With a Dragon's Heart Page 5

  Ever since Vehel had brought him back from the dead, Orergon hadn’t felt like himself. He tried to push the sensation away and ignore it best he could, but his thoughts kept coming back to it. He’d always considered himself at one with nature, but something had changed. Deep inside him coiled a darkness he’d only ever experienced once before—right before Vehel had dragged him out of it with his magic.

  He didn’t want any of the others to notice there was anything wrong with him. He hoped the sensation would fade over time, or that perhaps it was his imagination. After all, he’d been through a trauma—he’d literally died and come back again. Wouldn’t it be strange for him to not be experiencing any side effects? But he worried the others would look at him differently if he told them how he felt. What if they thought he might be a danger to Dela, and force him to leave the group?

  Thankfully, they saw no more signs of any moving trees, though every time a bird or animal darted through the bushes, Orergon spun to see what had caused the sound. He wasn’t the only one who was jumpy. All of the others reacted the same way. They’d each suffered multiple bruises and lacerations from where the roots had caught them, and Warsgra’s back was a mess of cuts and grazes. He shrugged them off, acting as though he was fine and it didn’t bother him, but Orergon didn’t miss the way he winced each time the flat side of the blade of his axe bumped against a sore spot.

  The sugar boost they’d had from the fruit quickly wore off as they continued their trek. The race through the jungle to find Warsgra hadn’t helped with the dehydration either, and though Orergon kept his eyes open for more Agu-Agu trees, none appeared. He hoped they’d come across something else soon, but the jungle was unforgiving.

  A couple more hours into the journey and Orergon scented something on the air. The trees began to thin out, giving way to low lying ferns.

  “We need to go this way,” he announced, stepping off the small track they’d been following.

  The others looked to him and drew to a halt.

  “Why?” Dela asked with a frown.

  “I think there might be water this way.”

  “Wouldn’t we see animal tracks leading to it?” Vehel said.

  “There probably are, but we just haven’t come across them. They might be coming from a different direction.”

  “You know what happened last time we stepped away from our trail,” Warsgra warned.

  Dela shrugged. “Orergon’s always right. I trust him.”

  A ball of warmth spread throughout Orergon’s chest, and he offered her a smile. But the feeling didn’t last. If she knew how he was really feeling, she might be a little less inclined to trust him.

  Could he even trust himself? What if subconsciously he was leading them into a trap?

  Despite his concerns, they needed water more than anything. He led the way, silently promising himself that he would throw himself in the way of danger, should any materialize. The others followed as he picked his way through the ferns and shrubs. Beneath foot, the ground grew softer, and his sensitive nose picked up the change in the air. Whatever was going on inside him, his ability to read his surroundings hadn’t failed him.

  He stepped through another small copse and broke out onto the bank of a water hole.

  “Oh, thank the Gods.” Dela pushed past him and fell to her knees on the bank. Vehel and Warsgra joined her, taking up spots on either side of her next to the water.

  He watched as she drank her fill, making sure nothing threatened her safety while her attention was diverted, and then he kneeled at the side of the pool and scooped the cool water into his mouth as well. When his stomach was full, he splashed his face.

  It was a relief to wash some of the black sludge from the fire mountain off his skin. It had clung to him like a physical reminder of what had almost happened. No, not what had almost happened—what had happened. He’d been dead there for awhile, he was sure of it, and now he’d come back, he wasn’t quite sure he was the same. Dela had asked him repeatedly if he was okay, and though he’d assured her he was, a part of him wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it felt as though he’d left a part of him back in that strange, empty, dark place.

  Or else he’d brought something back with him.

  The memories of being sucked down into the sludge might be all that haunted him, and yet it felt like more. The only time he’d ever experienced such utter helplessness had been when his wife and son had died. Then, the grief, just like the sludge, had sucked away his ability to even help himself. And, just like back then, the time surrounding it had become blurry and indistinct, only his memory of pain and grief sharp and vital.

  Still, it was a relief to be able to strip off his encrusted clothing once everyone had drunk their fill and wade into the pool to wash off the remains of the sludge. The others did the same, stripping down to underwear, and washing both their bodies and clothing in the water. It was still warm, and their clothes would dry in no time.

  Water was cleansing, and he felt better washing away the reminder of the fire mountain from his body. He leaned back and dipped his long black hair into the water and used his fingers to scrub away the worst of the dirt. Back home, for a leader of a tribe to have his hair in such a mess would have been viewed as disrespectful to both himself and his tribe. Hair was seen to be a source of strength in a man, and not to take care of it was unheard of.

  Yet Orergon found he doubted his strength. Why had it been him who’d been swept under, instead of one of the others? Had they been able to fight against it, where he’d been powerless? He didn’t have Warsgra’s mighty strength, or Vehel’s ability to do magic. His ability to track and hunt seemed like nothing in the face of what they had to offer. He wanted to offer something to this strange little team they’d become, but a part of him worried he’d only drag them down. Vehel had been forced to use his magic to save him, which had depleted the Elvish prince’s resources when they could have been used for more needful things. While Orergon was grateful to Vehel for saving him, he didn’t want to be a weight on their backs.

  But the girl, though, he thought, glancing over at her. Could he really bring himself to leave her, even if he thought it was for the best? She stirred something in his heart that he hadn’t felt for a very long time. But he worried about himself now, and not in a selfish way. He worried he was no longer the same man who had helped her reach Drusga, and this new blackness that churned at his soul worried him. What if he could no longer trust himself? What if, one day, the darkness took over and he caused her harm?

  They climbed out of the water and spread their clothes out on nearby rocks to dry and lay down on the bank to do the same.

  Dela caught him watching her and smiled at him, wide and warm and welcoming. Everything about her was light to his dark. He wanted to believe he was incapable of such a thing, and yet the darkness shifted once again, as though making itself known to him, and he forced himself to look away.

  “Everything all right, Orergon?” she asked.

  He didn’t look at her, but nodded instead.

  She didn’t give up. “How long until we reach the ocean?”

  “Shouldn’t be long now. Only a little farther.”

  Warsgra got to his feet. “We should spend the night here and move on in the morning. This place seems safe, and the clearing is enough that we can see if anything is coming out of the jungle.”

  “Like the jungle itself, you mean,” said Vehel.

  The Norc gave a wry grin. “Aye.”

  Orergon was happy to spend the night here. He hoped he’d feel different come the morning. Perhaps all he needed was time to shake off whatever it was he’d brought with him from the fire mountain. Clean clothes and a good night’s rest might help.

  They scavenged around the area for something to eat. Warsgra produced a handful of Hoohoo grubs, their fat, pale bodies wriggling in his palm. But they were good protein, and once they got over the initial disgust, they weren’t too bad tasting either.


  With a new wariness of trees, the small group found some bushes to lie beside. The bushes had grown in such a way that the middle was hollow, giving them a little shelter as well. It was a strange need for someone to feel more protected with something covering them at night—even if that something couldn’t actually offer any protection while they slumbered.

  It didn’t take long for most of the group to start snoring. Orergon, however, lay awake, staring up at the tangle of bush above him, and the sky beyond that. His mind wouldn’t shut down enough to let him rest. How could he sleep when he had so much to think about? He recalled every moment of being lost under the sludge, of how he’d grappled for the surface but had been unable to tell which way was up. He remembered his lungs on fire, how he so desperately wanted to open his mouth and just breathe. He remembered how he’d not made a sound when his feet had been swept out from under him, how he’d simply slipped beneath the surface. That was how drownings happened, whether they were in sludge or water. People didn’t drown while crying for help—they were too afraid to lose precious breath calling out. No, they drowned quietly, and with no fuss at all.

  Through it all, one thought had been crystal clear, however. He was letting Dela down, just like he’d let his wife and son down. He wouldn’t be there for her, through all the trials and tribulations she had ahead of her, just as he hadn’t been there for them.

  Yes, Orergon was haunted, but it might not have been from something he’d seen in death. No, it was his lost loves during his lifetime that haunted him now.

  He let out a sigh and willed the sleep that would not come. Was it because sleep was so like death? Did he worry that if he gave into it, he might not wake again?

  Beside him, Dela moaned.

  Orergon twisted onto his side to see her better. The moonlight was fractured through the network of skinny branches and small leaves overhead, but he was able to make out the way her forehead pulled down in a frown. She let out another moan and kicked out her leg. Her head twisted from one side and to the other.

  “Not you,” she muttered. “No, don’t …”

  She was having a nightmare. Was it one of those dreams—the ones where she was connected with the dragon, and was able to see through his eyes? Could she see over one of their homelands now? Each of them was desperate for news from home. She’d caught a glimpse of what was happening in her home city of Anthoinia, but none of them knew how their own people were faring. Had they even got news of the war yet? His own people, the Moerians, were scattered far and wide across the Vast Plains. Even if word had got around that the Second Great War had begun, it would take days, if not weeks, for each of the tribes to learn the news. And chances were, the leaders of the tribes would be out riding and hunting, as was their culture, and obviously he wasn’t there either to guide them.

  Beside him, Dela moaned again.

  He looked over to Vehel and Warsgra. Neither of them had been disturbed by her noises. Vehel lay on his side, his silvery blond hair hiding most of his face. Warsgra lay on his front, to protect the injuries on his back, but even in that position, he still managed to softly snore.

  “Stop, please,” she murmured. “No … I will …”

  Orergon lifted his hand to shake her awake, but then paused. What if she was dreaming something of importance? He might wake her, only for her to be angry with him for breaking her from the dream.

  But as she cried out once more, her arms and legs jerking, perhaps battling some foe in her dream, Orergon’s heart could take it no more.

  “Dela,” he said, softly, not wanting to wake the others. “Hey, Dela. It’s okay. It’s only a dream.”

  But wherever she was, she didn’t hear him, and the dream continued.

  He placed his hand on her small shoulder and gave her a shake. “Dela, you need to wake up now.” He raised his voice a little. “You’re having a bad dream.”

  She gave a start, jumping from dream to wakefulness. Confused, she half-sat. “What? What’s happened?”

  “It’s okay. You were having a bad dream. I didn’t know if I should wake you, or if it was something important.”

  His hand was still on her shoulder, and she trembled beneath his palm. She put her face in her hands. “Thank you. I was dreaming about my brother leaving. I was trying to make him stay because I already knew he was going to die, but he refused.”

  Orergon realized her shaking wasn’t out of fear. She was crying. His heart clamped tight in his chest, and out of instinct more than any rational thought, he pulled her into his arms. Her face pressed against his bare chest—he had left his leather shirt back with the abandoned fruit—and her silent tears dampened his skin. His hands laced in the back of her hair, the strands so soft beneath his fingers, and he lowered his mouth to press against the top of her head.

  “Shh,” he told her. “It was only a dream. It’s over now.”

  But she shook her head against him. “No, it’s never going to be over, because that’s what happened, only I didn’t know he was going to die.” She gave a small laugh and sniffed and lifted her head to look him in the eyes. “Even if I’d known in real life and told him he was going to die, he probably would have gone anyway. He was like that, you know? If he set his mind and heart on something, he wouldn’t be told any differently.”

  A smile touched Orergon’s lips. “Sounds like he was a lot like his sister.”

  She laughed again, and this time he saw genuine happiness in her eyes. “Yes, he was. He really was.”

  They paused, captured in the moment. And then Orergon acted before his fears could prevent him from doing so, and he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She snatched a breath, freezing in his touch for a moment, before relaxing against him. He reclined onto his back, drawing Dela down with him. Her small breasts crushed to his naked chest. He held her tighter, tangling his fingers in the soft tresses of her hair, still damp at the nape from where they’d washed themselves clean in the water. He teased her lips open with his, and the moment their tongues touched, his body responded. A part of him felt he should push her away, but the physical need in him rose, and instead he did the opposite. He slid his hand down her back to cup her bottom and press her harder against him.

  Dela gasped and met his movement with one of her own, grinding her hips down, so the secret place between her thighs met with the hard ridge of his arousal. Their kiss grew deeper, their tongues battling, breathing becoming ragged. Dela wore a vest and her leather pants, both of which had been washed in the water and were still slightly damp, as were his own. He pushed his hand down the back of her pants, skirting his palm over the glorious, naked curve of her bottom. Her skin was impossibly soft and smooth, and his erection grew even harder.

  Moving lower still, he slipped his fingers between the valley of her buttocks, and lower again to find soft, wet heat. Dela groaned in response, and his heart raced. By the Gods, she felt incredible. He wanted her so badly, but the others were sleeping beside them, and he didn’t know how they would respond to waking to the two of them making love. Perhaps he could take her away from the bushes, but somehow that didn’t feel right either. No, this was about her. He wanted to make her feel better, even if he had to do it holding her down with his hand clamped over her mouth so she didn’t make any noise.

  The thought stirred the darkness in him, and he froze at the kiss. Where had that come from?

  She’d noticed something was wrong, pulling away from him slightly, and he removed his hand from her clothing.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his erection deflating.

  He tried to push her away, but she wasn’t going anywhere, remaining pressed up against him, her hand against his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s me. I’m not sure …” He frowned at himself. “I’m not sure I’m good for you now.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “There’s something wrong with me … inside. When I came back from the sludge,
it was like I’d brought a bit of the darkness with me. It’s still inside me now.”

  She widened her eyes in the small amount of moonlight that penetrated the canopy of the bushes. “That’s not possible, Orergon. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring myself,” he admitted. “But I died, and Vehel brought me back. I think I may have brought some of that death back with me, and it’s still inside me.”

  She shook her head. “No. You’re good, and strong, and brave. There’s no death inside you.”

  Beside them, Warsgra grunted then lifted his head slightly. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Nothing, Warsgra,” she said, softly. “I had a bad dream. Go back to sleep. Everything is all right.”

  But Orergon wasn’t sure that everything was all right. He’d had this beautiful, special, brave woman coupling with him, and still his thoughts had turned to the darkness. Could he even be trusted to be around her? What if he did something that hurt her?

  He turned his face from her, and angled his body away.

  “I’m sorry, Dela. Go back to sleep. There are still many hours until morning.”

  Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he sensed her hesitation, before she removed her touch, and turned over herself, settling herself back down to sleep. He heard her sigh and wished he could interpret it—frustration at him, sadness, perhaps?

  He lifted his hand to pillow it beneath his face, and as he waited for sleep to come, he tried not to think about how he could smell her on his fingers, and how what he wanted more in the world than anything else was for her to be his.

  Chapter 7

  Dela

  The following morning, Orergon acted as though nothing had happened. As they readied themselves for another day of traveling on foot, a part of her wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing. His words worried her, and she vowed to speak to him about what he’d said. He’d sounded frightened, and she didn’t like to think of brave, strong Orergon being scared. She wondered if it would also be a good idea to speak with Vehel about what Orergon had said. Even if she didn’t ask him directly, perhaps she could ask some open questions about what happened when someone was brought back from the brink of death. She didn’t know if Vehel would even have the answers, but the conversation in the middle of the night, where one moment she’d been caught up in passionate kisses and desire, and the next moment cast aside with words of darkness and death, wasn’t something she could just forget about.