Bastian had no interest in them, and considered them no threat. Even without flame, he was a dragon, many times their size and strength, and no stranger to the ocean. He had claws like swords, and his jewel-faceted scales were solid protection against their teeth.
He surfaced to inspect his spoils, refilling his lungs.
The sad, wilted dinghy had clearly taken a beating, and it was being tossed on the wild waves, making it difficult to get close. Bastian’s treasure sense was threatening to overwhelm him. There was something precious and rare here.
When a wave washed over the dinghy, sloshing into the bed of the boat and what lay there, instinct made Bastian open his mouth and challenge the ocean itself with a roar. This was his, his treasure, his to crown his hoard with.
The uncaring ocean answered by slapping another wave at him, driving the half-limp boat up against his chest.
Finally, Bastian could look into the boat itself, and he dismissed the lurid pink suitcase that was deforming the bottom of the boat without a second thought; his treasure was not in the heavy luggage. It was the figure, a limp woman wearing something flimsy and soaking wet, plastered to every lush curve. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders like a cloak. She was face-down in the boat, barely breathing, and even in the storm-dark, Bastian could see that blood had dyed the water in the boat dark crimson.
He carefully rolled her over, using a dragon claw like a surgical tool, and her face was the most beautiful golden color that he had ever seen.
This is our mate, he realized in wonder.
His human added anxiously, She’s been shot!
Bastian could see that she had a wound, still oozing sharp-smelling blood, just above her heart. His human was alarmed at the amount of the blood she must have lost so far, but Bastian only knew that she was every treasure he had ever sought, and that he must take her safely to his hoard and give her everything that he had.
Another wave threatened to rip the sinking boat away from him, just as the clouds above opened up and began to drench them in rain.
Bastian snatched the woman up into his forearms as the tortured boat began to sink, and his human helpfully suggested how to keep her above the water without jostling her injury further.
We don’t know if that bullet is still in her, his human warned him, but Bastian didn’t need a reminder to treat her gently.
He couldn’t fly with her, not through weather like this, so he continued on his back, using his tail to propel them. Here, along the surface, their progress was agonizing slow, and waves broke over them several times, washing away the blood as they traveled. Bastian felt like he could hear a song at intervals, low beneath the roar of the storm.
It was hours of this unpleasant travel, feeling the weak beat of her heart against the scales of his chest, before Shifting Sands came into view once more. Bastian lifted her into one forearm as his back legs found purchase under him. The wavebreak was as tall as he was, but he wrapped his wings forward around her protectively and carried her carefully to shore.
The wind was finally beginning to die down as he got her up to the shelter of the bar. Tex was there, taking stock of the storm damage. If he was surprised to see Bastian away from the beach in dragon form, that was nothing to the surprise on his face when Bastian slowly lowered his prize onto the floor, bleeding and wet.
Chapter 3
Saina drifted through dreams of waves and wilderness. At one point, she thought she was being carried by a jeweled giant, but all the fairy tales faded into a hellish landscape of pain and misery with every jostle and wave. She tried to sing, desperate to convince the giant she was a friend, to spare her, but a storm ripped the words from her lips.
She woke later, hard tile beneath her. A shirt folded beneath her head smelled comfortingly of saltwater and sweat.
There was pressure at her shoulder, but the pain was pleasantly distant for the moment.
“She’s stopped bleeding!” It was a voice that was both unfamiliar and familiar, all at the same time.
Someone was binding her up, she realized. She kept her eyes shut and her breathing shallow. The voice didn’t sound threatening, but she knew better than to think that meant anything. She wasn’t safe here. Assuming she was would only lead to disappointment.
There were others nearby, too; she could hear their murmurs in a confused jumble: “Who would have shot her? Who is she? Could it be the cartel?”
“Bullet went through her,” a rough voice with no welcome said. “Gotta be thankful for that.”
“What is going on?” This new voice was a woman, sharp with authority and impatience.
“Bastian found a woman adrift in a sinking boat, all shot to heck.” That voice was a Southern drawl.
“That is just what this day needed,” the authoritative woman said, her voice closer. “What sort of boat?”
There was no attention being paid to Saina now, so she carefully drew in a breath and began to hum quietly. She was in danger here. Her only hope was to make them think she wasn’t a threat. She wasn’t sure if she was singing a seduction or a lullaby; she only knew that she was among strangers, that strangers were never benevolent, and she had to use the only defense she had to disarm them. Her shoulder was beginning to hurt in earnest now.
“It was an inflatable dinghy, out of gas and half-deflated.” That was the voice she was thinking of as her savior. Bastian, apparently. “No markings, just a generic raft like you’d find on any yacht in the area. She was alone in it, with some luggage.”
Her luggage! Saina breathed in a hopeful breath before resuming her faint, subtle song.