EMMA

With Zohr able to travel—on foot if not by wing—there’s really no reason to stay at the apartments any longer. They’ve served their purpose, but now that I’ve scrounged most of the useful stuff, it’s time to find far more useful—and safer—locations. I prefer to keep moving anyhow. I don’t like that Azar’s men drifted close to our hiding spot. We haven’t seen them again, but it doesn’t mean that they won’t be back.

Since I have a game plan to tackle Zohr’s wings, we decide we’ll head off in search of two things—a pharmacy and a bookstore (or alternately a library). I want lotion for his wings, and a book that will hopefully walk me through how to stretch him out. Zohr’s happy with whatever—he just wants to remain in dragon form.

Which means one of us is going to be walking a lot faster than the other. Which means one of us is going to have to compromise on travel, and I know it won’t be him.

Hell.

I’m still getting used to the fact that he’s a big, toothy, hungry dragon the size of a bus. I still don’t think of him as Zohr-the-dragon-who-turns-human but as Zohr-the-human-with-golden-skin-and-wicked-claws. In his dragon form—his battle-form as he calls it—I can’t get past that hellish night when he lost his mind and dragged me through the city. In my head, when he’s in this form, he’s that slightly insane beast, and I worry it won’t take much for him to turn again.

I should trust him more, but trust is one of those things I’m admittedly not great at.

It’s clear he loves being back in this form, though. He hasn’t switched back even as I puttered around the apartment, stuffing my pack full of things we might need and readying to leave. Instead, he parked himself in front of the place and sunbathed. Well, he probably was guarding, too, but he looked damn happy to be basking in the heat and in his scales. I can’t even be mad. He’s been in human form for so long in the last few days that I’m sure he’s going to have some dragon-form “catching up” to do.

I do, he agrees, butting into my thoughts mildly. We stay in battle-form more than two-legged form. It is safer to protect one’s mate or one’s young. Also, we are far less vulnerable. He gives a jaw-cracking yawn that I can’t quite hear, but I certainly feel through his thoughts. But then again, most drakoni do not have human mates, so I suppose I must get used to two legs.

This just confirms my suspicions that Zohr is more dragon than man. “Do you…you know…in dragon-form?” I’ve gotten into the habit of speaking aloud even when Zohr’s not in the room with me, because he can hear me regardless. It helps me think that at least some of my thoughts are private. This particular thought? I can’t even bring myself to say it aloud. “With a female?”

I can feel the amusement in his thoughts. Mate in battle-form? No. I am sure there are some that have, but the scales prevent you from feeling your partner underneath you. I would rather feel your soft skin under mine, my Emma.

I don’t know why, but that makes me feel a little better somehow. Like he’s more human because he hasn’t done the dirty, dragon-style.

I remember no one before you, Zohr tells me. 

I’m flattered again, and then I remember the female that flashed through his fever-dreams. “Even her?”

I do not remember her.

Interesting. I zip my bag and hitch it over my shoulder, then give the apartment one last scan to make sure I didn’t forget anything. I slide my knife into my belt and head out to the street, where Zohr is waiting. 

He opens one eye as I approach and his tail flicks idly against the concrete, reminding me of a cat. A really, really big cat. Ready to go?

“Let’s do this,” I agree. 

Zohr gets to his feet, stretches by placing his forelegs forward and then his hindquarters into the air. His wings half flutter, and they look a little crumpled, which makes me feel guilty. Not for long, I vow. I’m going to help him fix them. I refuse to accept any other outcome. 

The dragon moves a step toward me and then extends one clawed foreleg in my direction. Come. I will carry you.

I shudder. “Can we not? I hate having my feet dangle.” That and I don’t like being caged in by claws when I don’t know how his mood’s going to turn at any moment.

You do not trust me? He lowers his head, and I see a hint of black whirling in his eyes.

“Just humor me. You know I like control.”

Very well. I will let you choose how you wish to ride…if you do something for me.

“What’s that?”

I wish to kiss.

I blink. “Like…right now?”

He rumbles, and I can feel his amusement. No, right now we will travel. Later, when I return to my two-legged form. You wanted kisses. I wish to give them.

I can feel myself blushing. “Oh. Of course. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Though now I’m visualizing trying to kiss that honking big dragon head. It’d be like smooching the front of an airplane.

Zohr lowers his big head to me, all golden scales and spikes. One plate-sized eye sizes me up. You wish to try?

“Nope! I’m good. I’ll wait for later,” I babble quickly. I bound forward, moving to his side, and put my hand on his scales. “So show me where I need to mount.” Oh lordy. Just saying the word “mount” makes me think of that first night when I slung my leg over him and “claimed” him.

He noses me, and I feel his hot breath whuff against my hair. Now I am thinking of such things, as well. Perhaps we should delay traveling…

“Nope,” I say quickly.

Shame. You smell good. He noses me again and then slides one foreleg forward along the concrete until his shoulder is lowered to a reasonable height. You can try riding on my back, but I cannot guarantee it will be comfortable. We have no saddle.

“Do you normally use a saddle?” I look at him in surprise.

When I must carry someone, yes. His thoughts are full of distaste.

“Who do you carry?” 

He pauses, and his thoughts go distant. I…am not entirely sure.

“Salorians?”

Perhaps. His eyes go dark and his thoughts seem to take an unhappy turn. The memories I do have are not so good.

I pat his shoulder. “Just focus on me then.”

You are my favorite thing. I do so with pleasure.

I eye his shoulder, still too tall for me to easily climb, and sigh to myself. “Just don’t laugh at me, because I’m sure not gonna be graceful.”

* * *

I manage to make it onto his back and stay seated on his bony shoulders for most of the day. I tell myself it’s like riding an uncomfortable bicycle, because who hasn’t done that? There’s not much to hold on to, but Zohr realizes this and chooses his steps carefully, his movements more rolling and less jarring as the day goes on. We prowl through the streets of Old Dallas’s suburbs, looking for shopping areas. I find an old post office and dig through some of the packages. All the return addresses are a place called “The Colony,” so that must be where we’re at. We have a string of bad luck, shopping-wise, though. There’s not a lot that hasn’t been super picked through, which tells me that we’re going to need to head in another direction. I decide that we should head along the highway, following it. Stuff might be even more picked through the farther into the city we go, but there will also be more places to choose from. 

We plod along on the highway, taking breaks every now and then. The sun’s ridiculously hot and so we pause for water at a few gas stations. As the afternoon wears on, we run out of gas stations, too, and so I have to resort to drinking some questionable water that Zohr thoughtfully boils for me. It’s not exactly tasty, but I know it’s way worse to get dehydrated, so I drink it anyhow.

I’m starting to despair that we’re never going to find anything useful when we head down one car-covered exit ramp and find not only a nearby corner store, but we find a bookstore complete with dine-in cafe.

“Jackpot,” I murmur to myself, and reach out to pet Zohr’s scales. Then I feel weird, because why am I petting him? He’s not a dog. 

You touch me because you are happy. I can accept that. His thoughts are amused. Where first?

“Store, I think. We can spend the night in the bookstore cafe.” I glance up at the skies. It’s starting to get dark and my ass is sore from riding on his back all day long. I’m more than ready to stop, but safety is number one. “Smell anyone nearby?”

He raises his massive head, and I have to hold on to his neck so I don’t slide off his shoulders. I wait for his verdict, and I’m relieved when he tells me, No new scents. If humans have been through here, it has been many days.

“Awesome. We’re not staying that long.” 

I do smell these. He sends me a mental image—rats. Literally. Lots of them.

I wrinkle my nose. One of the apartments at our old building had rats, and that’s probably how he knew the scent. On one hand, it’s a good thing, I suppose. That means there are foodstuffs—or were—in the area. On the other hand…rats. Yick. “Gross but harmless,” I tell him. “We’ll still stay here tonight.” 

Very well. He lowers his shoulder, and I slide off, then stagger around, walking out the kinks in my muscles. I haven’t sat so long in ages, and my butt and thighs hurt. I feel stiff all over, but I have to admit we covered a lot of ground.

He nuzzles me. Be fast and we will go hunting. There are deer nearby.

Hunting? “With me on your back?” I get a mental image of me bouncing on his scales, bruising up my backside, only to fall off when he lunges. I pat the big nose that he shoves in my face, ignoring his hot breath. “How about you go hunting without me? If there are no humans around, I’ll be fine.”

His thoughts grow dark, possessive. I do not want us to separate. I must protect you.

“From what? Rats?” He pushes his nose against my hand—kind of funny and cute, given that I could lose my entire fist in one big nostril. But he’s rubbing up against me like my tiny hand is going to give him all the happiness he could ever want. It’s sweet. “I’m serious, Zohr. You can leave for a bit. If there’s no one in the area, I’ll be fine.” 

Truth be told, I could use a minute to breathe and gather my thoughts without him around. It’s not that I don’t want him here beside me, it’s that I’m not used to being constantly accompanied. I kind of want a moment alone to just…relax. To not feel like I have to focus on another person—or dragon—nearby. Being alone gives you a peaceful sort of quiet in your soul, and it’s been a while since I’ve had that quiet.

Zohr lifts his nose and nuzzles my hair. I understand. I will go, but only for a short time, and only to feed. I will be back promptly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him. “And I have weapons. I swear I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

His thoughts don’t seem entirely pleased, but he nudges me one last time and then heads off. I can tell from his thinking that he’s switching to a hunting mentality, sinking into a gray area of instinct. Here, he’s ruled by the breeze and the scents it carries. Deer are nearby, and he locks on to that, his perception narrowing. He lumbers off, his tail swishing as if he’s a cat in search of a mouse. I watch him go, waiting in the streets as his enormous golden form disappears between buildings and all that I have of Zohr is his thoughts drifting through mine.

His focus is not entirely off of me, of course. Just like I get a faint thread of his hunting thoughts, I also get the occasional flick of his mind as he reaches out to me, as if he needs to reassure himself that I’m here and I’m fine. I send a comforting mental nudge back just to reassure him.

Then I’m alone. Truly, truly alone for the first time in weeks.

It’s weird.

It’s really quiet, oddly enough. I can hear birds chirping in the distance, and the air around me seems more still than ever. It’s like when Zohr left, he sucked all of the air out of the room, too. It’s doubly ironic because I’m not in a room. I’m outside in the fresh air and sunshine…and yet, it feels like there’s a huge piece missing.

Strange. I have to admit I didn’t feel like this when Jack died. By the time he reached the end, it was a relief that he’d gone. I loved him, but he was in such pain and it was so time-consuming to take care of him that all I’d felt was a sense of guilty freedom after I’d buried him. I expected a bit of that today. 

Hasn’t kicked in yet. Huh.

I can come back…

Nope, I send to him. You eat up. I’m fine. It’s just an adjustment. I put my hand on the knife at my belt and focus on what we came here to do—shopping.

The sliding pharmacy doors are cracked open and stuck, always a bad sign. I manage to unjam the tracks of the debris and shove the door back a foot or so, just enough to wedge my way through. It’s dark inside, so I pause to dig my flashlight out and then get to hunting. It’s a disappointing mess inside, though it’s not surprising. In the After, if you find medicine of any kind—even expired aspirin—it’s a godsend. The drug aisles are completely torn apart and emptied, with more boxes on the floor than on the shelves. I pick through them anyhow, because a good scavenger always hopes for a forgotten pill bottle somewhere in the back. When this turns up nothing, I head for the second most important section in any good store—snacks.

I’m ashamed to admit that I have a terrible sweet tooth and even years in the After haven’t cured me of it. I will tear up some expired-ass cookies. There are certain candies that stay decent despite years of expiration, like jelly beans, whereas chocolate is a mere dream of the past and usually melted into sludge and caked with a yucky, chalky white coating if it’s not. I’d still eat it, of course, but sometimes in my dreams, I find a perfect package of chocolate bars and get to eat them all by myself.

Unfortunately, it looks like the local rats had the same dream I did, because everything here is covered in cardboard shreds (a hallmark of rodent nests) and droppings. It’s not safe to eat any of this. I’m disappointed, but it happens. I dig through the cookie packages in vain, hoping for a plastic-wrapped sleeve of Oreos that’s escaped destruction, but no dice. Oh well. 

On to my real task—lotion.

Bath goods are one of the easier things to find in the After. Guess bathing’s not a high priority on the survival list, and when you have limited space, you don’t exactly carry a bunch of different bath products with you. There’s shampoo and conditioner everywhere, along with makeup. I grab a few packages of razor refills because the blades always come in handy, and then find the lotion. The bottles are intact, if dusty, and I pick one up that says “jojoba” because it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten what jojoba even smells like. When I open the bottle, though, I’m disappointed to see the contents are completely dried out inside. There’s nothing but a hard hunk of what used to be lotion, and opening a few other bottles proves the same. It’s been far too long and far too hot for the products to survive. 

I’m not about to give up, though. I grab my bottle, add a few sips of water from my canteen to it, and then re-cap it. I slosh the water around and shake it as I leave the store. I’ll make this work, even if I have to spend hours working a paste into Zohr’s wings.

Thinking about Zohr makes me pause as I go out on the street. His thoughts have been quiet and it’s been at least an hour since I started in the pharmacy. He immediately touches minds to me, and it feels oddly comforting to have that quick reassurance. His mind is full of deer and their delicious taste—he’s caught one, scarfed it down, and is hunting another.

Take your time, I tell him when his thoughts turn toward me. He sends a silent question, asking if he needs to come back and give up his second meal. There’s no hurry. Eat up because we’ve got another long day of travel tomorrow. I’ll be at the bookstore. I send him a visual as I approach it. Don’t worry about me.

The bookstore is less raided than the pharmacy. There’s no surprise there. Other than spilled coffee grounds and empty trays of long-gone pastries, the cafe’s not in bad shape. I spend a while opening containers and sniffing their contents, and eventually just pocket some tea and move into the book section. There’s a tipped shelf or two, but everything else seems to be in order, and it feels eerily quiet and forgotten…and lonely. 

I wish Zohr was here, which is strange given that I’m so dedicated to my independence. But it’d be nice for another person to see this with me, to understand what I’m feeling. To feel less alone, I guess. Like I’m not the only person left in the world.

I am here, Zohr sends, and then his thoughts—and everything else—are full of gushing blood and fresh meat.

I chuckle to myself. Is this the mental equivalent of talking with your mouth full?

Mm. Almost done here.

I’m in no hurry, I tell him. Just saying hello.

I like that you said it, he sends affectionately.

Me too. It feels good to know he’s there, and the feeling of isolation dissipates. 

I pick my way through the aisles of books. There’s so much dust, but even through that, I’m fascinated by the rows and rows of books in here. I’ve been in other bookstores in the After. Heck, even in the Before. My mom used to love getting new books, and she shared Sasha’s love of romances. I drift over to that section and pick up one “new release” with a tattooed biker on the front. Yuck. Not my thing. I put it back and grab a vampire one, thinking of Sasha. Maybe I’ll see her again. She’d love this, and the cover’s so pretty and perfect and unblemished that I can’t help but pocket it before I move on. 

I drift past the cookbooks, since they’re all but useless now unless they can tell me what to do with expired beans and moldy flour. Art books just make me sad. Ditto biographies and history books. They’re all part of a world that’s completely gone now, and they serve no purpose any longer. I skip past the rest of the fiction, heading for gardening. There are a few books on homesteading and I pocket one that might have some useful information. I can’t take too much with me. My bag is already bulging and getting heavy and I’ll probably have to resort to tearing out any chapters that look interesting, which feels wrong to do inside the store. I’ll do it after we leave.

I move down the next aisle and pause, my eyes going wide at the cover there. It’s covered in a brown paper wrapper that hides the majority of the cover, but underneath, I can see the title. THE EVERYTHING SEX GUIDE. I pick up the book, feeling a bit like a giggly child, and gasp at the photos inside. There’s a picture of a middle-aged man with his mouth between a woman’s legs, and she has her eyes closed, her mouth open in ecstasy.

I’m fascinated, because now I know what that feels like. I can feel a tingle moving through my body in response.

Your thoughts are changing, Zohr sends, puzzled, then they turn sensual. Are you thinking of me?

I slam the book shut as if I’ve been caught in person. No! I’m not thinking of anything!

You are certain? 

Positive, I tell him and then try to shut our link off through sheer embarrassment. I can feel his amusement, and he mentally “distances” to give me space. Thank goodness. I start to put the book back on the shelf…and then pause. I pull the dustjacket off, revealing a plain cover, and add the book to my pile. Might be a few pages worth tearing out in this one, too.

Just in case.