EMMA

“Hold still,” a gruff voice tells me. “Yer squirming.”

“Sorry,” I say meekly, and cringe when Old Jerry pushes the needle through my scalp again. Glad I can’t see what he’s doing. I force myself to sit still in the chair, eyes squeezed shut as I try to ignore the fact that the pain’s getting worse as it gets “fixed.” “Fucking hurts, that’s all.”

“Next time, don’t get taken hostage,” Old Jerry tells me in a curt voice.

Har de har har.

He tugs on my head, and then I hear a snip. A moment later, a thick bandage is wrapped around my head. “There you go. Good as new.” He laughs at his own joke.

“Thanks, Jer.” I get to my feet, wincing. My head feels all tight from the stitches, and it throbs like the dickens. I guess I shouldn’t have told Sasha to hit me in the head quite so hard, but at least it’s believable. Tom was the one who found me on the roof, my head split open and bleeding. In a way, I guess it’s a good thing that Sasha nearly brained me within an inch of my life. No one’s questioned my loyalty, especially not since I’ve spent the entire night weeping over my injuries…and the loss of my douchebag brother.

I hated Boyd, but Boyd was safety, in a sense. He was family. He was the devil I knew, and while he was a piece of shit and a half, I could handle him. I knew what to expect when he was up to his tricks, and he’d keep me relatively safe as long as it suited his needs.

Now I’ve got no one. Nothing.

I don’t even have my friend Sasha. I had the chance to leave with her and the dragons and I stayed, even though I hate that I did.

It wasn’t a choice, though. Not really. Sometimes you have to do what you feel is right rather than what’s safest.

I can’t think about that right now, though. I can dwell on that stuff later. Time to pay up. I know how the wheels are greased in a nomad band, even with Boyd gone, so I pull a couple of old granola bars out of my bag and offer them to Old Jerry as payment for the stitches. His weathered face lights up, and he beams at me, his smile full of gaps. Jerry’s the nicest one in this gang of nomads. He’s still a bloodthirsty killer, but sometimes there’s a hint of a fatherly attitude with him. Sometimes.

He snatches up the bars and gestures at my head. “You tear those stitches open, you come see me again.”

“I will. For now, I guess I’d better get back to work, though.” I pat the bandages on my head, feeling a bit like Frankenstein. At least being gross will help me avoid unwanted attention. I sling my pack over my shoulder, then head back out the door of the little building Jerry’s set up as his infirmary.

The moment I step outside, a wave of smoke hits me in the face. I cough, but that sends a shockwave of pain through my aching head, so I wince and try to avoid breathing in the sooty air. Even though it’s been hours and hours since the dragons left our camp, the place is still in ruins. Everything’s chaos. Buildings are smoking, others nearby completely destroyed. When Dakh and his buddy came to rescue Sasha, they didn’t play around. This end of the old city is trashed. There’s ash on everything, and I see a dead body facedown nearby. Actually, there are dead people everywhere, and I heard from Old Jerry that Azar lost about half of his men in last night’s raid. That’s bad for me, because he’s going to be on a real rampage over the next while, and since I’m his personal chef, it’s not like I can hide.

But I’m glad Sasha and Dakh got away safe and sound.

I won’t think about Boyd or the fact that he’s dead. I’ll just start crying again and that piece of shit isn’t worth the tears. I don’t even miss him. Not really. I think I’m just…sad for the past. He was my last connection to it. Boyd was the only member of my family who survived the Rift. He was the only person from before things turned to shit.

Now I’m truly alone.

I can’t think about that, though. If I do, I’ll lose it, and an emotional Emma is a dead Emma.

Instead, I study the smoking surroundings. The old hotel is mostly intact, but one side of the building is charred. Several of the windows have broken and even more of them are covered in soot, but overall, it could be worse. A few other buildings are still on fire, and a few of the nomads rush around, trying to save what they can or moving their motorbikes out of the way of the flames. Azar stands near them, looking like a displeased ghost. I shudder at the sight of him and slink away to the hotel entrance.

Last thing I want is Azar’s attention right now. He’s sure to be in an ultra-pissy mood, and he scares me enough when he’s normal. I don’t want to think about him when he’s furious. I’ve never seen him raise a hand to anyone, but he scares the shit out of me just the same. There’s something downright unnatural about him, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

It’s his dragon side. And if he’s anything like Zohr, or Dakh, I don’t want to get on his bad side.

I push through the double doors of the hotel and instead of heading to the kitchens, I turn down a side hall, toward the area that was once an indoor pool. I think about dragons. And I think about Zohr. I think about how trapped we are. Sasha’s words of warning are ringing in my ears.

Emma, there’s only one way to make a dragon un-crazy. You know how.

Oh boy. I’m either the biggest idiot in the world or…well, no, just the biggest idiot. There’s no “or” out there. Of course I know how to make a dragon un-crazy. I’m not keen on the thought, but…

But I have to do what I feel is right, and none of this feels right.

Sasha hinted to me a while ago that she and Dakh didn’t have a real “bond” until she became his girlfriend. She hid the whole “mental” communication thing for as long as she could, because she wasn’t sure if she could trust me. And that mental bond, she let me know, only happened after they happened. I can put two and two together. Somehow, the dragon has to claim her sexually in order to link with her mind.

That’s how you make a dragon un-crazy.

Just thinking about it freaks me out, but I’m low on options.

I push my way into the indoor pool area. The room here is huge, and because air conditioning is a thing of the past, it’s also muggy as shit. The windows are filthy but mostly intact, and the room is wide open and spacious. The pool itself is empty, like a giant concrete bathtub. In the center of the pool, chained to the bottom, is a man.

Zohr.

Just looking at him, you know he’s definitely not human. His eyes are currently as black as night, and the bared teeth he’s flashing are sharp fangs. His entire hulking body is covered in the same scaly pattern that Dakh, Sasha’s dragon, has. His arms and legs are spread-eagled, held down by cuffs. He can barely move his body, and I know he has to be in agony. The bindings are designed so that he can’t change forms, of course. The moment he tries to change back, he’ll decapitate himself or shred his wings—or both. Azar’s taking no chances. The terrible-looking contraption around his head and neck looks excessively painful, and I don’t like to think about the spiky things pressing into his golden back. I doubt he can get comfortable, and it makes my heart ache.

I caused this.

He smelled me and came looking for me. It’s my fault he’s here. I’m responsible.

As if he can sense my thoughts, Zohr’s gaze locks on mine. I close my eyes when he begins to struggle against his bonds, because it makes me hurt.

One thing at a time.

Nearby, one of the nomads is sitting in a folding chair. He’s got his assault rifle cradled in his arms and gives me a weird look when I come in. Kurt’s guarding the dragon-man’s “prison.”

I enter the pool room and gesture behind me, as if this is no big deal. “Hey, Kurt. Azar needs more volunteers to put out a fire in one of the outbuildings. Told me to come in here and watch the dragon since I’m no good right now.” I gesture at my massive head bandages and grimace. Guess this knock on the head is a great cover story.

Kurt scratches his fat belly and groans like he’s in pain. “Fuck. Why do I gotta do all the manual labor?”

I manage a meek, “Sorry,” as he jumps to his feet, and take the gun he hands me. He cusses under his breath and storms out the door, jogging a little faster than I’ve ever seen his fat ass move. No one likes to keep Azar waiting. It’d kinda be funny if I weren’t so terrified at the moment.

I watch him until he’s gone and then shut the glass double doors to the pool area, locking them behind me. Each bolt slams home with a finality that makes my heart pound. If anyone finds me, I’m fucked. But I have to do this. I have to make this choice. That done, I set down the gun, rip the bandage off my head, and fluff my hair as best I can around the painful wound. I don’t want to look like an invalid, which is kind of silly, I guess.

I don’t think Zohr will care.

I grab the metal ladder that leads into the pool and climb down to the bottom. I’ve done this a few times before in the last few days to feed the dragon-man, since he’s chained so firmly that he can’t do more than move an inch or two. Of course, pouring a protein shake down his throat and what I’m about to do today are two very, very different matters. My footsteps are loud on the cracked plaster, and he turns to gaze at me, eyes flicking black and then to gold as I approach.

“Em-mah,” he grits out.

“Hi, Zohr,” I say softly. “I’m going to help you. Just…trust me, okay?” 

Emma, there’s only one way to make a dragon un-crazy. You know how.

Here goes nothing.

I begin to undress.