Page 38 of Embers of Fate
One glance over my shoulder, and my blood runs cold. The drop behind me is dizzying, the jagged rocks below promising a quick and painful death. If I had fallen...
Anger surges through me, hot and fierce, chasing away the last lingering tendrils of fear. My jaw clenches, my muscles coiling tight as I push myself upright, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
I’m a formidable witch, or so I’ve been told, my power growing stronger with each passing day. But in this moment, facing down a creature of legend, I feel woefully unprepared. My mind races, searching for any scrap of knowledge, any whisper of a spell or incantation that might help me tame the beast before me.
But there’s nothing. No ancient wisdom passed down through generations, no secret rituals hidden away in dusty tomes. Juliette, for all her talk of taming dragons, never mentioned if there were any magical means to do so.
I’m flying blind, armed with nothing but my wits and my stubborn refusal to give up. It’s a daunting prospect, but I can’t let it shake me. I won’t let it break me.
I yank down my skirt, smoothing the fabric with a sharp, irritated motion, and then I’m marching forward, my steps fueled by a newfound determination. If Juliette could tame her dragon, then damn it, so can I. I won’t let this beast, this creature of smoke and flame, take Nik away from me. Not now, not ever.
The firebreather snorts, a plume of smoke curling from its nostrils. And then, slowly, inexorably, its mouth begins to open, the fiery glow building in the back of its throat once more.
Here we go again.
Fuck. It’s going to be a long night.
But I won’t back down. I won’t give up. Not on Nik, not on us.
I am Samara Alexeev, daughter of great bears and talented witches. I have faced worse than this, and I have survived.
And I will survive this too, no matter what it takes.
So bring it on, dragon. Give me your worst.
I’m ready for you.
23
DRAGON
Burn…
Destroy…
Play?
24
SAM
My skin prickles in the morning light, the tingling sensation sharpening until it becomes a searing pain, like a thousand needles stabbing into my arm. The agony forces my eyes open, and as consciousness returns, so do the memories of the night before—the violent blaze of fire and smoke, roaring flames licking at the elm trees, Nik’s dragon chasing me across the lawn...
I find myself lying on a heap of straw in the stables, my body aching and sore. Slowly, I sit up, wincing as the movement strains my arm and shoulder. “Ow!” I cry out, looking down at my forearm. The skin is tender and gleaming bright red, a painful reminder of the ordeal I’ve endured.
“Oh gods...” I groan, struggling to my feet, the burn stinging like hell. “Nik, you better keep some aloe in the kitchen,” I grumble, combing my fingers through my tangled hair as I trudge out of the stables.
It wasn’t Nik’s fault, my injury. His dragon thought it would begreat funto light up the greenhouse, and I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, running away from the rampaging beast like a kitten chased by an over-enthusiastic toddler. My arm brushed against the scorching metal door, and the pain was excruciating. It still is.
I climb the front steps to the porch, noting with a dull sense of surprise that the door is open. I’m too exhausted, too drained, both physically and emotionally, to puzzle out what that might mean. So I simply walk inside, my steps heavy and dragging.
As I enter the vestibule, the sound of heavy footsteps echoes from above, a frantic staccato that sets my nerves on edge. I hear doors slamming, the thud of feet pounding down the hallway, a muffled curse that carries through the stillness. Nik is searching for me, his movements erratic and desperate, and I can almost feel the panic radiating from him, the fear that grips his heart.
The footsteps grow louder, closer, until they’re thundering down the stairs, each step a hammer blow against the polished wood. And then he’s there, frozen at the top of the staircase, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and wild as they scan the room below.
For a moment, he doesn’t see me, his gaze skipping over my still form as if I’m nothing more than a shadow, a trick of the light. I stand perfectly motionless, watching him with weary eyes, taking in the disheveled state of his hair, the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, the dark circles that mar the perfection of his face.
But then, as if sensing my presence, his head snaps towards me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath. Relief and joy and terror and a thousand other emotions flicker across his face in rapid succession, each one a mirror of the chaos that reigns in my own heart.
