GWEN

Some time later, I'm in my bed, my arms wrapped around my baby sister as she shudders and cries against my shoulder.

Daniela's back. But she's not whole.

I fight back my own tears as she drifts off to sleep. I stroke her hair and murmur soothing sounds that mean nothing at all, just so she hears my voice. Daniela's twenty and strong and opinionated. Bold. Vivacious. But that's the old Daniela. The one in my arms trembles and quakes with terror. The one in my arms has terrible scars on her once smooth, dark cheeks in the symbol of the Brothers of Ash—a curling flame. They’re raw and red and look as if they were made with a brand.

They stand out as a testament to what she's endured and won't speak of.

I've failed her.

Ever since the Rift, I've sworn to Daniela that I'd take care of her. That I'd protect her. The time she needed me the most? I let her be taken by awful people.

I don't know who I hate more right now, the Brothers of Ash or myself.

"She's home," Andrea whispers from across the room, safe in her bed. "That's all that matters, Gwen."

Maybe she's right. Maybe I've done the best I can. Daniela's alive. She told me she’s still a virgin, but that’s all she says. I know from experience that there’s a lot a guy can do to a girl without messing up her virginity, and my heart hurts. When I ask Dee, though, all she says is that they were holding her to sell her. It’s clear she’s traumatized, and she’s not the only one. I don't know that this ache in my heart is ever going to leave. This awful, awful, helpless feeling. And when she whimpers in her sleep and pulls away from me, I let her go.

I get out of bed and tuck the blankets tight around her. It's late, but I can't sleep anyhow. Daniela's back, but tomorrow, Amy and Rast will be leaving. Our protection from the dragon outside the gates of the fort? Gone.

And I've got to figure out what I'm going to do. It's clear I have to make a decision, and soon.

I put on my shoes and head toward the door. As I pass by Andrea's bed, she reaches out and grabs my hand. "I know what you're thinking," she whispers. "And it's not your fault."

Everyone keeps saying that like it matters. The problem is, I'm the one in charge. When something happens, it is my fault because I'm the one they look to. "I'm just going to go check on my birds for a bit," I tell her, forcing a smile to my face. Maybe petting a few feathered heads for a while will calm my nerves.

"They held a gun in your face when they took her," Andrea continues. "If you'd tried to stop them, you would have died. That doesn't mean you failed. It means you made a choice to fight another day, and now she's back." She gives my hand a supportive squeeze. "You need to stop beating yourself up. She's going to be fine."

I nod, squeeze her hand back, and slip out of the room.

Fort Shreveport in the middle of the night is eerily quiet. I pad through the halls filled with empty, gaping cubbies where the lockers used to be. All that metal has been welded over windows and affixed to the roof to protect us from dragonfire, and the holes it leaves behind aren't the prettiest. Then again, “pretty” isn't really much of a thing anymore. A tomato plant full of fruit is one of the most beautiful things I've seen in the After, because I know how many bellies it'll feed. A sunflower bent over with the weight of its seeds is gorgeous, because I know how many of my birds it'll feed. Walls can be ugly as long as they're secure.

I creep down the shadowed halls and head toward the old music room, where I can hear the soft cooing of my doves even in the hall. Once inside, I stare at the cage I've made for them. Is this some sort of sick metaphor for the fort, I wonder? That I'm just making cages for everyone and pretending like they're safe, when I'm really just giving them a slower death?

I hate how mopey I've become.

Frowning at myself, I move to the cage door and fling it open. "You're free," I whisper to my birds. If they fly out, I'll open every door in the fort until they can find the sky.

Instead, they just coo and stare at me, hopping from perch to perch, waiting for a handout.

I sigh. "So much for being dramatic." I lean in and pet the small heads, offering a handful of precious seeds before shutting the cage again and heading down the hall to the girls' locker room. One of the nice things about the fort being in a school is that the bathrooms still work. A shower's what I need. I go inside, snagging one of the worn white towels we keep at hand, and then strip my clothes off. I turn on one of the showerheads and move under the cold water. No heat, but after years of questionable running water and no air conditioning, I like the cold shower. I lather my body and wash my hair, lost in thought.

I should be thinking about Daniela. About what's going to happen now that the Brothers of Ash are on the run. How the fort's going to change under Amy's control. There's so much going on that it's hard to focus in on just one thing…maybe that's the reason why I keep thinking about the dragon waiting outside for me.

Waiting for a mate.

Amy pulled no punches with what she told me earlier. She was very clear about what the big dragon wants from me.

Vaan, I remind myself. Like it or not, he's a person under all those scales and teeth, and I've got to think of him like one. I think about what Vaan wants from me.

He wants a mate. He's going to try to “mate” me and claim me as his own. That means sex and biting, since Amy said that the way he establishes a mind-link is through sharing his “fires” with his mate. It sounds like a poisonous bite, which is a little terrifying in itself, but Amy wasn't horrified about it and I guess I shouldn't be either. After that, I'll belong to him.

Sex. God. I haven't had sex in a few years, not since we left Fort Tulsa. Even then, it wasn't great sex and so it was easy to go without unless I needed something. Here in Fort Shreveport…well, not a lot of guys to pick from because they're either like Benny—fourteen and a pain in the ass—or like Liam, aka weird. I've done quite well for myself with my hand and a bit of conditioner when the urge hit me.

I think for a moment and then grab the conditioner bottle. Maybe I need to mentally associate the dragon outside with sexy things. Reprogram myself to think sexy thoughts about dragons instead of being filled with complete and utter terror at the thought of one touching me. All right. Step one, I tell myself, and get a dollop of conditioner. I slide it over my mound and then lean against the tile wall as the water rains down on me. My fingers caress my slick folds and then I stroke my clit.

Dragon, I remind myself. Dragon, dragon, dragon.

It's not the most enticing thing to think about. In fact, all those teeth and fire are pretty much the opposite of alluring. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to picture a big golden man, instead. One with big arms and a wicked, playful smile, and I picture that smile going between my thighs. I've never had a man go down on me—lots of bad boyfriends in the past—but I like to imagine how it'll be. When my fingers skate over my clit, I try to picture a man's tongue instead. In my mind, he's fierce and wild, and he pins me down so I can't be in control. So I can't do anything but lie back and enjoy.

I'm shocked at the hot need that bolts through me at that thought, and I have to bite back a moan. I can feel my pussy flood with heat, and my touches take on urgency. I lightly stroke and circle, pushing myself toward a climax. In my mind's eye, I'm not in the shower. I'm underneath my man and he's taking, and taking, and taking…

I come with a low whimper and a rush of wetness between my thighs. Gasping, I lean back against the tile. I've never come so hard, and I don't know what that says about me or my situation. Don't psychoanalyze, Gwen, I chide myself. It's late. You're tired and stressing over nothing. Just go to bed and worry about the piles of shit in the morning. They'll still be there.

Mental Gwen is smart. I lift a hand to the spray—

A bone-jarring roar shakes the building.

I scream, collapsing in a huddle at the bottom of the shower stall, my eyes wide. Another roar sounds overhead, and I stare up at the ceiling, half expecting it to cave in, to see a giant clawed hand reaching through and snatching me away.

This…has to be coincidence.

There's no way he knew what I was doing…did he?

I remain frozen, waiting at the bottom of the shower. Lights flick on down the hall and I can hear people murmuring in fear. The dragon's woken up the entire settlement. I wait for another roar, but there's nothing. It's quiet.

It can't be because I touched myself, and yet somehow I still feel responsible. Amy said he picked up my scent in the streets outside the fort…it's entirely possible he smelled that, then. Somehow.

God. Even a good masturbation session isn't sacred anymore. I get to my feet, turn the water on full blast, and scrub my pussy with soap until everything stings. When I can't possibly be any cleaner, I get out of the shower, towel down quickly and dress, wrapping my wet hair.

One of the guards on duty—Cass—meets me in the hall. She flicks the lights off as I walk past. "Go back to sleep," she says softly. "False alarm."

I nod at her and head to my room. "Thanks. Sleep tight."

Back inside the room I share with Andrea and Daniela, it's quiet, the lights still out. My sister's huddled under my blankets and Andrea's lying on her side. I'm sure if I looked over at her, I'd see her watching me. I wonder if she's thinking the same thing that I am—that the dragon roar's my fault. I don't want to see the judgment on her face, so I ignore her and head straight for my bed, kicking my shoes back under the cot.

The moment I sink onto the side of the bed, Daniela reaches up for me. "Don't leave me, Gwen. Please. I'm scared when you're gone."

"I'm here, Dee," I tell her as I move next to her. I let her burrow against me again and she falls back asleep. There's no sleep for me, though.

I'm starting to think the only way I can save my sister—and the rest of the fort—is by leaving and taking that dragon with me.