Bloodlines: Dragon Rider Book 2

Chapter 34: Cold-blooded

Clarika

Each passing second is devastating. I've been shot; I've been stabbed; I've been hollowed out. This is a thousand times worse.

We're flying through the night like hissing arrows, racing toward safety. With a silent curse, I blame the blood mage, blame the dragon riders and their ignorance in mage magic, blame the raiders, my parents, even myself.

I should have known better, I tell myself. I should have checked the runes when we were first alone. I shouldn't have trusted that the mage knew his runes.

Panting, I glance at Easton who rides with the air mage slumped against his chest. Anger blossoms within me. If Adam weren't unconscious, he could make us go faster.

Holland leads the dragons through the sky, the full moon shining like a beacon, casting the massive clouds in dark shadows. I don't know where we're going or what the plan is beyond getting out of raider territory and somewhere to save Norah. It's agonizing being so useless. To be taught everything about my faction and their ways, and still be at someone's else's mercy -- a dragon rider's mercy. To watch them try and save Norah while I sat back and twiddled my thumbs like a pathetic child.

I wasn't trained to be a mindless foot soldier. I give orders, not take them.

But watching Norah lying on the ground, her skin drained of warmth and barely breathing...

The dragon riders knew what to do when I didn't. And, despite everything I've learned -- to expect those you meet to hurt you and lie and manipulate to gain your favor, some part of me is certain that Holland cares for Norah.

Thankfully, the invisible dragon is just as worried as me and trails close to Holland, enough that I can watch the silver one. He hunches over Norah, shielding her from the gusts of freezing winds while simultaneously trying to keep her on his dragon's back.

Heart hammering, I lean forward, patting for wherever the dragon's neck maybe. Her scales are hot and rough beneath me. "Get them to land," I say, not caring how loud my voice is. I never even spared the thought of falling or the height we fly at. "We need to land."

She hisses, wiggling in what I understand as a sharp fuck off.

I grit my teeth, unafraid of hissing back. "I know how to save her. Get us to the ground. Now."

A growl -- and threat.

Then a huff from the green dragon, his dark eyes fixing me with a glare. I don't waver and stare back, cold and unyielding. Another moment and the moon is gone, hidden behind thick, dark clouds. I cling to Rima's saddle, stomach spinning and fluttering with the sudden, sharp descent. Every thought of the tournament surfaces. I force myself to breathe, to think of Celest at my side when I woke in a cold sweat.

The thoughts do little comfort. I squeeze my eyes shut, clenching the saddle harder when the cloaked mage behind me chuckles. I'm going to murder you, I want to yell, but can't find the willpower to do it.

Pressure slams me back, my nails digging into the fine leather saddles like a cat burying its claws. I stifle a yelp, opening my eyes as Rima lands before the other dragons. My hands tremble, numb and stiff, as I unfasten myself from the harness, moving to the safety of solid ground. I blame the trembling on the cold, not my nerves, and move to solid ground.

My knees buck, hitting dirt. I dig my nails into the soil, shaking off the relief and shoot to standing on shaky legs while the other dragons land.

Our new addition hops off Rima, who stays out of sight, and brushes off imaginary dust from his cloak. He draws his hood over black hair, and adjusts a solid cloth mask that covers everything below his eyes.