Deep ruts slowed their progress to the point where Xavier was traveling ten miles an hour. Daylight was waning, casting long shadows on the highway in the shapes of leafy oak, wild walnut trees, and eucalyptus.
They’d been on the move since before dawn, and fatigue was washing over Circe’s mind.
“Maybe we should find a place to camp for the evening?” she asked, hoping he would agree.
Xavier looked around and set his sights on a farmhouse down a long driveway. He pointed to the house as a possible place to rest, and Circe nodded. They might possibly find additional supplies there.
She hoped the house was empty as they pulled onto the driveway and maneuvered around deep ruts. Rolling down the window, she leaned out to get a better look around. The heavy sound of crickets dominated her senses. The smell of dry air and eucalyptus oil filled her lungs.
She couldn’t see any signs that the one-story ranch house was occupied. They parked in front of the house and got out of the truck. Xavier pulled a pistol from the glove compartment and checked it for bullets. Circe nodded at him, and they slowly walked up the front steps of the porch.
The house was overgrown with weeds, and a thick layer of dust covered the whitewashed porch. Paint flaked from the porch and clapboard siding. It had once been a quaint but functional house for what looked like a small vineyard.
Xavier peered in the window while Circe looked around the side of the house off the porch. She wondered if there were any edible grapes still on those vines. They were filled with green leaves even though the farmer had probably long since passed away.
Xavier knocked on the door and waited. Circe’s heart beat hard in her chest. There was always a risk entering a house, be it from zombies, shifters, other witches, even Pyramid Corp. There was no answer from the door. Xavier gripped the knob and turned.
He pushed open the door through a thick net of cobwebs. They stepped into the darkness. The house smelled of dust and the thin scent of death. Someone had died here long ago. They walked into the living room, lit only by the fading sunlight through the large front window. Circe coughed from the dust.
“There’s death in the air,” she said, waving the dust away from her nose.
“Yeah. Let’s look in the cabinets and then check the vineyard behind the house.”
They quickly searched the kitchen, finding several cans of food, an ancient dusty box of pasta, a few good knives, a large wooden bowl, and a second canteen. They quickly left the house, not wanting to find the dead body of the person who’d lived there.
They put everything but the large wooden bowl in the truck and walked toward the vineyard. Big, globular, purple grapes hung in heavy clusters on the vines. Circe’s eyes widened to find such abundance of cultivated fruit. The irrigation had certainly stopped years ago. How had these grapes survived without tending?
She and Xavier cut clusters of grapes into the bowl, greedily wanting to take as much as they could carry. Fresh fruit was a rarity in their world, and such abundance was a real find.
Circe crunched on the warm fruits as they turned to walk back to the car. Rich, sweet juice rolled over her tongue. She smiled with the pleasure of it.
“Hold it right there,” said a raspy voice. The sound of a shotgun cocking sent a shiver down Circe’s spine. “Drop the gun, kick it away, and turn around.”
Chapter 18
Xavier placed the pistol on the dusty ground and kicked it into the scrubby bushes near the farmhouse, and they both turned. Circe clung to the bowl of grapes, not wanting to let them go. A withered old man stood in front of them. A single shifter, probably some kind of rodent or small mammal. His nose twitched as he sniffed the air.
“Dragon!” His eyes widened with fear. “Don’t move. I’ll blast your head off. Are you a witch? You smell like one, but you sure don’t look it. What are you doing with a dragon?” the nervous little man demanded.
“Easy there, weasel. We mean you no harm. We’re just passing through.”
“I haven’t tended this vineyard for five years for you two to come take what’s mine.” The shotgun shook in the old man’s grasp.
“We didn’t know anyone lived here. The house smells like a corpse decomposed in there,” said Circe. “We assumed this land was abandoned.”
“Well, it ain’t,” said the weasel shifter, his wiry body moving in quick, rhythmic twitches.
“We meant no harm. We’ll be on our way,” said Xavier, sounding bored and annoyed. If he’d been at full strength, the tiny man’s shotgun would have posed no threat to the massive dragon’s fire breath and armored scales. Circe leaned to set down the bowl and stood back up with her hands in the air.
“We’ll leave,” she said curtly, turning on her heel and assuming it was the end of the discussion.
“Not so fast. What do you have in that truck over there?”
Circe turned back around, her mouth dropping. Xavier scowled at the weasel with the shotgun.
“Look, all we have are basic survival supplies. With all you have here, you don’t need our gear. We’ll be on our way and won’t bother you again,” Xavier said.
“I think I’ll have a look-see in that pickup,” said the weasel, circling around Xavier and Circe, still pointing the gun at them.
“We’ve been patient enough with you, little man, but you do realize my friend here is a very powerful dragon who could incinerate you in one puff?”
The weasel stopped in his tracks for a moment, contemplating Circe’s words. His scraggly bearded face turned skeptical. “Why don’t you, then?” he asked mockingly. “You smell like a witch but don’t look like one. He smells like a dragon but sure don’t act like one. Maybe my sniffer’s wrong today, or you’ve got some kind of magic that makes me think you’re more dangerous than you are.”
Circe sighed. They weren’t particularly dangerous at this point in time. She had been a witch and could have easily disarmed him with her grab spell, but that was gone. Xavier was certainly a dragon, but they’d both agreed he wouldn’t shift until they knew it was safe. Risking Xavier’s health might be a greater cost than the loss of their gear.
Circe crossed her arms, feeling impotent against this annoying, weak opponent. Xavier rolled his eyes upward and crossed his arms, looking as if he felt exactly the same way.
“Circe, I don’t think I can stand for this bullshit. Metamorphosis illness or not,” Xavier said under his breath. She saw him moving to shift out of the corner of her eye and grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to change.
“Just wait,” she whispered.
“What are you two gabbing about?” asked the weasel.
“We’re just considering whether or not you are worth the effort required to burn you to death in a raging ball of acid fire,” Circe said haughtily, tapping her foot.
“You’re bluffing,” said the old man. He continued to circle around them until he made it to the other side and began to back away toward the pickup. Circe and Xavier waited, watching, biding their time. The weasel shifter opened the back of the truck and looked inside, keeping the shotgun trained on them with one hand and rummaging through their things with the other.
“Camping gear, food,” he said, making a mess in the back of the truck. Circe growled under her breath. It had all been so tidy and organized, and now look at it. He spilled food on the sleeping bags and knocked the camping stove on the ground. It was dented and covered in dust. Circe hated disorder almost as much as she hated being held at gunpoint.
The weasel was distracted with something in the back of the truck, probably their box of ammo. Circe shot Xavier a look, and it didn’t take much more than that. Xavier lunged at the little man, barreling into him at full force. Xavier in his human form had about eight inches and seventy-five pounds on the little weasel, not to mention dragon-shifter speed and agility. The weasel didn’t stand a chance.
The shotgun went flying as the men fell to the ground. The weasel shifter’s head cracked against the hard-packed ground, an
d he yowled. Xavier straddled the smaller man, his fist drawn back and ready to punch. Blood seeped from the weasel’s head wound and mixed with the light-brown dust below. He whimpered as he gaped at Xavier’s clenched fist.
“Please, please,” the man begged, waving his hands in supplication.
Circe retrieved both guns, knowing full well that Xavier would not hit an injured, tiny opponent who had already been neutralized. Not that the weasel shifter didn’t deserve it. She walked to where Xavier held the weasel down with his much larger body.
Circe stood over the men with both the shotgun and pistol in her hands. “What’s your problem? Can’t you at least be polite at the end of the world? Can’t share a bowl of grapes? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“S-s…sorry ma’am,” he stuttered, holding his hands up defensively under Xavier’s raised fist. Circe rolled her eyes, and Xavier finally let the little man stand.
“Look at the mess you made of our truck. The sun is going down, and we were going to sleep in there. Now look at it. Look at all the crumbs in our sleeping bags.”
The weasel’s face dropped in shame as if he were a preschooler being admonished by his mother. Satisfied, Circe stopped lecturing and handed the guns to Xavier while she tidied up their things.
“Do you have den mates, or are you the only one?”
“It’s just me,” the man said dejectedly. “My wife died in the radiation after the war.” Circe almost felt sorry for him, almost. Then she picked up her camp stove. The metal grate had broken off the eye. She didn’t feel so sorry for him anymore. She climbed back into the bed of the truck and got to work cleaning out the sleeping bags.
“Are you so low on supplies that you need to steal from passersby?” Xavier asked.
“Don’t have many of those.”
“And you’d rather hold us up at gunpoint than have a decent conversation?” Circe chided from inside the camper shell as she brushed out cracker crumbs.
“I don’t need company,” said the old man. He’d obviously had his fill of conversation, because he instantaneously disappeared inside his clothing, and a furry little animal ran out his pant leg. Xavier fired a warning shot that was at least ten feet off the target as the little weasel ran into the trees beyond the farmhouse.
Circe finally got everything back together and retrieved the bowl of grapes. While Xavier watched her back, she filled another bag full of grapes for good measure.
Once everything was packed up as neatly as possible, they got back in the car and feasted on grapes as the sun set. The pitch black of the forest under a layer of thin clouds that blotted out the stars made it difficult to find a place to sleep.
They both agreed that it would be best to put as much distance between them and the weasel shifter as possible. There was no telling what he would do to them if he found them sleeping, even though they had spared him and done nothing but take a few pounds of grapes from an overabundant vineyard.
After about ten miles, Xavier found a sign that indicated government land and turned down the narrow road. He found a gravel parking lot for a small county park and cut the engine. They got out, turned on their battery-powered lantern, and climbed into the back of the truck.
They sat on their sleeping bags, eating a portion of jerky and drinking the water the bears had given them. Circe insisted Xavier drink another portion of the nettle-root tea she’d prepared earlier. He took it down without complaint. She hated that she had to make him drink such an awful potion, but she also knew it was the only way to help him heal.
After he’d drunk his tea, Circe lay down and watched Xavier’s face in the dim light of the lamp. His wavy blond hair glinted with gold highlights and deepened into brown lowlights. He’d grown several days of stubble, giving him a rugged, manly look. She sighed, feeling utterly fatigued.
“I’ll take first watch,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping most of the day. You need your rest.”
“Okay,” she said. It only took her a few seconds to fall asleep.
The next thing she knew, she felt subtle pressure between her legs. Her body radiated heat in response. She’d been dreaming about the dryad’s words. Fragments of the dream lingered as Xavier’s hand gripped and kneaded at her pelvis. What had the dryad said? Images of the redwood dryads, ancient, magnificent, massive. A flash of memory. North along the coast. A fern-covered ravine.
Xavier unzipped her pants. She took a sharp breath as his fingers slid inside her clothes. His lips pressed against hers, hungry but tender. The fingers of one hand slipped between her wet folds, while the other hand caressed her forehead. Circe wrapped her arms around him, willing him closer.
All at once, he tore her clothes away. Pants, shirt, underwear, all off in a fraction of a minute. She lay on the opened sleeping bag, utterly naked. Her skin pricked with gooseflesh in the cool night air. Xavier’s fingers ran up the inside of her thigh and caressed the soft skin there until they landed on the tender flesh between her legs.
She could feel her body seeping moisture at his touch. His fingers teased at her folds, opening to his awakening. His mouth fell over her hard nipple as his fingers found their way inside. He bit down on her nipple and pressed the tip of his finger on her swollen bud.
Arching her back, she gasped. Her fingers ran through his hair, holding him to her breast. She moved him to the other, where he sucked and nibbled while his wet fingers sank further inside her.
She could feel the tide of pleasure overtaking her, crashing against her like a tsunami rushing over the shore. She gasped, desire catching in her throat as she threw back her head and arched her back.
Xavier’s thrusts quickened, accelerating her momentum toward her peak. He climbed on top of her, already nude. She grasped for him in the darkness, but he pulled her hands over her head and kissed her neck. He slipped inside her with fluid grace. As his girth filled her to the hilt, her orgasm exploded over him, pulsing and gripping his shaft.
Her whole body writhed as if she’d been given an electric shock. So overcome by pure pleasure, she couldn’t even make a sound. As the orgasm began to subside, Xavier’s body moved with waving, rhythmic thrusts, pushing her up against her peak again. The smooth tempo of his hips held her in a place of utter bliss and utter surrender.
With his mouth on hers, his body erupted forcefully inside her, causing a long, agonized moan to finally escape her lips. He kissed her forehead as he moved away, rolling onto his own sleeping bag, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths.
Circe looked around as the haze of pleasure wafted away. Outside the camper shell window, she could see the first light of dawn breaking beyond the leafy trees. She sat up, pulling her shirt on, and looked down at Xavier, whose eyes were tightly closed.
“You didn’t wake me up for watch,” she chided.
“I’m waking you now,” he said, not opening his eyes.
She pursed her lips. He needed as much rest as he could get. He was the one who would bring the dragons together; he was the one who would lead them. He needed to heal so that he could fulfill his destiny. Why was he protecting her when she should be protecting him?
“Xavier, you need rest more than I do.”
“I’ll rest now. You should eat. We can hit the road in a few hours.”
“All right, but I don’t want you staying up all night again.”
A satisfied smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t respond. She realized she was acting like a mother hen again, and it wasn’t exactly appropriate for a lover to behave that way. She couldn’t help it. She’d always been the person in charge, directing and anticipating the needs of those she supervised. She may have never been a mother, but she’d always taken care of her employees so she could get the best out of them.
Xavier was different, though. Xavier meant the world to her, though she couldn’t quite admit it to herself. She’d grown so devoted to him, the thought of him getting ill again or not completing his purpose gave her constant, low-grade anxiety. The only wa
y to combat that anxiety was to care for him the best she could.
She finished dressing and scooted out of the pickup into the crisp, cool morning air. The dry oak-and-walnut forest left a layer of yellow leaves on the ground. She pulled a sweater and a few supplies out of the car and closed up the camper shell so Xavier would stay warm.
They’d stopped near a county park on a small lake. She picked up the bucket she’d retrieved from the car and walked toward the lake. She could see seagulls overhead mixed with inland birds and ducks. They must be close to the ocean now. Perhaps a few more hours of driving.
She walked out on a short dock and dunked her bucket in the water. Setting it on the splintered wood, she cupped the sides of the bucket with her hands and sent healing energy into the water. After about a minute of concentrated effort, the water was clean enough to drink without worry of bacterial infection.
Circe lingered in the park, watching the birds swoop into the lake. A group of mallard ducks quacked as it swam in the reeds near the opposite shore. A blue heron walked on spindle-like legs, stopping like a statute until it shot its pointed beak into the water, bringing up a fish a moment later.
The peaceful song of sparrows and finches twittered in the air around her. She closed her eyes, taking in the serene atmosphere, her worries melting away in that soft moment.
Chapter 19
She quieted her mind. Enveloping darkness overtook her brain for long moments until a burst of color, light, and sound filled her senses. This was the place of astral meditation. Finally, she had the energy to find it again. She shot her astral mind across the miles, seeking her sister witches in their cave to the southeast.
Over the land, through forests and abandoned cities, ghost towns, and mountains, across the red-baked desert, to where her sisters lived. Her mind shot down the dark tunnel that led to their cave and whirled around Vesta and Hecate, easing their minds into the meditative space between sleep and waking.
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