On the Prowl

guards regrouped them after a few moments, but before they could do more than release a few arrows, there was an ear-shattering boom and a flash of painfully bright light, and a fireball barreled right for them. It was beautiful, red and orange, with little tongues of green flame lapping at the edges. But the Fey didn’t seem to appreciate the sight. There was a lot of screaming and running and what little cohesion they’d had broke apart. Then the dragon landed and went on a rampage, devouring the closest guards in a few gulps before beginning to pursue the ones that darted in and out and up the trees in a vain attempt to escape. A few got away, haring back down the road, running past the burning hole in the ground where the fireball had struck. But most remained, either seared alive or serving as dragon-food.
    “Claire, listen to me,” Heidar said in a furious whisper. “The Dark Fey have a very low birth rate—even worse than ours. Most of them can’t interbreed with humans and that, plus losses against the Alorestri, have seriously reduced their numbers.”
    I looked at him blankly. Why the hell was he telling me this now ? I could smell the burning flesh on the wind, and hear the sounds of carnage from within the trees. I felt sick.
    “He probably won’t kill you,” Heidar continued, “as long as you show the proper respect. When he emerges, don’t challenge him. Just stay perfectly still as he looks you over, wings folded, head down.”
    I vaguely wondered what else he thought I was going to do. My head was killing me from the arrow still sticking out of it, and my wings were useless. Not to mention that this body I’d somehow acquired looked nothing like the dragon’s streamlined, lithe form. I doubted if those little wings could lift my bulk even if I figured out how they worked.
    The scene wavered in front of me as the dragon emerged from the woods. He stepped on the body of a fallen Fey, grinding it into the mud. Then he just stood there, looking at me for a long moment. Despite the horrific things I’d seen him do, I couldn’t help but be awed. He was a terrible, but strangely beautiful, sight. His golden scales had a reflective quality that mine lacked. Flames from the burning trees reflected off them, painting him dark orange and red in places. His wings, which he didn’t seem to have any trouble controlling, were huge, black things that made mine look almost vestigial. As I watched, they folded neatly over his back.
    He moved closer, not the clumsy waddle I’d been doing, but with almost snakelike fluidity. His large golden eyes looked me over, taking his time. His long snout nudged Heidar, who I was proud to see didn’t go screaming after the other Fey, although he looked like he was thinking about it. Then the snout brushed against my tattered wing and a whimper slipped out between my lips. It was half pain, half knowledge that I was no more match for him than I had been for the guards. His talons were fully six inches long, and glittered like daggers at the end of his paws.
    He paused, and reared back at my small cry. He said something, actually spoke, but it was in a language I didn’t know. It had a liquid undercurrent that washed over me almost like a caress. Then his form wavered like it was melting. But there was no residue on the ground, nothing to show he’d been there except a tall man with dark red hair and a tender expression.
    “You have your mother’s eyes,” he told me, right before I passed out.

C HAPTER 6
    I woke up on a bed in a large room. It was mostly dark, except for the flickering shapes a few low-burning candles sent dancing along the walls. But the fact that everything was slightly out of focus told me that something very good had happened while I was out. A glance at the human-looking arm draped over my stomach confirmed it. I was back.
    Somebody groaned nearby and I sat up. A very battered-looking Heidar was lying on a nearby chaise, while an old woman in a white apron finished winding a bandage around his waist. “Stop whining, elf,” she told him, “your ribs will be sore for a day or two, but you’ll live.” She didn’t sound happy about it, and the squeeze she gave his shoulder as she pulled down his nightshirt was on the wounded side. He drew in air with a hiss, but didn’t retaliate. At the moment, I wasn’t sure he could.
    “What happened to you?” I asked.
    The woman spun around. “Ah, you’re awake.” She bustled over,