Dragon Page 7

  I’m probably staring at him, but I’m still sort of groggy from sleep, and it’s weird, you know, after working alongside him all summer, to finally see his face…at least the top half.

  As I’d suspected, he doesn’t show any sign of wrinkles, not even around his eyes, where people even as young as their twenties usually start to get crows’ feet.

  Is he any older than I am?

  He has to be, right? I mean, he knows so much about butchering and how to get back to my home.

  Or maybe it only seems like he knows so much, because I know so little, because my father and Ram have refused to tell me anything. Maybe he’s not hardly any older than I am.

  Suddenly I feel self-conscious and nervous. Ram is a guy, not just a talking beard with swords. He’s a cute guy, even.

  This could be awkward.

  I slowly ease myself up so I’m not slumping quite so much, and I flex my toes, forcing the blood through my tired legs to my feet, thinking frantically as I tell myself not to feel nervous. I mean, Ram is still Ram. He’s still the same chap I’ve been working with all summer long.

  In some ways, I’m more shocked by his attractiveness than the fact he’s a dragon.

  The dragon thing, after all, is so completely out there, so beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, that it’s like I don’t even know how to process it.

  But a hot guy is something I’ve actually encountered before, not that I’ve ever really spoken to one. It’s something I’ve thought about, dreamt about, wished for.

  I’m watching his face, telling myself to stay calm, to play it cool, breathing in and out in a soothing, stable manner. And I think I can do this. I can. I was just taken aback for a moment there, more surprised than anything. I’m totally over it. Acclimated to his cuteness completely.

  It is no big deal.

  Ram opens his eyes and looks at me. “Hey.”

  My mouth falls open. I can feel it hanging there, and I’m vaguely aware that I should be saying something coherent instead of the extended “um” noise I can hear coming from myself yet am powerless to control.

  His eyes are sapphire blue. Blue like the dragon from last night, the one who saved me and set me down so gently. Remember how I said he was good-looking and cute, sleeping there with his eyes closed?

  With his eyes open he is, blimey, wow, I no longer possess the ability to speak.

  “Are you okay?” Ram’s nose crinkles with concern. It’s a familiar sight. I mean, I know this nose. I’ve held entire conversations with this man that consisted solely of grunts and nose crinkles.

  But there are eyes above the nose now, instead of goggles. Wowza blue hotness eyes that look at me like he’s afraid maybe the fall through the air hurt me more than he’d realized.

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Sorry. I just woke up.” I swallow and wet my lips with my tongue. I can do this. Talking. I have been talking to this man, even arguing with him, for the last four months. I can do this.

  “You have eyes.”

  He smiles.

  I’ve got to say, I’m thankful for the beard. At the same time, I’m sort of curious about what he would look like without the beard, but if the rest of his face is half as good looking as the parts I can see, I would be reduced to a pathetic blubbering lump.

  Keep in mind, I have zero experience with guys. Especially hot guys with sapphire eyes, who can fly.

  But the smiling thing is encouraging, because he could be really upset with me for running away last night and nearly getting myself killed.

  I look down at Ozzie’s muzzle and try to compose myself. “Do you think we should take the gauze off Ozzie?” I ask without looking up. Conversation is easier if I pretend nothing has changed.

  “Maybe after she wakes up. She needs her rest.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” I nod and look up and—still handsome.

  Ram isn’t smiling anymore. He actually looks almost sad. “Last night…”

  His sentence fades to a sigh, and as I stare at his face, waiting for him to say more, I realize something. Maybe part of the reason why Ram is always so silent is because talking is difficult for him. Not physically difficult, but just something he isn’t used to doing, or feels inadequate doing, or something like that.

  And then I realize maybe the reason why I’ve only just now figured that out, is because Ram is better at communicating with his face and his eyes, nonverbally, and now that I can actually see more of his face, I understand him better.

  That thought gives me the courage to say the difficult words, the confession I didn’t want to make. “Ion told me to run away and leave you. He said we could backtrack to the car and drive north through Russia.”

  “You went with him willingly?” He winces, almost like I’ve punched him.

  “I didn’t know who he was! I don’t even know who you are. Who are you? What are you?”

  “We’re dragons.”

  All I can do is stare at his eyes as I absorb this fact, even though, obviously I saw Ram and Ion fighting in the sky last night. I know they’re dragons. But it’s different hearing him confess it in the light of day.

  Ram continues, “The yagi who’ve been after you are dragon hunters. I know stories and myths have made dragon hunters out to be the good guys, but the yagi aren’t good. They don’t even have souls. They’re a crossbreed between roaches and mercenary soldiers who were captured as prisoners of war.”

  “Roaches and humans? How is that possible?”

  “Dark magic. The yagi were created in a lab during World War II. I’ve heard about the gruesome experiments, of the way they’re hatched and trained. They’re bred for a single goal—to destroy us.”

  “But Ion is a dragon.” I’m watching Ram’s face for the answer, half expecting to see it there before I hear the words, but all I see is apology and sadness. “Last night, it was like he led me to the yagi. Like he brought me out into the woods and handed me over to them.”

  Ram nods, slowly. “I was afraid of that. I have known Ion for many years. Because he is one of us, I’ve been willing to believe him when he claims to be on our side, but I don’t trust him. He has betrayed my trust too many times.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “You were already scared. I didn’t want to frighten you more. Besides, he claimed your father sent him. He had a picture of your mother.”

  “If it even was a picture of my mother—”

  “It was your mother.”

  “How do you know? Just because it looks like me—”

  “I’ve met your mother. I helped your father escape after she died.”

  “Escape?” I’m sincerely confused now. I’ve never understood the details of my parents’ relationship or even how or where I was born. Everything I’ve been told is only confusing. And didn’t I just decide Ram isn’t much older than I am? But if he helped my dad when my mom died, and my mom died before I was born…

  My agitation has awakened Ozzie, whose bandage shifts even more when she looks up at me with concern, clearly wondering why I’m upset.

  And I realize a bunch of things at once. One, we should probably get going. If the yagi are going to come after us again, they could easily stumble across us without even searching too hard. And two, we need to take care of Ozzie’s bandages before she tries to remove them herself.

  I ease myself to my feet and Ram stands, too. He has his bag and swords and all our stuff, like maybe he went back for them after he fought Ion off. “If you’ll hold Ozzie’s head still, I’ll cut off the bandages.” He pulls a dagger from the sheath strapped to his thigh.

  So I do my best to hold Ozzie’s head still, to comfort her, even though, to be honest, I’m as much comforted by her as anything. My world has been shaken, and I have a feeling that before all my questions are answered, it’s going to quake even more.

  Ram cuts the bandage away, then turns to the side and folds the gauze while I stare at Ozzie’s head and hurt for her.

/>   It may have stopped bleeding, but I can’t say Ozzie’s injuries are healing. Tucked away, out of sight under the bandage, the wounds were festering. The skin looks red and swollen under her fur, and yellow pus oozes from the sores.

  It doesn’t smell good, either.

  “Ram?”

  He turns, meets my eyes, looks down at Ozzie’s head when I look that way with alarm. Then he sucks in a breath made audible by concern.

  “Is it infected?” I ask, hoping maybe we can splash some alcohol on there and everything will be fine.

  But Ram shakes his head. “I’ve heard yagi may have poisonous venom.”

  “Venom? On top of everything else?” I’m trying to compile a mental list of everything these nasty creatures have going for them, but I don’t even know where to start. “Maybe you should tell me what else they have, before I have to fight them again. I’m lucky I wasn’t killed last night. I didn’t even know what to do. They were making that hideous noise—it was like they froze me in place with that sound.”

  “That’s one of their defense mechanisms,” Ram acknowledges. “They have a paralyzing hiss. The sound waves literally cause muscle fibers and bone to lock up. But as long as you keep moving, they have no power over you.”

  “That would have been really helpful to know ahead of time.” I feel like I’m going to puke from the memory of their shrill screams, the paralyzing sensation it caused in me, and the stink. Oh, that awful stink.

  “I thought I’d be at your side to protect you at all times,” Ram explains. “I didn’t expect you to run away from me.”

  “I’m not planning to run away again. But could you still tell me what I’m up against? The venom? Where does that come from? The horns on their heads?”

  “No, the horns are their heads are as sharp as any blade. They can skewer you, but they don’t excrete venom. I was hoping that’s what got Azi, but obviously I was wrong. The venom comes from the spikes on their arms and legs. They have to get pretty close to use it. Most often they’ll get you with their horns or their talons, first. Their talons are like rows of slicing fingers. Very nasty.”

  “Is that all?” I try to sound as though I’m not completely overwhelmed. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t know all this about them ahead of time, or I might have been too frightened to fight.

  Ram shrugs. “Also, their blood is thick and oily and contains a neurotoxin chemical that produces a numbing, stinging sensation wherever it touches you—a bit like nettles. Not enough to kill a person, but not pleasant, either. When their blood makes contact with the air, such as when they’re decapitated, it vaporizes into a gas that can sting your eyes, and even becomes hallucinogenic if you inhale large quantities.”

  “How bizarre.”

  “Many of these traits and defenses come from the cockroaches they’re bred from, just on a much larger scale.”

  I’ve got my eyes closed as I absorb all this information. I thought the yagi were creepy enough before I knew about them. Still, I’m sure I’m better off knowing what I’m up against. And I’m relieved I wasn’t hurt last night, in spite of my ignorance. “I’m glad I kept them at bay with my swords. And then you showed up. How did you know, anyway?”

  “Ozzie woke me up. She picked up your trail from the smell, otherwise I don’t know if I would have found you in time.”

  “Good Ozzie, good girl.” I scratch her behind her ears, being careful not to disturb the oozing gashes. I ask Ram, “What can we do for her?”

  He looks down at the festering wounds and I see that look on his face, that mixture of sadness and apology that I already know too well. “Maybe your dad will have a solution. Let’s get you home.”

  “How? We don’t have a car. The car was Ion’s. I looked at the map yesterday. It’s over two thousand miles to Azerbaijan from Prague. Where are we, anyway? Somewhere in western Romania? It’s going to take us weeks to walk there.” I look down at Ozzie’s head emphatically. She needs help. Soon. And I really don’t think walking that far is going to help her condition.

  “We can walk,” caution slows Ram’s words, “or we can fly.”

  “Like in a plane? Do you think they’ll let us on with the dog and our swords?”

  “I mean, fly. Like I did last night.”

  “And what, then? You’ll carry both me and Ozzie?”

  “I can carry Ozzie.” He meets my eyes again, this time holding my gaze and not letting go, as though he’s trying to communicate something very important, or gauge my understanding of something, but whatever it is, I have no idea. I stare back at him blankly, really not getting it.

  “What about me?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a long way for your first flight, but we could take it in stages.”

  More confused than ever, I remind him, “I flew with Ion last night. It wasn’t that bad. If it means getting home I can hang on longer, I’m just not sure how comfortable Ozzie will be. Are you sure you can carry both of us?”

  The whole time I’m talking, he’s looking at me, his eyes sparkling with a kind of inner light, his gaze patient yet probing. My hands are still behind Ozzie’s ears as she leans her head against my leg, and Ram puts one hand on mine.

  I’m instantly aware of his touch. It’s comforting. Gentle. Strong.

  Blast it, I fancy him.

  He doesn’t look away from my face. “Do you know why the yagi were after you?”

  Everything from the way he’s touching my hand to the patience behind his words says there’s something big here, something monumental. “I don’t know. If they’re dragon hunters, that’s really weird that they’d come after me.” I swallow the last word as reality hits me.

  I wish Ram would stop looking so bloody apologetic. “Ilsa? You’re a dragon.”

  Chapter Ten

  In retrospect I feel daft for not making the connection sooner, but in my defense, I didn’t know dragons were real until last night, and even then, I was more wrapped up with trying to survive than any existential self-examination. Also, I guess part of me assumed that’s one of those things a person ought to know about themselves before they’re eighteen years old and being stalked by dragon hunters across the wilds of Romania.

  And to be honest, it takes a while for the truth to sink in, especially since I’m simultaneously trying to ignore my unexpected feelings of attraction to Ram. “I’m a dragon?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m a person.”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, I’m not a dragon. I can’t be a dragon because I am a person.”

  Ram turns his head a little to the side in that way he does when he knows I’m denying the obvious truth.

  I told you he’s way better with non-verbal communication than words.

  And I get it. “You look like a person, but you can change into a dragon.”

  He nods.

  “I can change into a dragon?” I’m tempted to point out that’s madness, but to be honest, it’s no crazier than the fact dragons exist at all. Sure, why not? And I can breathe fire. Of bloody course I can.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know? Have you seen me do it?” I’m challenging him now, because I don’t right well want to be a dragon. And it’s not so much that I don’t want to be a dragon, as that I find the idea of being a dragon utterly repellant. As we fled for the caves when I was eight, running and screaming, terrified, in the dark of night, I saw dragons flying overhead.

  Ever since, I told myself that it wasn’t real, that I’d imagined it or misinterpreted what I’d seen, but now I know I really did see dragons flying in the night sky above our village, fighting and breathing fire. But in all those years, even though I told myself it wasn’t real, I still hated the dragons. The dragons chased me from my home. The dragons sent me into hiding and exile. Real or not, that was my earliest association, and the one that still stands today.

  I don’t want to be one of those thieves of childhood, one of those enemies of peace.

  So I’m re
sisting Ram’s announcement, challenging it with all the opposition of a terrified eight year old. “How do you know I’m a dragon if no one’s ever seen me be a dragon?”

  “You’ve never taken on dragon form, but your parents were both dragons. Once you change for the first time, your eyes will become jewel-toned.”

  “That’s why you wear goggles all the time, and why Ion wore sunglasses, even at night.” It’s easier for me to talk about the eyes than the whole dragon thing.

  “Yes.”

  “So I’ll have to hide my eyes all the time.”

  “Only when you’re around people who don’t know who you are. Once we reach your village, you’ll be safe.”

  Slowly, a bunch of things that never made sense about my life, and never seemed fair, start to click into place—not that I accept or embrace them—far from it. But on a purely intellectual level, they make sense. Now I know why I smelled yagi when I was eight. And I realize something else. I’d heard their wailing then, too, but distantly, and assumed it was a warning siren. I’d attributed the paralyzing effect to my own fear. But maybe I wasn’t as much a coward as I’ve always assumed. “When the village was attacked, right before my father took me away to Saint Evangeline’s…”

  “They were looking for you.” Ram squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. “That’s why your dad took you to Saint Evangeline’s—to keep you safe.”

  “And to keep the village safe.”

  Ram dips his head, one of those almost-a-bow gestures like Ion gave him at the butcher shop. “True. They had no reason to attack once you were gone.”

  “No reason? Why are they after me, specifically?”

  Ram draws a deep breath and looks up.

  I remember that we don’t have the luxury of standing around. Sure, I have plenty of questions, but we need to keep moving before the yagi catch up to me. “We should get going. Do you really think I should try to fly?”

  Ram sucks in a deep breath. “Right now? No. Not in the daylight. We’ll be seen. I try never to fly in daylight, not unless I’m over the ocean or somewhere equally remote.”