A little series shift today. A scene from Fortunes of War - coming soon! - in which Leif and Ragnar finally meet Amelia - and Alpha - in the flesh.
In the place where they’d all
stood, the shattered top of a tree plummeted down and stuck in the damp ground
like a thrown spear. The snap of branches was loud and rapid-fire. He glimpsed
black claws, and sleek, black legs, and another tree was uprooted; it tipped
sideways and went down with a great crash, dragging saplings and low limbs
along with it. Dirt kicked into their eyes, and Leif swiped it away with the
back of his hand, grimacing against the wind, beating right in their faces,
now.
There was a loud thump, and a
rumbling that moved through the ground.
The wind cut off, suddenly,
with a sound like a snapping sail, and with a chittering, grumbling, growling
vocalization similar to that of the cold-drakes, but quicker, and more
aggressive.
He blinked grit from his eyes
and beheld a drake so black it gleamed green and violet where the sun struck
it. Glowing red-gold eyes, and sharp horns, and a long, serpent tail that
whipped back and forth in agitation, snapping off yet more branches and
flicking leaves from bushes.
It was bigger than Percy, and
when it lowered its head to scan the forest around itself, Leif saw smoke
curling from its nostrils. This one, undoubtedly, wouldn’t be breathing ice.
A shock of bright red drew Leif’s
gaze to the animal’s back, and it was only then that he noticed the black
leather and silverwork of a bridle, and a harness, and a saddle. And in that
saddle sat a rider, in smooth black armor, and gleaming mail, with a black helm
crested by a dyed horsehair tail of blood red.
He'd grown used to Percy, and
Alfie, and Valgrind. Didn’t trust them, necessarily, but wasn’t alarmed by the
mere sight of them. Didn’t feel the urge, as he did now, to crouch down on all
fours, press his back into a corner, and growl.
“Holy gods,” Ragnar breathed
beside him, wheezing from the pain. “Look at – it’s – holy gods.”
The drake’s head whipped
around toward them, stretched out on its neck so Leif felt the forceful exhale
of hot air, breath that smelled of blood.
Leif snarled.
The drake snarled back, knife
teeth flashing as its lips peeled back.
A clear, feminine voice called
out, “Alpha, no.”
Alpha.
The word struck Leif like a
slap. He felt it reverberate through Ragnar as well, the way he shuddered in
the loop of Leif’s arm.
Only Leif’s pack used that
term, and in their voices, it carried the heft, the warmth, the reassuring,
satisfying awareness of his status. Burden and pleasure both. He was in charge;
the pack was his to lead and protect.
He’d never heard an outsider
say it, least yet a woman.
The voice said, “Stand down,”
and the drake snorted loudly, and pulled back. It – he – settled, half-crouched
on its haunches, and the armored knight – the woman – swung gracefully down off
his back and landed with a crunch of leaves and a chiming of armor. She reached
up with one hand and patted the drake’s shoulder, who in turn craned around to
nose at her, crooning an inquiring sound.
“Yes, it’s all right,” she
said. “Be a good boy, Alpha.”
Alpha. The word sent chills down the back of
Leif’s neck, but it wasn’t meant for him.
Ragnar’s laugh was more of a
cough. “Heh. The bloody dragon’s named ‘Alpha.’”
He hadn’t spoken quietly, and
the woman turned to face them. She gave the drake’s nose one last pat, then
reached to unbuckle and draw off her helm. A dark braid spilled over her
shoulder, and her face, once revealed, was familiar.
Ragnar sucked in a sharp
breath that became a hiss.
Thank you!!!!
ReplyDeleteDamn! That looks so good!!
ReplyDeleteThat cover!
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