To Enchant a Dragon by Amanda Milo Page 0,5
oddly. I test it with my hand, bringing my finger up to taste it.
My concerns are confirmed. “Dragon, this is—”
“Kalos.” His eyes turn an impossibly golden yellow. I didn’t know dragon’s eyes changed colors. “Please call me Kalos, Adella.”
Something flutters in my chest. I try to brush at it, and my movement draws his gaze to the seashells strapped on either side of my chest. “Kalos…” I try again. “This is freshwater.”
His eyes—so pale they’re nearly lemon quartz now—sink to my darkening tail. “You need salt?”
“I need to be in the sea,” I stress.
He sounds conflicted. “We must settle somewhere where I can hunt.” He scans the gully, his wings popping higher behind him like black mountain peaks. “I need a considerable amount of food in a day.”
He doesn’t say it, but there’s a special kind of game where I’m from. Hells, I am that game. And although I’d be hard pressed not to believe him that he won’t eat me—he could have swallowed me down by now, so many times over—thickening fear coats my stomach. “You can’t… you can’t eat my sisters.”
He drags his great clawed hand down his long face. “I won’t.” He locks his gaze to mine—gem-quality olivine green now. “I vow I’m done attempting to eat mermaids.”
“And mermen,” I prompt.
His eyes narrow to slits. “There are mermen?”
I blink up at him, watching two clouds of smoke roll out of his suddenly flared nostrils. I gesture to my sickly browning tail. “Kalos? Saltwater?”
At my use of his name, his features flash with something akin to fascination—but warmer, earthier. His eyes are warmer too: an instantaneous change to pure sunstone. “All right, my dear mate,” he says finally, his voice strangely rougher. Also strangely… genuine. “You have asked this of me, and this I will do. I will find you safe seawater.”
His words are clearly meant to be reassuring. But I can’t fail to notice that he didn’t promise to take me home.
CHAPTER 4
KALOS
I take my mate to a lagoon not far from her glorified seaside inlet—but a damned sight freer of mermen, and I make sure of it. While Adella rehydrates her scales (which turn from a dull muddy brown to a bright, burnished copper, beginning to flood with more and more colors the longer she soaks in saline) I leave her in the nearly coastal body of water and eat two unsuspecting mermen.
Everyone was right. Merfolk are delicious.
I’ve not been away from Adella for long, so when I return, I’m surprised to feel guilt tickling my stomach.
At least I think it’s guilt. I suppose I didn’t take the time to fully cook the mermen. Yes, I analyze the sensation, and with some relief, I confirm that the tickling is coming from my insides in the visceral sense, not the emotional one; it’s very distinctly a hand or two trying to paw my innards for mercy. Whew. Definitely just the fishmen, and once my stomach acids go to work on them, they won’t bother me anymore.
Hopping over a craggy beach-rock formation, I race for my mate. Bounding across the shallow water, loudly sending splashes every which way, I excitedly show Adella the sunfish that I caught for her. To my delight, my new mate has made quick work of collecting food for herself too—and more endearing, she’s kind and thoughtful enough to have made a pile of offerings for me. “Do you eat oysters?” she asks.
“I never have,” I tell her. My tail curls up happily behind me, slapping the water as it wags in pleasure over this gesture Adella has made towards me. I stare at her fondly. “I’ve heard their insides can hold treasure! But they are too small, too difficult to pry open.”
“I can open them for you,” she offers. “And they do sometimes hold treasure. But I’m afraid these here won’t go far to feed you,” she says sadly, gaze tracing my massive frame.
“I’ll be fine,” I promise, feeling every bit of weight the mermen add to my belly. I drop to my haunches and try to dispel the slightly guilty tang that’s attempting to batter my senses. “I’m beyond pleased that you thought to feed me at all. Please show me how you harvest your oysters.”
She does show me—and we collect two beautiful pearls, which she stores in her breast’s seashell cups, proving she offers the most glorious spot for safekeeping—and soon, she’s holding up an oyster for me to try opening with my claws. “You should be able to pry it