And that’s through six feet of water. If I was above water, nothing but empty air between me and the dragon’s electric eyes…
Salt blooms on my tongue and I clamp my mouth shut. I hadn’t even noticed I’d opened it.
For a moment I can’t hear anything except my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I tighten my grip on the rock until it starts cutting into my skin.
Get a hold of yourself. It’s probably just a Protectorate patrol flying overhead. Stay down here, stay safe, until they’re gone.
Except there was a patrol three days ago and they never do more than once a week these days. And the dragon’s gaze is so intense, it can’t be accidental. This is more than a passing glance from hundreds of metres in the year. It’s intentional. Deliberate. Intimate.
My lungs start burning, and he’s still watching me.
&nbs
p; What the fuck am I meant to do now? Stay here and drown?
My lips part, enough to let saltwater lick over the tip of my tongue. My body knows what it wants. At least, the bits of it not currently screaming about not having enough oxygen. The sparks flying across my skin are sinking in, turning my insides hot with longing.
I grit my teeth. No. Not again. Not—
Disgusting. Look at yourself. Ready to roll over and beg for a dragon you haven’t even laid eyes on. You thought you were special? The voice surges over my own thoughts, viscous and black. You’re pathetic.
“No!” The shout takes the last of my air. I small my hands against the rocky outcrop and the pain pushes the voice back – for now.
But my lungs are empty. I’ve got two choices. Breathe in water… or swim to the surface, and risk facing the dragon head-on.
My fists clench. I decided to survive years ago. Another dragon isn’t going to change that.
I kick off the rocky seafloor, my stomach churning.
Dragons are bad news. All humans know that, and I know it better than most.
Which means that whatever this dragon is here for, it can’t be good. For the city, for the few friends I’ve made here…
For me.
I break the surface gasping for air and a wave immediately slaps me in the face. Spluttering, I wipe my hair out of my eyes and tread water, tracking the dragon’s location by where my skin is sparking the most.
Problem is, my skin is sparking everywhere. I blink saltwater out of my eyes, trying to get my bearings. There’s my kayak, moored by the edge of the Dome. The Dome itself looms up behind it, its pitted surface gleaming in the late afternoon light.
Once, the Dome was a state-of-the-art piece of draconic technology, a gift to the people of Wellington to show the Protectorate’s goodwill. Now it’s a perfect example of the way they fucked over the entire world. The energy shield that protected the city from the months-long tropical storms after the Cataclysm fizzed out years ago. All that’s left is the concrete base, rising six feet above the water or land in a ring around the city. A nice reminder of how much the Protectorate loves us.
The water’s choppy here and the Dome’s partly to blame – every wave that hits it reverses back on itself and smacks me in the face again.
And there, standing on a broken ledge a few feet above the water—
Don’t look at him, don’t—
Too late.
The dragon is in human form. He’s wearing a long cloak that moves like oil on water in the rising winds, winding around a tall, muscular body. There’s some sort of weapon at his waist, almost hidden by the cloak. But that’s not the most dangerous thing about him.
My eyes crawl up his form of their own accord. Somewhere in the back of my head a tiny voice – me – is screaming no, no, stop, but my body doesn’t listen.
His shirt clings to his chest, outlining hard muscles. His shoulders are broad, but not bulky; his neck rises to a strong, aristocratic jawline, and above that—
“Tay Walker?”
And just like that, the spell’s broken.