I guess I’ve lost some weight.
I touch my face, wondering what I look like. It’s suddenly important to me, and I shove a few more of the blue dresses into the shopping cart, toss in my jeans, and then wheel the buggy forward, looking for a fitting room. There should be one close by. I turn the cart, and then…I see it.
A mirror.
And my reflection.
I suck in a breath at the sight of myself. I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She looks…ghastly. I touch my cheek, and it looks like a stranger is doing it. “Back before the Rift,” I tell Dakh, “I think I was pretty. It’s so hard to tell now.” I stare at my overgrown eyebrows, at my frizzy, unkempt hair that hasn’t been trimmed or styled or, heck, brushed in forever. It frames a face that’s dirty and angular, with hollow dark eyes and a smattering of bruises. I tug down the collar of my T-shirt and wince at the sight of how visible my collarbones are. I can practically see my ribcage, and when did my tits get so flat? Jesus. “That’s what happens when you go from eating three solid a day to, well, one or two.” And to think I feel lucky when I get those one or two. I noticed that Amy and Claudia had been looking thinner and more ragged over time, but for some reason, in my head, I was still robust, smiling Sasha Kennedy, not the scrappy, wiry survivor in the mirror. That Sasha was always looking to lose five or ten pounds.
“Funny how perspective works,” I mutter to myself, stroking my jutting collarbones. I could use those five or ten pounds right about now.
Dakh moves to my side and pushes my hand away, peering at my neck. He gives me a look of concern. “Ow?”
“Oh, I’m not wounded,” I tell him, gesturing at the mirror. “I was just looking at my reflection.”
He turns and sees the mirror—and jumps backward. There’s a crash, and racks of clothing go flying backward as he turns dragon, and even though I’m in danger of being crushed by a claw, I can’t help but giggle at his reaction.
His eyes flare black, and then suddenly it’s not so funny anymore.
“Dakh,” I murmur in my sweetest voice. I wave a hand at him, indicating he should come down and join me again. “It’s okay. I promise. Look. It’s a mirror.” I put my hand on the glass and tap it. “See? Sasha, Sasha.” I point at myself and then at the mirror. “It’s just a reflection. It moves when I do. It’s not a real person.”
The dragon’s great head moves in, and his big eye blinks at me, going from black to gold and then remaining gold. I breathe a sigh of relief at that. He peers at me, then at the mirror, and his nostrils press against the glass. It steams up, and he snorts. A moment later, he’s in human form again, pressing his hand to the mirror surface. “Dakh,” he announces after a moment, then points at me in the mirror. “Sa-cha?”
“That’s right. We’re just reflections.” I wave a hand at him. “See? It’s just showing an image of what is there.”
Poor Dakh’s clearly never seen a mirror before, because he has to inspect it, using his claws to pry it off the wall and check the back, and then checks the fitting rooms behind it to make sure that there’s no one hiding. The concept baffles him, and he pokes it again while I pick through the handful of dresses and find one in a much smaller size and slide it over my head. It fits, and I tug my worn, filthy clothing off underneath and let them fall to the ground.
It feels wasteful to discard my old clothes, because even though they’re trashed, they’d still bring in decent money back in Fort Dallas, when any scrap of clothing is used and re-used forever. But I’m surrounded by unspeakable riches right now. If I need jeans, I’ve got thirty pairs waiting on the next table. Seems silly to hold on to filthy ones that are held together by knots, thanks to Dakh’s claws shredding them beyond belief.
“Sa-cha,” Dakh says, abandoning the mirror to come and stand next to me. His gaze moves over me, and there’s a possessive, pleased look in his eyes that gives me a little flutter of pleasure, too. Maybe I don’t look so bad in this dress after all.
Of course, when did I start caring what my dragon captor thinks?
The moment he transformed to human and started becoming a person in my eyes, I suppose. He’s not just my captor—he has his reasons, and he wants to keep me safe. And really, that’s more than anyone in Fort Dallas has ever done.
Well, anyone that’s left in Fort Dallas, that is. Claudia, Amy and I always looked out for each other, but I don’t even know if they’re alive anymore.
I’ll take today as it comes, then. I grab a handful of the dress and give a little twirl. “You like?”
The rumble in his chest sounds like approval. I beam at him and glance at the mirror that’s now leaning against the wall—and eep! I get an eyeful of the dragon-man junk I’ve been trying so hard not to look at.
And okay, I can’t help but sneak a little peek. He’s completely hairless, the scale-like pattern on his skin seemingly tighter in that area, with a deeper golden color. His cock is…well, it’s a lot bigger than any human guy I’ve ever seen, and the entire thing looks disproportionate to my lady bits. I clamp my thighs tighter together in worry, because he’s also erect. “You know what, Dakh? I think we should shop for you, too.”
We head over to the lingerie department, and I grab a bra and panties, tossing them in the cart as we head to the men’s section. If I get a chance, I’ll come back and get more, but for now, it seems imperative to get Dakh clothed so I don’t have to worry about looking at his, ahem, bits when I need to focus.
Because his bits are rather big and very, very distracting. Even for someone like me, who doesn’t like sex.
“Here you go,” I say, racing the cart over to an endcap of underwear. I pull a package off the shelf and hold it out to Dakh. “Underpants. For you.”
He takes the package, studies it, then holds it up to his nose and sniffs it.
“No, it’s for wearing. Look at the picture.” I point at the faded cardboard ad on the front, of a chiseled model in underwear. It’s kind of staggering to see that Dakh’s way better built than this guy, and the dragon-man’s abs put this guy’s to shame. Huh.
Dakh studies it, and his brows come together. He gives it a fierce frown and points at the picture. “Dakh?”
“Yes. Dakh can wear underwear like that.” I give him an encouraging nod. “You don’t have to be naked.” He doesn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to try them on, so I pluck the package from his hand and rip it open. The aged plastic tears easily, and I shake a pair out then hand them to him. “Here you go.”