Fire in His Fury

by Ruby Dixon

  I feel myself blushing. By “too long” he must mean a few hours, since we slept together last night, but only in the purest sense of the word.

  Tell me about your world, before it was changed. What was it like?

  Oh, gosh. “Well, I was twelve before everything changed. We lived in a house in the suburbs and it was me and my parents and my older sister.” I let the memory of it fill my mind, the small, cozy house and our little backyard. “I always wanted a cat and my parents told me if I did well in school, I'd get one in the summer, but then the Rift happened.”

  Cat? You were hungry for such a small animal?

  “Hungry? Oh my god, no. People kept them as pets.” I giggle at his misunderstanding. “You don't eat cats. Or dogs. No one does.”

  A pet, he echoes, clearly not understanding.

  “Yes. You let them live in your house and you feed them and take care of them and in return, you get to pet them and love them. It's like a tamed wild creature.”

  Ah. So you tame it and then you eat it. It is like a snack waiting to happen.

  “Now you're just teasing me,” I tell him, and I can feel the amusement bubble in his mind. He IS teasing. How charming. “No snacks like that.”

  So the Rift destroyed all cats?

  I shake my head. I've forgotten all about eating because he's got his arms locked around my waist, my weight balanced on his thighs, and he's lightly rubbing his mouth and jaw against my shoulder, as if he wants to touch me even more. It's…distracting in the best kind of way. “No, but food was really scarce once the dragons came through and stopped supply chains. Grocery stores emptied out and never restocked. Fields were destroyed so there was no more fresh produce and no one could really venture out safely. It was a really awful time. I think I ate oatmeal for an entire summer and was just happy for that.” I remember those long, awful, hungry days. Days where Claudia and I hid in an abandoned stranger's house after our parents were gone, terrified to venture out. We ate every single thing in their pantry. I remember eating the oatmeal while Claudia ate “pancakes” made of flour and water and nothing else. She swore they were fine. I knew she was lying, but I still ate the oatmeal anyhow because my leg hurt and I felt sorry for myself.

  God, I've been such a selfish twit for so long. I feel like a jerk. I've never thought about how much Claudia sacrificed because of me. I just took it as my due. No longer. If I ever see my sister again, I'm going to apologize. “At any rate, things were difficult. Getting another mouth to feed was the last thing on my mind. If I would have found cat food, I probably would have eaten it.” I smile faintly at the thought. “But most stores that were easily reachable were cleaned out right away. And then once all the gas stations ran out of gas, you were stranded where you were at. A lot of people died in dragonfire, but I think just as many died from starvation.”

  Starvation? He nuzzles my neck and then flicks his tongue against my skin. My thighs clench in reaction, but I try to focus on his thoughts. This is a land of plenty. There are those hoof animals everywhere.

  “Cows? Deer? Goats?”

  Yes? All of those, he agrees, matching the images I send to his mind. How can your people starve?

  “Well…we got all of our food from grocery stores. We didn't grow our own crops or raise our own cattle.”

  You should have hunted.

  I chuckle at the thought. “No one really hunted much anymore, either. It was a very…odd time. Looking back, it only took one or two wrong things to happen for the entire world to fall apart. I guess no one was as prepared as they thought.”

  He grunts. My world is very different from this one. The drakoni lands are barren, stripped of almost all life. He sends me a mental image that reminds me of the Badlands, all red and tan rock and desert, with very little life to be seen.

  I slide my hand over his arm, wanting to touch him like he touches me. “What did you eat?”

  We hunted all day long for what we could. Lizards. Desert scavengers. Mhri. The mental image is that of something that looks like a giant doodlebug, plated on one side and hundreds of legs on the other. Bitter but filling, he agrees. But it is a hard life for those that wish to remain independent.

  “Independent?”

  Of the Salorians. His mind fills with hate even as images arise in his thoughts of cool white stone cities and verdant greenery on the far side of the mountains. Water shimmers in his memories, surrounded by lush grasses and herds of fat, waddling creatures with flippers and dusky skin. You could starve and watch your family struggle, or you could sell your allegiance to the Salorians in exchange for food for your family.

  I brush my fingers over his hand. “And this is what you did?”

  He nods slowly, and his thoughts grow vague, as if he's picking through his memories. I remain quiet, waiting for him to speak. I know from conversations with my sister that Kael's mind is fragmented and it's difficult for him to recall who he used to be and his life then. But Rast is different. From the beginning, it's always felt like he's had more left in his head than Kael. He's wilder, I think, and quicker to anger, but maybe that's just part of who he is and the thing that poisons their minds here just amplifies it.

  I was young in a very bad time for my people, Rast says after a while. When there was little to hunt and even less to fill the bellies of the drakoni. It was when they demanded things from our people that we dared not give them. They were the enemy and to give yourself to their service meant betraying all that you were as a drakoni. You turned your back on the homelands and your people. You turned your back on your beliefs and you gave your soul to the Salorians to use as they wished. It was a grave, grave dishonor.

  “But…you did it,” I whisper.

  I can feel his torment. My family was starving. My youngest sister died, her belly caved in. My father had a bad wing and could not hunt. My mother was with young once more and could not leave her nest. My brother Hitaar and I were the only ones who could and we were far too young and inexperienced to hunt enough to feed our family.

  “And no one else wanted to help you?”

  He brushes his lips against my skin. As a people, it is considered a source of pride to feed your family, to be independent. Those who cannot are shamed, shunned. It was either be shamed by starving to death, or be shamed by enslaving myself to the Salorians who sat on their white thrones and grew fat from the blood and sweat of drakoni servitude. And so I chose them. I was young when I crossed the mountains, just past my trials of adulthood.

  He sends a mental image to me of a young golden-skinned man with short, shorn hair and a too-skinny body. His hollow eyes and sad, defiant expression pierce my soul. My heart aches for him.

  I went to the Salorians and pledged myself. Let them entrench their evil into my mind willingly in exchange for food to be sent back to my family. I do not think my family took it. They let the tamed svarti be set loose in the desert rather than eat Salorian spoils. His feelings grow hard, edged with resentment. I gave up my freedom for nothing, and threw my entire self into being their tool. If I was to be a soldier in their army, I would be the greatest soldier I could possibly be.

  His life makes me sad. I feel his intense anguish and frustration and I wonder that perhaps Kael is better off not remembering his past except in patches. “And were you?”

  Did you not see my long claws? Admire their tearing ferociousness? His thoughts are full of amusement and bitterness both. I became a great man, a notable general to the Salorian cause. Many trembled before my shadow. None stood in my way.

  I lean back against him and as I do, I see the edge of his jaw, the white crisscross of scars there. I lightly trace them with my skin. “And are these battle wounds?”

  No. He grabs my hand and pulls it against his lips, pressing his mouth to them. Do not ask me of that. I see a flash of his brother's face in my mind and then he closes it as thoroughly as I would close a book. Does this satisfy your curiosity?

  “To a point,” I admit, smiling despite my confusi
on. If he has things he doesn't want to share, I understand…and yet at the same time I'm a little hurt that he'd keep me—his mind-linked mate—out of parts of his thoughts.

  It is not because I do not want you there, sweet fires. He nips at my ear. It is because it is too hard for me to share it as of yet. Give me time.

  Time I can give him. I change topics. “Do you remember about coming through the Rift? I remember the day myself.” I let my mind drift to that time, watching stupid game shows on TV while home from school, sick. I'd had the flu, though not nearly as bad as Claudia. Mine was more pretending, if I'm honest with myself. I wanted to stay home even if my sister was. It's a good thing I did, because I think if I'd have been at school that day, I'd be dead. I wouldn't have made it back home. “It was a quiet morning and then there was this awful sound. I remember it was so loud that my ears popped and felt like they were bursting. We went outside to see what it was and this big…hole just opened in the sky.” I shiver at the memory. “It took a while for us to realize that dragons were coming through and that they were murdering people. We saw the fires spread across the city, but we thought it was just rioters or people looting. We didn't know…and then it was too late.”

  I do not remember that day, Rast tells me. I am glad. I do not want to remember it. All I know is that one day I was in my world, and the next I am here, my mind devoured by madness and bloodlust. He caresses my arm. I might have smelled you that day and not realized it. I might even be the one that destroyed your parents.

  It feels like there's an enormous knot in my throat. “It happened. I can't change it. Neither can you. We can only move forward.”

  That is right. And there are no Salorians here.

  The knot in my throat gets bigger.

  Rast goes still underneath me. Tell me what you know. His mind flares, and I can feel the rage building behind his calm words. My mate. My Amy. Do not think to hide such a thing from me. Are those foul ones here?

  I swallow hard. “There was one. He died, though.”

  If there was one, there will be more. Where was he last seen? His body under mine is like a statue, unmoving and hard.

  I'm suddenly flooded with fear. “No, Rast, please. I don't want you to go find him.”

  He needs to be destroyed. His thoughts are wild, and I can practically feel the anger vibrating through him. I remember the terrible things they made us do. They took over our minds, used us like we were playthings.

  “I know,” I say softly. “He did that to my friend's dragon-mate. But I promise he's dead. I wouldn't lie to you about this.”

  Rast's thoughts calm a little with every word I speak. I reach up and caress his jaw again. It feels…wrong to not go after them, he admits after a long moment. You cannot know how many times I dreamed of ripping them apart. Of having control of myself once again. Do you know what it is like to be conscious of who you are and what you are doing, and yet someone else controls your movements? Do you know how many of my own people I slaughtered, screaming inside because I did not want to? But I did not have a choice because the Salorians owned my mind. I vowed I would avenge them. Now that I have the chance…to not pursue such a thing is strange.

  “You'll stay with me, won't you?” I ask, caressing him. “You won't leave me alone?”

  That brings his focus back to me, and he leans in and brushes his lips over mine in the gentlest of kisses. No. I would never abandon you. It is as you said—the past is in the past. My mind link with them is broken now. That is all that matters. You are all that matters. His hand slides over my waist. Even now, you might be carrying my young.

  I gasp. “You think so?”

  It is early yet, but it is not unheard of.

  I bite my lip and then let my thoughts trail in a direction I've avoided for days. Is that why you won't touch me anymore?

  Rast chuckles, the sound a rumble in his throat, even as he dips his head and licks at the side of my neck. Have you been missing my touch? My poor, neglected mate. There's such a flirty tone in his thoughts that it makes me all breathless. I have been giving your body time to heal. I touched your thoughts and felt your bruises, your aches. I would never wish to harm you, but some things cannot be helped.

  Great, now I'm blushing. He dug through my thoughts and found my bruises? I know where those were and I'm dying of embarrassment inside.

  Do not be embarrassed. We are one. I knew we mated roughly. His fingers stroke my cheek. But you liked it as much as I did.

  Did I think I was embarrassed before? That's nothing compared to how I feel now. The floor swallowing me up sounds pretty good at the moment, and Rast chuckles at my mental images. He gets to his feet, me still in his arms, and I cling to his neck so I don't lose my balance. He carries me across the room, toward our bed, and my heart flutters at the realization. He sets me down there with infinite tenderness, like I am the greatest treasure he's ever seen, and then peels back my robe.

  It falls open, revealing my naked body underneath. Rast pushes the plush white fabric to the side and then gets on his knees at the edge of the bed, pulling my thighs toward his shoulders.

  “Wh-what are we doing?” I ask, breathless.

  I am pleasing my mate, just as she has asked. If her cunt aches too much for my cock, I will give her my tongue instead.

  “Oh,” I protest, and my entire body trembles. I'm not sure I asked for this. I mean, I'm more than happy to take it, but I'm just a little surprised.

  Do not be. Tasting you is a pleasure I have fought against for nights on end. I wanted to wake you with my mouth between your thighs, my tongue on your cunt. I wanted to watch you scream my name and wanted to feel your puny claws in my hair. I did not, though, because I worried you were not strong enough to withstand the fires sickness and the demands of your mate. But if you are feeling better…

  I moan as his mouth finds just the spot he was describing. “For the record?” I tell him, and then whimper when he begins to tongue me with strong strokes. “You can wake me up anytime.”

  16

  RAST

  It is night. My mate lies sprawled next to me, sated. Her mind is a tired, delighted jumble after the attention I have given her body. She has come for me many, many times, and I have the welts on my scalp to prove it. I enjoy feeling her marks, though. Her scent is all over me, and I welcome it and the calm it brings to my spirit. It does not matter that my cock aches every time she shifts on the bed, or with every little sigh she makes. My pleasure in mating has waited many, many years. It can wait a few nights more. I stroke my hand over her arm, enjoying the sight of her strangely colored flesh against my golden scales. I admire my large hand on her small frame. I know a drakoni should want a fierce mate who can challenge him and attack at a whim. A mate who needs no protecting.

  But I like my soft, sweet Amy.

  It does not matter that she has no battle-form. I realize that she only has the one form now that I have delved in her thoughts. There is no hint of any other form in her mind, or else I suspect she would have changed to it long ago to relieve the near-constant ache her bad leg brings her. Truly, it does not matter that she cannot hunt her own food, or that she is fragile. I am here now, and I will take care of her every need. And while I feel a little fear that my mate is so helpless, I am strong and powerful. As long as I am at her side, she needs to fear nothing.

  She is mine to protect.

  She is my world. My everything. My reason for living. I am still filled with awe when her gentle thoughts thread through my own, like strands of smoke. I love that even her ideas and reactions have the same innocence and sweetness of her spirit, and it is a joy to connect my mind to hers.

  I am nothing like her. I am not a good male. I am not honorable or noble. I fought for the enemy and did terrible things, and I was very, very good at them.

  Just thinking about my past makes the fires in my mind flare, and I feel the wildness start to churn at the back of my thoughts. I want to move toward it, to sink into the blood-filled d
epths of it and revel in my hatred and need to destroy. But then Amy turns over in her sleep and presses her small face to my arm, and her hand finds my stomach in her sleep.

  And just like that, the fires disappear. I reach over and caress her cheek, lightly so as not to disturb her slumber. I am filled with such wonder and joy at the sight of my beautiful mate. To think I had to come to this hellish world to find her.

  It is worth it. It is worth the years of madness, the fragments of my splintered mind. It is even worth my past as a Salorian general, though I hated every moment of those years.

  Amy is my future, as she has said. I need to focus on her and not on Salorians.

  But…I cannot help myself. As Amy sleeps, my thoughts stray towards those cruel, capricious overlords. Just thinking about them makes my gut churn.

  I hate that they are here. I hate that not even this world is safe from their evil. I hate that Amy might meet one someday. I hate the worry that my mental connection with them will return in an instant despite being broken, and that if it does, she will see me as I was at my worst. She will not see her Rast, just a merciless killer with no control over his own soul.

  If one Salorian is here in this world, there will be others. No matter how many enslaved drakoni they sent into battle for them, a few would ride with us, on our backs, so they could command on the field. If we were taken from battle—and it reasons that we were, given that we arrived in this world in battle-form—there will be more than one Salorian.

  They need destroying. The thought of one of them meeting my sweet Amy and snatching her mind away makes the fires in my mind flare. My thoughts fill with helpless rage. I cannot sit and act as if their presence does not gnaw at my gut. I cannot pretend that my past has not scarred me.

  But Amy has not asked me to pretend the past is not there. She acknowledges her own past, too, and wishes to learn from it. I need to be more like her, I think. I need to focus on the day-to-day joys. Now that she is here, there are so many pleasures to be found. There does not need to be worry about Salorians. There does not need to be fear.