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

by Dixon, Ruby

  "Vaan," I say softly, and I keep my gaze locked to his. "I know you know who I am. I'm Gwen, remember?"

  The awful darkness in his eyes fades a little. He edges closer to me, that bloody muzzle moving in close. My fear lessens because his eyes aren't as black as they were before, but I need to get him to calm down. I can't have him destroying this place…or me and Mara.

  "I know you don't want to hurt me," I tell him. I should touch him, I realize. Ground him in reality. Make him focus on me or else he's going to remember that Mara's huddled nearby and she'll be in pieces like her captor is.

  I reach for him—and then cry out as pain swamps my body and shoots up my arms. Just moving them feels like agony. I whimper and try to curl up, my eyes closing to blot out the pain.

  "Gwen?"

  A warm hand caresses my cheek. My head’s fuzzy with misery, and it takes me a moment to realize that I'm crying and he's wiping away my tears. The distressed look on his face is entirely human, and while his eyes are swirling black again, it's clear that he's “in” himself. A quick glance down at my arms shows that my hands are swelling up like blimps.

  Both of them.

  I cautiously try to move one wrist. It shoots pain up my arms and I cry out again, but I can move it. Barely. I don't think it's broken. The other wrist is the same.

  "Gwen?" Vaan hovers close to me, touching my shoulder. He's growling low, and it's clear he's upset that I'm hurt.

  "It's okay," I tell him tearfully, trying to do my best not to lose my shit. What am I going to do if I can't use my hands? How am I supposed to function? How am I supposed to do anything at all? But I have to calm him down somehow, because I don't need him going crazy on top of things. "Help me up?"

  I lift my aching, aching arms and he immediately slides his hands around my waist and helps me stand. I cradle them against my chest, trying to smile. "It's not so bad, I promise. I don't think anything's broken."

  Vaan doesn't let go of me. He pulls me close against his chest and pets my hair, growling and distressed. "Gwen." There's a wealth of recrimination in that one word.

  "Yeah, I know. Maybe they won't be so bad if I can bandage them up, though."

  He touches my cheek, his whirling eyes meeting mine. They're dark and angry, and I smile at him encouragingly until their color fades a little. "Gwen," he murmurs, and then stiffens. His nostrils flare ever so slightly and that furious look crosses his face once more as he turns his head.

  Oh no. He smells the other girl—Mara.

  "No!" I say quickly, pushing myself against him again to try and hold him in place. I can't use my hands, but I press my elbows against each of his sides and bury my face against his neck. "No, Vaan, stay with me."

  He growls, his body tense, and it's clear he's torn between wanting to protect me and wanting to hold me.

  I ignore the growling, rubbing my cheek against his chest. "Just stay with me, Vaan. That's all that I ask. She's not a threat to you." Despite the heat of the day, it feels good to press myself against him. He's rock hard with muscles, but his skin feels surprisingly soft and not scaly at all. And he's hot—not so hot that I can't touch him, but hot enough that it provides a pleasant lethargy in my body. "Just hold me, okay?"

  Slowly, one arm curls around my waist. His growling lessens, just a bit. His hand slides up and down my back, petting me.

  "That's right," I tell him softly. Then, "Just making sure you don't understand me, Vaan. I know you know your name, but nothing else, I think. If I start talking about baseball or chicken feed or how I'm going to cut off my arms and run around topless, you don't know what I'm saying, right?" I keep my tone low and even and pleasant, as if we're chatting about a lovely spring day.

  "Gwen," he says, and holds me a little bit closer.

  "That's what I thought." I rub my cheek against him, and his growl of response has notes of pleasure in it. He's still stiff and alert, but he's also fascinated by touching me, and I hope it's enough of a distraction for what happens next. "Mara, if you're still in here and you can hear me, this dragon is my friend. Problem is, he's seeing you as a threat right now. It's going to take a lot to calm him down, so you're going to be safest if you get out of here. I know it's frightening, but I promise I can keep him occupied until you get away."

  Silence. Good. She's smart. Vaan nuzzles my cheek, and I can feel the hard length of his erection against my stomach. In a way, that's a good thing—if he's thinking about me, he's not thinking about her.

  "There's a safe place to go," I continue. "Fort Shreveport. Just follow the old highways and look for the city. There's directions written on the billboards about how to get to the fort itself. Tell them Gwen sent you and they'll keep you safe and give you a home. A good home," I amend. "And you won't have to take a man as a protector."

  "Gwen," Vaan rumbles, running his claws through my wet thicket of hair and inhaling my scent.

  He's getting more and more into touching me, and this could get awkward fast. "You should go now, Mara," I say, and lean into Vaan's touch. It's not a hardship to do so. Considering how much I hurt, I like the comfort he's offering. It feels good to have him hold me. "Remember. Shreveport."

  There's a terrified gasp and then the sound of footsteps running and boxes and bottles kicked aside. Mara's gone, nothing more than a dirty figure racing for the door.

  Vaan stiffens against me, his eyes flaring completely jet black again. He watches her leave, and his entire body feels ready to spring into action.

  "Vaan," I whisper, and deliberately rub my nipples against his chest to get his attention.

  He hesitates and then gives a low, husky groan, his focus entirely on me.

  "That's right," I murmur, keeping my voice as sultry as possible. "Stay with me. She's running. You don't need her." I tell myself that I'm rubbing up against him to save Mara's life, just like I'm with him because I'm saving the lives of everyone back at the fort. Except…it's starting to feel less like I'm doing it for them and more like I'm doing it for me. Dragging my nipples against his chest? Isn't for them. Letting my breath fan over his skin when he leans close? Isn't for them. It might all be entirely for me at this point.

  The dragon-man watches me with those intense eyes, and I forget all about the blood that covers him and the fact that he just killed someone in front of me. He's looking at me like I'm the most beautiful, most desirable thing on the planet right now. I'm surprised at the pulse of heat that flares in my belly in response. I like it when he looks at me like that—like he might devour me whole if I just said yes to the opportunity. If I even hinted that I might like it, he'd be on me like a starving man.

  And I'm starting to think I might be okay with it.

  His lips brush against my jaw, his teeth lightly scraping at my skin, and I can't help the moan that escapes me. Maybe it's the duality of those soft lips against the danger of his fangs, but it sends shivers through me and heat pulses between my thighs.

  Vaan groans, and the arm around my waist locks tighter. "Gwen." He drawls my name out, the one syllable made twenty, full of meaning and desire, and I find myself drawn to his hunger. I'm like a moth to a really, really potent flame. I can't stay away.

  I shift my weight and accidentally brush up against one of his arm spikes—and it sends a fresh burst of pain through my wrist. I suck in a breath, and the moment is gone. Vaan's expression turns to concern, and when he says my name again, it's with worry.

  Just as well.

  17

  VAAN

  Nothing makes me feel more helpless than seeing my mate in pain. She is doing her best to hide it from me, but I can tell. It is evident in the lines on her face, the strange water that leaks from her eyes, and the soft whimpers she makes when she moves. Something is wrong with her arms, and when she cradles them against her chest, I see they are swollen at the wrist.

  I do not like this. She has hurt herself and it is my responsibility to care for her. The pungent scent of the other human drifts on the wind, reminding me th
at I have let her escape, but she does not matter. All that matters is Gwen.

  I touch her carefully, scanning her appearance for other wounds. I do not like the fact that her face is wet and her eyes seem to be sweating with pain. This disturbs me greatly, even moreso than her swollen wrists. Those can be healed with rest and time, but her eyes? I do not know.

  She pulls away and scans the room we are in, looking for something.

  The other female has left, I tell her, but there is no response. Her mind is blank as always, and I make a growl of frustration. How can I speak with her if she will not open her thoughts to me? The garbled human sounds come out of her mouth and she nods, indicating that she is heading in a different direction. I have no choice but to follow, curious what she plans.

  Maybe she looks for something to stop her eyes from sweating. Water, perhaps? I lift my head and inhale, but I smell no fresh water, only the pungent human smells that saturate their old hives. But she searches through the things, staring at the scatter of them intently, and then stops in front of one shelf, pointing at something. I look, but I see only colorful boxes, nothing important. I look back at her again, waiting. "Gwen."

  My mate makes a frustrated sound and lifts one swollen hand to gesture at one box in particular. She says a soft human word and her eyes grow sweaty again, her mouth pulled down in a frown. Very well. I grab one of the boxes and offer it to her, but she babbles something at me again and indicates that I should examine it. I would rather look at her eyes to see what troubles them, but I humor her. I lift the box to my nose and sniff it, wondering what exactly I am supposed to discover.

  It…smells like human things. They all do. I frown at her and place it under her nose so she can smell it, too, just in case that is what she wants.

  Her mouth twitches as if she finds this funny, and she shakes her head. No sniffing, then. Something else. To humor her, I look more closely at the human box. There's a picture on the front, which surprises me, of a man showing an arm covered in a brown wrap of some kind. I gaze at it curiously and then hold it out to her. Do you know this male? Is he trapped inside this with bad magic?

  She gestures at the thing in my hand again and then makes a noise of frustration and tries to bite it out of my hands.

  I am baffled. You cannot eat this! It does not smell like food.

  Gwen makes a noise of frustration.

  Yes, well, you may be mad at me, but even I am not crazy enough to eat a box. I shake it, hearing a soft thump inside. My wits have been scrambled for many a year, but a vague memory flashes through my mind. A gift. My father, presenting my mother with a small, colorful box. Her delight.

  Ah.

  I offer it to her, smugly pleased and waiting for Gwen to shower me in affection.

  She makes an exasperated face at me instead.

  No? Perhaps it is the madness that offers such things to my mind. Irritated, I toss the man box to the ground, angry at myself and my addled wits. Why can I not think clearly? Why? I try to focus, to remember my father’s face…but in my mind, he looks like the male on the front of the box, right down to the smug grin and the strange arm wrapping.

  The human stink is warping my mind.

  Gwen makes one of her angry words, more sweat coming from her eyes. She looks so sad, her shoulders slumped with dejection.

  I hate this. I hate that I cannot please her. I rack my brain, trying to think. What is it she wants? What? I press a fist to my brow, wanting the knowledge to return to me, but there is nothing but blankness. Blankness and a rolling storm waiting at the edges of my thoughts. The clouds are waiting to take me away from her, I know. If they move in, I will forget her name—Gwen, it is Gwen—and her pretty brown face, her pretty brown eyes that do not change color but are lovely regardless, and her soft hands. I want to remember all these things.

  I must try again, if only so whatever this box holds will stop her eyes from sweating. Watching her, I pick up the box again.

  She makes the happy noise, the sound of agreement. “Ys!”

  Pleased, I offer it to her and she shakes her head, not trying to eat it. Is she…trying to feed me? Is that what this is?

  What an aggressive trait in a female. I am astonished…and pleased. Is part of her nesting plan to tend to me like she is the dominant hunter in our pairing?

  Arousing. I give her a lusty growl and take a bite out of the box.

  Her look of utter astonishment is almost as surprising as the bland taste of…wood? That fills my mouth. No, not wood. Something mushier and less pleasant, far more soft and tasteless. I spit it to the ground and swipe at my tongue as if my hand can somehow remove the awful taste of it.

  Gwen gives me another exasperated look and gestures weakly with her bad arms at the thing inside.

  It is a small tan roll that smells equally inedible. I sniff it, and when she gestures at the picture of the human male on the cover, I study it again.

  Ahh. Now I understand. It is a covering for an arm. Why humans would hide it in such a foolish-looking container is beyond me, but humans do a great many things beyond a drakoni’s perception.

  I unroll the wrap and peer at the picture of the male once more. He has this ugly thing twisted around his wrist and there are red markings that look as if they indicate pain. Strange humans. I hold out the wrap to my mate and then realize she cannot take it. Of course. This is why she needs me. I rumble with pleasure at the thought—and then feel abashed. She wants my help because she is hurt and it is wrong to take pleasure in such a thing, however broken my mind is.

  I would rather that I hurt than you, I tell her a hundred times silently. I would never want your pain. Not for anything.

  Gwen holds very still as I carefully wrap the brown thing around her swollen wrist. I look at her from time to time for guidance, and she is quick to indicate if I should do it tighter or looser with a few strange gestures that are easy enough to understand despite our language barrier. Eventually, it is on and she insists on one for her other wrist, and I tend to her once more.

  When she is tied in the brown coverings, her eyes do not stop sweating, though. She studies her arms and shakes her head, so I decide I shall examine her eyes for her. I take her by the shoulders and hold her still, then peer into them. They are red at the edges and swollen.

  I do not like this at all. Are you overheated? Unwell?

  She dismisses my concerns with a murmured word and then just gazes at her arms helplessly. I know how she feels—I would give anything to fix this for her. So I stroke and pet her hair and caress her shoulder, trying to let her know that I am here for her, that her mate will protect her and tend to her. It wins me a weak smile, but her eyes stop sweating.

  Progress.

  Perhaps…perhaps humans need their hair stroked or their eyes sweat. Perhaps the water must be expelled daily. I try to think back to other times that Gwen sweated from the eyes. She did the day before, too, I think.

  I have failed you, I tell her, stroking her hair back from her face. I will not fail you again, I promise. And I keep petting her, soothing her with a growl.

  Her brows furrow and she says a soft word and then squirms out of my grasp. Enough petting, I think. Her eyes are dry now, which is a good sign. Pleased, I follow her as she moves around the human dwelling, gazing at the things that are now spilled all over the floor. She gestures weakly at something until I pick it up, and then nods happily. Then she indicates another, and another, and before long, my arms are filled with things I am carrying for her. When I see a satchel on the floor, I grab it and stuff her items in there, and she makes the happy “Ys” sound again and says my name.

  My sac tightens when she does. I like it when she says my name like that.

  She notices my pleasure, I think. Her eyes flick away from me and her cheeks darken with color, and she immediately indicates another item.

  I pick it up, but I make sure to drag it near my groin before dropping it in the red human basket, just in case she is looking in this direc
tion. Just in case.

  The bag is full when she pauses at the back of the room and stares at a door. I stare at the door, too, wondering what I am supposed to see. Is this another test for her mate? I smell wood even though it is an odd white shade that is not found in the small, stunted trees of my home. The door has a small blue symbol on the center that means nothing to me. I can smell human droppings on the other side, though, and when Gwen studies her arms desolately, I realize what it is wrong.

  She needs to relieve herself.

  I set down the bag and open the door, then wait for her to enter. She says my name and a lot of rushed, unhappy words that sound ashamed, and I am confused. I am her mate. She is injured. Why is she upset? I guide her inside and it is obvious what the humans use to gather their waste—a bowl of some kind. Well. They are not the cleanest people, but I suppose there is nothing else to be done.

  Gwen makes another horrified sound, giving me a sad look. I pet her hair before her eyes can make sweat, rumbling at her to comfort her. Ignoring her embarrassment, I tug her fabric leggings off of her lower body. She continues to make unhappy sounds as she does her business, and then I help her put her coverings back on and stroke her hair once more to let her know that I am here for her. She is my mate. Such things are not beneath me.

  As we walk into the main part of the human hive again, her stomach growls. She shoots me another apologetic look, and I caress her cheek. If you are hungry, I can find prey.

  Instead, she gestures at the dead human who lies on the floor nearby.

  She…wants to eat that? I am surprised, because she is very picky about the food I bring her, yet she wants to eat this? I make an eating gesture, curious. I have eaten humans before, but there are things that taste much better. And…even drakoni do not eat other drakoni.