LIAM

We move through the sick in the room. Gabe warns me to let him know if I feel lightheaded because then we need to stop.

"Can't have you dying on us, too," he says with a faint smile.

Ten minutes later, he topples over.

I recognize the flush and shivers that rack his frame, and help him over to a bed that was recently vacated. The room is quiet, the only sounds those of Andrea's teeth clacking together as she trembles with a cold that no amount of blankets seem to fix.

I make Gabe comfortable, thankful for the male's idea to help Andrea and the others. In a short period of time, I've gone from hating the man to having respect for him, and I'm sad to see him flattened by the same sickness that's taken everyone else. Maybe I can keep going without him.

The next person I move to is dead, though, and I pull the blankets over the man's face and then carry his body out of the sick room. There are more dead than alive, now, and no one has recovered. My heart feels hollow and I hate this. I hate all of it. I want to grab Andrea and Benny in my arms and take to the skies and never look back…but that's not what she wants.

And it's too late, anyhow.

I move back to Andrea's bed, where she rests next to her brother. Benny's been sleeping for most of the day, and I worry for a moment that he's dead. I touch his brow and he doesn't stir, his forehead hotter than any human's should be. His arm is blistered and raw, the redness spreading from under the bandaged spot where he got the blood. Still…he's not dead. At this point, I'm taking that as a good sign.

I sit next to Andrea and take her hand in mine. It's limp, her fingers sweaty. I try to think of more ideas, of ways to fix this, of more things I can do. She needs to eat. Good, fresh meat, I think. These people have nothing but stale, sugary things or canned food that lost its flavor and nourishing vitality years ago. She needs real food. Fresh water.

Maybe even more blood. I hold her hand in mine, tracing the bluish veins under her pale skin. Does my blood mingle with hers or is it killing her, burning her from within? Is that why she's so quiet?

I look over at Benny again, but he sleeps. It's impossible to tell if he's healing, or if any of them are.

I'm the last one left.

The woman who greeted us moans and tosses in her bed. Even though I care nothing for the other humans, I can't let her suffer. She's one of the humans that tried to warn us, after all, and she took care of the others for as long as she could. She needs my blood, too. Reluctantly, I move away from my sleeping Andrea to the woman, but I can't get the needle into her arm like Gabe did. She thrashes too much and won't hold still.

This is a two-person job.

Frustrated, I move back to Andrea's side and touch her cheek. To my surprise, her eyes flutter open and she looks at me. "Liam," she whispers. "Benny?"

"Sleeping," I murmur, aching to hold her tight, to kiss her, to taste her. "How's your arm?"

"The burning's gone down, but it still feels hot. Feels hot all over." She licks her lips. "Water?"

I get her some and then carefully bring a cup to her lips. More of it dribbles down her chin than into her mouth. She takes a few sips and then rests again, her eyes closing. For a moment, I think she's asleep, but then she opens them again and looks at me. "Gabe?"

"He's sick."

"Benny?"

My heart sinks. She doesn't remember asking about him just a moment ago? But her eyes are fever-bright. "Sleeping next to you."

"Is he better?"

"No worse," I say gently.

"But not better." She shakes her head slowly. "Maybe we need more blood." She reaches out, twines her fingers with mine and then pulls my hand to her mouth, kissing my fingers. "Give him another round in the morning, maybe. Maybe it needs more than one time."

"I'll do what I can," I promise her, but her eyes are already closed and her grip slack in mine. A moment later, she coughs, then begins to vomit. I roll her onto her side, hating that it exposes the enormous black lump on her neck. It's a reminder that she's still sick. They're all still sick and I'm the only one left.

I tend to Andrea, wiping her face when she's done and giving her more water. She passes out after drinking a little, and I hold her hand, waiting for a sign that she's getting better. Some sort of hint that we've done the right thing.

But she only shivers and quakes, lost in the sickness. At her side, Benny is so very still. I look over at Gabe, a few beds away, and he thrashes wildly under his blankets.

If they all need more blood…I can't do it alone. I don’t know how. If I could, I would give my blood to Andrea until I have no more left. She can have every last drop. I pull her hand to my lips and brush my mouth over her knuckles.

But I can't do this by myself.

We need to give them more blood, and I need help. I need to get back to Fort Shreveport, to Amy and Rast.

With one last kiss to my Andrea's soft hand, I tuck her hand against her chest and make sure her blankets are tight around her. I smooth the sweaty hair from her brow and drink in the sight of her.

"I love you," I murmur, using the human words. The drakoni have no need for such sayings, because such things are felt in the mental connection. But Andrea's mind is closed to me—just like all minds are closed to me—and so I must use the human sayings. "I hate everything in this world but you," I tell her. "You make everything good, and when I'm with you, I'm not sad or alone. I love you, and I hope you know that. Never forget it."

Her lips part in a little sigh, and I hope she hears it.

I force myself to get to my feet, and I move to the table of supplies, digging through things until I find one of the sticks that they call a “pen” and a book. I rip a blank page out of the front and take the pen and the page over to Gabe's bed and sit down next to him.

I shake his shoulder. "Gabe. Wake. I need your help." He's the least sick of all of them, and I hope he has the strength to help me.

The man jerks awake, his eyes fever-bright. "Water," he rasps.

"I will give you water, but you must make human words on paper for me," I say, handing him the page I ripped out. "I must go to Fort Shreveport for help, and I need you to write the human words on here to tell them what is wrong."

He gazes up at me, his eyes red and sunken. "Too far to walk," he murmurs. "We'll be dead by the time you get back."

"I'm not going to walk it. I'm going to fly." I don't know how that's going to work, but I have to try. "That's why I need the note. If my mind goes…the note will get there." Hopefully. Even if I can't keep my mind intact, I'm hoping that the urgent need to get help from Fort Shreveport, which I feel in every fiber of my being, will remain and arrow me toward them.

Or my mind will stay as it is and all of this worry will be for nothing. But…just in case.

"I thought you would die if you tried that—"

"I have to try." I look over at Andrea, where she's sleeping. She's listless, her shivering given way to a deep sleep that frightens me almost as much. "Better to be mindless than to watch her die when I could have saved her."

Gabe grunts, then takes the pen in shaking hands. Even that small gesture seems like a huge effort for him, the sickness sapping his strength. "What do you want me to write?"

A short time later, I have the note encased in a small, fireproof metal container and I hold it in my grip. I sit by Andrea's side for a bit longer, drinking in the sight of her as she lies unconscious.

For seven long years, I've risked nothing. I've hidden from my own people, desperate to save my own skin.

But for Andrea? I'm going to risk everything.

There's a slim chance this will work. Maybe my grip on my mind is strong enough —like Rast—that I'll keep a large chunk of my sanity. I'm hoping it's enough to drag me back toward Fort Shreveport and within range of the others so I can pass on the news of the sickness and get help for Andrea and the others. If there's a chance that more drakoni blood can help them, then I have to try. I can't do it alone, and Gabe's fading fast. Just to be sure, I tried to donate my blood to Andrea again, but I only managed to stab her arm a few times and cause her pain. I need someone that knows how human bodies work, so they can put my blood in her.

"If this works," I whisper, holding her hand to my lips, "Nothing's going to keep us apart. If I can become drakoni safely, I'm going to claim you as my mate. You just have to live for me, Andrea. Please. Live."

I stare at her, her hand at my mouth, silently willing for her to open her eyes. To smile at me. To give me one of those clever smiles.

But she sleeps, her breathing shallow, and I cannot wait any longer.

Dread churns in my gut, and I force myself to focus on the task at hand. Fort Shreveport, I remind myself. Think of nothing but Fort Shreveport. I repeat the words silently as I walk out of the sickness-infested building and into the open air. I shed my human clothing and stand out in the open, ready to take battle form for the first time in seven years.

Please work.

Andrea needs me.

Andrea. Fort Shreveport. I clutch the metal container tight in my hand. Remember who you do this for.

And with that…I let the mental blocks I've kept so carefully for so long…go. I stretch out with my mind, seeking the parts of it I've held at bay for so long.

My body shifts. Scales cover long limbs and my wings form. I feel hot, surging joy as I shift into my strong, fierce battle form. This is who I am. This is who I am meant to be, who I have been fighting to be for so long.

For a moment, there is nothing but pure joy.

And then…violence.

Anger. Fury. It soars through me, flooding my senses. The need to kill, to harm, rushes through my mind. The stink here is foreign, full of humans. The need to get away is instinctual and pours through me. With a roar, I push off with my strong hind legs and fling myself into the skies, my throat erupting with fire.

I'm free.

Free to destroy and take my fury out on this terrible, stinking world.

Something works at the back of my mind. Something small, a reminder of some kind. Golden hair. A scent. I clutch a metal thing, impossibly small, in my blunted claws. But then the rage takes over and it all washes from my mind. With a fierce growl, I cast the useless thing down to the ground and fly higher, seeking the clouds.

Time to hunt. To destroy.