Outside, the nomad camp’s still in chaos. Buildings are smoking, others completely destroyed. There are dead people everywhere, and I estimate that Azar lost about half of his men in last night’s raid. That’s bad for me, because he’s going to be on a real rampage over the next while.
But I’m glad Sasha and Dakh got away safe and sound.
I won’t think about Boyd. I’ll just start crying again. I don’t even miss him. Not really. I think I’m just…sad for the past. He was my last connection to it.
Now I’m truly alone.
I can’t think about that, though. Instead, I study the smoking surroundings. The old hotel is mostly intact, but one side of the building is charred. A few other buildings are still on fire, and men rush around, trying to save what they can. Azar stands near them, looking like a displeased ghost. I shudder at the sight of him and slink away to the hotel entrance.
Last thing I want is Azar’s attention.
I push through the double doors of the hotel and instead of heading to the kitchens, I turn down a side hall, toward the area that was once an indoor pool. Sasha’s words of warning are ringing in my ears.
Emma, there’s only one way to make a dragon un-crazy. You know how.
Oh boy. I’m either the biggest idiot in the world or…well, no, just the biggest idiot. There’s no “or” out there. Of course I know how to make a dragon un-crazy. I’m not keen on the thought, but…
But I have to do what I feel is right, and none of this feels right.
I push my way into the indoor pool area. The windows are filthy but mostly intact, and the room is wide open and spacious. The pool itself is empty, like a giant concrete bathtub. In the center of the pool, chained to the bottom, is a man. He’s definitely not human, his eyes as black as night and his body covered in the same scaly pattern that Dakh has. His arms and legs are spread-eagled, held down by cuffs. He can barely move his body, and I know he has to be in agony. The bindings are designed so that he can’t change forms, of course. The moment he tries to change back, he’ll decapitate himself or shred his wings—or both. Azar’s taking no chances. The terrible-looking contraption around his head and neck looks excessively painful, and I don’t like to think about the spiky things pressing into his golden back.
One thing at a time.
Kurt’s guarding the dragon-man’s “prison.” I enter the pool room and gesture behind me. “Hey, Kurt. Azar needs more volunteers to put out a fire in one of the outbuildings. Told me to come in here and watch the dragon since I’m no good right now.” I gesture at my bandages and grimace. Guess this knock on the head is a great cover story.
Kurt scratches his fat belly and sniffs. “Fuck. Why do I gotta do all the manual labor?”
I manage a meek, “Sorry,” and take the gun he hands me. He cusses under his breath and storms out the door, jogging a little faster than I’ve ever seen his fat ass move. No one likes to keep Azar waiting.
I watch him until he’s gone and then shut the glass double doors to the pool area, locking them behind me. That done, I set down the gun, rip the bandage off my head, and fluff my hair as best I can around the painful wound. I don’t want to look like an invalid, which is kind of silly, I guess. I don’t think Zohr will care.
I grab the metal ladder that leads into the pool and climb down to the bottom. I’ve done this a few times before to feed the dragon-man, since he’s chained so firmly that he can’t do more than move an inch or two. My footsteps are loud on the cracked plaster, and he turns to gaze at me, eyes flicking black and then to gold as I approach.
“Em-mah,” he grits out.
“Hi, Zohr,” I say softly. “I’m going to help you. Just…trust me, okay?”
Emma, there’s only one way to make a dragon un-crazy. You know how.
And I begin to undress.