Page 37 of Deadly Maiden

He bulges, impossibly, stretching. Limbs elongating, face becoming the monstrous muzzle of a…

An ear-thundering rumble erupts a ripple of fractured air. There’s awhooshthen a shudder that bends the trees away from him and sends my well-gathered hair whipping in ten directions, that flings dry leaves, debris, and dirt at my face and skin…

Rorsyd SHIFTS.

I’m cowering, squashed as low as I can get but I find my courage and peek one-eyed past the shield of my folded forearms. A red-and-gold dragon shakes out its enormous wings, brushing aside the minor shrubbery at the road’s limits.

“COME TO ME,” he booms. And punctuates that with a side grin that reveals an array of long, pristine white teeth the size of my sword. He winks at me when I stand but remain in place, paralyzed. “I WON’T BITE. YOU MAY CLIMB ABOARD.” Then he seems to realize the volume is too high—for my hands are over my ears. “You may ride on top, just this once.”

A “Fuck me,” and a faint scream, says our not-so-friendly followers have seen this. The sounds tell me most are running.

“No!” Rorsyd snarls. “Leave us!” A second later he lowers his head, snorts, aims, and blasts a tree with a torch of flame that travels the length of two book-carts. Book carts. I note this invented measurement that I may have much need of around him.

The blast sizzles the air and a wave of heat washes past.

A man yelps. “I’m going!” Red and blue cloth flashes between the leaves—parts are burning—along with the brightness of steel.

We are alone, for now. Waiting for them to rally and start firing arrows is probably a bad strategy.

Where and how does one mount a dragon?

As I draw nearer, the light catches on his scales, and they glimmer in the most gorgeous of shades. These scales at the front, on his neck, are mostly larger than my palm.

“Here.” Rorsyd thumps one dangerously clawed foot…paw…before me, making the earth puff out around the rim of his print. He treadles the spot like a cat, carving divots, then he lowers his neck. “Climb me.”

The grumbling, coarse depths of his dragon voice render me somewhat breathless. It’s a familiar feeling from when I stared at his ass. Who knew a dragon’s voice could be so sexy?

“Coming up.” I reach out, adjust my stance, lean in. Crawling up on all fours seems best. The edges of each leg scale offer me some purchase as I negotiate the length of that limb. I’m puffing by the time I reach the juncture of his shoulders. “Next time, I bring a ladder.”

“Hur-hur. No next time.” He inclines his neck, rolls his left eye to look at me.

“What big eyes you have, sir.”

“Hmmm.All the better to…” That half-purr, half-grumble strays close to ominous. It’s best not to ask him to finish that sentence.

Every time he moves, I hear and feel the fluctuations, the minute crepitations of his muscles. Every word he speaks makes a faint rushing happen deep within that must be his lungs at work.

I seat myself. And find his body is hotter than a man’s. I wriggle in place, getting comfortable. My legs have to be spread wide, much wider than when riding a horse, and that fact is absolutely not comfortable.

I’m blushing again, but he will never know.It’s okay. Having hot fantasies about fucking a dragon is perfectly normal.I clear my throat.

Paired, hard tendrils sprout beside his spine from nape to tail. A knob at the end of each seems made for gripping. “Is this…okay?” I tighten my hold.

“It will do. If I flip upside down, you will still fall but…”

I freeze, mid-inhalation.

“But I promise I will try to catch you. I will go back and get the horses then fly a short distance to somewhere safer, so we can recover our gear.”

The horses will not be pleased. I should have thought of this.

His muscles bunch, and the dragonshifter tilts his head skyward. To either side, his wings unfold. He jumps into the airand does a shallow swoop and circle then a short flight to where the horses remain. He grabs them both, judging by the noises. I cling to my handholds as we ascend. The road unwinds beneath us for a mile or two. The horses are squealing, and I wonder if this will succeed and pray they do not squirm loose.

They would go straight down, plummet earthward. Horses do not float. The result would be awful. I twist my mouth, swallowing.Stop imagining.

Thankfully, we land without any such accidents. I slip to the ground, jog to where the horses have been deposited. Their hides quiver with nervousness, their eyes roll, and they snort and stamp, but they stay still as I unbuckle our bags. It seems callous to leave them behind, but they will find their way to a town or a new owner. I unsaddle them, remove all the tack, and give them one last rub on the nose before returning to Rorsyd.

I repeat the scrambling, clumsy method of mounting him then he strides over and collects the bags with his claws. If they become unfastened and spill in mid-air it will be my fault.

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