“OPEN THE GATE!” I yell.

Muscles ache, wings are screaming agony tearing through, and every breath hurts, but I don’t slow. Sarah hasn’t woken for hours. I’ve run through the previous night and all of this day. The suns are setting once more, but the wall is in sight and beyond it the caves of home. The gate has been finished since I left, and the wall is repaired and complete. Someone, I can’t make out who, looks over the wall then drops out of sight. As the gate swings open, I dig deep into the last bits of reserve I have left.

The fire in my core flickers, but my love of her is all the fuel I need. Pushing with everything I’ve got, I run faster. I bend my knees and leap, angling my wings to catch the wind despite the pain. It’s sharp, blinding, causing stars to dance across my vision. Close. Almost there. Push. Push. She’ll be okay. The healer will save her.

Sand explodes around me as I land, run three steps, then leap again, closing the distance to the gate. Shadowy figures emerge from the opening. I can’t make out who they are. Dim light, vision clouded by pain and exhaustion—it doesn’t matter. Get her to the caves, to the healer. It’s all that matters. They close around me, but I don’t slow for them. Arms reach, but I knock them aside as I run through the opening.

“ORMARR!” I bellow, the healer’s name tearing my dry throat. “ORMARR! HERE!”

Figures are all around, watching, coming towards me. I can’t see clearly. My eyes are dry, filled with sand, and pain blurs everything. Where is he?

Someone jumps in front of me, blocking my path. I dodge to the left and they move with me, so I go right, but they continue blocking.

“Out of my way before I destroy you!” I hiss.

“Drosdan, stop, Ormarr’s here,” Ragnar says. “Give her to us, let us help.”

“I’m here Drosdan, stop, let me see,” Ormarr says.

His scales are bright, brighter than any other Zmaj I know. His brightness makes him stand out in the blurry vision. Cold chills run across my scales and a shudder races down my spine. Sarah is lifted from my arms, and the emptiness forms its own ache, competing against the soreness. Dropping my arms to my sides and losing myself in the noise of others. Rapid fire talking but the words don’t make sense, they’re sounds that have no meaning. Someone grips my shoulders, and numb, I’m guided away. In a flash it hits me that I’m leaving her.

“She can’t be alone! I have to be with her!”

“Drosdan,” Ragnar says, and he’s holding on to me.

Ripping myself free of his grip, I spin as a fresh clarity comes through. My vision clears and I see Ormarr carrying Sarah towards the caves. My tail slams Ragnar as I move. He exclaims in pain, but I ignore him. Bending my knees, spreading my wings, I can close the distance with a single leap. As I spring, a weight lands on my shoulders, blocking me.

“Get off me!” I scream, stumbling forward, struggling against the weight on my shoulders.

Scrambling to get free, I grab a limb, twisting until there’s a popping sound.

“Aggh,” Ragnar cries out. “Bashir! Padraig!”

The others close with me, leaping into the fray. The bijass rises and the moment narrows. Simplicity. Fear fades in the face of an opponent. Me versus them. They want to keep me from my treasure. Hissing, dropping my shoulder and jerking the limb I’m gripping, Ragnar flies off of me. Padraig bellows, and his deep voice echoes, bouncing off the stone, the wall and the cliff of the caverns. A smile forms on my face as the red rage claims me.

“Drosdan,” Bashir says, circling to my left. “Calm down. Remember the Edicts.”

Edicts. What do they matter? Without her nothing matters. I don’t matter.

Bashir moves in, grabbing most of my attention, but it’s a feint, creating an opening for Padraig, who rushes in like a charging bivo. His massive arms spread wide, he embraces me from the side, lifting me off my feet, pinning my arms and wings. He’s strong, but I’m stronger. My tail is free, so I slam him in the legs. Grunting in pain, he loosens his grip, only a little, but enough. Straining, I break his grip, dropping to the ground and bringing my right elbow up into his jaw. There’s a satisfying crack as I connect and he stumbles back, blood flying from his mouth.

Tail straight up behind me, I roar a battle cry, putting my full attention on Bashir. Bashir shows no fear, a hardened warrior, he circles, looking for an opening. I turn with him, watching for others to join him from the sides.

“Drosdan, we’re helping her, control yourself,” Bashir says.

Words. Distant and without meaning. I hear them, but the storm of the bijass, the rage and primal urges drown them. Ragnar is on his feet, closing. I feint at Ragnar, and as he steps back, Bashir moves to close, but I’m ready. Grabbing Bashir’s arm, I wrap my arm around his, locking his elbow. Applying pressure, I force him to his knees. He grunts, suppressing the pain. Pointing at Ragnar, I motion for him to come closer.

“Try it, I’ll destroy you,” I hiss. “She is mine.”

Ragnar holds up his hands, palms facing me, then turns them so that his palms are towards the sky, indicating his submission. His tail lowers to the ground and he closes his wings. Hissing, I increase the pressure on Bashir’s arm, and he grunts louder. The elbow is close to breaking.

“She is,” Ragnar says. “She’s yours. No one is challenging you. We’re helping her, Drosdan. Edicts. Remember the Edicts. Say them with me. I am—”

A blur of motion to my left grabs my attention. I spin towards it, but I’m too late. It hits me in the head with a high-pitched scream and stunning force. My head rings as I stumble backwards, losing my grip on Bashir’s arm. Someone is wrapping themselves around my head and chest. Can’t see. Blows rain down, hitting me anywhere they can. Roaring in rage, I scrabble with my opponent. Find a grip. Grab anything. He’s slippery—every time I almost get a grip, he shifts and slides. Claws dig at me, sliding across my scales, and then something stabs into my right eye.

Roaring, I get a grip at last and throw my opponent off. Blind in one eye, I crouch, prepared for an attack from anywhere. Turning from one side to another. A circle has formed around me. Ragnar is in front, hands held out in submission. Bashir is to my side, his left arm hanging limp. Padraig pushes out of the circle and joins them, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. Pleasure rushes through me. Them against me, for her. Simple. Kill or be killed. She is all that matters. Spreading my wings, tail straight up, I throw my arms wide, roaring a challenge.

“Drosdan, stop this,” a female steps in front of Ragnar out of the crowd.

A blonde halo of hair surrounds her head. She’s heavy with child, her voice soft and soothing. It cuts through the rage to where I am, in the middle of the storming bijass. Huffing, chest out, I hiss. The bijass swelling, pushing to maintain control.

“It’s enough,” a dark-skinned female with high cheekbones steps out to stand next to the other female.

Delilah. Mei, the blonde is Mei. The rage feels hollow.

“Stop this right now,” Olivia says, stepping up next to them, her red hair shifting in a soft breeze. She crosses her arms over her ample chest, tapping a foot.

The bijass falls away leaving me cold and empty. I drop my arms and tail, my shoulders slump, and my head is too heavy to hold up. Pain forms in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Shaking my head, I struggle to inhale. The females come closer, placing their hands on me, making soft, reassuring noises. The crowd around us disperses as they lead me towards a cavern. I’m following their guidance because I’ve no will of my own left.

I can’t save her. There is nothing I can do.

Helplessness. A feeling I’ve never had before, but there is no other name to give it. Sarah is hurt, badly hurt, and there is nothing I can do. Sit here, wait. Helpless.

The females dab at me with wet cloths, applying salve. It’s motion happening around me, but it means nothing to me. There is nothing I can do but wait. They bring in Padraig and Bashir to tend to their wounds. Ragnar carries Samil in as well, placing him on a cot covered with furs. My attention goes to Samil. He doesn’t seem to be conscious.

“What?” I can’t form more words, they slip away before I can push them out.

“He’s the one who attacked you,” Mei says, wiping a cloth across my injured eye.

“Samil?” I ask, confused. “He’s…”

She stops and gazes into my face, waiting for what I’m going to say, but it stops me.

“He’s what?” she asks, waiting.

Head spinning, I can’t think of what to say in response. Samil? Attacked me?

“Brave? Bold? Throwing himself against you? Knowing damn well he didn’t stand a chance?” she asks, arching an eyebrow and tapping a foot.

I shake my head and say nothing. She resumes tending my wounds, but she’s being rougher now. It’s fine. A bit of pain is the least I deserve. It’s focusing. Anything to keep my attention off of not knowing what’s happening with Sarah.

“Is he hurt badly?” I ask.

Mei looks over her shoulder towards him.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “He hit his head when you threw him, knocked him out.”

“Any word on her yet?” I ask.

“Ormarr is still with her,” Mei says.

Ryuth pushes through the crowd outside the door followed by Olivia. Olivia has a baby in her arms drawing my eyes as it coos softly. Ryuth goes to Mei and places a protective hand on her swollen belly. Olivia goes to stand next to Ragnar who takes the baby from her, lifting it up over his head. The baby giggles as Ragnar swooshes it through the air, up and down, landing kisses on its face each time he brings it near his face. My stomach lurches watching him as it hits me I might never have it. It’s an empty, black void, devoid of hope waiting. One wrong move, and I’ll fall into it, losing myself forever. Ragnar makes soft sounds to his child, and a sad melancholy fills me.

“You owe me,” Padraig says, his voice nasal, glaring.

Bailey, an older female with gray hair at the temples of her shoulder-length auburn hair and crow’s feet at corners of her eyes walks into the room, interrupting my staring contest with Padraig when she comes to stand in front of me. Mei silently hands her the cloth she was tending my wounds with and steps aside.

“You’ve made one hell of a mess,” Bailey mutters, leaning in to get a close look at my wounds.

“Where’s Sarah?”

“She’s with Ormarr,” she answers.

“Why aren’t you there too? You’re a doc-tor,” I stumble over the strange human word for a healer as I rise to my feet. “She needs you.”

Bailey pushes me down with a surprising strength from her frail body. I could push past it of course, but doing it might hurt her. I’ve caused enough pain.

“He’s doing a fine job,” she says.

“How is she?” I ask, insistent.

Bailey straightens, meeting my pleading eyes, pursing her lips. I can see her thinking over her answer before she finally speaks.

“Bad,” she says.

“No!” I cry, pain stabbing deep into my hearts and constricting my chest. It’s overwhelming, more than I can contain. The pain has depths I didn’t know I could feel, bottomless.

The males in the room tense, turning. Ragnar hands his child to Olivia in a single fluid motion as his tail rises. I hold up my hands flat, palms up in submission, I’ll not lose myself, not again. Tension drains as if the entire room takes a collective breath at once. Bailey resumes dabbing at the cuts, and the murmur of conversation rises.

“It’s bad but Ormarr is good,” Bailey continues.

“She’s human, why aren’t you there too?” I ask, a pleading note in my voice I can’t control. “What does he know of humans?”

She stops, desert storm clouds in her eyes, jaw tense, lips pursed tight staring into my eyes. “I’ve done all I can.”

Closing my eyes my hearts pound in my ears. A dull roar drowning out all other sound. My chest aches, can’t get enough air—my treasure.

“Drosdan,” Bailey says, trying to push me down.

Ignoring her, I stand and walk out of the cave. Distantly they call my name, but it doesn’t matter. I have to be with her. The suns stab into my eyes as I step onto the ledge and turn, but I am numb. I walk up to Ormarr’s quarters. She has to be there.

People work in the garden. Laughter and soft voices drift along the breeze. None of it seems real. The world is a dull, washed-out gray. Sarah. My Sarah. If anything happens to you I’ll…

No, she’s fine. She’ll be fine. She has to be okay.

When the opening to Ormarr’s quarters is before me, I hesitate. Sounds of movement emerge along with his voice, ordering someone, confident and sure. My eyes adjust to the flickering light inside the cave slowly. At first there are only shadows, but my protective lenses open, allowing me to see clearly. Ormarr turns, his body blocking the bed behind him.

“Drosdan, you shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“I… have to be,” I say, motioning with my useless hands, trying to see past him. “Is she…”

No. Don’t say it. She’s okay. She has to be. It can’t end like this. Ormarr’s eyes tighten, looking away from me, he inhales deeply. My stomach sinks, and cold chills run down my arms.

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “She’s tough. I know she’ll be okay. Just… how long do you think she needs… to recover? We should probably talk to Rosalind and Visidion. We’ll need to go to the City—”

Ormarr shakes his head and meets, my eyes and I lose my thought.

“Drosdan,” he says, placing a hand on my arm.

“She’s fine,” I insist.

“No,” he says. “She’s not. She’s been hurt, badly. I’ve done all I can, but she’s human. Bailey has tended to her as well, we’ve done all we can.”

“You haven’t,” I say, my voice rising. I grab his arm and squeeze. Ormarr winces at my grip as I shake him. “What does she need? Name it. What do you need to help her?”

“We have to get her to Draconov. The machines there will let us see what’s happening inside. It’s our best chance.”

“Fine, let’s go,” I say.

“Drosdan, you’re exhausted, how long have you been up? How far did you travel across the desert carrying her?”

Cold certainty swells through me as I meet his eyes. Gripping both of his arms in mine I jerk him close lifting him off his feet, glaring.

“Get her ready,” I hiss.

He meets my gaze for a moment before he drops his eyes and nods his agreement. I drop him to the ground, push past him, and kneel next to her.

She’s pale. There’s almost a gray color to her skin. Her hair is plastered to her face and head. She’s breathing shallowly, but I don’t hear the hitch in her breathing she had before. I brush the errant hairs from her face, lean in, and kiss her forehead.

“I love you,” I whisper in her ear.

She sighs, or it seems she does. In that sigh, I hear her response. She loves me. She is my treasure. This is a test, and I will not fail. She is mine, and nothing will stand in my way. I will save her.