Page 124 of Veiled Flames
One of its massively powerful legs rises, and I back up as sharp talons scrape the bars at the front of the cage.
I think I’ve been in shock, but I’m shaking now. And my certainty that I was meant to ride dragons seems as foolish as Egon’s claim that he should go first.
Even if I ever had a chance to ride dragons, that possibility is ending right now. I’m about to be torn to shreds by the behemoth’s talons or burned alive by its breath.
Its talons flex, and they rip off the front of the cage. The entire box shifts, tilting forward. I grab onto a bar at the back, holding on for dear life, lest I slip and tumble right out. Now that the cage is on an angle, the floor of the canyon is very clear. It’s as far down as the distance from a castle turret to the ground. And this beast looks half again the size of the largest dragon in the main enclave.
The behemoth shifts again, raising and lowering its head and snorting steam. My palms are sweating. My hands are losing their grip on the bar of the cage.
This is it. I am going to die. Turns out, I was not destined to ride dragons, I was destined to be killed by one.
Forty-Seven
Rosomon
Idraw long hard breaths. I won’t give up. I can’t.
Given the precarious angle of the cage, I don’t dare adjust my tenuous grip on the bar at its back. I’ll hold on as long as I can.
I eye the lift’s ropes. Could I climb up? They’re quite thin and would be difficult to grip. Plus, they’re out of reach and too far to grasp without the full intervention of Othrix.
Egon said he’d get help. The least trustworthy person I know, stands between my life and my death. But I must put my trust and hope in the bully. If Egon finds help, someone will fix the lift or drop down a climbing rope. But by the time someone gets here, I’ll have no strength left in my hands or arms. I’ll find some.
The dragon turns his eye toward me again. This beast must be a male. Everything about him, from his size to his presence, reads masculine.
He snorts, and even more steam erupts, but this time it’s not directly aimed at me, thank Othrix. He roars, and fire streams down the canyon, scorching its wall for several furlongs ahead of me.
The behemoth shifts, moving alongside my cage. He’s so close now his massive body and gleaming scales—gold tinged silver—brush against the part of the cage he ripped open. Remembering the texture of Surath’s scales, not to mention the surge of power and happiness I felt when I touched her, my aching fingers long to reach out.
If I let go with one hand and stretch across the cage, I might be able to touch him, but if the beast chooses that moment to move, I’ll only have the fingers of one hand separating my life from my death.
But the longer he stays still, the more my temptation to touch him grows. If this is my end, I’ll have few regrets, and at least I’ll have died, trying to achieve something I truly want.
Craving my father’s attention and love, and my brothers’ privileges, I often wished I’d been born a male, but now that I’ve found the pleasures in being a woman, that no longer holds true. And upon reflection, instead of ever truly wanting to be a man, what I’ve always wished was that the world would place a higher value on a woman’s place in it.
All in all, my life has been grand. I’ve never gone without food or toiled long hours for coin. And even if my father largely ignored me, I love him. He was inattentive but not cruel like Tynan’s father. And I love my brothers. I even love Nurse. And Saxon and Tynan have introduced me to the great pleasures of being a woman. If these are my last moments in life, if I’m taking my very last breaths, I want to die full of joy and not terror.
Wanting to relive my happiest moments, I imagine I’m on the back of Sky Stallion, galloping across open fields, my hair flowing behind me with the warm pink sun on my face. I imagine the hot pressure of the steed’s body moving strong and sure beneath mine. And then I imagine my good times with Saxon and Tynan. How connected I felt to them when they were moving inside me. And how much pleasure each of them gave me.
Flooded with happiness, I release one of my hands and stretch sideways, reaching toward the dragon’s scales.
My fingertips brush one, and I’m overwhelmed with wonderment. I’m only touching a single scale, and barely, but my fingers tingle and goosebumps travel up my arm. The dragon shifts even closer, as if trying to squeeze more of his huge body into the cage, making it easier for me to touch him.
Stretching out so only my fingertips are holding the bar, I flatten my palm against his scale, and the warm tingling intensifies. It’s fanciful thinking on my part, but I feel as if the dragon knows that I’m touching him. That he wants me to touch him. And perhaps he’s enjoying it too.
He shifts. I gasp. I’m going to fall.
But his movement is slow, and his scales seem to come alive as my hand slides over them. My terror is overridden by awe and curiosity. I’m filled with utter appreciation that Othrix created such beasts, and that he put this particular one in front of me now.
My eyes flutter shut, as if my mind and body want me to concentrate only on my sense of touch as his scales continue to slide under my hand.
When I reopen my eyes, the dragon’s body is no longer covering the front of the cage. A gap at the top has appeared, revealing a slice of the other side of the canyon and a hint of the sky. I maintain contact with his golden scales as he slowly lowers. The base of some spikes appear in my line of vision. I’m looking at the back of his neck. He continues to shift, exposing the place where his neck joins the smoother top of his back.
Excitement courses through me, alongside my awe. Is the behemoth inviting me to mount? That’s truly wishful thinking, but wishes are all that I have.
My eyes widen as I spot what I think is one of the beast’s saddle handles. Do I dare grab it?
There’s no way I can reach—not unless I let go of the cage’s bar. And even if I can grab it, will I be able to get a strong enough grip to climb atop this behemoth without a mounting rope?
