Fire In His Embrace: A Post-Apocalyptic Dragon Romance (Fireblood Dragon Book 3) Read online

  2

  EMMA

  The next morning, someone pounds on my door, obscenely early. I glance blearily at the hint of rose-colored dawn sky in the dirty window and then fling myself from my musty bed to pull the door open a crack. It’s my brother, Boyd.

  “What?” I ask, even as I fake fighting back a yawn. “It’s fucking early.” Rule number one of dealing with Boyd and his buddies—you never seem afraid. Doesn’t matter that my pulse is hammering and I’m about to break out into a cold sweat—as long as I look chill, I’m good.

  “Yeah, well, Azar wants his breakfast.”

  I squint at him. “So why are you coming to me?”

  “You’re a chick. Go cook something for him.” He shrugs.

  Is he serious? I’m a girl and therefore on kitchen duty? Culo. At first I think he’s joking, and then when he continues to stand in front of my door looking impatient, I realize he’s truly not putting me on. I’ve been assigned kitchen duty. I think about telling him no, and then I think about Azar and how weird and creepy he is and how everyone follows whatever he wants without question. “Give me five minutes to get ready.”

  “Make it snappy.” He bangs a fist on my door and then wanders down the hall.

  I snatch my clothes up from the floor and put them on, sniffing them. My rose perfume—the only staple other than a weapon in the After—has faded, so I put the clothes on and re-spritz myself. For the longest time, I used deer urine to disguise my scent. It’s one of the things that Jack taught me. Dragons snatch people away because they smell them, and so I need to make sure a dragon can’t smell me. I think they just snatch women, because I’ve never seen a guy get carried away by a dragon, but Jack always masked his scent just to be on the safe side. I do now, too, and ever since meeting Sasha and her dragon, I’ve been using rose perfume, since she says that it masks the scent just as well—and smells a hell of a lot better. I douse myself, slip on my shoes, and then race out the door, where Boyd’s waiting down the hall.

  “Come on,” he says curtly. “I’ll show you where the kitchen is. Stocked pretty good here. Make sure Azar’s breakfast is fancy, too. He likes high-quality shit. No fucking Pop-Tarts or shit.”

  “Right.” Because there are so many Pop-Tarts lying around in an apocalypse. Hell, I’d give my right arm for a Pop-Tart right about now. Screw giving it to Azar. But I listen quietly as my brother chats. That’s the thing with Boyd. He’s a dumbass and a ruthless sort, but he also runs his mouth because he wants you to know just how clever he thinks he is. He tells me all about how he hooked up with Azar’s men last year. How he didn’t think too much about Azar at first, but then he saw the guy tear someone’s throat out with his hand and thought that was badass. Says Azar prefers to be the brains of the operation, though, and he’s got some great ideas. He’s taken them a lot of places and gotten them more loot than they ever thought they’d get, and isn’t interested in taking much for himself. “Except magazines,” my brother says. “Guy loves magazines.”

  Magazines, huh? Azar sounds like a weirdo to me, but he’s a weirdo with a bunch of dangerous followers, so I keep my mouth shut. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The kitchen is pretty well stocked, and I spend a few minutes going through items, checking out everything and fiddling with knobs. The stove’s gas, but there’s no gas (naturally), but I’m used to that at this point. I find an empty sink, make a fire with some charcoal that someone’s brought in, and cook over it. I’m surprised that there’s some non-moldy flour and so I make pancakes, along with a few strips of Spam that I fry up in the pan. I open a can of fruit cocktail and dress everything in a few nice dishes and hope that’ll do. In my eyes, it’s a feast, but who knows what a guy like Azar is used to?

  A little bell rings from inside the dining room.

  Is he fucking shitting me? A bell?

  But the women in the kitchen jump to action, as if we’re being timed or something. All right, then. I put Azar’s breakfast on a tray and send it out with one of the older ladies, then get to work making a batch of pancakes for the rest of the crew.

  My brother comes in a short time later. “Azar says his breakfast was good. You’re in charge of cooking for him from now on.” He looks pleased.

  “What if I turn the job down?” I ask, flipping a pancake in the skillet I’m holding over the fire. It’s still smoky in the kitchen despite the fact that I’ve got the windows open, and I have to bite back a cough. “Maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my life cooking for your little bicijangueo buddies.”

  “You’re here because I’m protecting you. Trust me, Emma, you don’t want to get on the bad side of these guys.” He pats my back as if that answers things, and then frowns as he sees the skillet in my hands. “What are you doing?”

  “Uh, cooking up more pancakes?” I give him a weird look. “You know, remember the part where you just said I got the job as cook for everyone despite not volunteering?”

  He shakes his head, eyes wide. “Fuck, no, Em. I said you cook for Azar. Let these old bitches cook for everyone else.”

  I look over at the “old bitches” who are doing the dishes in the kitchen with a few buckets of water, but they don’t seem bothered by his insulting words.

  “We can’t eat the same thing Azar gets. His has to be better.” Boyd shoots a nervous look out the door to the kitchen and then grabs the plate of fresh-cooked pancakes and dumps them in the fire.

  What the fuck? I swallow my protest and force myself to shrug, even though that’s a mountain of food. Leaders are peculiar, and Azar looks more peculiar than most. If he wants to be the only one eating good food, we don’t have much of a choice. “What if we say I burned these and we eat them anyhow?” I ask, offering Boyd the tongs.

  He thinks for a moment and then nods, helping me fish what we can out of the fire.

  It’s obvious to me that we’re going to stick around this place for a while when no one makes any effort to prep and leave. That’s the nomad’s way—you find a place, squat on it or steal it from someone else, and then leave when it runs out of supplies. They’re like the locusts of the apocalypse.

  Or “we” are like the locusts of the apocalypse, I guess, since I’ve been unofficially dragged in with the nomads. I want to leave, but I’m smart enough to know that it’s not a choice. Being on your own in the After is a death wish for most folks, and I doubt anyone would believe me when I tell them that I’m fine on my own. Boyd won’t want me to leave, either. If I up and leave on my own, they’re going to assume I stole something and come after me anyhow. Like it or not, I’m here until they kill me or kick me out…or until I figure out how to escape without getting myself killed.

  So I prepare. While the others lounge around and play cards during the daytime or go hunting for more fuel for their bikes, I dig through the empty hotel rooms. Most of them don’t have anything salvageable, but I do manage to find some clothing and shoes. I score a pocketknife and a few lighters, and tuck those between the mattresses on my bed, because I have no doubt Boyd will take them from me if he finds them. I make sure that I have a weapon on me at all times, I’m covered head to toe with clothing, because I don’t want anyone saying I “invited” the attention of some douchebag nomad rapist, and I wait. I watch and wait, which is one of the most important things you can do when surrounded by the enemy.

  I’m not stupid—even with my brother here, these men aren’t my friends. Boyd would sell me out in a heartbeat if he thought it’d get him ahead. He has in the past, after all. To him I’m only valuable as long as I’m useful. As long as I know that, I can be smart and safe about things. I lock my doors every night, barricade it well, and sleep with a knife in my hand. I don’t go anywhere alone and I make it a point not to talk to anyone unless I have to. I can survive this.

  I just don’t realize how much shit I’m in until the day I meet Azar.

  I do my best to stay off his radar as much as possible. I’m not hot or sexy by most standards, but I’m you
ng and I’ve got tits and all my teeth, and that’s enough for most guys. I know that if Azar demands that I show up in his bed, I’m going to have to go or end up with a bullet in my head, so I make it a point to not draw attention to myself. I make his food every meal and always send it out with one of the other old ladies who would love nothing more than the boss’s attention. I don’t socialize at night and I keep to my room. I manage to stay unnoticed for an entire week before the hammer comes down.

  Boyd approaches me after dinner one night. It’s one of my better meals, I like to think. There’s only so much you can do with Beanie Weenie and canned corn. Tonight we had fresh deer, and I grilled it up perfectly and sliced it thin, then spiced the heck out of everything. Managed to put it out before Azar rang that stupid, annoying little bell too many times.

  “You’re doing good, sis,” Boyd tells me happily, as if he’s invested in my success. “Azar wants to say hello to you.”

  I pause, a flare of alarm going up. “That’s not necessary—”

  “I know it ain’t, but come on.” He locks an arm around my shoulders and leads me out of the kitchen into the dining room that I make it a point to never go into.

  I’m not entirely surprised to see that the room is cleared out of most of the furniture. It’s stacked in corners, and the tables are pushed away except for one large one in the center of the room. Chairs have been neatly set on all sides, and a white linen tablecloth covers the tabletop. It looks fancy, right down to the vase of fake flowers as the centerpiece. A man sits there alone, his back to us. Even inside, he’s wearing a hat and swaths of clothing, including what looks like a duster jacket.

  “This here’s my sister,” Boyd says, pushing me forward. “She’s thrilled to be with us.”

  I stumble toward the table and take a few more brave steps forward, determined to look as unaffected as possible despite the fear lodged in my throat. I don’t know this guy. He might be like every other bandit out there who just wants to rape and steal and murder. If so, I know what to expect.

  But then he turns and glances over at me, and I freeze in place.

  This guy isn’t albino.

  He’s a dragon.

  I know what a dragon looks like when he assumes human form. I’ve seen it before. When they’re human, they have this strange sort of scale pattern on their skin and strangely thick hair that’s the same color as the skin. That’s fine and all, and I guess it could pass for human if you haven’t met another dragon before, but it’s the eyes that give it away. Azar’s eyes are as pale as the rest of him, with only his black pupils providing any sort of pigmentation. It makes him look like he’s got small, beady pupils and adds to the creepy factor.

  His nostrils flare slightly as Boyd pushes me forward, his hand on my back.

  “Emma’s just shy,” Boyd explains. “Fuckin’ say hi, Emma.”

  “Hi,” I manage, trying not to stare. That nostril-flare thing? I know I’ve seen that before. Sasha’s boyfriend would do that every time I came close. Dragons are sensitive to scent, and I’m coated in rose perfume to disguise mine.

  Azar tilts his head, studying me. He looks over at Boyd, pointedly.

  “I’ll just be outside,” my brother says, and then I’m alone with Azar. Shit.

  The dragon gestures at one of the chairs at the table, inviting me to sit with him. Crap. I guess I can’t turn him down. I pull the chair out and sit on the edge of the seat, trying to look confident and bored. Probably failing miserably, too.

  “Do I make you nervous?” he asks, and there’s a hint of an accent in his voice. I’m also surprised at how fluid his English is. Sasha’s dragon didn’t speak much at all, and when he did, it was broken and guttural. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s not a dragon. Maybe I’m just crazy.

  I force myself to shrug. “I’m a woman alone. I’m always nervous.”

  “Your brother is here.”

  I shrug again.

  He chuckles, and the sound is so smooth and urbane that I doubt myself again. Looks-wise, he could be a dragon. Personality-wise…I don’t know. “You are clever not to trust. Do not worry, though. I have told my men that they cannot touch you without my permission.”

  “What about my permission?” I ask, irritation breaking through my fear.

  “Ah, but they care about my permission, not yours.”

  He’s not wrong. Damn it. “So why am I here? So we can establish the rules of when you give your permission?”

  “Smart. I like that.” He clasps his hands on the table and laces his fingers. I try not to stare, but his nails are thick and weird. They’re cut short, but they look…strange. Inhuman. Dakh—Sasha’s dragon—had claws.

  I avert my eyes and stare at my own hands. I don’t know what he’ll do if he knows what I suspect.

  “You’ll be safe with my men as long as you please me,” Azar says.

  Here it comes. I clench my jaw, then give him a stiff look. “So I’m going to be your whore instead of everyone else’s?”

  His nostrils flare again. “Not quite. You will continue to make my meals. Let the other filthy females tend to the rest of the men.” He waves his hand absently. “Beyond that, I have no need for your services…”

  I’m surprised.

  “…Except one.”

  I should have known. “What’s that?”

  He studies me again, pale eyes narrowed. I keep waiting for his eyes to swirl like Dakh’s do, but they don’t. They just look strange and creepy. “Are you mating with any of the men here?”

  “What? No.” I make a face. The quickest way to get in trouble is to hop beds. Plus, the men here are the definition of unappealing. Also…“mating”? Not fucking? Not sleeping with? Not having sex? My dragon-meter pings again.

  “Good. Remain that way. As for your perfume, tonight I ask that you bathe and not wear it.”

  My throat goes dry. “Because…you want me to sleep with you?”

  “No. I require your clothing. The small ones you wear under your pants.”

  “M-my panties?” Is he fucking serious?

  He nods. “You will provide those to me in the morning. No perfume.”

  Okay, maybe he’s not a dragon. Maybe he’s just a panty-sniffing pervert.

  3

  EMMA

  I don’t find out what’s going on with my panties for days.

  At first, I think it’s just more weirdness from Azar, and make sure to keep my distance from him. He doesn’t show interest in me otherwise, so I relax a little.

  One morning, I wake up and when I emerge from my room, everyone’s staring at me and snickering behind their hands. I can’t figure out what’s going on. I rub my nose surreptitiously to make sure I don’t have something hanging off of it, and my fly isn’t down. My appearance isn’t out of the ordinary and breakfast is the normal, quiet affair. I fix Azar’s food, clean the kitchen, and start to head back to my quarters, but a smirking guard in the hallway makes me pause. I can’t figure out what’s going on.

  Instead of heading back to my rooms, I go off in search of Boyd. My brother will know what the deal is. I can’t find him inside, though, so I stick my head outdoors to check on things.

  That’s when I see a bunch of the nomads standing around with guns. Boyd’s with them, and he smirks at the sight of me. “Come to check on how things are going? We’ll let you know if we need a refresher.”

  “Refresher? What do you mean?” I gaze from face to face, but I don’t see anything that gives away what the hell he’s talking about. Everyone stands around, guns loosely held in their arms. Someone looks like he’s wearing a flak jacket, and there are a couple of metal contraptions set up in the courtyard around the flagpole. “What are you guys doing?”

  “What does it look like we’re doing? We’re dragon hunting. There’s a stiff breeze today, so it’s perfect conditions.” Boyd just smirks again. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

  The help? What? I glance up, and then horror curdles in my belly.

>   My panties—my used panties—are flying at the top of the flagpole. They flutter in the breeze, a bright red piece of fabric against the blue sky. No wonder everyone’s looking at me in that creepy way. This is some perverted nonsense. “Why are my panties up the flagpole?”

  “Scent,” Boyd says bluntly. “Azar says the dragon will come here once he smells you in the air.”

  I can feel my lips curl back in a mixture of disgust and shock. Is that why he wanted my undies? Because he’s trying to lure a dragon? “Why do we want a dragon here? I thought the idea was to keep them out of our hair?” I gesture at my brother. “Isn’t that why you’re always wearing deer urine, like Jack taught us?” He’s spread the word, apparently, because a lot of the guys are covering their scent. It makes for some serious stink inside the hotel, but no one complains.

  “Not if we want to catch the dragon.”

  “What dragon?”

  Boyd frowns at me and shrugs. “I don’t fucking know. Any dragon. There’s one in this area. Why you busting my balls, bitch?”

  Sometimes I hate my brother. Most times, actually. How do we come from the same family? I slam the door shut and retreat inside, not wanting to pick a fight with my brother in front of all his friends. I know how that’ll end. I’ll lose, and if Boyd acts like he hates me, I’ll be fair game to any guy who wants to try his luck. But damn, it sucks to have to back down all the time.

  A dragon. They’re trying to catch a dragon. They’re insane.

  I think of Azar and his creepy, almost too-soft mannerisms and shake my head. I wish I was back at my gas station. Alone. I’m not sure if they really think this is going to work or if they’re just humoring Azar. Either way, I wish I wasn’t around to see it happen.

  I spend most of the day reading a book in my room. It’s a romance, because Sasha’s so very into them, and I hope I see her again. Maybe we can talk about it if I ever get free from Boyd, Azar, and the others. I miss having female friends. Other than Sasha, I haven’t had any since the Rift. Boyd always kept us apart from everyone else in town, and Jack was a loner. For a brief time, it was nice to have a friend who I could chat with and who could understand the struggles of being a girl in the After. What it’s like. I’m turning pages in my book and wondering if Sasha’s noticed that I’m gone when I hear an ear-shattering roar.