Page 37 of Dream Reaper

“Yawn. Is that the best you’ve got?”

The wyrm blinked her bulging eyes. I will enjoy supping on the marrow in your bones.

“I’ve heard worse. You really need to work on your vile monologues.”

The wyrm snapped her teeth at him, anger driving her forward. And that’s exactly what he had been waiting for. Rage. Blind rage.

Because emotion on that scale made even the strongest of opponents careless.

And vulnerable.

As the wyrm dove toward him, Dragon flung himself to the ground. The wyrm slid over him, unable to correct her speed and trajectory. Just as her body slid over his head, Dragon lifted his head with a mighty thrust. The spikes on the back of his skull dug into Queenie’s soft underbelly.

She screamed.

It was a delicious death wail.

Her body continued its forward momentum as his spikes cut her open like a ripe bit of fruit. Bile, blood, and gore poured over him, but Dragon ignored the heat of her dying.

Instead, he moved clear as her body thundered to the ground, shaking the trees down to their roots. Leaves cascaded around them, joining the cacophony of death.

Of Queenie’s death.

Her death rattle lasted only a few minutes. Dragon stood by and waited: this last journey was hers alone, and he would do her the honor of standing guard as she made her journey out of this world as a formidable foe.

Even vile creatures like Queenie deserved that much respect, even though it was a gesture she would never have offered to an enemy of her own.

Dragon had his standards, and he would not stoop for the likes of a wyrm.

When her last rattle faded into silence, he stirred at last. Now that the killing was done, he would find something to eat. He was starving. His human didn’t eat enough to sate him on a normal day, and it had not been a normal day.

He was wasting away on the nibbles the human had allowed him.

He kicked Queenie’s tail out of his way as he circled her. The human lay in a heap where she’d fallen. He could smell the blood oozing from her wounds. If someone didn’t see to that soon, she’d make a tasty snack.

No, Jerrid snarled from the recesses of their shared consciousness, but it was the weak mewl of a kitten. I let you out so you could save her…not so you could eat her.

“Where is the fun in that?” Dragon snickered, prodding the human’s leg with his right foot.

She didn’t move.

“She’s already dead.”

She’s still alive. You need to let me have control so I can help her.

“But I’m hungry.”

You’ll live.

“Again, where is the fun in this plan? I don’t like this plan.”

Jerrid growled in his mind, his thoughts tasting of fear and desperation. Humans cared about things too much. It was much easier to go through life like he did, thinking mostly of your stomach.

Everything else was just a bonus to keep things interesting.

Something crackled in the undergrowth, and Dragon spun to face his new foe. Ah, this was what he wanted—more battle before his snacking. Maybe this foe would be edible…

A familiar scent wafted through the dark woods—the musk of female sweat and the slightly spicy tang of elvish skin. Dragon’s nostrils flared as a lithe figure appeared from behind a tree.