by Debra Kristi
“Marcus!” The roar of Kyra’s beast crept into her scream with a fever pitch. Called by the fire, her dragon clawed to the surface, edged into her features.
“Oh my! I see it now. Everything’s burning.”
Kyra snapped her head back. Found Chelsea behind her. The girl jerked back, waving her hands at Kyra, her face drawn wide with astonishment. And something else—a momentary wave of fear? In a whoosh, Chelsea’s breath escaped, bringing with it unspoken apologies and understanding. Her eyes softened, body relaxed, and she lowered her hands to her side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react so rudely. You caught me by surprise, is all. I had no idea you were so unique. Or that your eyes could be any more amazing. Golden fire.” Chelsea waved her hand up to Kyra’s orange, glowing skin and dragon-set eyes.
Smoke emanated from Kyra’s nostrils. The change kicking into full flight. “You should leave,” she said with a curt edge. Now was not the time for handholding. It would only slow her down. Maybe even get Chelsea hurt.
Chelsea stepped forward, closer to Kyra. Head high, back straight, eyes focused. “No. I’m here to help.” She looked around, urgency in her glance, and took off at a run toward the horses’ water trough. Before Kyra could complain, Chelsea had grabbed a bucket from its side, filled it, and hurried over to the closest trailer. She threw the water on the fire and returned to repeat the action.
Water. Of course. In the presence of fire, Kyra had automatically responded with her Fire Dragon qualities. Her father’s side. Just because she was out of the water didn’t mean she couldn’t call upon her mother’s side—the Water Dragon. As a Moorigad she had access to both dragon traits; she’d use both if she must. She summoned the rain, a thankful smile gracing her face with the request.
Smoke filled the air. If she weren’t a dragon, she would find it hard to breathe. No water fell from the sky, no rain, no precipitation responded to her call. Baffled, she had no time for worry. Brilliant orange scales were already spreading across her skin. They brought her strength, protection, and a touch of overconfidence. She was fully protected by the time she opened the door and stepped with ease into her trailer, having maintained her human shape.
The flames consuming the grass around her cozy home, threatening to incinerate it in a moment’s breath, had yet to touch the walls and spread inside. Everything still smelled like ash. Fabulous, fantastic ash. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the time nor the place to enjoy it. She needed to focus.
Hidden a step inside the door, behind cover of the side cabinet, she called out. “Marcus?” He groaned. Coughed. The sound coming from the back of the trailer—the other side of the partition.
She vanquished her scales, commanded them to meld into her skin. They shifted, sank through the flesh until they were gone and she appeared completely human again. Then she pushed the curtain aside, exposing the tight sleep space. Marcus held the side of his face, tried to rise, and coughed violently. She moved in to help, the weight of concern washing over her.
He slung his arm around her and bid a sorry attempt at a smile. It twitched at the edge of his lips, the sentiment never reaching his eyes. “Look at you. Three times my hero.” His lazy gaze skittered over her, his eyes struggling to stay open, to stay conscious.
Kyra nudged him lightly in the ribs. “Who knew I was signing up for such a needy guy?”
“Ha. Someone hit me. Damn powerful punch, too. Tried to knock me out.” He struggled for breath. “I fought ‘em good, but guess they got the better of me. The place was full of smoke when I woke up.”
The pain pierced like a dragon’s spike to the chest, caused Kyra to wince. The people at the carnival were her friends. Why would anyone want to hurt Marcus? He was her guest. She wiped sweat and concern from her brow, supported some of his weight, and edged them both around the side of the bed. “Did you see who it was?”
“Nah. I couldn’t—”
Something rumbled, deep and loud, beyond the thin walls on their right. The trailer shook. Cupboards above the sink popped open. Dishes flew, catapulted at them as if by an unseen force. Kyra threw up her hands, deflecting the attack. The moment the assault slowed she yanked Marcus by the collar, pulled him closer to the exit. A flash of light outside the small doorframe bled through the opening, pulling at Kyra’s attention. She looked closer, but saw nothing. The grass and neighboring trailers were no longer visible, the tiny doorway now a canvas of stirring embers.
Kyra found it beautiful and perplexing how thick smoke could resemble a wall. Only, it wasn’t smoke. Any dragon could tell the difference. Smoke, like fire, was a part of who dragons were—a part of their nature. What now surrounded her trailer was the same eerie fog surrounding the carnival perimeter. Primal, scary, and wrong. What was it doing inside? It never moved. Never wandered inward, within the carnival walls.
And yet…
Her eyes burned like molten lava when she attempted to pierce the haze shrouding her home. With every inch of visibility the heat of her vision cleared, the fog pressed back, blocking it again.
Water suddenly sloshed through the mist, clearing a path in a way her vision would not. Thrown out in a spray, the water flew in Kyra’s direction, carving through the haze like the sharpened claws of a Black Dragon through fresh meat. She inched forward.
Chelsea stood on the other side of the opening, an empty pail in her hands. Patterns of soot smudged her arms, hands, and knees, leaving her dingy and wet. “Kyra! You must hurry.”
Muffled shouts and screams carried through the path opened in the fog. Then it was silent.
Before Kyra could move the door slammed shut in her face, sealing off her view of Chelsea and freedom beyond. Kyra stepped back and tripped on Marcus’s foot. Beyond the closed confines of their prison, Chelsea screamed, the sound pressing fear and urgency to course through Kyra’s veins.
“What in the hell was that?” Marcus’s voice pitched an octave, rang with worry. He steadied Kyra and stepped past her, his hand guiding her to the side. “This place is seriously fucked. Where did you bring me?” He twisted the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge. He threw his weight against it. Nothing.
Kyra scratched at the space behind her ear. Watching Marcus work so close to the fire made her skin itch. He wasn’t impervious, not tough like her dragon. Her hand reached out and stopped short. She found herself captivated by the bead of sweat sliding down his cheek. She didn’t sweat. Never needed to. The air escaped from her lungs in a low, steady rush.
She didn’t want to take his masculinity; she only wanted to save him. Yet she knew how men could get. That part rarely changed from species to species.
He grabbed her hand and pushed her back a safe distance. “You’ve done enough saving. Let me be the man here.”
Her lips tightened, a dammit-all resolve slipping into place, all while she studied the deep crease set in the center of his forehead. Warmth rushed through her at his need to play valiant hero. Of course, she could provide a quicker exit. Not that he needed to know that.
Marcus threw his body against the door a second time. His mass and the small frame collided with a crash. The tiny trailer rattled, still the door refused to open. It made no sense. Something strange was at work.
Heat continued to rise. The structure groaned. And Kyra’s sixth sense stirred. It tingled down her spine, growing in intensity with each increased degree of severity.
With deliberate intention, she ran her hand down the side of his arm. It was slick with sweat. She edged up against him to make sure she’d be heard. “Something’s not right.”
He turned, looked down at her. “What do you mean?”
“Get away from the door!”
Kyra yanked him behind her as fast as she could. Fire exploded through every crack and gap in the front wall. It reached for them, expanding and spreading across the surface in both directions, lighting up the built-in dinette like a campfire. It glided across the ceiling, licked at their toes, slithered like a snake, and smelled of sulfur, delighting and fri
ghtening Kyra’s senses. Leaving her torn between wanting to embrace it and fearing its finality for Marcus. Then, like a bubble, the fire blew up in their faces and pulled back, tight and light against the wall.
“Whoa!” Marcus tripped and fell. Faster than Kyra could glance back, he had picked himself up. His fingers raked and pulled at his hair.
Before them flames hugged the wall, turning her home into a sizzling prison. At different points the fire danced in flames of blue, yellow, and orange. A magnificent masterpiece, Kyra marveled.
“Stay behind me,” Kyra said and tried to push Marcus deeper into the trailer. He wouldn’t move. She had to act fast if she were to keep him safe. Stay true to the pull, the fealty. Turning to face him, she found herself pressed up against him, his breath warm on her cheek. He held a frying pan. Odd. “You need to move back, away from the fire.” She pressed her palms into his abs.
Marcus’s hands grabbed her waist and his gaze pierced right through her. She shivered, feeling something between them she had yet to understand. His eyes darted to the window at their side, breaking the connection. “Can we go that way?”
Kyra grabbed the pan and slammed it against the window with all her might. It bounced back, leaving the window still sealed. “Would you fit?” She hit it again.
“Probably not.”
She dropped the pan. “Back there.” She pointed to the ceiling vent over the bed. Her redirect got Marcus moving to the back like she wanted.
He shoved his hands up against the vent. “Why is it boarded up?”
“A cat broke it. Fell through. I didn’t want the thing coming and going whenever.” Kyra glanced over her shoulder at the fire by the door, then back again.
His face hardened, the lines across his forehead cutting deeper into the mold of his skin. Beads of sweat tinkled down his face, skipping over the grooves. The area around them turned pallidly still. The only sound, the sparks and crackles of the fire bellowing like a roar. Marcus grunted—it sounded like a rumble—and thumped at the barracked vent one more time. Kyra caught glimpse of a glisten. It was his eyes. She shook her head. Shook the vision away. She’d seen wrong. Seen a flick of the fire’s light. If she had seen things correctly, Marcus’s eyes were inhuman in the split of that second. And that couldn’t be possible.
Marcus dropped his hands, took a step back. “I need leverage. This thing is on too damn good and fucking tight.”
Kyra blinked her suspicions away. Filed them for later. “This isn’t working,” she said and turned toward the front door, toward the fire. Marcus’s hand clamped down around her wrist, his skin warm and rough.
Before she could rush for the door he whipped her back around again. “What are you? First you pull me from the bottom of the river. An amazing feat for a girl your size.” He jabbed his pointer finger in her face. “Now you’re implying you can walk through fire. And don’t pretend I didn’t see you, because I did. I saw you in all your magnificence.” Marcus flailed his hands out to the side, emphasizing the words he threw at her.
Kyra grabbed hold of his shoulders, looked him in the eye. “That’s a conversation for another time. Definitely not now.” She glanced behind her at the hungry fire, then back again. Urgency tugged at her. “Trust me?”
His chest heaved once before he spoke. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Good.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze, before dropping it and turning toward the door. “Follow my lead.”
Marcus seized her wrist again. “Why don’t you change? Use your power to break us out.”
Kyra’s eyes widened when she looked back at him. It took her a moment to find her voice. “The space is too small. You could be crushed.” She turned away, a chill running through her. She hated hearing him speak of her dragon side.
Facing the fire, she moved with haste. Her scales consumed her form in the first step, while allowing her to retain a human shape. Her arms sprang from her side, welcoming the warm caress of the blaze—a kindred destroyer. She’d gladly bathe in its heat all day if weren’t for Marcus.
A crack and pop ricocheted through the trailer. Kyra tilted her ear toward the noise. It sounded like the leveling jacks, and that was bad. They kept the home steady and secure. A low groan, and the whole place shifted, then pitched. The sleeping quarters plummeted downward, knocking Kyra off balance. More cupboards burst open, tossing out pots and pans. They slammed into her, toppling her over, backwards. She fell into Marcus’s arms, both of them slamming into the edge of the bed behind them.
At the thought of him touching her scaly skin her heart pounded, accelerated with fear and excitement like an indy car at the start of a new race. She pushed away without looking, her back rigid. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to see the rejection in his face. Instead, she crawled toward the door and argued with herself about her feelings. She shouldn’t care so much what he thought. Her life was good before Marcus came along.
Options were limited in the tiny space with Marcus present. Lethal and pointless was the use of fire against fire. She couldn’t use her tail. That required her full form, and her full form would tear the place apart and crush Marcus. Again, lethal. Nails through the door was a possibility. But then her leverage would be pulling. Not ideal—wrong direction. It would suck more fire inward. And the call for rain still remained unanswered. She quietly called out yet again. No raindrops.
A crash shuddered through the quarters. She swung around to find the folding divider to the sleeping space closed.
“Kyra?” Marcus called from the other side. The panel shimmied.
Why not just open it? she wondered. One tug on the handle and she understood. The divider wouldn’t budge. Instead it glowed a unique crimson aura. Damn magic. Who is doing this? “I’m going to get you out, Marcus. Don’t worry,” she yelled through the plastic divider.
“Whatever you’re gonna do, better hurry the fuck up!” His voice bounded back from the far end of the space behind the divider. Crashes and bangs accompanied his grovel yell.
A prickling sensation crawled over her skin, urging her protective side to the forefront. Enough concern for both of them nestled in her warm gut.
Looking back toward the main door, she fixated on her goal. Marcus’s continued words became a buzz at the back of her ear, allowing her to concentrate. She took one step, then slid onto her butt, twisted toward the exit, planted her feet up against the hatch, and thrust. The door gave way to her power and a hole opened. Breaking at the midpoint, the hatch hung precariously on twisted hinges. The piece bent and cracked, in danger of ripping in two.
Thick fog clung to the outside of the trailer like the hand lock of a stranglehold. Flames rushed to the newly created crater, as if pulled by a vacuum. Sucked in through the hole, they fanned out like a wall. Kyra pushed off the floor and slipped through the gap feet first, singeing her jacket through the pass. Dropping into a roll, she moved away from the burning chassis and deeper into the heavy, moist gloom.
For all she could see, she may have rolled into a cloud. Everything was gone. Misty white. Nothing was where it should be. Not even her trailer.
She stood, disoriented, the trailer lost, obscured by the haze. Nothing but low-lying clouds pressing in around her, the soaked ground squashing beneath her feet. Panic churned like a cyclone within her chest. Spinning in the direction she believed her home to be, she called out, “Marcus? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
A muffled laugh replied. It was close, in the fog with her. And for a split second she saw it—saw him? A suit and hat. Distorted at best. And then the figure was gone, melting into the mist.
She shook what she hoped was a hallucination from her head. Problem was, she knew he was real. Breathing became increasingly difficult with each passing minute. Something in the fog was too thick, too gritty, even for her. She summoned fire up her throat. She would burn it clean.
Nothing came.
Chills ran up her spine, and she tried again, this time bringing the burn to her entire being.
Nothing.
A small cry escaped her lips and she looked down at her clenched hands. They were no longer the strong hands of a human dragon. All signs of her scales had vanished. She was nothing more than a girl—an ordinary girl. Fear spread like hellfire through her entire nervous system.
What is happening to me? Staring at her hands, she flexed them open and closed, then open again, willing her tough orange scales to return. The drumming of her heart pounded heavily against her chest, increasing to an unbearable rate. Where has my dragon gone? Kyra could feel her—her dragon Kalrapura deep within—but she was somehow suppressed, pushed down.
A twig snapped behind her and she spun to the sound. “Chelsea?” Kyra’s voice cracked, and she took a step toward the noise of the snap.
The sounds of footsteps on soggy earth coupled with heavy breath neared.
“No,” she whispered. “I must get Marcus.” She heard the panic in her voice and hated herself for it. She wasn’t used to doing things without knowing she could fall back on her powerful dragon side. Yet no other options were at her disposal. Her dragon pushed at her interior walls, ready to burst free when she was in the trailer. Something about the fog had to be inhibiting her ability now. She turned back the direction she’d come from and found the trailer still obscured by the fog, practically impossible to locate.
Moisture collected in her eyes, the result of the mist in the fog. Not due to any weakness or frustration on her part. She stood strong on that point. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and said a small prayer to Rajũn, the almighty dragon spirit. “Please, see me through this trial. This fog…and my abilities…I am trusting you to guide me.”
Kyra reached through the opaque gloom, swatted it back, and took a step forward, toward where her gut whispered the trailer stood. Sucking back deep, she sputtered on the gritty air and blew with all her might. No change. No fire. She paid it no mind and ran the last few steps blindly until her hands found the trailer wall, fire burning along its sides.
