Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I…worry that Zohr has snapped.
WHERE IS HE. The thought blasts through my head, and I whimper, putting a hand to my brow.
THE SALORIAN. WHERE. IS. HE.
Panting, I try to look out blearily, but I don’t see Azar anywhere. There’s only Kurt and Marty’s bodies in the bottom of the empty pool, and blood on everything. So much blood. “He-he’s gone. He might have gone to get the others—”
Zohr gives another wild snarl and launches himself from the bottom of the pool. His great hind legs give a powerful shove and then he stumbles forward, and I get a flash of surprise in all of the ferocious, wild images pouring through my mind. He can’t fly. His wings are destroyed.
It doesn’t matter to him though. The claws tighten around me and he pulls me closer. On three legs, he pushes against the thick, heavy glass wall of the pool house, and when it doesn’t budge, he backs up and swings his head at it like a wrecking ball.
Glass shatters everywhere, raining down. I scream, burying my head in my arms to protect my face, only to be shoved against Zohr’s scales as he does his best to shield me. He bugles his fury, as if he’s pissed that the wall would dare to try and harm me. There’s no reasoning with him, I realize. He’s completely lost to his madness.
Then we’re surging forward, into the cooler night air, and into the darkness. Zohr pushes through the parking lot full of broken-down cars, knocking over the bikes of the nomads and flinging aside anything in his way. He’s not moving fast—he’s moving with the intent to destroy.
Terrified, all I can do is huddle and pray I survive this. When I thought I was going to rescue Zohr, I thought…I don’t know what I thought. His thoughts were so human for so long, but they’re completely and utterly wild now. Is it my fault? Did something else set him off?
All I know is that I’ve underestimated what a dragon’s rage can truly be like, because the mind connected to my own isn’t human. Not in the slightest.
I don’t know who this stranger is anymore.
And I’m terrified that I’ve traded one bad situation for another.
14
ZOHR
She is frightened of me. Through the haze, I can feel her terror. I cannot stop, though. My wings are useless, so I push through the narrow crevices and debris-filled streets of the abandoned human hive. There is metal everywhere, the stink of it in my nose, and the more familiar scent of char. There is blood, too, and that scent makes me lose what little control I have. It does not matter that it is my own.
It only matters that I destroy whoever gets in my path, whoever thinks to take her from me.
My Emma. They will never, ever touch her again.
So even though my body is screaming with pain and I cannot think straight, I push on. Through the darkness. Through the maze of strange square structures. Through the pain. Through everything. If I stop, they will take Emma from me. They will hurt her.
Just the thought makes me start to growl with anger, makes my mind blister with rage.
No one will harm my mate.
No. One.
On I go, pushing through the agony. I do not care that the scents of the known enemies are fading; there are new, unfamiliar scents. I do not care that the night gives way to the dawn. I do not care that Emma shivers and reeks of fear. I am saving her. I am protecting.
This is what I am made to do. I am her mate. It is my duty to protect her above all others. Protect the lifebearers. Protect the mother of my young.
Protect.
Protect.
Protect.
Protect Emma.
Protect Zohr.
No, that is not correct. I do not need protecting. I am the one who must protect. Confused, I pause in my relentless steps, and as I do, I realize that I am exhausted. The rage stirs in the back of my mind, pushing me onward, and I move forward again. Must get Emma away from the others. Must protect.
Protect.
Protect Zohr. The confusing thought sinks in again.
Zohr.
Zohr. Zohr. Zohr.
My name. It is my name.
Why is it my name?
A hand touches my scales, squeezing. Zohr.
My name again. But not my hand. In the swirling madness, I look down.
It is my mate. My Emma. My human female. I carry her in my claws, pressed against my blood-spattered scales. She gazes up at me, reeking of fear, her face stark and colorless. “Zohr. Come back to me. Zohr.”
It is my name in her thoughts I am hearing.
“You have to change,” she tells me.
Her words make no sense. I have to change? Change what? I grow angry that she makes no sense, and snarl at the world around me. Does she not realize I am protecting her? That I want nothing more than her safety? That I am saving her?