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

produced a fine, high-speed stream of brilliant fire that illuminated faces and scales as it raced down the channel Yarimda had cleared for him. Sixty feet from his body, the plume abruptly widened in a bloom of destruction that rolled toward the tree in a fiery, unstoppable embrace.

The pristine light highlighted the gleam of fangs in many watching draconic faces as his flame streamed forth, endless, mesmeric and dazzling. Even the low, eager hissing sound it made was a statement of lethal beauty.

Never had he imagined he would produce fire like this. How could it belong to him? A common, muddy brown Dragon had no business producing flame that seared the air like white-hot talons.

With a muted whomp, the tree gave up the unequal battle. Flames gushed toward the heavens.

Rage, o Dragon hearts! Rage!

“Alright, Dragon,” the Princess breathed. “That was awesome.”

Reluctantly, he clenched the flame between his fangs, cutting it off. Darkness washed over the Dragons; deprived of the brilliance, the night became that much deeper and darker.

Nefarious deeds were at paw. A sire chose to save his son’s honour, at his own expense.

Quietly, he noted, As I attested, I found my true flame.

On another occasion, the stunned response might have been hilarious. Jaws sagged. Paws clenched. Wings flared in odd directions, eloquently describing the consternation of every Dragon, especially his precious brothers. Orange fires dribbled unheeded from many a jaw as they stared at him as if he had turned into a monster straight out of legend.

He could not better have dropped a mountain upon their heads.

Or, kicked his brothers square in the Dragon jewels. A severe temptation at the best of times.

Pitching his voice to carry, Blaze said, Here in the gaps left by your wounds, Dragon, especially when you poured forth your flame, the new hide shows white. It is said no Dragon can change his colour – but look, you will do the impossible.

A talon plucked at his flank. Sawed at the loose hide.

Uh …

That squawk was the limit of his speech at this juncture.

With a wicked chuckle, Yarimda cried, Who would like to pluck a Dragon like a fresh fowl? Come help, Dragons!

Me, Juggernaut rumbled. Tear him apart, Blaze?

With pleasure!

“I’ve just the tool for the job,” Azania chortled, drawing her talon dagger with a bright zing of metal. He decided he loathed the fact that she understood enough Draconian to know what was going on – and that fervent expression? Deadly Princess!

Hold on! Dragon heard himself bleat.

“Do tell us if something hurts,” his Princess added, with a roguish grin. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time.”

“It’s soft under there, and – ooh!”

“Rrrrrriiipp it up!” she sang out. “Come on, Juggernaut, flex those muscles!”

Something was totally wrong about this picture. Dragon hide was not supposed to rip like tough cloth. Nor was it supposed to tear off in long strips that left him looking like one of those slatted fences he had seen in Aluxon, capital of the Kingdom of Alaxarmis. Dragons did not bother to skin their prey before consuming it. Waste of good nutrients. Now, his friends mobbed him to gleefully strip his hide like a troop of Human cooks preparing meat for the pot.

Dreadfully unhappy.

How humiliating was this?

Especially since the whisper about his white fires began to make the rounds of the Dragons, until it reached the ear canals of his brothers and managed to meld with something resembling sensible thought in there. Impossible as he felt it might be for their jaws to dangle further, they actually slapped down upon their forepaws, giving new meaning to the phrase, ‘slack-jawed idiots.’

Enjoyable, in a terrifying sort of way.

“BY MY WINGS!” he roared as Juggernaut ripped right up to his row of spine spikes, where the old hide finally stuck.

“Princess, you could start chopping along here,” the warrior suggested.

“Stuck?” she asked. “With pleasure.”

“Gently with my new scales,” he protested, trying to twizzle his neck around to see what was going on.

Odd colours? The major part of most of his white scales was the same reflective sheen of his fires, but there was a strong underlying brown pattern too, highlighting the edges and undersides of some but not all scales. Not his old brown. This was a deep, lustrous gold-infused brown which nonetheless displayed the same pearlescent sheen of the white. Highlights? Background and edging colouration? As an artist, he imagined the effect might be quite striking, if for the life of him he could work out what the patterning meant.

Brawl staggered toward them, gasping, Sire, it cannot be … what is this? Who …

Blaze snarled, You share a sire, but not the same dam. Clear enough?

Distracted by the fact that Azania was working her way along his back, chortling charming, Princess-like things such as, ‘Dragon kebabs,’ ‘slice and dice,’ and ‘I’m sure I have a glittering future as a butcher,’ he bellowed in shock as Juggernaut ripped his way down his tail. A whole cone of dilapidated hide came off in his paws, along with a few scraps of new. Several patches began to bleed.

“Sensitive!” he protested.

“Poor, sweet little Draggy need kissy better? Mweh! Mweh!”

“Princess, I am not a forgiving creature!”

“Just trimming off a few of the crustier bits. Hold still. You are still my favourite Dragon, after all. Consider this a demonstration of friendship.”

“Don’t you know how Dragons carry grudges? Inzashu, don’t you dare – GRAARRRGGHH!”

Thankfully, he aimed at the sky this time. The entire sinkhole lit up as if lightning had struck from clear skies.

* * * *

Very late, a soft tread alerted Dragon where he dozed beside the entrance to Juggernaut’s lair. He thought it might be Brand or Blitz come to exact a misguided revenge, but it was neither of them.

Sire, he