Dragon Wings Page 7

  “Don’t be sorry. I would’ve kept coming back no matter what you told me. We’re going to get through this. Before he pushed me out, Guthrie told me—”

  “I know Guthrie believes the king lives, Alita. But he may not. And if that’s the case, I don’t know what you could do. You have to accept that.”

  “I refuse to accept defeat. Especially when I haven’t even tried yet. Will you help me, Yackros? Can you give me answers?”

  “My prison will only allow me to speak to you when you’re near. Over time, and with our combined magic, it would be different. Visit me here, like you’ve always done. I will help however I can.”

  Pushing away from the tree, I compose myself. Wiping away the tears that fall down my face, refusing to let my emotions get the better of me. “I will free you if it’s the last thing I ever do. I’m coming for you, Yackros. And when I get there, Ruxsiu will pay.”

  “Be strong, Little Wingless.”

  As a child when I entered that forest, when I ran away from the family reunion picnic and found myself facing what the fairy tales have taught us are monsters, I should have known that no part of my life would ever be normal.

  While I don’t remember everything, one memory stands out above the rest. Doodling with Mom at the kitchen counter. She drew with fine-tip pens. I had crayons. The large ones that barely fit in my hand.

  She drew a landscape scene.

  I drew a massive beast with giant teeth in a gaping mouth.

  What I saw was a smile. What my mother saw was something of nightmares, threatening, dangerous. She repeatedly asked me why I would draw something like that. I couldn’t answer her. It had been made clear to me that I did not, in fact, meet a dragon in the forest the previous summer and that dragons were not, in fact, real.

  She snatched the paper from beneath my poised hand, stopping me before I could draw myself beside my friend. She gave no explanation. No reasoning for her behavior. Before I could cry out, my picture was torn to shreds and thrown in the trash can.

  The sound of the paper being crinkled, torn, and tossed away by a furious mother was far scarier than anything I’d heard or seen in the forest.

  Until today. Every time I close my eyes, even just to blink, I see teeth stained from tearing flesh. Black scales, large wings, and eyes of fire.

  Ruxsiu must be stopped.

  I want to say I’m the one who’s going to do it, but I had to rely on Guthrie saving me today. What could I do to win a battle against a dragon? I’m too small, too weak, and certainly too afraid. My enemy could eat me in a single bite and not feel a bit of protest from me on the way down.

  But still, I have to fight for Yackros.

  I don’t know how to do this. I’m shaking and trembling. Pain. There’s so much pain. I sway and reach out a hand, bracing myself on the nearest rock to keep from falling over. The trail seems to have grown twice as long since I skipped up it earlier today without a care in the world.

  Being tossed around in a human-sized washing machine surely would have done less damage than Breighad had when he crushed me in iron talons and scraped me across every branch in the forest. My legs feel like jelly. It hurts to breathe.

  I look down, inspecting everything I can see, just hoping I’m not bleeding out and in too much shock to feel it.

  It doesn’t look like I’m in immediate danger of dying, even if it feels that way. But maybe death would be better than the task I have ahead of me.

  I don’t know how to find the missing dragon king. How could they ask that of me with no information to set me on the right course? Am I supposed to go wandering into every forest, every land where the king could be hiding, and search for dragons?

  The logical thing to do is ask for help. But who? Who would believe me?

  I could tell Max. If I showed him my injuries, he’d have to believe something big hurt me. Right?

  No. Just like before, I have to keep this to myself.

  No one can know. No one would believe me even if I did tell them. And really, nothing has changed. I can’t break my promise to Guthrie and Yackros. I swore I would never reveal their secrets, their locations, their names.

  But is it a betrayal if I’m trying to save them? Could they really expect me to do this on my own?

  I could make it worse just by becoming desperate.

  I could chase myself in circles forever. In the end, I won’t have any helpful answers. Yackros will be locked in prison forever, and I’ll be locked out of his world.

  The walk to my car takes twice as long as usual. The sun is already beginning to disappear from view as it sets behind the far-off mountains. I push onward, fumbling with the handle, barely able to pull the door open, falling into the front seat.

  I pull down the mirror and look at my reflection. I have dried blood smeared across my temple. I’m filthy. There are scrapes across my neck, collarbone, and all down my arms. Grabbing napkins from the passenger seat—left there from the last time I got fast food—and the water bottle I always keep in the cup holder, I wipe away as much evidence as possible.

  What should have been a thirty-minute drive home turns into an hour as I take it slow, unable to turn easily or move any part of my body without extreme discomfort at the least, and excruciating pain at the most.

  When I finally pull into the driveway, I exhale, shoulders slumping at the sight of Max sitting on the front porch steps. He looks up and smiles.

  I should have known he’d be here. Not answering his messages is like winding a Jack-in-the-box. If I go too long, he pops up out of nowhere.

  By the time I’ve parked and unbuckled, Max already has my door open.

  “What are you doing here?” I offer a small smile to make up for the lack of enthusiasm in my voice.

  “Hey!” He cups my cheek, pulling me closer and kissing me.

  I have zero desire for kissing right now, but it’s hard to pull away when every bit of me protests movement.

  “Where have you been?” he demands. Although he tries to cover it with a smile, he always has the same tone when I haven’t messaged him enough. “Your mom said you’ve been gone since you left for school this morning.”

  I lock my car door and head toward the house. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I went for a hike after school. My phone just didn’t have signal.” Or I left it in the car because I knew it wouldn’t work in Runavelius, but whatever. “I need to go shower and change my clothes.”

  “You could have climbed Mount Everest by now with all the hikes you take. And you know I don’t like you in the mountains alone. Hey—” He suddenly stops me and looks me up and down, seeming at least a little concerned. “You’re covered in dirt.” He tries to brush some off my arm. “And scratches? What happened?”

  He’s gripping my arm too hard. I wince, trying not to make any noise, though a slight whimper escapes me. “It’s fine. I just had a nasty fall. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I just really need to take a shower.” We enter through the front door.

  “Okay.” He kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll wait.”

  “Does that mean you’re joining us for dinner?” Mom asks from the kitchen.

  “Yeah! We need to study, right?” He widens his eyes, giving me a puppy-dog look.

  “What? Huh?” I shake my head, trying to pay attention to him, but really just wanting to get to the bathroom where I can be alone for a few minutes and try not to have a panic attack.

  “I said we need to study or something, right? So your mom’s okay with me staying over for a while?”

  “Oh.” I attempt a grin, though I’m sure it doesn’t look quite right. My face doesn’t feel like that’s what it’s doing. “Like you need an excuse to stay for a meal, Max. My mom has learned to cook at least two extra portions whether we’re planning on you coming over or not.”

  “Aw, well now, don’t I feel spe—” He pauses, his expression changing to insulted. “What do you mean, two extra portions?”


  I give him a once-over. “You’re six feet tall and built like a rock. We all know you eat twice as much as the rest of us.”

  His mouth gapes for a moment. Slowly it closes, and he straightens his shirt. “I have to keep up the maintenance on all this muscle. A meager girl like you wouldn’t understand.”

  My face freezes as I remember towering dragons describing me with that same phrase.

  “Gotta go,” I manage before heading upstairs and straight to my room, closing the door behind me.

  I throw my things on the bed and grab my pajamas, opening my door just a sliver to peek out. Seeing that the hall is clear, I dash across to the bathroom.

  With my right hand, I lift the lower left side of my shirt, in one fluid motion removing it entirely and dropping it on the floor.

  Even jostling that much makes me want to be sick.

  I turn so my back is to the mirror and glance over my shoulder.

  Bruising has already begun showing from my neck to my waist, and I have no way to hide it. Certainly not when others touching it—bumping into it at the very least—is unavoidable. Especially my boyfriend, who is no doubt sitting downstairs laughing with my parents while wondering what I’m doing. Again.

  I slip off the rest of my clothes and get in the shower.

  When I make it back downstairs, everything is as I assumed it would be. Mom, Dad, and Max are sitting on the chairs in the front room, all laughing and having a grand ole time. Honestly, I don’t know why they need me around. They treat Max like a son, and especially lately, he sees them more than I do.

  They all get along wonderfully. I almost wish they’d forget about me. I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in this family, and Max would love it—no Dillon or a thousand other foster siblings he’d have to complain about all day.

  And Max . . .

  No matter how much I want to run my hands through his thick hair or stare into his deep green eyes forever, I don’t fit into his world of competition. I just don’t care about wrestling or grades or popularity the way he does.

  And Max is nothing if not realistic, so how could he ever follow me to my world of “mythical” creatures?

  I collect myself, mentally preparing for conversations I don’t care to have, company I wish I didn’t need to keep right now, and pain I can’t show before stepping into the living room.

  “Oh, Alita! Everything okay? It seems you practically flew to your room,” Dad says before starting up the knee-slapping laughing.

  If everyone else in the family lets me live down dragons, Dad never will. Thirteen years later, and he still thinks he’s so hilarious.

  For just a moment, a very mean part of my soul wishes he could feel Breighad’s grip.

  Mom doesn’t look pleased while Dad continues with the jokes, aware that no one else in the room aside from Max is appreciating them. I just roll my eyes. Dad’s jokes are nothing compared to what else I’ve faced today.

  Mom claps her hands loudly and gets up, giving Dad’s knee a smack on the way. “Shall we eat?”

  Dinner is a deafening cacophony of chewing and the occasional throat-clearing, coughing, and forks scraping plates. I can’t help the antsy feeling, the need to get out of here as soon as possible. No one speaks, which is fine by me. I twirl my hair around my finger, waiting anxiously to return to the safety of my room. I just want to take some pain killers and lie down.

  Even hinting that’s my plan is a no-no. It will lead to questions I can’t answer. So I remain sitting beside Max, who gives me side looks every time he reaches for more food.

  “So,” Mom says, clearing her throat and gently setting her fork on the table. “What are you two studying tonight?”

  “History!” Max exclaims a little too loudly right as I reply, “Nothing.”

  We stare at each other, Mom looking back and forth, trying to get a clear answer. Max raises a brow, staring directly into my eyes.

  “I mean history,” I say to Mom, though in all reality, I just want Max to go home so I can be alone with my pain and fears. I don’t need to figure out more lies and excuses. I can’t keep doing this.

  Mom gives me a look that says “uh-huh” and chuckles to herself. “Are you sure you’ll be studying at all? Seems odd for a Friday night activity.”

  Dad throws his head back, laughing loudly. “Can you blame Max for making an excuse to stick around here? With so many siblings at home, he never gets a moment’s peace.”

  Mom pats Dad’s hand tenderly, which is her way of telling him to shut up. “Or perhaps Max just likes spending time with our daughter, dear.” She smiles at me. “So, we did the cooking. Do you two mind cleaning up?”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Drake!” Max responds a little too eagerly.

  “Thank you, Max,” she says, getting out of her seat.

  “Of course!”

  Max and I sit in awkward silence while Mom and Dad settle in the family room and turn on the TV. They playfully argue over what to watch until settling on the action flick Mom wants.

  I finally stand and begin putting the food away.

  Max grabs my wrist—I’m sure he thought it was an innocent thing to do—and I pull away.

  “Hey,” he whispers, stepping closer so he’s towering over me. “What’s going on?”

  “It—it’s nothing,” I say, knowing he won’t accept it and will only continue pushing for the truth. But I don’t have a good excuse. I can’t think of anything besides dragon kings and wondering how to check if a rib is broken.

  His eyebrow quirks up, just as I knew it would. A mischievous smile pulls at his lips.

  “Nothing, huh?” His hands grip my waist as he pulls me closer, and they lock around my back like a cage. “Are you sure it’s not because your parents are in the other room, and you’re here with your hot boyfriend and there’s no real homework to do?”

  His arms might as well be Breighad’s talons because they’re crushing the exact same spot. He brings his face closer to mine as he waits for a response, testing the waters, waiting for me to move. I kiss him as lightly as possible before pushing his arms down and away.

  “Pretty sure that’s not it,” I say, grabbing a few dirty dishes before he can try to pull me close again.

  “So if that’s not it,” he says, stacking another plate on top of what’s already in my hands, “what’s got you so jumpy?”

  “I’m just . . . still shaken up from my fall. I’m sorry.”

  I dump the dishes in the sink with zero grace and turn the faucet to scorching.

  Max sighs. “This is exactly why I tell you not to hike alone.”

  “Well, it’s not like I have any other option,” I snap before I can help myself.

  It’s not Max’s fault I can’t tell him what I really do every day. It’s not Max’s fault I was alone today and thought I was going to die.

  I shut the water off.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m just tired. I’m just really, really tired.”

  He comes up behind me and wraps his arms across the front of my shoulders.

  I could scream. But I don’t. He doesn’t know the truth, and he’s just trying to be sweet.

  “I guess I’m so surrounded by people all the time,” he says, “ that I forget you aren’t.”

  No matter how much Dad was joking, Max really does come over here to escape his foster family, which I suppose is understandable. I’m an only child. I can’t imagine living with so many other people, even if I think he should try to be closer to them.

  “You know, I’m perfectly fine if we stay right here forever,” he says in a low voice.

  I turn as far as I can manage without dying. With all the seriousness I can muster, I ask, “In my parents’ kitchen?”

  Max’s glare isn’t too annoyed, and he steps away so I can breathe again. To make it up to him, I stand on tiptoe and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then I turn back to the table.

  Max watches me as I carry the rest of the dishes to the sink and
deliver them with a little more grace than the first batch.

  “I’ve got the best girlfriend,” he says.

  I manage a smile at that.

  I’ve just turned to get a washcloth for the table when Max grabs my wrist and pulls me into his embrace, his other hand firm on my back as our lips meet.

  It’s like fireworks—half an explosion in my mind and half an explosion in my back.

  His hand runs up and down the bruises like he’s playing an instrument. Unable to withstand it, I shove him back and lean against the counter, gasping for air. My eyes burn hot, and so does my skin. I slide down on my knees, incapable of making a sound that isn’t a cry of pain, and yet still trying to find a reasonable explanation for what just happened without telling him the truth.

  “Alita? What did you do? Are you okay?” He kneels down beside me, trying to comfort me, but only making it worse.

  “Do you two need help in there?” Mom hollers from the other room.

  “No, we’re good,” Max shouts back.

  “I’m sorry, Max,” I mumble, tears and snot dripping down my face, which is thankfully covered by my hair, obstructing his view. “I’m so sorry, but I need to be alone. Please?”

  There’s no reply. I expected anger and hurt. I feared a goodbye. I got nothing. He pulls away, and the air beside me is empty. I take a deep breath, waiting to hear the front door open and close, but that never comes either.

  I just wait, hoping the pain will pass soon. All I can hear is the TV in the other room, Mom and Dad oblivious to what’s going on.

  After a lifetime, the pain starts to dull, and I can breathe again.

  “Alita?”

  Max.

  He squats down so we’re at the same eye level. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Max sits on the edge of my bed, elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he waits for me to explain where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing, and my odd behavior all evening.