigh. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I can’t stop my teeth from gnashing. She’s right. I don’t at all mind having the weight and heat of her head resting on my leg.
And I know I should mind. Very much.
Jennifer closes her eyes, a satisfied little smile on her unreasonably full lips.
The cold little fire crackles as it burns down.
The incredible weakness of this pitiful state! Not only am I bound to the ground, I’m also weak and mild to the only creature who has ever hurt me! Letting her lie on my lap! Enjoying the scent of her, wanting to stroke one hand along her hair!
The dragon in me hates it. But it’s too distant to get its will. If I tried to Change to dragon form now, it would not work. My cache seems infinitely far away.
At least I can be reasonably sure nobody will find that cache. It is both well hidden and well guarded.
There are noises from all over the forest behind me, but I don’t turn around. I can handle any spies or attackers while sitting here. They can feel the danger.
Leaning back on the rock behind me, I pick up my old plan for how I can make this terrible state of affairs work to my benefit. It seems a ridiculous idea; I have never been weaker. But the potential also seems ridiculously great.
Caronerax, king of the dragons.
Yes, the potential is there.
13
- Jennifer -
I stretch, not wanting to open my eyes and be blinded by the rising