Treasured by the Dragon

Ch 29: Improvisation

Irving!

His name flashes through my mind, pounding against the inside of my eyelids like a mallet striking an anvil.

He found us. Fuck! Why didn't I hide us after tending to Cephias?

A slew of curses scream inside my head—some of which I conjure from the vast depths of my anger because there aren't any words that currently exist that a strong enough to express my frustration.

"Fuck", however, gets used a lot.

Despite the self-loathing, instinct strikes me like lightning. My muscles snap into action despite the resistance tightening every tendon and ligament. My hand swipes the ground, searching for the sharp stone I had used to tear my clothes into bandages the night before.

My fingers tense when I graze the thin, blade-like edge. With a twist of my shoulders, I stretch out far enough to take hold. A holler of surprise marks my movement. Then there's a swirl of words lost beneath the stress pounding in my ears.

I search for my foe, blinking my eyes to clear them. However, exhaustion still wracks my body and blurs my vision. To make matters worse, the day has broken, and the sun has cast the vicious Waterhearts in shadow.

Movement, though, I can see and I catch one of them leaning toward me with hands outstretched.

I raise the stone over my head and swing it down to stab my assailant's arm, wrist, palm—whatever I can hit.

Unfortunately, no amount of adrenaline can power my weakened frame with the speed and dexterity it needs. My attacker grips my wrist before my makeshift blade gets anywhere near them.

I growl and snarl like the feral beast I've become.

"Hold on, okay? Calm down, will ya?"

There's no painful swell of water in my throat like there had been that fateful night that already feels like weeks ago, even if it's only been a day or two. Instead, they hold me tight, wrapping their other hand around my other wrist.

"We're not gonna hurt ya! Stop movin' so much or you'll just hurt yourself more."

The words fall on deaf ears, but they still slither their way into my thoughts. A little voice rises, coaxing me to settle. However, I will not take the easy way out. I will not concede to these demons without a fight.

"Leave us alone!" I shout, my eyes starting to take focus on the person holding me. "I won't let you hurt him!"

How I'll live up to that assertion, I don't know. I don't stand a chance against a Waterheart, or even a human at this point. But, no matter how vain my threats may be, I will do everything I can to make good on them.

"We ain't gonna hurt 'im. He's hurtin' enough already. Just like you. So settle and let's get ya to the doctor."

The gruff drawl is so unlike the precise eloquence of the Waterhearts that I pause. My breath is still rapid, but my vision is clearing.

About ten people dressed in heavy canvas overalls and sturdy denim stand around us. Their boots are scuffed leather with worn soles, and their shirts are a range of colors dulled by dust and dirt.

That's when I realize the hands holding me are hard and calloused. The fingers are thick and short. Nothing like the long, elegant hands of the Waterhearts.

These people aren't dragoniths, they're humans.

"What?" I ask in a breathy whisper. "What's hap—Cephias!"

The hint of comfort I dared to feel flies away the moment I see several burly men hovering over my dragon's limp body.

"It's okay. I told ya, we ain't gonna hurt 'im. They're jus' gonna take 'im to the boat."