I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2) by Marc Secchia (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

a Human title. No, he was feeling magnanimous. Let this fellow escape with his head. Especially since his stomach was ever so appreciative of the attention.

He said, “No, thank you. Before you leave, allow me to relieve you of your burden. This red fish is particularly excellent.”

“The Ruby Snapper, sir?”

“Aye.”

Dragon’s ear quickened to a light footstep. Azania. A touch awkward in her gait, however. He curved his head at once to check her over as she ascended to the rooftop. Arm, body and breast. The Princess wore her wounds proudly – as well she should, having saved Azerim’s life fairly much single-handedly. She also wore her talon blade prominently on her hip. Stars above, he loved her attitude. Sass, spark and zest. That young King had no idea how lucky he was to have captured prime place in her heart.

“How are you, Princess?”

“Stitched up and sore, but fine. You, Dragon?”

“Feeling exactly the same; thinking deep and positive thoughts about closing all of these holes in my hide.”

Her smile quirked up at the corners. “I see. Very hard work. Deep thoughts.”

“Quite. So, is our King still as handsome as when you plucked that evil hood off and beheld his chiselled jaw and rugged good looks once again?”

“Dragon, you’re a pest.” Walking around his head, she leaned against his upper shoulder, in the protective curve of his paw. “Confession? That jawline is infeasibly chiselled. If I start any unsociable drooling, you have permission to poke me with a – ouch. Thanks, I think.”

He grinned, withdrawing his talon. “Like that?”

Gnarr.

“What about that wild hair, Highness?”

“Mischievous,” she agreed. “Longer than I expected. I have to say, spending days with one’s head locked inside a stuffy leather hood is not generally regarded as beneficial to any Human hairstyle.”

“Nut brown with blonde highlights and a hint of aesthetic waviness?”

She wiped her lower lip. “Oh, stop it.”

“Much more importantly, how is His Majesty doing?”

“Still asleep. The surgeon piped a fair amount of restorative brew down his throat.” Her sigh conveyed a weight of worry. “Says he needs to sleep for as long as it takes, and he’ll have himself and an assistant on hand all hours to monitor him. Chanize did a fantastic job. Fine hand on the essential stitching. The right foot … that’s not great. Dragon, thanks for trying to strengthen him with your magic. You almost collapsed.”

“It was nothing.”

“A highly significant nothing, then.”

Drawing his Dragon Rider against his scales in a hug that enveloped her tiny person, he said, “Now to the waiting and the healing. This is the hardest part.”

“Isn’t it just?” She patted his neck, and in a muffled voice, teased, “Don’t you worry now, Dragon. I’m here for you. You can cry on my shoulder. I’ll hold your little paw and tell you everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Rascal!” he snorted.

After a long, long hug that he appreciated more than perhaps any other Dragon would have admitted, she added, “We did it.”

“We did it. You did it! I was just watching through the jail bars.”

“As if. You’re amazing, Dragon.”

“You’re pretty impressive yourself, for a cute desert blossom.”

“If I had fangs, you’d be toast right now.”

“How is that statement logical?” Chuckling, he added, “To catch you up, there’s no word from the search as yet. We had a Dragoness report half an hour ago – apart from, that the Princes are having the time of their lives. Boys racing around the Archipelago on Dragonesses. You get the picture.”

“I do. Missing Aria yet?”

“It’s only been a matter of hours. Would I be so shallow? Don’t you dare – you dared!” Grrr!

“Grrr yourself.”

On that mature note of history-changing significance, the Princess settled down between his forepaws and breathed out a gust of air. Bone-weary. Healing. Victorious!

She did not snore. Just a faint snuffling as she nodded off.

Dragon’s eyes lidded. He jerked awake as a shadow crossed his nose; just an attractive orange Dragoness flitting overhead on patrol. Pah. Unfaithful thoughts. Aria certainly had her troops hopping. They had lost five Dragonesses in the assaults on the four Lords; eight more had been laid low with severe wounds but should recover in time for the flight south to the mainland. The King was their biggest worry. If infection set in, he could be in real trouble – and he was fairly sure Lord Gazaram had not been the sort to concern himself with the cleanliness of his blades before he stuck them into people, judging by the tales told by his servants.

Time to work on his majestic snoozing in the sunshine. A skill wholly necessary to his personal growth as a creature of fiery intelligence and bourgeoning combat prowess.

* * * *

When a Dragon sense awoke, it was like a claw pricking at the back of his mind. Cracking open an eye, he checked his surroundings without giving anything away. Aha. That emotional scent, as evocative as her personal scale scent – Ariamyrielle, sneaking up on him from behind. Wicked Dragoness!

Appreciating the view back there? he purred.

Dragon! she snorted in delight. Playing at the sleeping predator, are we?

She rubbed along his flank and flicked his wing edge playfully as she approached, slinking with feline intent up to where he could best appreciate the yellow-white flame filling her eyes. How he shivered at her ardour!

Nuzzling her neck, he purred, Fancy meeting you here, o treasure of the Vaylarn Archipelago.

Not every day I get to meet a true monster around my Islands, she purred, tickling his chin with her talon tip. How’s our scale-sized desert rose?

Very sore, I fear, but recovering. Your wing?

Bad, but improving. We brought the Princes back for the night. They want to keep searching for their brother in the morning. We covered a great deal of ground, but