Page 3 of Deadly Maiden

The camp is not quite deserted. A few leftover enemy fae recoil at the sight of me. My grimace is not for them. I cup my side, pausing to gather my resolution. The wound that was large enough to shove a pony into when I was shifted to dragon is now only…

I glance at it.Big enough to stick a foot or two into.I will heal from this.

But…I will heal faster if I shift.

Tentatively, I try again to shift and fail, squeaking and gasping at this second malfunction. Blood has spurted from somewhere hidden within the cavity I now bear. What did this to me? The bearshifter’s spear? No. Darkthing? That mage with the staff that lit with green? Maybe. I was busy at the time with other matters.

Orish, mainly.

My wings have gone. I try for claws, and they pop forth, begrudgingly. Only these remain to remind me of my dragon. I should seek some boots. From atop a bedroll, I filch a pair that fit if I force the leather to obey.

It seems I must walk home. I rip a couple of holes ’tween the uppers and the soles to let my toes have relief.

Then I make a slow turn and face that tent where the baby of evil lies cooing to itself. It might still die. I hope so. I know with every fucking dragonshifter bone in my useless body, that baby will become a child of evil if allowed to turn into an adult.

All necromancers do.

If so…it will be my fault and mine alone.

I will watch the child, whether it be male or female. I will watch it for the first signs of anything at all sinful.

I vow this.

I raise my hand and point and speak the vow aloud.

“Whatever you become, I will be there to see it. I will not suffer the spawn of those monsters to live once you show what you truly are. Whatever. You. Are.

“I swear this on my honor. I swear it on the bones of my ancestors. On the flame that I burn the air with. On my wings and on my claws.”

I suck another breath, a cold, shaking, unshifted breath, and I sweep my blood-encrusted hair from my face. Luckily it is red anyway. At that, I stifle a laugh and stand straighter.

I speak more softly.

“When you show your evil form, pull dead things from their graves to lurch into malignant life, or cast death magik, I will end you.”

Vow dispensed with, I orient myself and begin my limping journey, away from the smoke and the cries. On foot, this will take days.

Once well and able to shift again, I should haul Orish to someplace he would have loved. A mountain peak perhaps? Near my aerie where my hoard resides. From there he can watch the world. This pleases me, and right now I need something good to hold onto.

“AndIwill watchyou,” I mutter as I exit the camp, thinking of that pinkish, fat-cheeked infant, as I head north. “I will return to terminate you, no matter how sweet you appear.”

“Fucking gurgling at me…”

Ahead, trees crowd the trail. The air would be nice?—

I try to shift and drop to one knee, punch the ground a few times to conquer the pain. Habit got me. Clutching my side, I groan then spit out some blood and the last words I will say for days, “Fuck all gurgling cute things!”

No more shifting until I am healed.

A small wren twitters at me as it flits by, before vanishing into the forest. I swear it was smiling. Even the birds mock me.

Oh.I halt. I need to track where the babe goes, if it lives to go anywhere at all. I rub my temple. Okay.

I will return and watch the tent. To see if it dies. I will not interfere, yet.

Sometimes, I forget to think.

The remains of King Madlin’s army might arrive first and kill it for me. So be it.

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