dizziness hits me as the pain becomes excruciating. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the sharp throbbing coming from my arm. The long cuts up and down my body drip blood. None of that matters.
In an effort of will I force my vision to clear. The females stand side by side, gripping each other, staring at me wide-eyed.
“Are you Order?” the beautiful one with the luscious curves asks in Zmaj.
She knows my language?
“No,” I answer, swaying.
“You’re hurt,” she says.
“Yes,” I agree. “I think I am.”
The knife slips from my hand. I can’t keep my fingers closed, they’re numb and tingling. The curvy female takes a step forward. My dragon rumbles, wanting her, desiring, but the blood loss is overtaking my ability to react.
“Leah, wait,” the other female says, holding onto her arm and pulling her back.
“He’s hurt,” Leah says.
“He might be with the Order,” the other says.
“It doesn’t matter,” Leah says. “I can’t leave him like this, can you?”
The other female bites her lip then shakes her head. They approach, and as they do blackness blankets the world.
5
LEAH
I can’t take my eyes off the Zmaj before us. He’s different than any of the others of his species I’ve seen. There’s something about him that calls me. Butterflies dance in my stomach, my hands shake, and cold sweat drips down my back.
The jungle cat-like monster lies dead a step behind the man. Its eyes are glassy, where moments before they were glinting and terrifying. I wrap my arms across myself before I take a step forward. Allie grabs my elbow and pulls back.
“Leah, wait,” she says.
“He’s hurt,” I say.
“He might be with the Order,” Allie says.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I can’t leave him like this, can you?”
I tear my arm free and take a step towards the Zmaj. He’s weaving on his feet, blood running down from multiple wounds. His right arm hangs to one side with a crook in it that makes my stomach turn to look at. I’m sure it’s broken.
“Be careful,” Allie hisses, right behind me.
“I will be,” I say, glancing backward.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him drop. He collapses like a sack of grain. Crying out in surprise, I close the last few steps and drop to my knees in the mud next to him. My hand trembles as I touch his neck, looking for a pulse. He’s cool to the touch, too cool. Nothing. I wait, holding my breath.
He can’t be dead. He saved us. He has to be okay.
There’s a thump under my fingers and his chest rises then falls. Shallow but he’s alive. I let out my breath in a sharp exhale and look up at Allie.
“What do we do?” I ask.
A cold drizzle continues to fall, drenching everything. The mud squishes as Allie kneels down. Together we push him over onto his back. Only then does it hit me he’s been badly scarred and he’s missing a wing.
“What happened to him?” Allie whispers.
“I don’t know,” whispering too, though I don’t know why.
So we don’t wake him? Which is ridiculous, obviously, because he’s out. He’s not only out, he’s hurt, bad. Whatever it feels like the right thing to do.
“Those scars,” Allie says, pointing at what she means.
It’s obvious they’re old and that they didn’t heal well. The skin is puckered and angry across his left shoulder and down to his pec muscle. He’s coated in blood that is still running from the open wounds too.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “But the new wounds are what matters. We need to stop the bleeding.”
“Should we?” Allie asks, meeting my eyes.
“Are you serious?” I ask, mouth agape.
“What if he’s Order?” she asks.
“He said he wasn’t,” I say.
“And would he say he was if he was?” she asks.
My head explodes. I can’t believe she’s arguing this point. We can’t leave him here. He’s hurt.
“He saved us,” I say.
“What if he did it to take us back?” she asks. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be… mean…” Her eyes drop away. “I’m scared. I don’t want to be breeding material for these guys.”
She half-motions at the Zmaj.
“One way or another,” I say. “I can’t live with myself if we leave him here. We need to tend his wounds and get him back.”
“How?” Allie asks.
Frowning I turn my attention to that very real problem. He’s huge, like most Zmaj, much, much, bigger than us, even both of us put together. Moving him isn’t going to be easy.
“We’ll make a travois,” I say.
“A tra-wha?” Allie