Fire In His Embrace: A Post-Apocalyptic Dragon Romance (Fireblood Dragon Book 3)

by Ruby Dixon

  Nomads? The thought is unfamiliar to me.

  Those without a home. They’ve been kicked out of other forts for bad behavior.

  Her thoughts tell me of the human nests, and I send her a flicker of understanding, letting her know I follow. My people, too, cluster together in groups for companionship. Why are you not in one of those nests?

  Me? I’m just not a fort kind of girl, I guess.

  There is more to it than just that, though. She is withholding the truth from me. I am in your thoughts, my mate. I can tell when you are hiding things.

  I can feel her mental shrug as much as I feel her moving, heading closer to my location. Through her eyes, I can see that she is heading through one of the strange, square nests—a building—and moving toward another. Closer to me. I flare my nostrils, but I cannot smell her. Not yet.

  There’s lots to reply to there, you know. Like, am I really your mate? Isn’t that a discussion we need to have first? And why do you feel you get access to everything in my head just because you’ve decided you’re my mate? I’m allowed to have my secrets. We have this mental connection because I’m here to rescue you. I’m responsible for you. Don’t ask me for more, Zohr, because I’m not sure I have it.

  Her words anger me. She is not my mate? Of course she is. Did she not claim me, just as I claimed her? I gave her my seed—

  —And she rejected it. Left me and cleaned it off of my body as if it was not the essence of who I am. The growl budding in my throat rises furiously.

  Zohr? Are you okay? I’m getting a lot of bloodthirsty thoughts from you.

  I am held captive by fools who need their throats torn out, I tell her. No, I am not okay.

  I guess that was a stupid question. Her thoughts feel apologetic. I’m sorry.

  And now she is hurt. My frustration mounts until I cannot bear it. The urge to see her, to scent her, hits me with visceral need, and I growl low in my throat, twisting in my bonds. The male human nearby shouts something at me, but I ignore him. He does not matter. Let him come and try to silence me—I will rip his throat out with my teeth, even in this form.

  I’m almost there, Emma sends to me. Please be patient just a little longer.

  I hear the sound of something. A door opening, I realize, combining her thoughts with my visual cues. I close my eyes so I can focus on what she sees, experience the world through her gaze since I am trapped down here. A wave of fresh air moves through and with it, the thick scent of Emma’s scent-masking perfume.

  I choke on the taste of it.

  Sorry, she sends meekly. Has to be done.

  If it is something I must endure to find her scent underneath, I will tolerate it. Even now, when the air moves, I can catch hints of Emma’s true scent, and it fills me with joy…and hunger. Come sit with me, I demand, struggling to see her over the lip of the strange, pale pit I am at the bottom of.

  Be there soon. Just let me talk to Artie and tell him what I’m doing.

  “Hi there,” my Emma says brightly, and she speaks to the man holding a fire-spitter and standing near the entrance. The one who shouts at me to be silent so often. Artie. He is scared of me, and the noises I make are why he clutches his weapon—his fire-spitter—so closely. I memorize his face through her thoughts, because I will tear his throat out if I see him and I am free. Ugly. Big nose. Big brows. Small mouth. Eminently destroyable.

  I will remember.

  Stop it, Emma tells me. You’re distracting me.

  The man—Artie—demands to know what my Emma is doing here at the pool house. The pool house…so that is where I am. The visual of what a pool is in Emma’s mind does not match my surroundings. There is no water here.

  Drained, Emma replies to me. Now let me focus. She smiles sweetly at Artie. “Since I was sick yesterday, I’m trying to pick up some of the slack and doing a few more chores around the place. Carol has me doing dragon-feeding duty.”

  He grunts a response and asks Emma if she will suck on his knob when she’s done with me, like Carol always does.

  Disgust fills my mate’s thoughts. “Um, no? Use your damn hand.” I changed my mind, Zohr. You can totally kill this one.

  I smile, baring my fangs. With pleasure.

  “I’m not here to do anything extra-curricular. Azar never told me I had to, just that I answer to him and no one else.” She keeps her voice calm and steady.

  The male that will die—Artie—grunts a response and tells her to be quick. He comments that she smells anyhow and she’s not worth it, but he’s lying. I can smell the tang of his fear in the air. He’s afraid. Of my Emma? My fragile female?

  No, I realize. He is afraid of the one they call Azar. The Salorian. The one that avoids me.

  I remember the Salorians, but only vaguely. It feels like trying to hold smoke when I concentrate, and I growl in frustration when I can recall nothing more than the word and a distant feeling of evil. Of anger and loathing.

  That one will die, too, I decide. For holding me captive and for daring to threaten my mate.

  I watch with hungry, avid eyes as Emma slowly climbs down into the pit—the pool—and steps forward. The choking, cloying scent of her perfume cannot cover the true scent of her, and I can taste her on the air. It fills me with intense joy to breathe her in, to fill my lungs with the musky scent of my mate. To reaffirm that she is mine. I can smell my venom running through her veins even now, and her scent carries the brand of my claim on her.

  Her movements fascinate me. She moves forward, her steps light and sure, her hair brushing against her shoulders. She wears a thick white bandage over her head, and I can smell dried blood there. Her wound. There are circles under her eyes and she looks tired, but even so, she is beautiful to me. Her eyes are dark and full of life, her figure taut and muscular. She wears far too many of the strange, colorful skins to cover her body, and I wish she was naked like she was when she came to me.

  But then I think of Artie and Azar, and my fists clench with anger. I decide that I am glad they do not get to look upon her.

  Emma’s gaze lands on me and she visibly flinches, misery on her face. Oh, Zohr. It looks worse every time I see it. She kneels beside me, and her scent washes over me. I close my eyes in bliss, biting back the growl of pleasure that threatens to rise in my throat. It escapes when she touches my skin lightly, tracing one broken wound at the edge of my cuff. You’re tearing yourself up. I thought dragons couldn’t be harmed?

  My two-legged form is far more vulnerable. All the anger and frustration that has been building inside me dissipates at her small touch.

  “Tsk,” she says aloud, under her breath. “They may be holding you captive, but it’s bullshit the way they’re treating you.” Her small fists clench. “Makes me so mad.”

  I am delighted at her building fury. Is it because it feeds my own rage? Or because it makes her dark eyes spark? When we are freed, they will pay in blood, I reassure her.

  “I’m down with that,” Emma mutters. She takes a bit of her shirt and tears at the hem, pulling off a long strip of the material. When she’s done, she gently places it between my skin and the cuff of one arm. “Hopefully this will help a little. But you’ve got to quit twisting so much.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “We don’t want them to realize that we’re together. Maybe keep raging, but make sure it’s vocal and not physical? I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”

  Her fingers skim over my skin again, and I realize with pleasure that her touch is no longer as cool as it once was. Her blood has heated to match my own.

  Just knowing this is making my cock rise. You should stop touching me if we do not want others to know you are mine.

  I can feel the blush of embarrassment move through her. She is not flustered at the thought of the others knowing, I realize, but at the thought of my arousal. This fascinates me. This is the female that mounted me boldly and claimed me, yet she gets shy at the thought of touching me once more?

  “Sorry,” she whispers, a hint of a smile matching
the dusky color of her cheeks.

  Why does the thought of mating with me embarrass you? I ask her. I find this curious.

  She shrugs and looks away, smoothing her fingers down my arm again before remembering that it arouses me. It’s not the thought of mating with you, exactly. It’s the thought of mating, period. It’s rather new to me.

  You have never mated before? The thought fills me with a swell of pleasure. I am the first to touch you?

  Jesus, don’t sound so damn proud. Just never seemed like the right time to get intimate with anyone. And it’s hard to trust in this day and age. Again, she is shy.

  But you trusted me. I am flattered. More than that, I am pleased. I am the only one to have touched her, and I will be the only one to ever touch her. I will be the only male that will taste her cunt and hear her cries of pleasure. It makes me even more impatient to be free.

  “You’re twisting again,” she murmurs. “Stop it.”

  Artie looks over the edge of the pit down at my mate and barks something that causes a flash of irritation inside my mate.

  “I’m slow because I’ve never done this before,” she retorts back, lying. “Give me a chance. Besides, I don’t know why you’re rushing me, jackass. You’re still not getting sucked off when I’m done.”

  He makes an angry sound and gives her a dismissive gesture, then wanders away again.

  I make an angry sound, as well. The human male wants favors from my mate? From my female? I will shred every membrane in my wings to get free before I will let him get close to her.

  “You’re growling,” she whispers. “I need to feed you and then get out of here. We’re going to make plans, you and I, I promise.” Emma quickly picks up one of the containers on her tray and begins to mix it with a spoon. I vaguely recognize the scent—it is the tasteless sludge they have been feeding me since I arrived.

  Despite my hunger, my stomach churns. What is that you feed me?

  Protein powder shakes. I’m sorry. I know it’s gross, and probably worse because it’s long expired, but they’re keeping all the fresh meat for the others. I tried to sneak some, but I would have gotten busted. There’s regret in her tone. Can you choke this down?

  For you, I will try. My stomach growls, reminding me that any food is better than no food. I remind myself of that even when she lifts the container to my lips and tilts it so the first taste of sludge touches my mouth. I choke, because the taste is terrible. It is cloyingly sweet and chalky and thick, and it makes my empty stomach churn.

  I’m sorry, Emma tells me again, her thoughts full of distress. I’m so sorry.

  My reaction upsets her. I send her a wave of reassurance and take another drink, resolved to bear this misery for her. She is worth everything, even a few mouthfuls of foulness.

  Even as I drink, I feel Emma’s hand move under my neck, to the collar. She finds the clasp of it, explores it with her fingers, and then seems to be satisfied with what she finds. I think I can get this off of you the next time I come. I just need to grab my lockpicks. Can you hold on for me a bit longer?

  My Emma, I send to her, my gaze locking with her eyes. I will wait for you forever. When will you realize this?

  11

  EMMA

  I can pick the lock on the back of his collar.

  The realization fills me with a weird sort of glee. It’s a basic lock, one that could be picked with a paperclip if I had nothing else. They didn’t bother to put something heavy duty on his collar, since no one in their right mind would be freeing a dragon.

  I guess that makes me not in my right mind. I chuckle at the thought. All I need to do is get in there again and get some time alone with him. I can’t today, I don’t think. Not without anyone getting suspicious.

  I do not care if they are suspicious, Zohr tells me. I want you here. I did not get enough of your scent.

  I’ll be there again as soon as I can, I promise him. Right now I have to make dinner.

  I think about how I’m going to sneak out and visit Zohr again all through dinner. It’s stew tonight—because when you have a dozen people to feed and not a lot of meat, it’s stew most nights. Azar gets more pancakes and canned peaches, because he’s got a sweet tooth. I know how that is. I spend most days dreaming of cookies and candy bars. I’d give my left arm for chocolate right about now. Or ice cream. God, ice cream.

  Your thoughts are fascinating. Food can give you such pleasure? Zohr’s mind touches mine, his thoughts curious and aroused all at once.

  Only because I miss them so much, I admit to him. I lived in a big store before I got stuck with Azar’s bunch, and I think I pretty much ate everything in the cookie aisle. I send him mental images of the store itself and of the little nest I’d created for myself that I’d called home. I miss that store. I was safe there, and well fed. No one bothered me there…until Sasha and Dakh showed up. I don’t resent them for it, because I knew it was a matter of time before I was discovered. No good hiding spot lasts forever.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t miss it, though. Or my cookies.

  When we are free from here, we will find you more, Zohr promises. I will hunt them for you.

  I chuckle to myself even as I chop a wizened, rubbery potato into the stew. Hunting cookies? They don’t exactly run fast.

  From your mental image, they do not run at all. His tone sounds sour. Even I am not that much of a fool, Emma.

  I snort-giggle to myself.

  Carol gives me a weird look, handing over some diced carrots. “How’s your head?”

  “Fine,” I tell her. “Why?”

  She just shrugs. “You’ve been acting strange ever since, that’s all. Wondered if you got more knocked out of you than you let on.”

  “Nope,” I tell her cheerfully, and she narrows her eyes at me again. I think I’m being too friendly. Too smiley. No one’s happy in a nomad camp. I change my smile to a smirk. “But Artie missed you today on dragon-feeding duty.”

  She rolls her eyes and pushes a bit of lank gray hair out of her face. “He try to give you a lick of his little worm? Tell him you ain’t interested unless he pays with the good stuff.”

  Ew. I’m not interested at all. “I’ll let him save that for you.”

  Carol nods and gives her sagging bosom a plumping, then adds the carrots to the stew. “Works for me. If he approaches you again, tell him I’m the only one that can give him the real goods.” She crooks a finger and wiggles it at me, then cackles. At my blank stare, she hoots with laughter even louder. “Prostate tickle, girl. That’s how you get any man to do what you want. You shove your finger up his ass when you’re blowin’ him and he’ll do anything you like.”

  Jesus Christ. “Thanks,” I choke out.

  You are not doing that, Zohr sends fiercely to me.

  Fuck no I’m not! The only thing I want to shove up Artie’s ass is the business end of a gun. I shudder.

  Carol continues cackling to herself as we fix dinner, but I’m a little disturbed. Does she think I’m acting different than usual? She’s not the most observant, and she’s also not the only one to comment on it. I need to lay low.

  But…I also can’t abandon Zohr.

  If it is not safe…he warns.

  I know. I’ll be careful. I just want to help you as much as I can. I think of him in his uncomfortable chains, trapped and helpless, and it tears at me.

  I do not mind them so much. What I mind is that I need to see you. It is like a craving inside me. His thoughts grow husky with need, and I feel my body responding despite the fact that I’m in the hot, smoky little kitchen with the other two women. I need to touch you, Zohr tells me.

  Soon, I promise him.

  That night, though, I get up from my bed and put my jeans on. I grab my lockpicks from the hidden pocket in my bag and slide them into my pocket. Jack helped me make these, and they’ve come in handy far more times than I ever thought they would. I skip wearing shoes, since they’ll just make too much noise, and tiptoe down through the stairwell o
f the hotel. I make it to the bottom floor and creep toward the pool area. So far, so good.

  To my dismay, it’s Kurt on guard duty again. He’s the same one who was on duty when I slipped in to have sex with Zohr. Well, shit. I can’t exactly use my ruse of, “Hey, Azar called you,” again on him. He’s dumb, but he’s not that dumb.

  I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to see you tonight, I tell Zohr as I retreat to my room. I’ll get busted for sure, and then we’re both screwed. I need to retreat and think of a new tactic.

  I can feel the dragon-man’s disappointment in my mind as I lock the door to my room behind me. I understand.

  No, you don’t, I tease, trying to lighten his mood.

  I understand it. I do not like it, but I understand it. His thoughts grow heavy with resignation. Talk to me, then. Keep me company if you cannot come to my side.

  I will, I vow to him. This is only temporary. I have my lockpicks and I know I can get that collar off you. We can probably get the other cuffs off, too, given enough time. I’ll have to check your vest to see what kind of fastenings it has. The trick will be getting that stuff off you while the others aren’t paying attention. Azar drugged my friend Sasha’s food. I wonder if I can get ahold of the same stuff and knock out the camp? That would work. I’m both excited and terrified at the thought. If they catch me, I’m dead.

  Then again, if I run away with Zohr and they catch me, I’m dead anyhow. Dead woman walking, any way I look at it. I might as well try to save a dragon.

  I will not let anything happen to you, he promises me. You are mine to protect.

  Which is tricky, considering he’s locked up. I slide my jeans off, re-hide my lockpicks, and then crawl back into bed.

  That is the worst part of my captivity—knowing that my mate is unsafe while I am held down.

  Well, look at the bright side of things, I tell him as I fluff my pillow. At least you got a mate out of this.

  His thoughts are silent for a long moment. You…have a unique way of looking at things, my Emma. I did not think of that, but you are right. It helps my resentment a little.