Fire In His Spirit: A Post-Apocalyptic Dragon Shifter Romance

by Dixon, Ruby

  After a time, she stops fighting against my grip and settles in. The soft sounds disappear into the wind and she is quiet. I like this even less than I like her fear smell, but investigating it will have to wait until I land.

  For the first time in a long time, my mind feels…clearer, my senses sharper. The fog that riddles my thoughts seems a bit less this day, and I suspect it is because her scent is in my nose, anchoring me to reality after being lost for so long. I study my surroundings with a critical eye, not as a predator this time, but as a drakoni male with a potential mate. I need a nest for my female. I need a spot to claim as my own. I thought originally that I would claim the territory by the human hive, but Rast has settled in with his female.

  I will take my mate away rather than challenge him for territory, for now. I will take her a long distance from here, and if she wishes to return, she will have no choice but to shift to battle form to fly.

  And then I will accept her challenge.

  And then we shall mate.

  And then it will be glorious.

  I fly until the wind shifts and the clouds roll in. The land changes below me, and I notice that for the first time, as well. The trees have grown thick and tall and the human hives have gone from a dense cluster to a mere scatter. This looks like an acceptable place for my mate, I think. I can smell game on the wind, and fresh water. Best of all, there are no other drakoni in the area.

  This place is mine, then.

  I circle lower, looking for a place that would be adequate for a nest but still give her room to challenge me—an all-important necessity. She will want to spread her wings and stretch her battle form. I set down on the ground and tuck my wings in, then gently release her from my claws.

  With her safely away from the hive, she is fully mine and I can examine her appearance. I have forgotten what she looks like already, and so I am surprised and pleased when I see that her hair is thick and dark and rich with springy curls. Her eyes are brown and do not show her emotions, which is unusual. Her fires must be buried deep within. Her skin is the color of…sand. Sand and cliffs. A vague memory flashes through my mind of a barren landscape, covered with rolling hills of sand and distant, layered cliffs that are the same lovely deep shade as her skin. Longing pierces through me.

  Where is this place? I try to recall, but nothing rises to the surface. Frustrated, I lean in close and take a deep breath of her scent. She doesn't smell like the cliffs. I remember how they smelled—hot, scorched, earthy. She smells like human things.

  My mate makes a noise and then swats at my nose. Surprised, I rear back and study her.

  Even though her emotions are not coloring her eyes, it is clear to see that she is angry. I can smell it in her scent and I can see it in the way her body tenses.

  Yes.

  Good.

  She is ready to mate, after all. Eager, I lower my head and flick my tail, waiting for her to attack.

  9

  GWEN

  Of all the places in the world, the damn dragon took me to a freaking trailer park.

  I mean, what the fuck. I know Fort Shreveport is no dream. It's an old school in the middle of an otherwise boring-looking suburb. When he flew me away, I panicked at first. I cried. I shivered with fear. After a time, I realized that he wasn't going to kill me or drop me, he was just taking me somewhere new.

  All right. Somewhere new isn't a bad thing. So I remained calm, and I thought of Amy's pretty dresses and fresh hair. Wherever her dragon took her, it was a nice place. Maybe that'll be the silver lining for me. That this dragon will take me somewhere pleasant and I'll be able to get new clothes. Or a bath.

  God, I'd kill for a bath.

  So when he dumps me in a trailer park and then parks himself nearby, waiting, I admit, I'm not in the best mood.

  I mean, Fort Shreveport wasn't great, but it wasn't a damn trailer park. Not only that, but this place looks utterly wrecked. It looks like it was hit with a tornado and then a flood at some point, because there is trash spilled everywhere and stuck in the mud. The dozen trailers or so are surrounded by abandoned cars facing every which way, one of them stripped for parts and left with the doors hanging open. Two of the trailers tipped over at some point post-apocalypse, and there's only one or two left intact, the rest in various stages of decay. Weeds poke up from everywhere, and the center of the “parking lot” where the dragon's dumped me looks a bit like a mud pit.

  Paradise, it ain't.

  So when he shoves his nose at me, I'm tired, cranky, hungry, and mentally wiped out from being stolen away from the fort and being dropped here in this dump. I swat at his nose to get him to move away, and I'm too irritated to be scared anymore. I think Amy's right. I think this dragon wants a girlfriend, and if that's the case, he's doing a really crap job of it.

  The moment I smack his nose, I freeze up, just waiting to see how he reacts. Instead of roaring (or eating me) he lowers his head to the ground and his haunches go up. The enormous tail flicks back and forth, knocking trash (and a nearby broken bicycle) over. For a moment, he looks like a big, mischievous puppy.

  And some of my anger melts away. I laugh, because what else can you do? I've been kidnapped by a dragon and taken to a trailer park. There's not much else to do but laugh.

  The tail flicks again, back and forth, and as I watch him, I notice that his eyes flared a bright gold when I laughed. Interesting. I force another smile to my face and laugh again, and it happens once more. Something to do with his reaction, then. I should have asked Amy about it. Damn. I wish I'd paid more attention to Rast. I remember his eyes being gold or swirling darker, like a mood ring…but I don't remember more than that.

  I press my hands to my face and then scrub them down my cheeks. "Okay, Gwen. Let's make the most of this." I lower my hands and clasp them in front of me, gazing at the dragon. "Hi. Let's start with an introduction. I'm Gwen."

  The dragon's tail flicks excitedly back and forth, reminding me of a puppy once more. I start to smile—

  And he lunges forward, snapping at me with those jaws.

  I let out a scream, falling backwards on my ass into the mud. I squeeze my eyes shut as I huddle on the ground, waiting for him to eat me. Nothing happens.

  I open one eye cautiously, and the dragon's still got his haunches up, but his tail's no longer flicking. The gold in his eyes is bleeding to something darker. He snaps his jaws again, but it's half-hearted. Almost like he's testing something.

  Since I don't know what he wants, I remain very, very still.

  Long minutes pass. We stare at each other, neither moving. I'm starting to wonder how the hell Amy got anywhere with her dragon. I'm afraid to get up too quickly, to make any sort of sudden move in case he decides that I'm the enemy and snaps an arm or a head off of my body. This could last for a while, I realize, and I cautiously extend a hand toward him. "Nice…draggy?"

  Of course, I immediately feel like an asshole for doing so. Rast was just as intelligent as Amy or any other human. It stands to reason that whatever communication barrier I'm having with this guy, I shouldn't act like a jerk just because we're having a bit of trouble saying hello to each other.

  "Let me try again," I say softly. "Hi there. I'm Gwen. I know you wanted to meet me." I try smiling, though I'm positive there's never been a time I felt less like smiling. "Here I am. Your name is Vaan, right?"

  The dragon's eyes swirl feverishly as he gazes at me, and then he snaps his teeth at me once more, then watches to see my reaction.

  "Dude, seriously," I breathe. "Are you trying to piss me off or something?" I shake my head at him. "I'm not the enemy. You said you wanted to meet me, not the other way around. I was just fine back in my fort."

  Well, that's not entirely true. I was busy watching my world crumble around me back in my fort, but at least I didn't have a dragon to contend with.

  The dragon moves forward again, and this time he's abandoned the playful crouching. At least, I hope it was playful. He lowers his head and then c
reeps forward, a foot at a time, then begins to sniff me. He buries his nose in my hair and I freeze in place, remembering this from before.

  Maybe he's just getting to know my smell. Okay, cool. I can do this.

  He rubs his enormous muzzle over my hair and then moves lower, nostrils flaring as he sniffs my shirt. I can't help but notice just how enormous his teeth are, and how close to me. He nips at the hem of my shirt, as if trying to figure it out—or remove it. Yeah, no. I calmly put a hand on his muzzle and push it away, hoping that he's not going to snap over that small gesture.

  He doesn't, though. He allows me to push his head aside and then gives me another long, searching look, as if he's waiting for something.

  Enough of this. "If you're human under there," I whisper, "I hope you can get the gist of this." I pat my chest and say my name. "Gwen." Then I reach out and touch his nose. I repeat this, saying my name over and over again with a pat over my heart and then touching his nose. I know his name is Vaan. Amy told me that.

  But I want to hear it from him. More than anything, we need to establish communication of some kind.

  I think of what Amy told me about dragons. How they're lost in their own minds, made crazed by this world. Right now, Vaan's going to have a singular focus, Amy had said. And that's mating you. Once he does, he'll give you his fires—via the bite I told you about—and then you'll be bonded.

  I'm not sure I'm ready for that just yet. So we're going to try the Me Tarzan You Jane route for now.

  I give it another shot. "Gwen," I say softly, and then try a different tactic. I touch my stomach. "Gwen." I tap my nose. "Gwen." I reach out and fluff my hair since he seems so fascinated by it. "Gwen." I notice his gaze follows my hands, so when I'm done touching my hair, I reach out my hand, waiting.

  A second later, the dragon is gone and a naked man rises from a crouch from several feet away. He gets to his feet slowly, sinuously, and then stands upright. There's a frown on his face as he stares at his hands, flexing them. Then his gaze alights on me and there's no mistaking the hunger on his face.

  Or the massive erection he's sporting.

  He moves directly in front of me—still naked as a jaybird—and buries his hands in my hair. "Gwen," he murmurs, and his voice is so deep and rumbly that I swear I can feel it in my belly. Oh. Mercy. That's a real nice voice.

  He's also incredibly good looking. I mean, I thought Rast was handsome in an odd sort of way. Liam, too. In fact, I'd always wondered why Liam had wanted to mess up such a pretty face. Turns out he didn't mess it up after all, that's just how dragons look in human form. Neither of them holds a candle to this guy, though. Vaan is…just wow. There are no words. Well, no, there are. But they're words like "fine" and "dayum" and "delicious" and "fiercely masculine" and "good god, this is what's been hiding under that dragon's scales?" His hair is a short, spiky shock of pale gold that reminds me a bit of a mohawk. I expected him to have the long, flowing hair like Rast does, but his is short and wild, framed by the spiky horns along his brow. More spikes dance along the backs of his arms, and his chest is broad and dappled with a pattern that hints of scales but looks like skin this close.

  And I'm really, really close because he's got his hands in my hair, scrunching my curls. He touches it with a fascinated look on his face, as if he's never felt anything so glorious. I remain perfectly still, doing my best not to interrupt. He's only a handspan away from me, though, and I can't help but notice that his eyes are gorgeously framed with long bronze lashes. He's got a heavy brow and a strong nose, but it looks good on him. His mouth is a hard line, as if he doesn't smile much, but his lips are full. I notice he's got small ears for a man—which is kind of adorable—and big arms. I don't dare look further down because I know I'll just see the equipment that's damn close to touching me. I focus on the arms. Real big arms. And big hands.

  Big hands that keep fluffing my hair. "Gwen," he says in that rumbling voice of his. "Gwen."

  "That's right," I murmur. "Gwen."

  His swirling, molten gaze focuses on my face and he caresses my hair one more time, letting the black curls flow through his grip. He's got wicked claws tipping each finger, and I can't help but notice them even more when he moves forward and presses a hand against my chest. "Gwen." His hand slides lower, gliding down between my breasts to my stomach, and he touches me lightly there. "Gwen."

  There's a strange curl of response in my belly. It has to be the way he says my name, part possessive alpha and part tease. There's something unreadable in his eyes as his hand rests on my stomach for a moment longer. Then, he takes my hands in his and guides them to his hair. "Vaan."

  And there's a challenge in his eyes, as if daring me to repeat his movements.

  And he's very, very naked.

  Oh lord, what have I got myself into?

  10

  VAAN

  My mate refuses to challenge me. This is disappointing.

  No matter how much I prod at her or snap to raise her ire, she will not shift forms. There must be a reason behind her reluctance, so I will let it rest for now. Just being in her presence helps steady my thoughts. Without her at my side, I felt as if my mind was constantly drifting from breeze to breeze. With her here, I have something to focus on.

  Gwen. My Gwen.

  I like the sound of her name. It is strong and fierce, like her spirit. I like the golden brown of her soft skin. I like the soft brown of her eyes. I like the thick, winding curls of her dark hair that spill over her shoulders and down her back.

  I love her scent. I love that the fear tinge has bled away, leaving nothing but curiosity and the musk that is purely my mate. I want to bury my face in her hair and breathe in her scent, but she watches me with wary eyes.

  If she will not challenge me, perhaps I need to tease it out of her. So I repeat her name and the gestures she's given me, making sure to touch her as I do. Each caress is never long enough, but if I leave my hand for too long, her fear-smell returns, so I make sure not to scare her. I touch her chest, then her stomach.

  Then, because I am feeling sly, I guide her hands to my hair. Let her touch my chest and stomach. I will play her games. As long as I get to touch her and drink in her presence, I will do whatever she needs.

  To my surprise, her cheeks turn a darker shade of that lovely golden brown and her lips part. She looks shy, which is fascinating. It is not an expression I have seen on fierce drakoni women…I like it.

  "Vaan," she whispers, and I bite back a groan. I like the way my name sounds on her lips. It would sound better if her thoughts were merged with mine, but that will be soon enough. I am not letting her escape me again.

  So I wait for her to touch my chest, for our little game to continue. My cock is hard and aching, fangs throbbing with the readiness to give her my fires.

  She hesitates and then puts one hand high on my chest, so high she practically touches my neck. "Vaan." And she goes no lower.

  Ah, where is her boldness now? I snag her hand before she can pull it away, holding it in my own. She feels cool against my skin, and I realize her fires are much, much fainter than mine. Perhaps that is why she does not respond to my attempts to speak to her. I nudge her mentally, trying to coax her to open up to me, but there is no response.

  I cannot give her my seed until she takes my fires. A female is always cooler than a male, but this human is even less heated than a drakoni female. She would be scalded by my seed. Even now, her flesh reddens against my touch. I study her hand, the palm that is reddish-brown after touching me. Her fingers are puny and have no claws, and her bones are delicate and fragile. Curious. Is this why she won't fight me? Because she is afraid I would hurt her in the challenge? Surely she knows I would be fierce only in the conquest, that after she has given in sweetly, I will be tender with her.

  Let me claim you, I send.

  No response. She looks at me with big, dark eyes, scarcely breathing. Her fear-scent is beginning to creep up again.

  I want to smell her arou
sal scent, though. So I take her hand and place it low on my stomach, below my navel. Almost to my cock.

  She gasps, and the sound makes my body jerk in response. Seed coats the head of my shaft, and I fight back the growl rising in my throat.

  My mate. Mine. Possessiveness floods through me.

  She snatches her hand away, her cheeks dark with that flush, and I bite back the snarl of response that rises in my throat. Her retreat makes the storm in my mind grow stronger. As it lashes at my thoughts, I feel the toeholds of sanity slipping away again.

  If she hides from me—retreats—is that not a concession to my strength? Is that not her giving in to my challenge?

  I should take what is mine.

  Claim my mate.

  My fangs throb with the need to sink into her pretty brown throat.

  She slaps my hands away and skitters backward a half step. Before she can go farther, instinct takes over. I snag her ankle and stop her retreat, then slowly crawl over her body until she is lying pinned under me. I do not rest my weight on her—not yet. She is not on her belly and I cannot mount her until she is.

  And she is wearing things that cover her body from my sight. I do not like them. They stink of the other humans. With an irritated snarl, I grab a handful of the strange yellowish skin covering her chest. It tears at my touch, shredding under my claws, and I pull it away from her. The storm rolls in my mind, thundering harder and faster.

  Claim her. Take her.

  She puts a hand on my jaw, pushing my face aside. "No! Vaan, no!"