Page 51 of Ensnared
“Then someone should tell that to the silver dragon,” Sammy says.
“What?” My heart leaps into my throat.
“The one that’s by his window.” He points.
I swear.
Sammy repeats my exclamation.
“No,” I say. “Not that word. Never that word.”
Then I say it again. Because, if I try to save him, I’ll die. If I let them kill him? I’ll die. If any situation warrants the use of that word, it’s this one.
Sammy’s gaping at me.
“Oh, just go upstairs, rugrat.”
If I’m dying either way, I may as well be front and center when it happens. Besides. If my death delays them enough to buy him the time he needs to survive, he might honor his promise to care for my siblings, right? Maybe?
I hop the coffee table, and then the sofa, and I hang a right around the office and shove the master bedroom door open. Axel’s nowhere to be found—certainly not on the bed like I assumed he’d be for his nap thing.
I have no idea what processing means, but maybe it’s more of a bathroom type of situation. Ew. Wherever he is, I doubt he’s ready to be attacked by a silver dragon. Not that I’ll ever be ready for it.
But ready or not, it’s coming. It’s peering through the window on the door that opens onto the porch, clearly trying to figure out where to enter. The silver dragons are the smallest ones, other than a few of the earth dragons that look pretty young, and I think it’ll be able to shove its way through the back door with minimal damage to the wall, sadly. The solid brick might have slowed it down otherwise.
I glance at my watch. We’re, what? Fifteen minutes into this nap thing? Why didn’t I press him for a time estimate?
It’s okay, Liz. You don’t have to kill it.
I just have to keep it from killing him long enough for him to wake up. Didn’t he say Gordon and Rufus would be around? If I start shrieking, would they hear me? Or would that just alert more villains to the fact that Axel’s out of commission?
I start digging around for a weapon. Any kind of weapon will do. Axel’s room looks like he’s never used it. The bed’s pristine. The desk has zero papers on it, and why would it? The blessed have no hands, and they communicate with mental messages. They suck.
The nightstand’s bare. Why’d he even claim this room? And where is he, anyway?
Both the closet and the bathroom doors are closed.
But the stupid silver dragon’s done waiting, and it’s noticed me. It shakes the door. Bumps against the door. And then it whams repeatedly into the door.
I dive for the closet, wondering whether I can wake Axel up. But the closet actually has something weird inside it. There’s a giant rock, like, bigger than Sammy, with two identical swords sunk into it. I’m getting major Sword in the Stone vibes, only there are two long blades. Carved into the base of the stone are some letters I wouldn’t have known before I was ensnared, but now I can miraculously read, just like how I now speak dragon.
To carve the heart and save the blessed.
They must be some kind of holy swords. It makes sense the prince of the earth blessed would have them, I guess. They’re the only ones who might have hands to hold them. It’s not like any of the other dragons could use swords.
A huge crash outside tells me that the silver dragon has broken through.
I swear under my breath, and then I leap toward the stone, pulling with all my might on the swords. They both slide right out—so much for Arthurian legends. I guess this stone’s more of, like, a display stand for the dragons.
Electro dragon outside’s huffing and sniffing and muscling its way around, and my adrenaline spikes. Time to see what I can do with these things. They’ve got to be better than a fire poker and a decorative blade. They’re much heavier than the shinai, the bamboo swords we used for kendo, but I did sometimes use two. Maybe I won’t cut my own arm off at the wrist when I go out there.
“Did someone say traitorous murderer?” I burst out of the closet.
I’m left staring at a huge silver dragon butt.
Not exactly the scene I had in my mind, but I’m less likely to be electrocuted from this side. I lunge forward and jab with my right hand—my dominant hand—straight into its nicely rounded hind end.
The sword, unlike the stupid one I jabbed at Azar, slides right into the dragon’s derriere, and boy does it roar. If a bear got caught in a trap, and an elephant lost a toenail, and a whale’s fin was severed, the three together couldn’t wail as loudly as this whiner.
