Page 119 of The Artist and the Dragon

A sharp whine slipped from the dragon. His head thrashed side to side.

“We need you here. I need you. It’s okay now. I’m safe. We’re all safe. The battle is won.”

The dragon threw his head back and roared. His claws crashed down on either side of her, rattling the floor beneath their feet. That fearsome head locked its focus on her, and he slunk forward with fangs bared.

“Bronwyn!” Drystan’s shrill cry only steeled her spine.

She would not back down, would not leave him like this. The dragon’s snout settled even with her face. “Ceridwen is safe now,” she said, her voice calm and steady. Though she addressed Drystan, she did not dare turn away. All her attention was on the dragon in front of her, on the red eyes … eyes that blinked, then showed a glimmer of familiar green. “Griffith is dead.” He didn’t deserve the honorific or the familiarity of his first name. “His curse will be broken.”

“It was him?” Drystan’s voice held so much hope it was painful.

“Yes.” If the worst happened—if Malik chomped her in two right that moment and then turned his rage on the others—Drystan needed to know that.

Tentatively, she reached a hand out. The dragon’s snout inched forward. It took everything she had to hold perfectly still as warm scales pressed against her open palm. “Malik. I’m here.” With her other hand, she reached up and slowly began caressing the shimmering scales on the side of his face. “I love you.”

The dragon’s eyes slid closed. A long breath slipped from his lungs, warming her hand and face and ruffling her hair. It reminded her a bit of a contented sigh.

“Come back. Come back to me.”

A tremor shook the dragon’s body, followed by a glittering shiver that rolled down his scales. And then, all at once, his snout retreated. Wings tucked in. Claws slipped away.

“Malik!” Bronwyn ran to the bloodied, naked man who hunched on his hands and knees. His head dipped forward, his dark hair a mess. Careful to avoid his injuries, she stroked his cheek, smoothing away his hair and holding him close. “You’re back. You did it!”

“Bronwyn.” She barely understood him for the hoarseness of his voice. But it was enough. He lived. He was back.

Drystan dropped to his knees beside them, inhaling sharply as he took in Malik’s battered form. “Hold him still, I need to tend this.”

Bronwyn drew Malik toward her, letting his weight rest against her as she cradled his head close.

“You’re safe,” he rasped. He grasped her injured arm lightly, and she barely held back a cry of pain, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“So are you.” She ran her fingers through his hair, trying not to give in to the pain burning through her. “He’s going to heal you.”

The king had pulled one glove off with his teeth and was already painting a spell on Malik’s abdomen. Malik muttered something else, almost unintelligible. His fingers stroked along Bronwyn’s skin, almost like a pattern…

She gasped as she realized what he was doing. “Malik!”

He grabbed her arm with his other hand, showing more strength than she anticipated, and continued to work his healing spell.

“You idiot! Save your strength.”

Still resting against her shoulder, he tilted his head until she could finally see his eyes—and the glimmer of mischief in them. “Always so cross with me.”

Tears blurred her vision before sliding down her cheeks. Half dead and his first thought was still helping her. What had she ever done to deserve such a man?

Chapter 51

Malik

Malikbrushedhishandacross Bronwyn’s cheek, careful not to get blood on her. “Don’t cry.”

She sniffed harder at that, tears flowing like some dam had finally broken. This brave woman, finally allowing herself to be weak in front of him. No,weakwasn’t right. These tears were strength, too; proof of all they had endured and overcome.

Some of the fierce, burning pain coursing through his body subdued. Already, Drystan’s spells knitted together the worst of his injuries.

“He’s dead?” Malik confirmed.

Bronwyn nodded. “You don’t remember?”

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