by Lisa Daniels
The thought sobered her up. Knowing that a complete stranger found her worthwhile. Most humans wouldn't have even bothered. Then again, humans didn't have the power to fly away. If they tried to help her, they'd just end up dying along with her.
It bugged her, somehow. She slipped on the baggy shirt, and tried on the underwear, though she needed to tighten it around the waistband to make it stay up.
She struggled to balance her thoughts, to keep them from imagining horrible things happening to her family. The rawness of that panic still lingered in her soul. Waking up to hear them searching for her. Seeing her mother's frantic movements, understanding the situation before Anya did, and forcing her daughter to escape through the privy.
One way to escape, she supposed.
And this dragon, this drake claimed he was going to kill the owner of the plantation.
If they fought in their dragon forms, Anya didn’t know who would win. The huge wyrm that towered above everything, thrashing with that huge, serpentine tail, scratching with sharp, cruel claws? Or the drake, smaller, more mobile, with thicker scales and an inexplicable animosity towards their cousins?
Protecting humans. There were things out there that actually wanted to help them. Anya lay in Kalgrin’s bed feeling utterly overwhelmed. She spread out her arms, letting her left fingers dangle over the sides. Cracks displayed in the black wooden beams in the ceiling, and she thought she spotted a spider, snuggled up in a groove.
There was just so much she didn’t know about the place she lived in. Her view of the world was limited to the stories upon the plantation, the cruelty of her masters, and a vague idea of the city. Nothing about other types of dragons, or if they liked or hated each other, or if humans lived in areas where they didn’t toil under the whip, or suffer early deaths from abuse and apathy.
Maybe she'd even bumped into a drake in the city, and just didn't realize who they were at all. Wyrms had yellow eyes, after all. Kalgrin's eyes shone an iron gray. The default drake color?
Either way, the lack of knowledge in her head loomed like the dark tunnel in her mind. A place where a shameful gap in her thoughts existed. Part of her wanted to sleep right now – until her stomach gave a growl, reminding her that Kalgrin was busy burning bread in his kitchen.
Sighing, she creaked herself out of bed, her bare feet padding on the smooth wooden floorboards. The aroma of toasted bread permeated her nostrils, and she sniffed in appreciation.
“Aha,” Kalgrin said, giving her an irritatingly charming smile. “For a moment, I was worried you might have fallen asleep. Not that I'd blame you, given all the excitement of tonight.”
She shrugged. “Not until I've had the pleasure of eating your food.”
“Pleasure, huh?” The smile turned into a smirk, before his expression turned grave. As if remembering that it wasn't a good time to smirk. “Here you go. You can take it into your room if you want. I have some books in there if you want to read before sleeping as well... oh. Do you know how to read?”
Anya shook her head. Again, that hollowness tapped at her. Reminding her that she knew so little. “They don't teach slaves to read. But we'd tell stories to one another.”
“That's good. Stories are important. It's how you learn your history, and learn from mistakes of the past.” Kalgrin quickly finished buttering her toast and then smearing a strange red substance over it, which he called strawberry jam. He told her strawberry was a red fruit, and she took his word for it. With her toast prepared, and a glass of water cupped in her hand, she ventured back into the bedroom.
Learn from mistakes in the past. Anya suspected that statement held some special meaning with Kalgrin. Maybe to do with his personal past, or of the past he knew through those books.
As she chewed through her food, smacking her lips in delight at the sweet, tingling texture of the jam, along with the crunch of the toast and the wetness of the butter, she let out a groan.
How could something so simple be so delicious? And this jam – whatever it was, she'd happily eat a whole jar of the stuff.
I wonder what mistake he's made. Why he does the things he claims to do now. Everyone has a story.
Thinking of stories, Anya remembered one her grandpa used to say. One that made people sigh and wish that what he said was true, rather than wistful fancy.
“Once upon a time, we humans used to have magic in our blood,” Grandpa said in that crackly voice of his, as if sandpaper had wedged in his throat, making the words grate out. “Magic so strong that the wyrms quivered in fear. They hated us for the magic, and they sought to take it from our souls. They succeeded through dark and terrible means, and made humans weaklings in comparison to them.”
Anya didn't know how Grandpa knew the story. She just took it for granted that he knew everything.
“But they say one day the magic will return. It can't stay blocked up forever. It is like water. It will find a way through the stones. And humans will rise once again, and take their rightful place in the world.”
It wasn't a story about heroes. It was a stories about villains, about humans being tricked out of their magic, the methods lost to them forever.
Except, Anya knew the idea of humans possessing magic to be ridiculous.
She dreamed about it, sure. Everyone dreamed of a magic solution for their issues at some point.
She just knew better than to attempt to act upon it.
Anya finished her toast, wiped down her fingers with a cloth, and drank the water. She then fell asleep with that deep fear tickling at her consciousness, uncertain if her life really was going to improve, or whether she had moved into a new kind of nightmare. One where she was responsible for the deaths of her entire family. All because she dared to dream, and ignore advice.
All because.
Chapter Three
Kalgrin crept into the room a few hours after Anya had retired to bed. He wanted to see the woman for himself. Honestly, that transformation from muck to marvel still floored him. To think such a beautiful woman had hidden under all that. He knew the grime wasn't her fault as well, though it had taken everything he had to keep his mind away from what she smelled like, so he wouldn't do the undignified thing: hurl, and humiliate her further.
Poor thing had been scared witless when he scooped her up. He didn't have time to explain, not with those bastards chasing her. He was probably lucky she didn't die from a heart attack.
No doubt father would chide him for his sloppy handling of the situation, and for prioritizing the woman over the mission. Curse it, though. She would have died in front of his eyes otherwise.
Now this lost soul lay in his bed, slumbering. Maybe having a nightmare of her family, judging by the way she twitched and shivered in her sleep. He'd hoped to find her lying there serenely, to be able to look at her expression without the guard it wore. Instead, he found one scrunched up in stress.
Normally, he'd hand off a new rescue to the Center. Any rescues in the area went there for rehabilitation, sometimes to break them out of their slave mentalities, and then place them somewhere where they could work, contribute to the organization, and stay safe.
Something about this woman told him she hadn't broken.
He thought it a positive sign. It showed she possessed a strong spirit under that diminutive body. She would do well. He intended to gently prod at her, to see if any underlying traumas existed in her psyche. Humans were very good at hiding these things. Hiding themselves.
They needed to. He wished they didn't.
He reached out a hand to touch her forehead. She'd either wake up, startled, in which case, she no longer experienced whatever distressed her, or his touch would help soothe her, and bring her into a calm state of sleep again.
Her skin burned under his palm. A fever? He checked her neck, her back. No. Just her cheeks. Everything else remained normal, though her heart beat fast, as if being chased.
Ah. If those wyrms caught her... he closed his eyes. Well, they wouldn't rape her. Not w
hen she stank like a sewer. But she'd be dead. Such a beautiful little thing, hidden under all that mess. Such a shame she had to be born as a human.
At least now she'd be safe.
Hush now, little one. You're not being chased by the monsters anymore. That part of your life is over. No more beatings, no more cruelty. I'll make sure of it.
He continued to lightly stroke her on the cheek. She stiffened at first, confused with the contact, but soon relaxed. Her heart rate slowed down. The fire in her cheeks cooled, and she stopped her restless movements.
There. Now she looked serene. His eyes softened at the innocence there. All that innocence would vanish when she woke up, with a face hardened to the world, a heart frosted over for protection. A twinge of desire stirred in his groin when he continued touching her delicate muscles, trailing a finger along the corner of her mouth.
Didn't really help she appeared so gorgeous. But he'd handle it. She'd need to leave him soon.
Sooner rather than later. Otherwise he didn't think he could control his impulses. Already, his accursed mind started wandering from the relaxed state of her face, to how she might sound when he touched her in her intimate places, caused that heart to pound faster, and her eyes to stare in hazed lust.
Control yourself, Kalgrin. He stepped away at last, heading out into the night.
The other drakes waited for him in the small tavern that Seon served in. A good barmaid, friendly to humans and drakes, and someone he planned to bring into his contacts at a point, anyway.
Normally, the tavern would be shut at this time, but he'd pulled in a favor with the owner, needing a comfortable place for everyone to meet.
Inside the small, snug tavern, the others awaited.
“Ho, Kalgrin,” Leoch said, raising a tankard towards him. “So when are we going for this plantation again?” Kalgrin smiled at him. Straight to the point. Others might banter, keep the talk friendly before heading straight to the heart of the matter. Not Leoch. Leoch's boots were already slung over the table. The three other drakes, Jakon, Varis, and Targosa, drank from deep mugs. Seon served behind the bar, though she looked tired.
“Thanks, Seon,” Kalgrin said, giving her what he hoped looked like a grateful smile.
She rolled her eyes. “I'm sacrificing my sleep for you. This better be worth it.”
“Doing it all to impress a girl,” he said. Maybe a quarter true. Mostly, he needed to rearrange his plans, thanks to a certain woman popping into his life and coming under his care.
“That 'girl' of yours looked like some horror from the deep,” Leoch said, wrinkling his puffy red nose. As a drake, he appeared impressive and golden. As a human... he looked rotund, like someone a little too fond of their drinks. “I can't believe you even carried that.”
They'd all seen, of course. Smelled even worse. “I'm sorry I had to call it off. I know we were all due to fly in at midnight, but things were far too chaotic there. The girl was trying to run away, the guards were everywhere. Even if I left her alone, I don't think it would have been easy getting in.”
“What a soft heart you have,” Seon said, now grinning impishly. “I got your favorite drink here. Bringing it over now.” She stepped from behind the bar after tying her dark hair into a severe knot, and gave Kalgrin his dark beer.
“When will we attempt the rescue again?” Leoch folded his arms, before letting out a burp. Nice.
“I'm thinking next week. Give it a span to calm down, then we'll go for it again.”
Leoch nodded, his gray eyes determined. “Nasty place, that. Wyrms are horrible things, anyway, but what happens there? We can't get 'em out soon enough.”
“And you can't get your pockets lined soon enough,” Kalgrin added. Leoch shrugged, grinning.
“Drake's gotta make a living somehow. Best to make it doing your fool, soft human rescues. Though you and Artiz got a good thing going.”
“Yeah. Artiz is at the school, you know. He...” Kalgrin stopped there. Best to not mention too much about the school. “He always looks forward to taking on more students.”
They hashed out the plans, which were essentially the same, although they'd need to spread out to their other contacts to let them know things had been pushed back.
No help for it. Kalgrin intended to save. He intended to gradually weaken all the minor wyrm landowners, take away their humans, slowly but surely weakening the grip of the wyrms. Sometimes it felt like trying to move a mountain.
More often, it seemed fruitless – except when he got the smiles of the humans saved. They weren't the reason he did it.
But they were part of the reason he kept going.
With their timetable drawn out again, with Kalgrin once again being the scout, the others retired to the beds in the tavern. Seon waved him goodbye with a jaw-cracking yawn, closing the door behind him and locking it as he went back out onto the street.
Watching Anya attempt to adjust to her new life was both heartwarming and sad. She struggled to walk down a street, and flinched whenever someone so much as looked at her.
“It's okay. Wyrm patrols here don't tend to come until the evenings, because there's too many drakes away, and we don't like it,” he reassured her, using it as an excuse to pat her on the back, just so he felt the imprint of his palm upon her slender body. Anya accepted it, though she frowned at his revelation. “I thought you said this place was drake- and human-run.”
“It is. It's technically within the wyrm city of Kalhast, meaning it's in their province, and their jurisdiction. Officially. Unofficially, they're not welcome here. Tarn is about the closest we can get to a wyrm city, without it actually being overrun by wyrms. Easier to get information and see what they're up to this way.”
“Hmm.” Anya appeared doubtful, but accepted him at his word. The way she puckered her nose now – he wanted to poke that nose, just to witness her reaction. He knew, really, he should be dropping her off at one of the support groups soon, but he wanted her to himself for a little longer.
Just a little longer. To find out more about her. Maybe he did this simply because of the surprise upon finding out what she looked like. An ugly weed hiding the vibrant flower within.
He introduced her to Seon, and hinted to the barmaid that it would be really nice if she considered asking the owner if he wouldn't mind taking an extra worker. Anya could do with something stable, some wages, and a reason to get her life in order.
Though he also knew that girl would be chewing her lip non-stop until she found out what happened to her family.
“Yeah, yeah,” Seon said. “I'll see what I can do for your girl.”
My girl. Everyone's already assuming that's the case.
It twisted his heart to know Anya had those nightmares every night. Although she seemed to be coping well, adjusting to the fact that she wasn't a slave, that she could wear finer clothes, walk with a spring in her step, and no longer have to keep her eyes glued upon the floor, her real state of mind betrayed her at night.
The week couldn't end soon enough.
The night before he was due to leave, Anya had sat close to him. Closer than she normally dared, since she liked to keep a wide bubble of personal space. Possibly because she'd never had it before.
“You're going tomorrow, right? Back to that place. Back to seeing if you can... rescue them.”
“Yes.”
She absently fumbled with her hair, appearing so nervous and lost, that for a moment, Kalgrin wanted to scoop her up and say that everything would be okay. However, he knew he also didn't have the ability to promise that. It would hurt if he went to the plantation, only to find all six members of her family dead. No false hopes. Just a reassurance he'd do everything in his power to make sure he found them, and bring them to Tarn.
“I'm really scared,” she whispered. “All I wanted to do was speak up. It wasn't right. It wasn't right to see everyone so crushed like that.”
“I know. It must be hard to not be broken, when everyone else around you is.”<
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Anya swallowed, her eyes dark, sad. “I think I would have become like them. In a year. Maybe two. No one listened. And the one who did sold me out. It's like we don't want to be free. We just want to be slaves to them and...” She rubbed her eyes, exhausted. “Just maybe we're supposed to be like this.”
“No!” Kalgrin's voice came out harsher than he intended. “No. It was never meant to be like this. And don't you ever allow yourself to think any different, okay? That's what the wyrms want you to believe. But you need to believe different.” The fury boiled inside. These wretched humans, they needed to realize their lives were more than just to be some lunatic's slave. He praised Anya for her strength of will, but understood how close to that edge she must have been. Probably staring into its depths. But the last spurt of free will had led her careening into his path.
And now she was his responsibility.
“Take care, little human,” Kalgrin said, now leaning forward to give her a kiss on the forehead. His heart hammered when he did this. His first kiss, in the guise of something tender and warm. Really, he wanted to kiss her lips, to kiss the protests and misery out of her.
He restrained himself, though. She wouldn't be ready for that.
Maybe she'd never be ready.
Leaving Anya safe, promising to be back by the morning, he took to the sky. He liked that she watched anxiously, and wished him good luck. He liked that she brushed a casual hand over his shoulder, getting that last bit of body contact in before he departed. Maybe she was starting to like him?
Silly, silly. She's just grateful you helped her. Anyone would like you. Doesn't mean a thing. Still, he thought about the fact that she'd accepted his kiss. Had there been a look of wonder in her eyes?
Maybe. No point reflecting on it now. Now he clawed through the sky, his great red wings beating on either side like pennants in a breeze. He snorted in anticipation of the conflict. Of putting an end to these wyrms, once and for all.
