Page 8 of To Match A Dragon's Fire

I left my axe and headed toward the house.

It was time to face the dragons and tell them it was over. Our time had come to an end.

3

Ember

Cheap Wine and Chocolate

“Scientists are recording more activity at Yellowstone this year and experts warn yet another volcanic erupt––”

I turned the radio off as I drove my faded saffron ’98 hardtop Bronco onto the gravel road. The Bronco—like most everything I owned—had seen better days. But the goat still held strong and the rumble of the engine was steady.

Riley stood from the front stoop of the trailer. Her brown hair used to be long, back in college, but now it was cut short and framed her thin face.

She wore a suede crossbody purse over her jean jacket and thick wool sweater, burying her slender figure in layers of fabric. In one hand was a beat-up suitcase, and the other held her cat carrier.

If Dobby, the mean old orange tabby, was coming, things were serious.

Riley kept her face lowered until I switched off the headlights, but the interior light came on when she grabbed the door handle.

I reached for my hatchet. “Did he do that?”

The red swelling spread across her right eye. Riley quickly lowered her face again. “It doesn’t matter.”

Drew had never hit her before, not that I was aware of, but Iknewhe was capable of it. We’d been trying to get her to leave him for the past two years.

A few times it’d been close, but after this, I was never letting her go back. No matter what it took.

My grip tightened on the hatchet. It was dull from rattling around the back seat for years. Perfect for my intended use now. “Where is he?”

“Dead.”

Eyes wide, I dropped the hatchet. “So we did need a shovel.” I swallowed, looking around the yard. “Do you still have that rug under the table? We can roll him in—”

“You used to be able to take a joke.” Riley climbed onto the passenger seat.

“This one isn’t funny,” I deadpanned, leaning forward so I could inspect her face. “I’m going to kill him. Where is he really? We need to call the cops and file a report to get this documented.”

“Probably not the best idea.” Riley pulled her face away and reached into her purse for a pair of sunglasses. “I drugged him.”

“You what?” I gasped.

“Drugged him.” She nodded. “Slipped him an Ambien. He’s passed out. Can we just go?”

Gritting my teeth, I backed out of the driveway. Dobby hissed in his carrier and started a low meow. The cat was not a friendly one. I’m surprised she even got him in the crate.

Riley stared at the darkened windshield through her sunglasses. Anger boiled in my veins.

“He’ll be okay,” Riley said as we bumped along the dirt road. “I propped him up on pillows and pulled a trashcan over in case he vomits.”

I couldn’t care less if he choked on his own puke. A part of me hoped he would. “We can still burn the place down and make it look like an accident.”

A smile teased Riley’s lips. Just the ghost of one, but it was there. It was gone in the next instant. “He said some things.”

Drew was always saying ‘some things,’ and I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was mostly bullshit.

“Rumor is they’re shutting down the interstate and putting out a curfew next week,” Riley said.

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