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Forcing myself to take slow deep breaths, I close my eyes, then open them again. Still there. There's still a fucking dragon! Scaled claws pinch around my stinging shoulders, wrap down my chest, and puncture my clothing. The grip isn’t tight enough to break skin, but it'll bruise.
My mind races through possibilities. A dream? No, it hurts too much for a dream. A drug? A hallucinogenic? I don’t feel hazy or out of it. I did acid once in college after Tim begged me. I hated it, but there was a distinct feel to the experience. This doesn’t feel like that. I feel lucid, sharp even. Biting windslashes my face, waking me up and keeping my body on high alert.
This is happening. I’m being carried out of New York by a damn dragon! How the hell did they get into the center of New York without someone seeing? Shouldn’t someone be shooting this thing out of the sky?
Freeways and crowded buildings sprawl below me, falling away as we quickly pass. The dragon drops over a gritty brick building somewhere in New Jersey, close enough to New York that I can see the city outline.
I fall a few feet onto a rooftop, crumpling, and then the dragon lands in front of me. I recoil and pull my knees into my chest protectively. What do dragons do with their spoils? I try to remember the old fairytale stories Jess used to read to me, but those were make-believe, and this is real.
“What do you want with me?” I yell at it, uncertain if it’s intelligent or just a wild animal. Fuck, I’m trying to reason with a monster. Stupid!
The air shimmers for a moment before claws turn to hands, scales turn to skin, wings shrink into shoulders, revealing Violeta, naked in front of me.
“W-what? You’re a dragon?!” I can’t blink fast enough, rubbing at my eyes, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. A manic laugh bubbles out of my chest. “Is this…?”
I don’t even know what to ask. A trick? An illusion? What the hell would she want with me and how the fuck did she change like that?!
She ignores me and looks over my shoulder. “I did what you asked. Are we even?”
Turning, I find the massive man from the club, Kyro. A high pitched laugh stutters out of me. Looks like this isn’t a friendly, run-of-the-mill dragon snatching. Or Violeta just taking me out for the weirdest girl’s night ever. My laugh turns to a snort, then a broken sob.
“Your debt’s paid," Kyro says to Violeta, ignoring me. "But if you step foot in our territory again, don’t expect the same mercy twice.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be as far from here as I can get.” The words are no sooner out of her mouth than she’s shifting back into her dragon form and taking off into the sky. Shit! Shit shit shit. We’re not friends, but she’s at least a familiar face and a connection to Cyrus. Now she’s gone. I’m among real enemies. And apparently my brain’s completely cracked.
“You just saw that, right? Dragon? Scales? Pretty wings? Fuckingwings?!”
He seemed almost nice at the club, even with Jethro’s warning, but when he faces me again, his expression is stoney and cold, completely devoid of any feeling. He doesn’t sayanything, just grabs my wrist and yanks me up on wobbly feet. Wrenching my hands behind my back, he zip ties them.
“Please, just tell me I’m not going crazy.” I fight to keep control of the tears that threaten to spill. “Is V-violeta really a d-dragon?”
He assesses me like a general studying a battlefield. “You don’t know?”
“Don’t know what? Why does everyone keep talking circles around me? I hate it! Midas and Jess do it. Cyrus does it. Even his fucking grandma did it tonight. Aren’t grandmas supposed to be sweet little old ladies? Well, let me tell you, she wasn’t.” I’m really losing it now. Tears are leaking down my face, my nose is all snotty, and my mind is spinning too fast for me to make sense of things. “Nobody tells me shit. I’m so sick and tired of it. I fucking hate it!”
“We’realldragons,” he barks. “Now, pull yourself together. You’re about to meet the Queen of the Silver Court.”
“Pull myself together? Right. Pull myself together, that’s all I have to do,” I laugh again, because I can’t seem to control myself. “You. Fucking. Kidnapped. Me!”
“And unless you want to be murdered,” he pauses for emphasis, and I swallow thickly, “you’ll snap out of it and show the Queen some respect when we get downstairs.”
Fear claws at my insides sharper than the scratches on my shoulder. I bite my cheek hard enough to bleed. The pain is an odd sense of comfort. I’m not going crazy. I’m just in a very, very dangerous situation. Away from everyone I know. Trapped. With dragons.
Some kind of harsh staccato noise bursts out of me, and Kyro gives me a hard look. I suck in a breath. He studies me, waiting. After another beat, he must decide I’ve calmed down enough, because he grabs the zip tie holding my wrists and yanks me over to a metal door at the edge of the roof.
My legs shake so badly I stumble on the first step of the stairs leading down into the building, but he catches me and places me back on my feet. He’s not exactly gentle, but he’s not rough either. Maybe I can convince him to let me go. I know that’s a futile hope the moment I look into his impassive eyes.
Okay. Think, Finley. Think. He threatened murder, but Cyrus said something about a ransom. I’m not much good to them if I’m dead. That’s some small comfort.
The stairway is narrow, paint peeling from the walls, and there’s a distinct smell of mold or mildew. Each time we pass a doorway, Kyro’s grip tightens. But it’s not like there’s anywhere to go. I'm sure he can run faster than me. And he’s definitely stronger. He’s a fucking dragon! Trying to escape right now would just be stupid. I need to be smart if I want to get out of this.
With each step, I feel more and more numb. My brain feels like it’s working at half speed now that it’s stopped finding everything darkly funny.
Kyro is quiet, leaving me to my thoughts, and my thoughts are exactly where I don’t want to be. “Will you tell me about the Queen?”
He doesn’t answer. He stops and pushes open an exit door, leading me into a long hallway. Halfway down the hall, he opens another door and waits for me to enter. The room is clean, but the furniture is well-worn and crowded. Two men and one woman stand around a circular table. The men are massive, with tight crew cuts and the posture of soldiers. They’re also wearing guns at their hips.
I suck in a breath, my whole body shaking. Dragons with guns. Great. How am I going to get out of this? I’m an artist, not some kind of martial arts expert or diplomat. My skill set doesn’t fit this situation. I really should have insisted that Cyrus train me in combat or something the second I found out people wanted to kidnap me.
