“I really don’t have time for this,” Arel grumbled, taking hold of the dragonslayer’s elbow and urging her forward a few more paces. “I could’ve left you to your comrades,” he spat the word sarcastically, “but no. I risked life and limb to first get you out of there, and then haul you across the country to Lady-knows-where. I hope you appreciate this.” “You only dragged me out of there behind you to keep me quiet,” she growled back, trying again to kick his knees. He held her a good distance away with his powerful arm, raising his eyes to the sky in supplication for patience. He was answered with a throaty growl. He froze in his tracks, clamping a hand over the dragonslayer’s mouth and gripping her close to his solid frame with his arms. She tried to bite his fingers, he squeezed a little harder and heard her wheeze as the breath was pressed from her lung. “Stop,” he hissed in her ear, his breath barely a whisper. “Now.” On a rocky outcropping ahead, a long, lean dragon, a yellow male, crouched warily. His tail lashed in agitation, much like a feline’s, and his black eyes seemed to glow, heavy with malicious intent, as he regarded the two humans before him. The yellow’s wide, translucent wings were arched, mantling over the rock, quivering with the desire to spring immediately upon the small figures. Arel wondered why the yellow still held his ground. Then another growl, this one deeper, rumbled behind them, and Arel turned his head in the slightest. From the corner of his eye, he saw another, larger yellow behind them. This one was a female, her black claws digging furrows in the soil and her shoulders bunched to spring. “Ah, skrell,” Arel muttered beneath his breath, and knocked the dragonslayer flat. His halberd was out mere seconds before the female lunged at him. He deflected the first swipe of her claws, and managed to slice at one of her wingtips, before she recognized him as a bigger threat than just any human and backed off. Arel caught sight of a ledge behind her, up on the side of the small cliffs framing the tiny, stony valley, and cursed again, louder this time. A nest. He and the dragonslayer had stumbled upon a mate-bound pair of yellows with a nest. That, among dragonkind at least, was an open invitation to death. Unfortunately for Arel, there was no time for him to change. The female yellow growled deep in her chest, circling warily with Arel. Her black eyes bored into him, and he almost found himself flinging down his halberd at her feet and surrendering to her will. He tore his eyes away from her and shook his head. No! he yelled at himself. It’s a trap! Don’t look her in the eyes! He focused on her chest, and heard her bellow in rage as he thwarted her primary offensive tactic. Luckily for both him and the dragonslayer, the female was the only one who could pull such a stunt. “Hey dragon!” the dragonslayer screamed, climbing to her feet. Somehow, she had managed to work her bonds free—so she was an escape artist too?—and now swung her hands in the air. “My spear please?” she shouted, ducking and rolling out of the way as the male yellow tried to pounce on her. The two of them, dragon and dragonslayer, were playing cat-and-mouse as if they had been born in the roles. Without thinking, Arel unharnessed the dragonslayer’s spear and flung it at her, then tossed her her crossbow, bolts, and knife belt as well. He then rolled out of the way himself as the female charged. She barely missed his shoulders as he turned on his heel and ducked between her legs. Oh, no you don’t, he thought at her. Not my skin, you don’t. Her tail whipped around and struck him across his shoulders, sending him stumbling and sprawling. Before she could gut him, though, he had his whip out, swinging it up to wind around one ear. A savage yank tightened the coil, drawing blood in the tender joining of ear and head, and she reared back, screeching in pain. Blood began to flow along her scales, dribbling into her right eye and partially blinding her. The halberd followed close behind, and sliced through one of the butter-soft, new-growth horns on her jawline. Blood spurted and spattered across the yellow’s gleaming hide, Arel’s left arm, and the green grass below their feet. A matching roar met their ears, and Arel glanced briefly at the dragonslayer to see her jab her spear into the fleshy, crucial point where the male’s wing membranes molded to his body. Arel winced involuntarily as the hunting spear’s broad head continued a jagged cut down the dragon’s wing, until it came back out of the fragile membrane. The female yellow had backed up, pawing at her injured face as she tried to clear her eye of blood. Arel jabbed with the point of the halberd’s blade, streaking a slice up the feral dragon’s left cheek, separating armor scales from flesh and muscle beneath. Blood now streamed down the female’s neck in rivulets, following the grooves in her scales. None of the wounds were fatal, or even hampering to a determined dragon, and the female soon recovered enough to lunge again at Arel with teeth and claws flashing. A piercing death-shriek, followed by a slowly fading keen, cut the heavy air. Arel and the female yellow both whipped their heads around in time to see the dragonslayer drive her spear home in the male’s chest. Crossbow bolts had turned the dragon’s neck into a macabre pincushion, and there were various gouges and missing scales and spikes from knife cuts. Now the dragonslayer leaned against the spear, ensuring that it went deep into the dragon’s chest to the life-giving heart encased within. The dragonslayer’s tangled hair and tattered clothes were blood-bathed, and grime encrusted her face. Arel had to admit, though, the woman was good, and had she had her dragonhounds with her, he himself would’ve been a goner long ago. The female yellow shrieked and keened and roared and bellowed in outrage, terror, and vengeance, and turned her attentions on the unwary dragonslayer. With a sudden move, her hind legs crouched and extended, launching the dragon like a deadly arrow at the young woman. Arel didn’t think, only reacted. Flinging down his halberd, he leaped after the yellow. Before his human arms could grapple her neck, though, the magic took him, and he took his full, true form in a flash. A human had lunged at the yellow, but it was a red dragon that tackled her. She was almost his size, and certainly his weight, but he still managed to intercept her and bowl her over before she could gore the human woman. They rolled to the ground together, crashing up against a rock face. Both struggled to get on top, to pin the other to the ground and make the killing swipe of the claws. The yellow bit at the armor scales along his shoulders, his neck, his belly, and he thanked all the deities he could think of for the natural armor that dragons possessed, that humans did not. He clawed at her eyes and kicked at some of the tenderer underside parts, attempting to work his rear talons between the armor plates protecting her womb. Both vied for supremacy, writhing together on the ground like tangled snakes and rolling back and forth across the lush green grass. The yellow managed to jab her talons into the membrane of one of his wings. He locked his jaws around that wrist and forced her to release her grip without ripping completely through the membrane. The yellow’s talons left behind five holes, but no more than that. She placed a hand around his neck and pushed, trying to choke him. He wrapped his tail around her face, right above the halberd slice, and contracted his tail muscles tightly. The yellow screeched and removed her grip from his neck. He forced her off of him, and they were both on their feet again. They circled each other for several moments, before the yellow feinted one way and darted the other. They reared up, driving claws at each other, buffeting each other with wings and tails, swiping with the large pair of horns on their heads. They locked horns, trying to drive each other backward into a purely defensive position. Arel considered using his fire against her, but yellow females had strange protections against almost anything that could be thrown at them, other than horns, claws, teeth, and human weapons. Fire would do no good, other than weakening Arel. Instead, he broke free from the headlock and ducked low, aiming for her gut. She was suddenly on top of him, raking shallowly down his sides with her hind talons, clamping her jaws into a tender spot on his shoulder, where the armor plates didn’t quite cover completely, or were soft from new growth. He bellowed as she flipped him over, and she managed to sink her claws deep into the place she’d bitten, dragging her razor-sharp talons down his side in a deep row of furrows. He managed to lock his jaws on the tender flap of unprotected skin beneath her chin, gripping firmly with his fangs as he grabbed her neck. With a sudden, deft burst of energy, born of the intense fire in his side, he twisted her body around until he gratifyingly heard her neck snap. He let her drop, and staggered away from her body. He collapsed weakly a winglength or two away, weak from loss of blood. The wind stung viciously at the wound in his side, and he tried to ignore it. It’s just another scar to add to the collection, he told himself, even as he grew dizzy and faint. Nothing serious. A surface wound, a scratch. It’s nothing at all. He couldn’t move, though. He tried, but his muscles had stopped responding. He lay on his uninjured side, sprawled his full length before one of the cliff faces. His limbs had grown flaccid, unmoving despite his best efforts to rouse himself to find the human dragonslayer. Where could she have gone? Suddenly, Arel didn’t care if she told the entire world what he looked like, where he was going. He didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep.... He saw the dragonslayer moving next to the yellow male’s body then, her knife deftly slicing along the dragon’s head. First, one of the slender fighting horns was removed with a skill and a delicacy the girl must’ve developed over a long period of time. Then one of the smaller claws followed, which the girl immediately tied onto the strap across her chest. Her trophy count now numbered seven, a good repertoire for a dragonslayer so young. She paused at the female yellow long enough to remove one of the fighting horns, but she ignored the claws completely. So she wasn’t claiming this one as trophy, then. Pity. It would help build her reputation. But why did he care? She’d tried to kill him several times already, and would probably take this opportunity to finish the job the yellow had done. And why didn’t he care about that? The dragonslayer approached him warily, and he would’ve stretched his neck out better for her to finish him off, if he could’ve only convinced his muscles to move. Make it quick, he silently pleaded with her, watching as she approached with the knife and the two horns. Instead, she dropped the horns by his side and cut a length of cloth from the tatters of her tunic. Wordlessly, she pulled a bottle of something from the pack that Arel had discarded at the onset of the fight—her pack. She poured the substance within the bottle onto the threadbare fabric, saturating it, and a pungent, mossy odor stung Arel’s sensitive nostrils. He tried to back away as strength suddenly returned to his body. What was she doing? She reached up and touched his face, right on a sensitive area of skin beneath his eye and nestled among sharp scales. Instead of harming him, she stroked the skin, a soothing gesture that immediately relaxed his muscles. Wow, this girl is good, he thought wearily, almost leaning into her touch. How did she know where to touch a dragon to relax him? “Shh,” she breathed, her breath warm against his ear as she leaned close. “You saved my life from a dragon. I don’t know why you did that, but thank you.” Arel’s head dropped to the ground weakly as she moved to the injury in his side. With the soaked cloth, she dabbed at the cuts, and Arel jerked and hissed in pain as the liquid on the cloth stung his exposed flesh. “Easy,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It’ll help. It’s a disinfectant.” Arel writhed more as she continued her ministrations, though he tried desperately to hold still. She was trying to help? What was going on here? His vision began to dim as the pain increased, and he wondered if anyone would even mourn his passing. Then she hit a nerve, and he bellowed as the darkness swallowed him. Erielle finished suturing the dragon’s cuts with all the care she showed her dragonhounds, and gently slathered an antiseptic ointment over the stitches. She hoped the treatment would work as well on dragons as it did on her hounds. All she could do, though, was hope. There was no real knowing. She didn’t even know why she was doing this. She was a dragonslayer. She was supposed to slay dragons, not save them. But he saved your life, something inside her insisted. Twice. The first time from Javitz and his hooligans, and the second time from the yellow. But why had the man—dragon, she reminded herself—killed another dragon for her? She had tried to kill him. And she hadn’t thought dragons would kill each other. Why not? Humans kill each other. “Humans are idiots,” she growled at her inner self. Her inner self shrugged. She replaced her first aid supplies in her pack, packed the two yellow horns—tokens for the dragonslayer’s guild—and removed the bedroll. She had absolutely no hope of dragging the dragon to a cave, and wasn’t about to abandon him now to whatever wild creatures may be roaming. He had saved her, after all. “So?” she demanded of her inner self. “I’m a dragonslayer. I kill dragons. Why should I make an exception for him?” She knew the answer even before her inner self gave it to her: You feel bound to him. You feel like you know him. You— “I don’t.” Yes, you— “I don’t.” You— “Would you shut up already?” Her inner self was silent. “I’m staying with him because I don’t want to trust myself to whatever wild creatures might be roaming tonight,” she protested. “At least, not until Zhadu and Akani come back.” Right, whatever, the voice inside her said. And I’m a draconic priestess. Erielle growled something unintelligible at her conscience. She was gathering firewood when her inner voice spoke again, so suddenly that she had no time to curb it. You love him, it said quickly. She stood, stunned, next to the dragon’s shoulder, as she wished fervently that she could throttle her conscience. “No, I don’t,” she insisted to herself. “It’s just gratitude that made me help him.” Whatever, her inner voice taunted. “Shut up already,” she hissed at it, and walked to stand in front of the dragon’s nose. His warm breath plumed out in the cooling evening air, bathing her in a misty, enveloping heat. His eyes were closed, but she knew that if he opened them, they would be looking at her, staring into her very soul. That disturbed her, but somehow, it thrilled her, too. The dragon’s red hide looked ruddier in the glow of sunset, if such a thing was possible. It almost looked as if the dragon were burning within, causing his skin to glow the scarlet of fire. Erielle caught herself thinking of the dragon’s human form—what was the name he had used? Arel?—and almost blushed. As a human, he was quite handsome, tall, powerful, the perfect candidate for a dragonslayer. But he was a dragon! Oh, admit it, the voice teased. You love him. “I don’t,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I...I...I....” She trailed off, watching the dragon sleeping almost peacefully now. Her mind supplied the image of his human form again, and she turned to stalk back to the fire she had begun to build. “I don’t,” she insisted again. “Not at all. Not one bit. Not now, not ever. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I....” She paused, sat, sighed. “I love him,” she whispered. Her conscience did cheers and cartwheels through her mind. “Oh, shut up already!” It stilled, but she could imagine it waiting for her guard to slip, so it could cheer some more. She growled again at it, and rose to stand by the dragon’s head. She touched the skin under the dragon’s eye that they all seemed to love have touched, that same spot that was one of the best killing shots on a dragon’s body, if the archer was skilled enough to strike it cleanly and straight on—a difficult shot. How easy it would be now to drive her knife into that tender spot of skin and end it now! But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not at all. Not one bit. Not now, not ever. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She leaned against his cheek, leaning her face close to his ear. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, stroking the sensitive scales above his eye. “I know you are,” he whispered, and she backed away a startled step as he weakly changed, standing before her in human form. He managed trousers and boots, but a shirt seemed beyond his weary capabilities right now. The sutures had changed deftly with the dragon’s body, and he had even conjured bandages to bind the deep gouges. His stylized pendant stood out against his chest, deep red on tan. Erielle tried to keep from staring at his physique as he stepped toward her again. “What...what do you mean?” she demanded, stammering as he leaned close. “How do you know?” It all seemed a dream as he took her in his arms. “I can feel it,” he breathed into her hair, kissing her softly. “I didn’t recognize it at first, but we are bound far deeper than mere honor could ever dream to bind us. Our souls are one. Can’t you see that?” “I....” She broke off, uncertain. She felt it, but she didn’t want to admit it. He was a dragon! So? that persistent, almost malicious voice inside her breathed, and it almost sounded like the dragon’s voice. The man’s arms still held her close, rubbing her back through her thin tunic, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his waist. She tried to pull free, but somehow that inner voice of hers had taken control over her body; it wanted to hold the dragon called Arel forever. Oh, do give it up, the inner voice growled. I had absolutely nothing to do with this. This is entirely your doing, and you know it. She kissed him back, tentatively, then with increasing firmness as her will abandoned her. A sudden growl, smaller than the yellows’, but just as fierce, interrupted both dragon and dragonslayer. They broke apart abruptly, mere seconds before a large, furry shape tackled Arel. They rolled to the ground as another large, furry shape began to circle them. Erielle didn’t recognize the creatures at first, and barely shouted, “Zhadu, Akani, ethadra!” calling them off in the language of the dragonhounds. Both hounds backed off obediently, confused, and Erielle could see in them the mixed desires to attack the dragon and to obey their pack-sister. “Arathru n’ha ezera,” she ordered, and they sat obediently. The man knelt on the grass, holding perfectly still, as he and Zhadu eyed each other. “I’d forgotten about those two,” the dragon whispered, as Erielle motioned for him to rise. He stood, facing her, while she scratched behind Akani’s ears. “They like to play overprotective older siblings sometimes,” she said, forcing her muscles to keep her from moving to the dragon-man’s side. “And why not? I’ve long forgotten who raised who.” He nodded. “They’re...strong.” “They’re bred to be.” He took a step toward her; Zhadu growled and stood. “I wouldn’t do that were I you,” Erielle told the man. “You might want to give it a rest for the night.” He nodded again. “I can see that. Uhh...where am I going to sleep?” She gestured to the side of the fire opposite her bedroll. “There would be fine. I can loan you a fur if you need it.” “That would be appreciated, thank you.” He moved cautiously with her, accepting the fur graciously and avoiding the dragonhounds. He gave her a small salute, his eyes full of thwarted longing, and sat on the other side of the fire with the fur. “Good night, liyari,” he whispered, so low she almost didn’t hear him. Stiffly, she rolled up in her own furs. With the hounds keeping the dragon at a respectable distance, she drifted off to sleep beneath the twilight stars.