Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I'm not sure if that's the case, but I brush my hand over his, trying not to think about the claws that now tip his fingers. It was just a nightmare, I tell myself. A freak occurrence. Nothing more.
The claws are gone again the next morning, and I suspect Azar has filed them down once more. He's as composed and remote as ever, but the moment we're alone, his hands are all over me. We kiss for what feels like hours, until I'm panting and straddling him in his chair and his hand is between my thighs.
"Lessons?" I manage to ask.
"First you come for me," Azar tells me in that no-nonsense tone. "Then lessons."
And…I do. I come hard and fast, and when I'm dazed with endorphins, I sit on his lap and go over the reading primer we've unearthed, discussing the alphabet and the shapes of letters.
Our days fall into a pattern. We have breakfast together (in which Azar devours me with his eyes the entire time) and then I head off to my clinic while Azar runs the fort. There's always a new crisis coming up. Either refugees are showing up on our doorstep, or someone's stealing, or another person is trying to blackmail people that use the common well established for everyone. There's always something, and it's because people have lived without rules for so long. We've become accustomed to thinking of ourselves first, and so Azar is constantly laying down the law. A few people have been exiled, and one man was executed for killing his neighbors for their supplies. For that one, Azar refused to be lenient and choose exile. It would encourage others to murder indiscriminately, he said, and then told me later he'd tried to be kind and exile him, only for the man to return to the fort. There was no choice but to execute.
For every change that Azar makes for the better, it's like people are fighting against it. The well I'd insisted be made for common use has been a source of constant issues. If someone's not trying to charge others to use it, someone else is dropping things down it. Fights break out near it constantly, and the militia is forced to constantly patrol the area and regulate who gets water so everyone gets a fair share. There's the usual food shortages, of course, because there always are, and as fast as the streets are cleaned up again, they're made filthy once more.
Basically life in the fort is as it always is. Some things change, some things stay the same no matter who is in charge.
Best of it all, there has not been a single dragon attack since Azar took over.
As weeks turn into months, people seem to flock to the outdoors. There's laughter in the streets, and scuffles too, but I sense that people feel as if a weight has been lifted. Hell, I feel that way, too. I've been so used to hiding and making do, scheduling my life around the relentless attacks that now that they're gone, I feel free.
I'm…happy.
I smile at the dragons up on the wall as I see them every day. I know they can't see me, as Azar is safeguarding their minds, but I like to think that they're pleased that they're doing their part to protect people. Maybe they're aware they're making a difference. Whatever it is, my initial skepticism of them has been replaced with quiet fondness. They're changing our lives back to normal, and I'm so very grateful.
Time ticks on, and my initial happiness gives way to unease, though.
Things might be going swimmingly in the fort, but Azar's dreams have continued. More than that, they grow worse and worse. It's always the same sort of dream. Something—or someone—is trying to reach through the Rift. The dreams are so vivid that at first I think they're his subconscious reacting to something. That perhaps he's holding guilt over his rule, or that he's too worried over the safety of the people here, even though he reassures me that isn't the case.
But then the dreams keep changing. Azar tosses in his sleep, speaking a strange, guttural language, and his scent changes. It's not that strange whiff of ash, or the burning scent I've come to associate with dragons. It's something sour and foul…and it dissipates the moment he wakes up. He becomes hollow-eyed, exhausted.
"Someone is trying to tell me something," he insists. "Whoever is in the Rift is trying to speak to me, they're trying to come through."
"From your world?" I ask. When he shakes his head, I feel a prickle of fear. "Then who?"
"I don't know." And he seems just as worried as me.
After that, I suggest to him that we talk with the other dragons that have regained their sanity. The dragons like Claudia's mate, who have become themselves again. Maybe they'll have answers that we don't. Azar likes the idea and sends out his mental “feelers,” reaching far and wide. Claudia and her dragon don't respond, which surprises me, but Azar has hinted that his people don't get along with the drakoni. It seems selfish to refuse to help, but perhaps she has more going on in her life.