Текст книги "The Dragon's Favorite Strays"
Автор книги: Ruby Dixon
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
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CHAPTER 8
MURR
The two human females are such curious creatures. I observe them as they move about. The older female keeps watching me with nervous flicking glances, even as she murmurs sounds to the younger female. She touches the young one frequently, caressing her head or touching the arm, more signs that this is her young and she is feeling protective.
I understand protectiveness. Have I not kept my cats safe from harm for many sleeps now? They are my new family since my world and my people are lost to me. The older female gives me another wary look, and I sit down where I am, trying to make myself seem as harmless as I can. Not an easy task for a drakoni warrior, but I slouch on the hard, strange ground and pet the cats that crawl over me, and she relaxes a bit.
Humans. Such odd people. They look like the drakoni do in many ways, but they never switch to battle-form. They live in their two-legged forms at all times, which seems strange to me. They do not seem to have the protective spikes on their limbs that a drakoni does, nor a tough hide. Their colors are not universal. The older human—Do-tah—has a strangely dark mane and pale eyes that remain the same color even when she is agitated. Her daughter also has a dark mane and little dots on her skin instead of scales. I see no mate around them, which means they are on their own.
Like me.
It’s strange to have people nearby after avoiding others for so long. I don’t know what I was like when I was lost in myself, when I was mindless with anger and fury. All I knew then was that time was passing, and I was unable to control myself. I was a creature of instinct for a very long time. Months? Years? Longer?
Now my mind has returned to itself, and I am stranded in this strange world that reeks of char and humans. My ability to connect and communicate with my people is gone. I can feel no one when I reach out with my mind. There’s no pleasant hum of the presence of others, even when I see a dragon fly past in the distance. There’s nothing at all.
Something has happened to me. Something has broken me inside, and so I avoid others of my kind. I don’t know if they went wild like I did or if it was a personal failing. I don’t know if they can still speak to each other through mental speech and I am the one shunned. I live in exile with my cats, because I don’t know what else to do with myself with no way home and no one to speak to.
Which makes these humans far more interesting than they should be, perhaps.
I pet one of the smallest cats as it rubs against me, watching Do-tah as she burbles words at the younger one and begins to break dried sticks and set them in a pile. She adds some dried leaves and a heavier chunk of wood underneath, making a strange little pyramid. Is she communicating with me in some way? Trying to tell me something? Does this pile of brush mean anything? I watch, trying to decipher all of this as she pulls out an oblong yellow stick and clicks it, and a tiny flame appears. She holds the flame to a twig and then tries to add the twig to the pile. Do-tah’s face screws up in frustration when the wind blows the twig out, and she flicks the yellow thing again, making the tiny flame reappear.
Is she making fire?
This is adorable. It’s so difficult for her. I watch in fascination as she tries another stick and makes more mouth noises at her daughter. The younger female offers another handful of dried leaves to her mother, who adds them to the pile. The tiny flame goes out again, and both females make frustrated noises.
Do they not realize that drakoni are beings of fire? Helpfully, I pick up a large stick, blow on the end of it with my fire-breath, and hold it out to them.
They both stare at me, eyes wide.
“Owmigoh,” the older one breathes.
“Owmigoh,” I agree. I wish I knew what it meant. Does it mean fire? I shake the burning stick at her. “Owmigoh?”
Do-tah blinks and then shakes her head. She takes the stick from me when I continue to hold it out and adds it to her brush pile. The female leans in to blow on it, making the fire grow larger, and after a few long breaths, the flames catch. In fascination, I watch as they pull metal sticks out of one of their packs and make a spit for the fire. Do-tah reaches for the meat, her wary gaze on me. They are so frightened of me. I deliberately make an effort not to move so as not to scare them further, yawning and making myself as unobtrusive as possible.
The females pull chunks off the haunch of meat, spit them on the metal rod, and then sit and wait, their stomachs growling furiously.
I could fix this for them right away. I can roast the haunch for them quickly, without the need for flaming brush piles or metal contraptions, but they seem to mistrust me. It took time for my cats to trust me and several meals in their bellies, I remind myself. Patience.
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CHAPTER 9
MURR
The females sit next to each other, across the fire from me. The younger one is bright-eyed and eager, the older one more wary. “Da-koh-taaah,” the younger one says, patting her mother’s shoulder. “Daaaa-koh-taaah.”
Do-tah gives her an irritated look.
But I am intrigued. These mouth noises are long and she exaggerates the movements of her lips. “Daaaah,” I try, mimicking.
“Kohh,” the girl agrees.
“Ooohhh,” I manage. “Aaah. Daah oooh ahhh.”
“Koh,” the younger one says again, pointing to her tongue as it touches the roof of her mouth. “Dah-koh-taaah.”
The mother murmurs something to her daughter.
“Kah-koh-dah,” I try again. Mouths are difficult to use for things other than chewing. The young one coaches me through several more rounds of noises before I finally manage, “Da-koh-taaa,” and it makes her squeal with enthusiasm.
It is so fascinating that their happiness comes out not in waves of mental thought, but eruptions of sound that carry happiness in them. When they giggle and laugh, it is with sheer delight, and it makes me want to emulate their laughing sounds. They make me feel good, like I have pleased them in some strange way, and I want to do more. They keep flashing teeth as well as chortling aloud, so I flash mine to them as well to show them I am happy.
“Murr,” the mother, Da-koh-taa, says in her soft voice. It fills me with pleasure to hear that bit of my name from her. I like it when she mouths my name.
“Murr,” I agree. It’s close enough that I don’t mind it being shortened. Mouths make it hard to say the whole thing anyhow. I point at the younger one and say the universal sound that prompts them to speak. “Owmigoh?”
The daughter giggles. She taps her chest. “Rbbt.”
It takes me a few tries to repeat her sounds, and I finally manage a ‘Rih-bit’ which makes her laugh with delight and her mother shows her teeth again.
We take turns naming each other aloud—Murr, Ribbit, and Dakotah—over and over. They want me to say their name words faster, until my tongue is tangling with trying to emulate them. Not only do they want to name words aloud, but they want them fast, and it makes me feel clumsy and foolish. But when I say their names, the younger one squeals with delight, and it is hard not to be pleased.
The mother is the more reluctant one. Her smiles are harder to achieve, but I find myself watching her mouth to see if it will curve up when I speak, and I am disappointed each time it does not.
Dakotah reaches over and touches the meat with a finger. She licks her fingertip clean and then makes more noises at Ribbit. Ribbit makes a happy sound and then they are pulling the meat off the spit and dividing it up. They put it on flat disks made of metal which I find curious, and before they eat, Dakotah pauses and then holds the meat out to me. She is offering me her portion.
I wave a hand to dismiss this. I already ate a fat cow when in battle-form. This food is for her and her young.
Her strange eyes blink at me and then she shows her teeth again, this time in an almost shy fashion. She picks up a chunk of meat and takes a bite. Next to her, Ribbit devours her food with happy noises, but it is the mother I am fascinated with. She is quiet, but she chews and her eyes close, her expression one of pure joy. It is just meat, and yet I feel as if I have conquered an army in this moment.
I am going to have to bring her more food. Every day, more food, because I want to see that look on her strange, pasty-pale features all the time. Perhaps if I keep feeding her, she will turn a healthier color.
They eat, and as they do, one of the bolder cats approaches the females, meowing his insistence to be fed their food. He is a pale white male with dark spots on his head, and one of my favorites, but he is also too bold. The cats have their own food. Before I can pull him away, Dakotah pulls a shred off of her cooked meat and offers it to him, making soft little noises in her throat.
I am entranced.
Does she love the animals as much as I do, then? Am I finally to have friends once more? Friends with two legs as well as four?
This is the best night I have had in a very long time, I decide. I pull a few more chunks of meat off of the haunch and spit them on the metal like the females did, then place it over the fire. They are unnecessary, these actions, but if this is the way the females like for their food to be made, then I will make it for them just like so. As I do, a kitten crawls over my shoulder and comes to lick the juices off my fingers.
This makes Ribbit giggle madly once more.
After one cat gets fed, the others come over, the smell of the fire-roasted meat enticing to them. Interesting. I make a mental note of this and of the kindness of the females, as they share their food with my cats. They tear the food into cat-mouth-sized bits that the animals can gobble down easily. Their delicate hands are far better equipped for such delicate work instead of my larger, clawed ones. Mine are made for rending and tearing. Perhaps I need these females to help me feed my cats every time I bring home a large kill.
When Dakotah reaches out to drop another tidbit of meat on the ground for the cats, I grab her hand before she can pull it back. She jerks in surprise, her gaze flying to mine, but she doesn’t pull away. I examine her hand in mine. Her temperature is not as warm as mine, the fires in her blood not nearly as hot as my own. Her hand is soft, though, her fingers fragile and tipped with blunted nails instead of claws. I could crush her in my grip if I am careless…which means I must never be careless. She is like my cats—the most precious, most fragile thing that must be handled with extreme caution. I touch her fingertip, fascinated, and her pulse speeds up. I can feel the subtle change through her skin. How does such a fragile being last in a world like this?
Ribbit burbles a few mouth sounds and giggles.
Dakotah’s expression changes, her face becoming reddish in the cheeks. She pulls her hand from mine.
I will not harm you, I send automatically, but there is no mind to touch to, no acknowledgment that my thoughts have been heard. There is nothing at all, and it makes me feel lonely all over again. No one can hear me. They only have mouth sounds and cannot hear my words, my language.
It makes me ache for my people. Why am I here, stranded alone in this world? Why am I cut off from the others of my kind?
Why can no one hear me?
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CHAPTER 10
DAKOTA
It’s the weirdest night of my life.
We sit around the fire with a naked dragon (in the shape of a man) and roast meat for hours. The cats climb all over us, fearless with Murr nearby, and cry to be fed until they’ve gorged themselves. Part of me wants to save the meat and chase the cats away, but I remember how possessive Murr was of the kitten that I’d taken with me, and I feed them all without complaint.
Murr is quiet and watches us more than anything. It’s like he’s trying to decipher us and doesn’t quite comprehend anything we do or say. He doesn’t eat, though, and when we pack up for the night, I try to offer him the remainder of meat since it’s his kill. The dragon-man makes an unhappy sound and insists we take it with us, and I walk back to the old bookstore with a dripping, bleeding side of beef in my arms.
It feels like a treasure. A heavy, heavy, wet treasure.
“What are we going to do with that, Mom?” Rabbit whispers as we head back. “Won’t it go bad?”
“We’re going to have beef for breakfast, lunch, and dinner tomorrow,” I say. “And between all these books, surely one will tell us how to preserve the meat and make jerky.”
It’s not something I’ve had to worry about in the past because we’ve never had enough meat left over. Meat is a scarcity, a rarity in the After. Tonight was a feast, and one I don’t expect to happen regularly…or ever again. We’ll eat our food and leave this place to the dragon and just chalk this up as a weird occurrence.
The next morning, I yawn and roll over, groaning to myself at the weird dreams I had. Meat sleep, I decide, rubbing my eyes. I fling my hands out and smack into a foot and open my eyes.
Murr is staring down at me from over my bed.
I bite back a yelp of shock and shrink back. When did he get inside? I thought dragons couldn’t get into buildings for some reason, that we’d be safe if we were indoors. But here he is, crouching next to my sleep pallet as if he’s been waiting for me to wake up. He bares his teeth at me in an imitation of a smile. “Dakotah.”
“Hi,” I breathe, and sit up. The look I shoot him is wary. Is something wrong? Is he waiting for us to leave?
But he only watches me with interest. Maybe he isn’t demanding that we leave as much as he just doesn’t have any concept of privacy. Or space. Or the fact that he’s terrifying. It’s not just his size, it’s the way he carries himself. It’s the almost predatory gaze that roams over me, missing nothing.
“Is there a problem?” I whisper, but of course he won’t answer. He doesn’t speak English. I don’t even know that he speaks, except to mimic us.
He gestures at me. “Dakotah.” Then at himself. “Murr.” And he gives me that unsettling, unnatural grin that’s more of a grimace than anything.
“You just came over to say hi?” I ask, running my hand through my sleep-tangled hair and wondering if it’d be too alarming if I casually reached for a weapon. I decide against it, because he doesn’t seem unfriendly. Just like he’s waiting for something.
Oh shit, what if he wants the meat? What if he changed his mind? What if he gave it to us so we could feed the cats?
I gesture at the tarp-covered table a short distance away. I’m afraid of mice or bugs getting to it, so I wrapped the raw meat carefully in a tarp and weighed down the ends of the tarp with the heaviest books I could find so nothing can climb in. My goal today is to figure out how to preserve all that meat, but if he wants it back, he can have it. Our lives aren’t worth a haunch of beef, no matter how delicious. “You want it back? The meat?”
When he gives me a confused look, I make an eating gesture and then point at him.
Murr gets to his feet, and then I have to close my eyes politely and clear my throat. When he stands up, I get full frontal nudity, not even two feet away from my face. Good lord. His cock might as well be a cobra for all its hypnotic power, and I’m trying my best not to ogle him. It’s just that…well, it’s enormous. And hanging. And golden. And just…dang.
Poor Rabbit is getting anatomy lessons that are really gonna fuck her up in the future when she meets a nice normal human man, but it’s not like I can politely ask my guest to wear pants. Not when he can sear my face off with a thought.
I squeeze an eye open and watch him. The dragon-man pads over to the table (of course he’s got clawed toes) and pokes at the tarp, then turns and gives me a confused look. He pats the table and then points at me. “Dakotah.”
And he mimes eating.
I smile again, relieved. Okay, this is just a friendly visit then. No take-backs. “Sorry if I’m skittish. I just don’t know what to think about dragons, buddy.” I get up and stretch, yawning. Hopefully Rabbit won’t freak out when she wakes up and sees our guest. I debate waking her up, but maybe he’ll leave before she does and I won’t even have to bring it up.
When he continues to watch me expectantly, I wonder if he’s just here to observe, like we’re animals in a zoo, or fish in an aquarium. We’re his entertainment. He’s not speaking and not demanding anything, so I decide to stick with my original plan—find out how to preserve meat.
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CHAPTER 11
DAKOTA
I need a grill.
Fourteen cookbook shelves later, I’ve found a book that details how to smoke meat without a dehydrator, and it goes into great detail about smokers and grills. Which is perfect…except I have neither. The good news is that I can probably find one at an old hardware store.
The bad news is that I have to find an old hardware store. And it needs to be close enough for me to wheel the smoker back. I contemplate using an abandoned car’s trunk to act as a smoker, but I don’t know if they’ll leak chemicals into my food, so that’s out. I don’t want to poison me and Rabbit just trying to eat.
I pull on my shoes and glance at my dragon companion. He’s still in his human(ish) form and has been following me around the bookstore as I brushed dust off of books and hunted for the right recipe. He’s showing no signs of going away anytime soon, nor is he talking. I decide the best thing to do is just ignore him and go about my day.
I get to my feet, and Rabbit makes a sleepy groan from across the way, in the nook with shelves that she’s set up as her “room.” “I’m heading to the roof to scout,” I call out. “Stay here and when I come back, I’ll make breakfast.”
“’Kay,” she answers sleepily, and I know her well enough to know that she’s going to be in bed for at least another half hour if she can swing it. Lazing in bed is a luxury.
Shooting a nervous smile at Murr, I grab my binoculars and head for the back of the store. I pop open the creaky, rusted metal door at the shipping dock and then climb the metal ladder embedded in the side of the building that leads to the roof. He watches me climb but doesn’t follow up, and I wonder if he’s gotten bored of trailing after me.
I should know better. No sooner have I walked three steps on the leaf-strewn roof than a dragon appears on the side of the building. It ascends and hovers in the air, watching me, and then thumps down onto the roof next to me. My heart feels as if it’s going to beat out of my chest. Is this when he kills me?
A moment later, the massive golden form shimmers and warps, and then Murr is standing there again. He strides over to me and watches me with great interest, head tilted.
“Should have guessed that, huh?” I ask and manage a small smile.
He smiles back at me, and it’s more natural this time, as if he’s finally figuring it out. Cute.
I lift my binoculars and scan the surroundings. The bookstore is in a busy area south of an old highway, with lots of additional stores clustered along a side road. Ideally I’d like to find a big box hardware store, but I’d settle for a small mom and pop store. Heck, I’d even settle for a grocery store because they might have a grill somewhere, or at least some pans I might be able to use to jerry-rig a makeshift smoker.
I don’t see any of those things, though. I do see an old pharmacy, though, a chain one that had a small amount of groceries at the front along with the drugs at the back. The old sign is crumbling, but the building it looms over looks mostly whole. Well, I can start there.
“I’m going to go back down,” I tell him, pointing at the ground.
Murr eyes the side of the building and then gestures about picking me up and carrying me over.
“No! I can do it myself.” I shake my head violently and take a step back. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s that…okay, so I don’t trust him. He’s still a dragon, no matter how normal he might seem at the moment. Dragons have destroyed the world I used to know in their endless wild rampages. Just because he hasn’t eaten my face yet doesn’t mean I’m safe.
It just means he hasn’t killed me yet.
I move to the ladder and start climbing down before he can suggest it again, and hurry back inside when he turns into a dragon and flies down on his own. I wait just inside to see if he’s going to come in, and sure enough, he enters a moment later and follows after me, curious. In his human form, his skin still looks scaly, but it’s more like a snake—luminous and patterned—rather than hard like a lizard. His body is sleek with muscle, and as he walks, my gaze is drawn to the hypnotic swing of his dick between his legs. How does he get anything done with that in the way?
How is it I can’t stop looking at it? God, I’m a mess.
Face hot, I head back inside and run into Rabbit, who’s coming out of the lavatory. Her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Murr a few steps behind me.
“Surprise,” I say. “Our visitor is still hanging out.”
“Oh, cool,” Rabbit replies and leans over to make eye contact with the dragon-man. “Hi Murr. Remember me?”
“Ribbit.”
She giggles, face bright. “You do! Did you bring your cats?”
“No cats, love. I’m sure they’re still in the parking lot, but stay inside until I get back, okay? We don’t want him to feel like his cats are threatened by us and I don’t know how he’s going to react.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
I indicate with my thumb. “There’s a store in that direction a few blocks that I’m going to check out. I should be back in a few hours. Maybe make a fire? Roast up some meat for breakfast and save a bit for me for when I get back?”
“I can do that,” my daughter agrees and kisses my cheek. “You bet. Be careful, Mom.”
“Just no fire near the books,” I call after her as she heads back deeper into the store.
“I know. I’m not a kid!”
“Yes, you are,” I mutter under my breath. But she does know how to make fire safely at least. I can’t stress over that too much. I glance at Murr to see what he’s doing.
He rubs his cheek thoughtfully and stares at the spot on my face where Rabbit kissed me. Now how am I going to explain that gesture? In the end, I give up and pretend like it didn’t happen. I just smile, grab my quick-travel pack, and head out the door.
Unsurprisingly, he follows.
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