To Love a Dragon - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,52

allow these monsters nothing more than what they’d already taken—that had been far too much.

The hobbled Bone Wraith tackled Leyloni to the ground, initiating a fierce, chaotic struggle fraught with thrashing limbs, swinging fists, and grabbing hands. Leyloni hardly felt any of it; that numbness had spread across much of her skin. Her limbs were growing heavier by the moment, requiring more and more strength to move, but she kept them in motion.

For the memory of her people, for her love for Serek and Arysteon, she kept moving.

She could barely see through the fiery mess of her hair, but she knew by feel when her hands clamped around her enemy’s throat. Growling fiercely enough to have made her males proud, Leyloni squeezed as hard as she could and rolled, forcing the Bone Wraith onto her back, and straddled her foe. She leaned all her weight down on her hands. The woman clawed at Leyloni’s arms and bucked beneath her.

If the Bone Wraith’s nails tore flesh, Leyloni didn’t feel the wounds. Even with all her strength and weight thrown into her hands, Leyloni felt her grip weakening, and her head was quickly becoming too heavy for her neck to support.

But if she could just take down this one Bone Wraith, that would mean something, wouldn’t it? That had to mean something.

A hard object struck the side of Leyloni’s head with a thunderous thud that made her vision go white as though she’d been blinded by a flash of lightning. A brief stab of pain at her temple accompanied the impact, and she was vaguely aware that she was falling, falling, falling—falling an impossible distance until finally she hit the ground.

Leyloni struggled to get her hands beneath herself, to push up off the ground, but her arms would barely move. The river’s flow seemed more like the roar of a raging beast to her ears now, far too close and terribly hungry.

Another of those whistles sounded, this one closer and subtly different from the last.

“Where are your menfolk?” Deer Skull demanded. “Where would they run?”

“We should kill her now,” another female growled, “and hurl her pieces into the river.”

“Cowards,” Leyloni spat through numb lips. “Mother Eurynome will see you rot, alone and forgotten.”

Something struck her side hard enough to roll her onto her back—likely a booted foot. She grunted and stared skyward, her wavering vision a jumbled blur of blue, green, and black. But her pain did not matter.

Please, Mother Eurynome, whatever I must suffer…let my males be safe.

14

Arysteon’s spark roiled at his core, brimming with the fury of a thousand lightning storms. His chest burned, each frantic beat of his heart intensifying the heat, strengthening the electric hum beneath his scales. His mind was racing even faster than his pulse, but his thoughts were few.

My mate is hurt.

My mate is in danger.

I must protect Serek.

I must save Leyloni.

His muscles strained against his warring instincts as he crept back toward the river, having run well past Leyloni’s position before doubling around. A silent approach would afford him the greatest advantage, would keep Serek safest. A hasty approach would bring him to Leyloni soonest, would spare her more potential pain—could be the difference between her living and dying.

His spark flared anew, and he gritted his teeth. The pressure building in him, the power, was too great. He knew this body would not be able to contain it, but he could not guess what that would mean.

So long as it resulted in Leyloni and Serek being safe, he didn’t care what meant.

He extended his tongue to taste the air, picking up a hint of the river’s cool, fresh mist. There was still no trace of the humans who’d come upon the camp just as Leyloni had shouted her warning—Arysteon, run!—but they were downwind of him, and must have been using something to mask their smells regardless.

A growl rumbled low in his chest. Everything had happened so quickly. He’d sensed Leyloni’s unease through the invisible tether linking them together, had felt it quite suddenly become outright fear—and molten rage. He’d heard movement in the foliage near camp just as Leyloni shouted, had seen the first human, her clothing adorned with bone, emerge from the undergrowth.

Instinct had demanded he fight—but it had also demanded he keep his clan, keep little Serek, safe.

He’d snatched up the baby and darted into the woods, running as fast as he could move in this shape. Small projectiles had struck his back, but they had not penetrated his scales, and he’d