Page 92 of The Flame King's Captive

Isavelle

The sun is dipping low on the horizon as Scourge skims as close to the ground as he can. Zabriel has an arm wrapped around my waist while I grip the saddle with one hand and lean out as far as I dare, scouring the ground. Hunting for any sign of the downed dragon and rider. Up ahead, the southern mountains shimmer strangely, as if veiled by heat or water.

The barrier.

I can feel it like a malevolent, living thing, hungry for blood and death. Whoever made it is like no one I’ve ever encountered before. Even in his worst moments, the High Priest didn’t feel this evil.

The shadows are lengthening on the ground. Soon there won’t be any light by which to search for Tish and Damla. Before we took off on Scourge, Zabriel shouted an order to a soldier from a wingrunner unit that at least three dragonriders were to follow us immediately and search the Proxen Road close to the barrier for a downed rider, but there’s no sign yet of anyone else joining the search.

I’m so focused on what I’m doing that I almost don’t feel sick. Almost.

The vision. I need to remember the vision. What did I see while I was in Zabriel’s arms? I close my eyes and attempt to recall it in my mind. The coral-colored dragon screaming and tumbling out of the sky. Her rider desperately clinging on. Both of them crashing into the unyielding, rocky ground. There was something dark beyond them. A crease of darkness in the ground, and beyond that, a pale line winding through the landscape…

I open my eyes and turn toward Zabriel. “Is there a blind canyon nearby? East of the road?”

Zabriel’s dark brows draw together. He nods, and a moment later, Scourge swerves in that direction. He banks so hard that my stomach lurches, and I clap a hand over my mouth.

“Sha’len, you’re feeling sick, aren’t you?”

I swallow hard and gasp, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Zabriel can’t seem to help worrying about me, and he pulls his cloak around us and holds me securely against his chest. I can see him searching the ground in my peripheral vision as I hunt every shape in the landscape for a hint of coral or the shape of a wing.

A moment later, I spot the blind canyon, deep in shadow by now and not far from it, the outstretched neck of a supine dragon.

“There,” I exclaim, pointing to the spot. Excitement sweeps over me as Scourge arrows toward the spot, but it’s rapidly replaced by foreboding. There’s an ominous red-black stain in the dust around the dragon.

Scourge circles to land. The ground rushes up to meet us, and for a moment his beating wings conceal the sight of the downed dragon and rider from us. Zabriel holds me tight as he swings his leg over the saddle and slides heels first toward the ground, faster than usual when he has me in his arms but still setting me gently on my feet.

“Stay here. Don’t look,sha’len,” he urges in a low voice, moving me closer to Scourge. The enormous black dragon twists his head around, shielding my gaze from the sight of Damla and Tish.

But I have to look. I’m the one who saw them in a vision, and I feel like I owe it to the rider and her dragon to see for myself what’s become of them. I place my hand against Scourge’s side and move along his body until I see Zabriel crouched by the coral dragon’s forelegs. There’s an enormous gash in the dragon’s breastbone that’s several feet long. A woman is lying beneath Damla, her lower body crushed beneath the dragon’s forelegs. Blood has trickled from her nose and staring eyes.

A sickly, metallic scent washes over me in a wave. They’re dead. They’re both dead.

My stomach churns. Spots rush upward over my vision, and a cold sweat breaks over my body. I stagger to Scourge’s other side, just making it around his forelegs before I lose the contents of my stomach all over the ground. I heave again and again, holding on to Scourge’s harness as my body feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out. Tears swim in my eyes and trickle over my cheeks.

There’s a beating of wings, and a moment later, I hear the muted thump of something heavy hitting the ground. I scrub my sleeve over my mouth and eyes. When I look up, I expect to see Captain Ashton or one of my bodyguards, but instead, I gaze into a pair of beautiful turquoise eyes, flecked with gold.

“Esmeral,” I say, my voice husky with tears and coughing. “What are you doing here?”

The dragon trills, sounding concerned, and patters across the dust toward me. Gently, she pushes her head into my hand. A strange feeling passes from her into me, but I’m too overwhelmed to focus on it.

I feel hands on my back, and Zabriel draws me into his arms and reaches for my mouth. I realize he means to wipe my lips. “No, don’t—”

But I’m too late, and his thumb smooths over my lips. There’s a pained, sympathetic expression on his handsome features. “Not take care of my mate? Don’t be foolish,sha’len. Hold still and let me dry your eyes.”

With a corner of his cloak, Zabriel gently wipes the tears from my cheeks. He should be focusing on the dead dragon and rider, but instead, he has to waste his time with a woman who throws up because she can’t ride a dragon or stand the smell of blood.

“I’m sorry I’m so weak.”

“You’re not. Never think that.” Zabriel dabs my cheeks with his cloak. “Can I make you feel better with my scent? I can’t bear that you’re so unwell.”

I swallow, and my stomach feels like it might revolt again, but I don’t trust how loopy I become when he does that for me. “You don’t need to do that. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“All right. I won’t, but let me hold you until you feel better.” He scoops me up in his arms and cradles my face to his neck, holding me easily against his chest. His strength and body are soothing, but I can’t smell anything. I wonder what my Alpha’s scent is like.

Zabriel is already so alluring. If I start to smell his scent the way he can smell mine, I’m in danger of becoming addicted to this man. I wrap my arms around him and burrow my face into his throat, trying to focus on taking slow and steady breaths.

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