ZOHR

My thoughts are clear without the endless rage, and I am glad…but it makes the day seem long and time passes slowly. No matter how hard I pull against my bonds, they do not budge. My body is uncomfortable, my mind tired, and my skin itches with the need to shift. This is the longest I have been in my two-legged form without changing to battle-form, and it fills me with frustration. As the day creeps on, my frustration begins to turn to rage once more. I can feel the blackness seeping back into my thoughts, and I almost welcome it.

Almost.

But I remember that anger. I remember being…nothing, no drakoni warrior, no Zohr in that haze. I only existed. I lost who I was. I do not want to go back to that. But this endless captivity is gnawing at my sanity, and I worry it is only a matter of time before I slip under once more. Only the thought of my new mate helps calm my spirits. I feel the bleak, empty anger building, and reach out to her, feeling her mind. Something—anything—to anchor me. To make me feel like myself.

Emma’s thoughts are like pure sunlight. The touch of her thoughts burns away the clouds of anger, and I breathe a little easier. She is close enough that her mind-link feels strong, her emotions filling my head. But she is far enough away that I cannot smell her, and my thin control threatens to snap. I tug, snarling, at my chains again. Emma! My patience comes to an end. Where are you? I send desperately. I feel myself slipping, and it worries me how easy it is to descend back into madness. I am losing control.

Be calm! Please. I’m heading your way, I promise. Her thoughts wash over me like a wave of cool water, but it is not enough.

I need to see her, to breathe her in. How soon?

Soon. I need a good excuse to come find you and I’m working on it right now. I get a visual of food and other humans standing around. She is getting something for me to eat. I realize dimly that I am hungry. I have been going on instinct for so long that such a thing is surprising to me. How much of my sanity have I lost? Tell me more about you, I demand from her. Keep my mind occupied. If I think about the fact that I am held down, trapped, it will make me wild. I need a distraction.

What about me? Her thoughts are filled with a calm amusement, as if she cannot believe that we are talking, as if she sees everything the world throws at her and does not let it faze her. I like that. She is strong in spirit, and fearless. I admire that, because I feel my own anger bubble forth far too quickly.

I reach through her surface memories, looking for something to catch. I want to know everything about her, but I must begin somewhere. A thought rises—another male. The dead one. What happened to your sibling? I ask her, trying to recall what she has told me.

He got eaten by a dragon a few days ago. Do you remember the others flying here? Dakh and Kael and their humans?

I consider, but the names mean nothing to me. Have I known them and forgotten? Or are they total strangers? I hate that there is no answer. I do not recall. It was recent?

Yup. Her thoughts are both wry and sad at the same time. A few days ago. Right after I came to…visit you. Her mind grows shy, and a visual flicks between us, of her straddling me. Quickly, her mind flits away from it again and focuses on something else. Her sibling. She is determined not to think of what happened between us.

I do not know if I like that. I plan to remind her—frequently—that she is mine.

But my mate’s thoughts remain focused on her brother, and the ache inside them grows. My brother attacked the dragons and lost. I can’t say he didn’t deserve it, though. Boyd wasn’t a nice person.

He wasn’t nice, but Emma still hurts now that he is gone. She feels responsible. Sad. Frustrated. I know these feelings well - they are constant companions since this place stole my mind and my memories. At least she has those of her kin. You can still be sad that he is gone.

I shouldn’t be. Like I said, he was terrible and he caused more trouble than he was worth. But yeah, I still feel bad. And I miss him, weirdly enough. I miss when we were kids and we were friends, back before everything turned to shit.

I pick through her thoughts more, focusing on the resentment edging her thoughts. Maybe it is my own madness that makes me gravitate toward it, but I cannot help myself. Your kin—he is the reason why you are here now? Why you are trapped?

Yup. I was in hiding, but his goons swung by my area and now I’m stuck here with Azar’s bunch of idiots. It’s a shitty situation, but it’s also been made pretty clear to me that I’m not allowed to leave.

Why do others control if you leave or not? Are you chained, as well? I do not sense it in her thoughts, but perhaps I have overlooked it somehow. My own anger begins to stir once more, the red haze enveloping my mind.

Not chained. It’s okay. Her thoughts are soothing, so soothing. Stay calm, Zohr. I’m here.

Calm. Calm. I will try.

Maybe you don’t ask me about things that will make you angry, she teases, again with a hint of humor in her thoughts. I stay because I know how men like this work. They trust no one. If I disappear, they will assume it’s because I am running from them for a reason, and they’ll come after me. I have to stay. It’s just how nomads think.

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?