To Tame a Dragon - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,58
lashing out at anything that moved. Smoke, dust, ash, and bits of broken stone filled the air, and blood slickened his claws and dripped from his jaws. The crimson haze that had settled over his vision had little to do with the comet.
He could not rest until all these creatures had been annihilated.
When the howls finally stopped and naught moved around Falthyris but smoke and fire, the ravine was charred black and strewn with smoldering carcasses and mangled remains. His heartfire pulsed just beneath the surface of his scales, and the Red Heat radiated down atop them, but for once it seemed unable to gain entry.
Falthyris loosed another roar—declaring his victory, his dominance, his claim on his female—before pumping his wings. Thick smoke swirled into the air, swept along by the wind he created. Elliya clutched at him as he leapt up and sped back toward their lair.
Echoes of the pain he’d experienced during his transformation coursed through him, but he afforded it little of his attention. He was unconcerned for himself. Her pain was far more pressing, and he sensed it through their mating bond with increasing clarity.
He tightened his hold on her infinitesimally and landed as gently as possible on the slope just outside his lair, catching the edge of the opening with his talons. Falthyris drew his wings in tight and hauled himself into the tunnel. The passage seemed wrong now, too small, too tight, and his body too clumsy. But he pressed on nonetheless, carrying his little mate into the main chamber, where he carefully set her down on their nest. He lit the torches promptly.
The scent of her blood was strong enough that he dared not take more of it upon his tongue.
Elliya sat on the blanket with one hand clamped over her leg. Fresh blood flowed between her fingers to stain the fabric beneath her. Her skin was paler than usual, and she was trembling. Several other cuts on her body oozed blood as well, but none nearly as fast as her leg wound.
She locked her dark, pained eyes on him, studying him with both wonder and uncertainty. “You…are a dragon again.”
Not long ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to return to his natural form. After living for nearly two thousand years, it seemed that a few weeks shouldn’t have made any difference, that his mind should not have been changed so quickly or so drastically. But now he felt strange in his own body. He felt too far away from her.
Falthyris lowered his head, making a low rumbling in his chest. “And you are wounded. How do I help you, Elliya?”
Her brows lowered, and she looked down, seeming to take in the damage done to her body. When she lifted her hand from her leg, it was shaking, and blood gushed from the uncovered bite wounds. She clamped her hand back around her calf. There was another bleeding bite on her other forearm.
“Falthyris, I…I need your fire. I need you to seal the wounds, to stop the bleeding.” She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. “But it is likely already too late.”
“What do you mean it is too late, female?”
“Those were dunehounds. Their bites carry a sickness that can kill within days.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “They bit me. My blood is now tainted.”
His heartfire flared, making his pulse race and his lungs tight. His wings twitched, nearly snapping open, and it took a considerable amount of effort to keep his tail from swinging restlessly—the lair was weakened enough after his past struggles against Dragonsbane, and he would only endanger Elliya further by lashing out.
“You will not succumb to this,” he growled. “You are the queen of the Shimmering Peaks. You are my mate.”
She reached out with her wounded arm, hesitated, and laid her hand on his snout. It trembled as she smoothed it over his scales. His nostrils flared; the scent of her blood was even stronger with it so close.
Elliya smiled. The expression was uncharacteristically sad and weak. “I am mortal, Falthyris.”
“You are my mortal, Elliya.”
And I am taking too long to help her.
Falthyris released a huff through his nostrils and shifted his gaze to her wounds. They were so tiny from his current perspective, and her body was so small and delicate. Were he to use his fire now, he would only do more harm than good.
He knew what he needed to do, and it stood within reason that he was capable of it—he’d changed to