Page 38 of The Sweetest Lies
The tear of flesh is a quick lashing. The breaking of bones is like nothing. It’s a kiss of agony that passes so quickly, it doesn’t even register in my mind as my flesh morphs into scales and heat and fire and fury.
The ground distances itself as I’m lifted higher and higher. Wings spring from my spine, and I enjoy—no, Irevelin the feel of total power.
Heat billows from my snout, and the blurring sight of my surroundings is hard to take into focus, but I hear her.
It’s a gasp of pleased pleasure.
It’s a threat.
A threat of what’s to come.
And I won’t wait for those days to beat me down.
The smoke from my throat wafts out as I tilt my head slowly down at the dark image below me. A small palm strokes along my foot.
It—fuck, that tickles. I shake him off, and he tumbles away from me before I spot Roman sitting in the dirt on his ass.
Oops. I’d say sorry, but how dare he tickle a monstrous badass like myself!
Snorting fire brews at the back of my throat, and I lower my head down, down, down and finally, his pretty features come into focus.
I blink at him, and he shakes his head slowly at me.
Once more saying, “Don’t fucking be stupid,” without really saying it.
My teeth bare to him. His dark eyebrows lift high, and it’s almost laughable how puny my little hellhound looks right now. To think I used to have to look up at him like his height was impressive or something.
My jaws open wide, and ever so gently, I snip up one of his dirty boots and throw the little man up in the air. A small grunt is heard as he lands with a thud somewhere on my back.
He’s fucking adorable.
So cute.
“Fuckin’ crazy woman,” he mutters.
So cute.
But serious business is to be had in this moment. The queen’s pleased squeal is no longer sounding through the night air, and I’m very aware of how little time I have to steal up the other little pup down below, take out the castle wall just behind me, and snatch up the sweet little hound in the prison hall before flying our asses out of here and heading for the upper realm.
“Cersia, listen to me,” Roman whispers against my neck, tickling the scales there with the heat of his breath. Damn, why are dragons so ticklish? I don’t recall that being an issue in any of the folklore I’ve heard about my kind... “Cersia, we can’t go back to your pack. They’d never accept you as one of their own, and Creatchin will expect you to hide there. She’s not a fool, and you know it!”
I blink slowly at that. It was a feeble plan, but it was something. It was a promising thought to think about. It was—it was wishful thinking.
My breathing comes in slow heaps.
“Cersia, my pet,” Creatchin calls out to me gently. “Cersia, come with me.” I feel the ends of her dress sweep past my foot, and I’m aware of her beckoning me back to the crowd of people I hear whispering behind us.
I won’t do it. I won’t be her war beast.
With Roman’s hands settled against my back, my wings beat very slowly around him. I push them gently through the breeze. It’s a casual, leisurely liftoff that barely hovers my talons above the ground at first. Little by little, I lift higher. I take flight like a delicate butterfly. Until I turn and glare down at the dark smudge of a witch I know is about to present me to her people.
I’m her pet. Her prize.
Her fire fucking breathing dragon.
The heat in my throat blooms out, igniting the night in colors of yellow and white. Screams and growls shift through the sea of an audience down below. The roar I cast out to them isn’t one of submission. It rolls over the hills of this kingdom and flies out to the stars beyond.
Just seconds ago, I wanted nothing more than to do the same. I truly thought flying away would solve all our problems. It won’t.
