Page 24 of Red Dragon’s Heart

She found them scattered around the cell, where they’d been tossed aside. She didn’t remember taking off her shoes, but there they were, in two different corners. She couldn’t find her underwear and she didn’t waste time looking, just gathered up what she could and dashed out of the cell, closing the barred door as quietly as she could.

She felt a wave of guilt as the heavy door locked in place, as if she were crushing something brand-new and delicate, like a tiny seedling.

Ruthlessly she shoved it aside, and ran up the steps so she could get dressed and escape.

Zakerek woke up suddenly, lying on the ripped-up mattress in his cell, the last golden wisps of a dream evaporating from his mind. Something was very, very wrong.

He sat up quickly, and pain sliced through his temples. Grabbing his head, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if that would help.

It didn’t. This had been a bad Change, and this was going to be a bad, bad hangover. He couldn’t even remember last night—or whenever it was that he’d last been conscious.

All he had was a feeling of failure and impending doom. Although that was pretty standard in his life right now, so it probably wasn’t worth worrying about.

After a few deep breaths, he removed his hands and looked around.

The cell was a bigger mess than usual. The remains of ripped-up plastic containers with hunks of sandwich meat littered the floor, all of it soaking in a pool of water. That was going to be just fucking awesome to clean up.

Why the hell had he brought that shit in here anyway? He was always too wacked out to eat when he went monster.

He wished he hadn’t spilled the water, though; his throat was raw and sore and drier than Arizona. The kitchen seemed like a long way away.

And what was that smell? Not the meat, or his stinky, sweaty body. Something soft, delicate, sweet. He had a sudden memory of being enveloped in that scent, and a sense of well-being stole briefly through his body before being erased by another knife-stab through his brain. But what was the scent?

The girl.

Memories came back in a confused rush, making his brain hurt.

The internet café. Goth Tech Girl turning out to be Madeleine Fox. The meeting in the warehouse… the toxic gas… the fight.

Racing against time to get her back here before the beast took him, and killed her. He’d locked her in the cell, and then himself.

Everything after that was hazy with pain and rage, except her. Her eyes anchoring him in sanity, her voice… singing. Talking to him. Trembling with suppressed fear, when she thought she’d die in here while the beast raged.

He’d let her go. In one of his lucid moments, he’d realized that an attack that bad, uncontrolled, could last for days, and he’d given her the key to the cell so she wouldn’t die of hunger and dehydration. She was gone.

Devastation crashed through him, leaving a taste of ashes in his mouth. He’d had her right here—his chance to fix his life—and he’d let her go. He’d never find her again.

The other dragon’s laughter echoed in his mind.

He heaved himself to his feet, not even bothering to try to gather up the shreds of yesterday’s clothes. Conjuring himself new ones—usually effortless—brought another slamming throb of pain, so he settled for jeans and nothing else.

He trudged through the mess on the floor, kicking hunks of sodden meat out of his way. His toes met something hard and cold and glassy, which skittered across the floor and rolled to a stop, clinking.

The potion bottle.

Frowning—which hurt—he walked over and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was empty.

He knew he hadn’t had time to grab the potion before locking them both in. He’d barely made it to the cells in time.

Slowly, another memory floated to the surface. Him lying on the floor, weak and beaten and shamed, begging her for the potion. Knowing she wouldn’t give it to him. She’d have been crazy to.

But she must have. The bottle was here in his hand. And the mess on the floor suddenly made sense too. She must have brought him food and water.

Why would she do that? None of this made any sense.

The cell door was shut, but it had a hidden fingerprint pad on the inside, so that once the madness stopped he could disengage the lock without frying his hand in the containment spell.

As soon as he opened the door and stepped outside, he felt it. Someone was in the building. No, not ‘someone’—her. She wasn’t gone.