To Tame a Dragon - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,64

was a tangled mess, and Falthyris found himself frequently brushing the sweat dampened, clinging strands out of her face.

She was suffering. Even if he weren’t feeling it through their mating bond, he could see it on her face. And as her condition continued to deteriorate, the persistent tightness in his chest intensified, and the sinking feeling in his gut grew heavier. All of it was compounded by a sense of helplessness he could no longer deny.

He did all he could for her. After the next sunrise, he cleaned her wounds again and reapplied the paste. He moved her and supported her the few times she managed to communicate that she had to relieve herself. He kept her drinking despite her often-silent protests and left—with great reluctance—to fetch fresh water when their supply ran dry. No matter how hastily he made that trip, his heart constricted a little more with each moment he spent away from her.

Dragons were not immune to sickness, but it was rare for them, and Falthyris had never witnessed it firsthand. All his might, all his fire and fury, all the titles he’d earned and the legends he’d inspired— it was all for naught now. None of it could help him. He could not battle the enemy assailing his mate, could not frighten it away with his presence or incinerate it in dragonfire. He could not rend it with his talons or bludgeon it with his tail.

When the red comet had first appeared and driven the dragons around Falthyris mad, when his efforts had failed to prevent the deaths of his parents, he’d felt powerless. When he’d first been forced into this human form, he’d felt powerless. Now, it was more than a feeling—it was his truth.

As time wore on, Elliya’s mutterings became more frequent, her words easier to understand but no less troubling or confusing. She often seemed confused herself—confused, frightened, and in pain. She spoke at random, referred to places he did not know, called out to people who were not there, and occasionally pleaded as though this could somehow just stop. Those ramblings occurred even when she appeared to be awake.

Falthyris did not know what visions she saw in her mind’s eye, could not guess whether she was trapped in her own nightmares or something more sinister. The Red Heat still battered him relentlessly, but his bond with Elliya had grown stronger than Dragonsbane’s curse. Whatever physical discomfort he suffered due to those primal urges was negligible. He had to care for Elliya.

So he did the only thing he could think of—he talked to her. When she began her delirious struggles and muttering, he talked to her, told her he was there. Told her she was safe. When her rest seemed more peaceful, he told her of her strength, her willpower. He told her about the little huntress who had claimed a mighty dragon—who had tamed a dragon.

Falthyris tenderly stroked her cheek. “You are Elliya the Huntress, daughter of Telani, Queen of the Shimmering Peaks and all the lands visible from their summits. Your strength is unrivaled, for you have bested Falthyris the Golden. You have conquered the Conqueror. You will survive this, human.”

Sometimes, his voice seemed to soothe her, easing her down from the heights of delirium. Sometimes, she would press herself against him or cling to him with surprising strength considering her state. On a few rare occasions, she responded by rasping his name.

But her body heat did not diminish, her paleness had taken on a sickly cast, and he swore she looked thinner than she had a couple days before.

By the fourth day after the dunehound attack, he could only get her to accept water a few drops at a time. Her lips, once that luscious, delectable pink, were dry and cracking, and her breath came in irregular, wheezing gasps.

Falthyris was at once numb and suffering the agony of immense pressure crushing him. Some instinctual part of his mind recognized the way she was breathing, the way she looked, as a sign of her impending death.

Fiery rage met icy sorrow in his heart—and the fires, for once, were powerless against that deep chill. He cradled her against his chest, wrapping a wing around her, and said, “Please, Elliya. Please, do not leave me.”

His voice sounded alien to his own ears—broken, rough, desperate. Nothing in all his life had ever been as important as her. He’d never wanted, had never needed, anything as much as he did her. They’d only just begun.