ZOHR

I look into the wide brown eyes of my sweet, delicate mate and wonder how such a creature can be so bloodthirsty. Explain to me again?

Emma rolls her eyes at me, impatient. “You take the hook like so, right? And you grab the body of the worm and push it through, spearing it on here.” She demonstrates. “That’s called baiting the hook.”

You torture one creature to entice another?

“It’s not torture. The worm doesn’t feel anything. I think.” She gives me a sideways look. “Don’t ruin fishing for me, you big scaly chicken.”

I am nothing like a chicken, I tell her, irritated. I have seen them. They cluck and wander like fools. They are covered in feathers and they shit on everything. How is that like me?

She giggles, and the sound makes my spirit ache with the sweet pleasure of it. “Okay, so you’re nothing like a chicken. It’s just a human saying.” She pulls her fishing rod back and gently eases her line into the water, a bright red and white ball hanging off the line. She sits on the end of the dock and lets her legs dangle over the side, then glances at me. “Want me to cast your line for you?”

I can do it, I grumble. I do my best to mimic her movements, but my ball does not go more than an arm’s length in front of me in the water. I feel a flare of her amusement and it stifles my own annoyance at this task. As long as I can make her smile, I will endure it. I sit down next to her and pretend like my line is not directly at my feet.

Human sayings are strange, I tell her to distract her thoughts. Like when you said you were in my face and you were not…what was it?

She leans back, laughing uproariously. Her face is an expression of pure joy. “Atángana? You caught that?”

Of course I did. I am in your thoughts. What does it mean when you say you are in my face?

“It’s kind of like…stoosh.” She lifts one hand and pushes it toward my face, close to my nose but not quite. “You know…just, stoosh. Atángana.”

I still do not understand.

She thinks for a moment, frowning. “Kind of like…‘I showed you.’”

Showed me what?

Laughter bubbles from her again. “It’s just bragging, all right? It’s me being a braggy jerk.” She grins over at me, all smiles and amusement.

I am filled with joy at her happiness and yearning at the same time. My Emma. I never knew someone who could make me smile so much. Who could make my heart burn with even more fire than I thought possible. Who could make my spirit feel light even when I have lost my wings and have been trapped in two-legged form for what feels like an eternity.

Her gaze goes back to her line and she points at her red and white ball. “When the bobber goes under, that means you’ve got a bite. You jerk on the line to make sure the hook catches in the fish’s mouth, and then you reel it in.”

So we are torturing another creature.

“He can’t feel anything.” Her thoughts are curious and a little worried, though. She wonders if they can feel something, and her soft heart aches a little.

You should let me change to battle-form, I tell her. It is much easier to catch meat that way.

She arches an eyebrow at me. “Nice try. You know the drill. Not until your stitches come out.”

I grunt acknowledgment, but I am not pleased. It is something we have argued over for the past week. I want to ignore the pain and let my wounds take care of themselves. I can protect her more when I am in battle-form. I can hunt for us. I can travel farther, longer.

She feels it would be wiser to let my back heal. She wants me to stay in my two-legged form and do small things around the apartment, such as lie on my back and nap all day long.

I am not fond of these plans. I have told her so many times and she has ignored my wishes. There is no point in arguing, however, because my Emma is as stubborn as she is independent. 

It is quite infuriating at times. 

I glance over at her, touching my mind to her own. It is something I do often, and I am unable to help myself. It is not only because I enjoy her thoughts, but because touching her mind reassures me that she is, in fact, real. That she is mine. That she is not a dream conjured out of the madness.

“You should let me bandage your back,” she tells me, glancing over at my shoulder. “Make sure everything stays covered and clean.”

My back is fine. Drakoni heal fast. Unlike humans. I send her a sour thought and a mental image of her bruises, which are just now fading to an ugly yellowish-purple.

She rolls her eyes at me, smiling. “You’re not going to be saying that when I have to pick splinters out of your ass later. Seriously, you should think about pants. I bet we could find some.” 

Splinters? In my ass? Why?

“Because this dock is old and you’re sitting on it naked?” Her expression turns delicate as she looks over at my body. For all that she has been nursing me back to strength, my Emma is still shy about my body. She avoids touching me if she can help it, and she looks at my face more than anything. She distinctly avoids looking at my cock, as if gazing at it will make it harden and make me want to mate.

She is not entirely wrong in that matter.

My strength has come back slowly over the last several days, and as it has, it has become very clear to me that Emma still does not know what to make of our mating. She has not indicated that she wishes to mate again, even though she was the one that first climbed atop me. Nor has she tried to sleep next to me again. That is all right; I find her and climb into her nest every night, because I am determined. Most vexing of all, though, she insists I wear the coverings she calls “clothing” and drapes them all over her body.

I do not see the point in hiding things, especially when it is hot. I run one claw lightly over her forehead, catching a few beads of sweat. You would be much cooler if you took your coverings off.

“But I’m not going to,” she tells me, and then concentrates on her fishing pole as if it has suddenly moved.

I am fascinated by the shy thoughts I am getting from her. We have been mated for days and days now, and still she acts as if I have not buried my face between her thighs? Truly? I decide to push the matter further. Do you wish for me to cover my form because you find it unappealing? I am different from you, it is true. Even in two-legged form, I carry spikes on my forearms and my head. Perhaps she finds these unpleasant to look at.

“What? Don’t be silly.” But now she stares pointedly at her fishing rod.

Then do you think I would find your body strange? Or unpleasant to look upon?

“Of course not.” Her thoughts drift back to the night that she mated me.

I am encouraged. I have been careful not to push Emma too hard. I want her to stay with me because she wants to, not because she feels she has to. I want her to realize that she wishes to be my mate, after all. I know this will take time. It was easier when I slept all day to regain my strength, though. Now that I am recovering, it makes it more difficult not to pull her against me and bury my face against her neck, breathing in her delicious scent.

If she gave me the word, I would push her down on this crumbling dock, splinters and all, and lick her cunt until she screams with joy.

“You’re bobbing,” she murmurs.

I glance down at my cock. It has hardened at my thoughts, true, but it is not “bobbing.”

“Um, your fishing pole.” Her thoughts are choked by a mixture of laughter and embarrassment both as she points at the water.

Ah. I realize she is right and the strange rod is jerking in my hands. I think for a moment and then decide to see what my mate will do. Show me how?

“Sure.” She is all purpose as she leans over me, her hands moving next to mine. “Give it a tug, and then you slowly reel in, like this.” 

I pay no attention to what she is doing. I am more interested in the scent of her hair and her skin as she leans over me, the way her elbow grazes my thigh, the feel of her fingers brushing against mine. If this is what fishing entails, I do not mind it at all.

“Are you even looking?” she asks, amused.

My attention is all yours, I tell her, and I mean it.

EMMA

That night, we have several small perch roasting atop the coals of our tiny fire. It smells delicious as it cooks, and I season it with some spices I found in the apartment next door. Zohr doesn’t seem all that interested in dinner, and he gazes out the window instead, staring hard at the clear orange skies as the sun goes down.

I feel a twinge of unhappy guilt at the sight. “Dragons?” I ask, just in case.

No. Just many thoughts. He glances over at me. Do not worry. They do not make me sad.

“How can I not worry? I know you feel stuck,” I tell him, frustrated. He’s recovered quickly, but I know he wants to shift forms. More than that, I worry about how bad his wings will be. I feel responsible no matter what happens. “It’s my job to take care of you,” I tell him, and give dinner another sprinkle of pepper.

I am not your responsibility, he tells me, and his thoughts are edged with impatience. I am your mate. We are partners.

And now it’s my turn to go silent, because I’m not sure what to say to that. I don’t know how to be partners. With Jack, it was never truly a partnership. He was the mentor, and I was the student. Then he got too sick, and I was his caretaker until the end. I don’t know how to work alongside someone. I sure don’t know how to depend on someone. 

And I’m pretty sure I’m shitty at trusting, too.

I glance over as Zohr scratches at one shoulder, trying to reach his stitches. I know they itch. He’s told me that over the last few days, and the wounds have all closed and scabbed over cleanly. I wonder about his delicate wings, tucked away against his shoulder blades, and if they healed well. I wonder if it wouldn’t be smarter to take the stitches out where I can see them and let him heal naturally at this point. I took out my own stitches two days ago, and Zohr’s look cleaner than mine did.

Is it possible I’m stalling because I’m scared of him in his dragon form? That the reason I keep insisting he stay in human form with me is because that’s easier for me? I can’t lie to myself—him in dragon form scared the shit out of me. He lost his mind all too quickly, and I couldn’t get him to talk to me. What happens if his wings are destroyed and it makes him go over the edge again? How do I bring him back?

That’s not the only problem. There’s also the question of…intimacy.

I don’t know how to be a mate. Or a girlfriend. Or anything like that. You would think it would be something that would come naturally, but every time Zohr gives me a heated look, I freeze up. It doesn’t matter that we’ve had sex twice. It doesn’t matter that he’s in my brain. Every time I get a hint that he is turned on or is watching me a little closer than normal, I freak out. I don’t know how to handle it. How do I react? Do I flirt? Ignore it? Encourage him? How?

I usually end up going for “ignore” and then mentally berate myself afterward. Truth is, I’m not good at sexy. I have zero knowledge on flirting. We haven’t even kissed and…I think I would really like to. I feel like we’re going about our weird-ass relationship all wrong. I flung myself atop him, had really quick sex to get the job done, and then we’ve been slowly working our way backward from that. Heck, at some point we’ll get to the point where we can have a nice kissing session and not have it lead anywhere. 

Maybe.

Why is it that I can be decisive about everything else in my life, but the moment he gives me a heavy-lidded look, I get all giggly and nervous and run away?

He must be pretty disappointed with a mate like me.

I turn the fish on the spit and then glance over at him to see if he’s paying attention and picking up my thoughts, but he continues to stretch and scratch at his shoulder, his claws dancing ever closer to the tight stitches. Good, he’s not aware of my thoughts. 

Truth is, I’m a little troubled. I’m attracted to him, but I’m worried about his dragon side. I’m also worried I’m not good at being girly anymore. I’m more combat boots than heels now, thanks to necessity. Even if the world changed back tomorrow, I don’t know that I could. I’ll probably always be that girl with a bit of dirt under her nails, who baits her own hooks, skins her dinner before she eats it, and prefers an empty room to one full of people.

And now…I have a companion. From the sounds of things, Zohr thinks this thing between us is permanent. I didn’t think beyond rescuing him, and now I’m stuck trying to figure out how to navigate our strange relationship. He was all over me when he was sick and burning with fever, but now that he’s “better,” he’s ignored me. It’s confusing.

Zohr jerks to his feet, startling me. For a moment, I think he’s going to come over and tell me he’s heard my thoughts, but he moves past me and my small grill to lean out the window, sniffing the air.

“What is it?” I ask, worried.

I hear something. He lifts his head, smelling the air again. But I am not sure what—

I grab my water and pour it over the coals of my small fire, sending smoke pouring into the air. I cover it with a blanket to quickly muffle the smoke and smother anything that remains. Dinner is destroyed, but if someone’s coming, the last thing we need is to be discovered. I grab my knife and move to his side at the window. “What do you hear?”

He frowns, then shakes his head. 

I hear it a moment later, though. A low purr in the distance. It’s the sound of a muffler.

Motorcycles. I can guess who they belong to. I shut the window quickly, glance around our little hidey-hole to make sure nothing is lit up or can be seen from outside. We’re good. I hunch down next to the window. Zohr hunches down next to me, one big clawed hand moving possessively onto my shoulder.

We stay down, he tells me. They come closer.

I nod. He doesn’t need to tell me twice, because I can hear the leisurely purr of the motorcycles growing louder and louder. I grip my knife, tense. I’m waiting to hear the motorcycles get even closer and then stop. I’m waiting to hear the slap of boots against pavement, so I can determine how best to fight them.

You will not fight them. I am here. Zohr’s thoughts are fierce.

You are not transforming, I tell him. Absolutely not. 

He growls low in his throat, and I automatically put my hand over his mouth, silencing him.

He goes still. His thoughts fluctuate, change. They turn…aroused. 

It…it’s strange. I feel a weird flutter in my belly, and I keep telling myself I should pull my hand away. That he’s an adult and he doesn’t need me covering his mouth like a child. But his skin is so very warm under mine, and I’m fascinated at how he feels. His gaze meets mine and I can see his eyes are completely and utterly golden, shining brightly.

My pulse flutters again and I feel that weird sensation of pleasure deep between my thighs, at a spot that’s only started to hollowly ache since I had sex and now I know what I’m missing. I let my fingers slide down his mouth, noticing for the first time that it’s surprisingly full and firm. I’ve always just pictured him as golden skin and fangs, but he’s got a mouth that’s so perfect he’d put all human men to shame. And that jaw…sigh. He glances down at my fingers and I notice for the first time just how long and thick his golden lashes are.

I also notice how callused and scarred my hand is, and how jagged and short my fingernails are. Ugh.

I pull away from him.

He immediately catches my hand and pulls my fingers back to his mouth, putting them against his lips once more. Vaguely, I hear the motorcycles purr away and know that they’re not coming any closer. We could move apart from each other any time now.

Except, I don’t know that I want to.

I do not want you to, either, Zohr tells me, his eyes intense. What is wrong with touching?

Nothing. I just…

You are afraid of me. I realize this. His hand caresses my fingers, still placed over his mouth. You think I am not aware? I can smell your fear when I mention changing forms. But know this, my Emma—I would never harm you. Even when I was wild with pain, did I hurt you?

I shake my head.

I did not. I could not. You are my mate. My existence. My reason to continue on in this strange, terrible world. I could never hurt you. But my battle-form is part of who I am. I cannot remain as you see me right now forever and be happy. I must change, and I do not want you to be scared of me.

I know. It’s just… I swallow hard, thinking of that night of terror, of being clutched in his claws, blood everywhere, and unable to talk to him at all. You weren’t you. You were somewhere else, and I just worry it’ll happen again when you transform once more.

You mean when I change to battle-form and see how badly my wings have fared? There is light humor in his tone. I have no hopes that they are salvageable, my mate. I accept that they are gone. I gave them up for you.

I pull my hand away, stung. “But I didn’t ask you to.” God, now that sounds petty and resentful. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, burying my face in my hands. I feel awful. He’s given up so much and I’m still…

You are still afraid, he agrees. I can sense this. You are afraid of what I am, and you are afraid you will lose me. You are afraid you will want me to leave you and I will not, and you are afraid of what will happen when that day comes.

Maybe he’s been listening in on my thoughts, after all.

It is difficult not to, though I try to tune it out. I know you do not care for it, but it is like asking a thirsty male to only take one sip when he would drink a river. I want more than just a sip of you.

And what if all I’ve got are sips? 

Then I will take what you can offer and learn to be patient. I feel a hand touch mine. His claws brush against my skin—again, sharp, but so careful not to cut me—and then he takes my hand in his. You are everything I want, my Emma. I would do nothing that would upset you.

I look up and meet his eyes again. “I just…I worry that we moved too fast. That girl who took her pants off and got on top of you? I worry that you think that is who I am.”

That is who you are. A protest forms in my mouth, but he stops me again with a firm thought. You are brave and caring. You are unafraid to help another, even if it means risking yourself. That is who you are, Emma. If you mean that you are not experienced in mating and not comfortable with approaching me, then we will wait. Or you can use me until you get comfortable.

Use you? I can feel my eyes widening.

A surge of amusement rushes through his thoughts. Of course. I am yours for the taking.

I can’t help but be filled with a bit of wistful longing at that. How many times when I was a girl did I hope that Jack and I would run into cute boys? I was desperate for someone to talk to, to hold hands with. Someone to kiss.

I will kiss you.

I know. I bite my lip and consider him, then shake my head. Not tonight. I’m still…rattled.

Because of Azar’s men? I cannot smell them on the wind any longer. Nor do I hear their metal dragons.

I had hoped he’d given up on us, I admit.

He is Salorian. He will never give up.

That’s depressing.

Think about kisses instead of Azar. I know I will. The look he gives me is downright roguish.

I’m tempted to give in, but I hesitate. I’m cautious by nature, and I’m most comfortable when I can think things through. Tomorrow?

Tomorrow, he agrees. After you take out my stitches.

I’m not sure…I begin, and then stop.

He gives me a knowing look. Do you want to leave them in because you truly think my injuries need them? Or because you are afraid of how I will transform when they are gone?

Sometimes it sucks sharing a mind with someone that can hear all your thoughts. Fine. Stitches come out tomorrow.

And then you will see all of me once more and see that there is nothing to worry about. His eyes gleam with triumph. And then we will kiss.

Such confidence.