Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons #2) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,12

to cut into him when Fezzik’s magical rounds had not, but I hadn’t even given him the equivalent of a hangnail.

The eye squinted.

You, the dragon spoke telepathically, his voice as powerful and resonant as Zav’s as it rang in my skull, smell of Zavryd’nokquetal.

My mouth dropped. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been that.

“That can’t be. I’ve showered and scrubbed myself dozens of times since I saw him last.”

The eye continued to squint at me. I hoped to lure him here with my antics, but it’s been days, and I grow weary of this game.

“Antics? Wait, you’ve been commanding the kobolds to kidnap children, hoping to attract Zav’s attention?”

Zav? Surely, he does not permit a mongrel to call him by that diminutive name.

“I can’t pronounce his un-diminutive name.”

That’s pathetic.

“Sorry, I’m half-human.”

Yes. I can tell. Even through telepathy, dragons could manage to be supercilious. I am Dobsaurin the Most Magnificent.

Great, he’s even more pompous than Zav. I meant the words for Sindari, but the dragon’s visible eye opened wide.

I can hear you when you think words to your stolen dragon slave!

“He’s not a slave,” I said as Sindari put in his own objection, an indignant roar that filled my ears.

The Zhinevarii are promised to dragons. You have no right to that charm.

“Uh huh. Why did you say you wanted to lure Zav here?” I asked, hoping to distract him from his new interest in Sindari—the last thing I wanted was for him to take the figurine away. “And why were you kidnapping children to do it? He thinks humans are vermin and is only here to get criminals that fled from your worlds.”

He is insufferably righteous and resents those who prey on the small and weak, as if the small and weak are worth paying attention to. Dragons are gods in comparison to all the lesser species. Gods should not concern themselves with those who are so clearly inferior to us. But I knew Zavryd’nokquetal would come to challenge me if he found out I was meddling with the peoples of this world. I am disappointed by how long it’s taking him to respond. I know he is here on this overpopulated, scum-infested planet.

“It’s a big planet. He could be anywhere.”

I suppose. But he has seen you recently enough to leave his mark on you. Will he come to see you again?

I didn’t mean to hesitate, but I had to consider the answer. Reluctantly, I admitted that Zav had found me useful several times now, so he probably would hunt me down again.

Belatedly, I said, “No.”

A lie. Your human half makes you weak and easy to read.

“Thanks for the analysis, but I already have a therapist that I pay for that. No need for dragons to butt in.”

Have we not discussed the foolishness of irking dragons, Val? Sindari asked.

Yes, but you can hardly talk. You roared at him.

He called me a slave. That is worse than being called a pet.

Perhaps you will do. The dragon—Dob-whatever—studied me with new contemplation.

I’d liked it better when he’d been breathing fire at me.

Deliver a message to him. Tell him that my family does not appreciate his sanctimonious meddling, and that I have been sent to put an end to it. Permanently.

“Deliver a message? I’m not a Post-it note.” I couldn’t imagine anything more dreadful than being pulled into what sounded like dragon politics.

Other than dying. I supposed this was a step up from that. And, with luck, the children had made it safely back to their homes by now.

Tell him, or I’ll flambé this structure with you and your tiger in it.

“I’ll let him know.”

Excellent.

The dragon backed away, sprang into the air, and flew off to the east. I wish he’d gone west. West was the Olympic Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. East was Seattle, my apartment, and millions of people.

As I stumbled outside, relieved to suck in a breath of fresh air, my phone buzzed. Expecting Willard again, I answered without looking at the number.

“Ms. Thorvald,” Mary Watanabe, my therapist, said. “I’m glad you answered.”

I wished I’d let it go to voice mail.

“Oh?” I couldn’t help it that I sounded wary. She didn’t call for social reasons.

“Have you been working on the 4-7-8 breathing technique we discussed? Are you finding it helpful for lowering stress in difficult situations?”

I coughed and dug out my inhaler. Right now, my lungs were too full of smoke for breathing exercises. They were busy working on just breathing.

“I didn’t have time during today’s difficult situation, but