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"Zaide!" I whispered as I chased him across the lot to the main door. "Rescue only, yeah? We aren't ready to face up to a dragon."
He nodded, and with his bloodied hand, he pulled the already ajar door open a fraction more. It squeaked. We both winced and froze, waiting to see if anyone heard. Our luck must have changed because there wasn't any sign of anyone, and we slipped inside.
It was a standard warehouse, nothing exciting to look at. Tall shelves created many aisles, each with boxes of goods or wooden pallets holding plastic-wrapped items. Tiptoeing down aisles, we followed our bond toward the center of the warehouse and stopped when we heard a whimper of pain.
Clawdia.
I gritted my teeth and hurried to the end of the aisle, where a bunch of pallets lay upright against the wall. I hunkered down behind them, Zaide following suit behind me, and, through the wooden slats, spotted a man at the end of the next aisle, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jogging bottoms.
He had dark hair that was an awkward length brushing into his eyes and mouth as he paced. I knew exactly who he was. Despite how much I wanted to deny it, something in me took notice of him and was drawn to him—my great-great-grandaddy Fafnir.
I didn't see a family resemblance and thanked God for that. Clawdia would already have a hard enough time knowing I was related to him.
He leaned down and whispered something to the floor, which moved my attention in that direction. My heart stopped when I noticed the golden hair splayed across the floor, pale skin, unclothed, and fear on the face of my familiar. Next to her lay another woman with red hair. Her stillness told me she was unconscious. The witch.
"Who is that man? Where is the dragon?" Zaide whispered from behind me, the growl in his voice betraying his fury at seeing Clawdia naked and frightened.
It struck me that he wasn't aware or had forgotten that the dragon was once a man in the myth. "That is Fafnir, the magic-stealing bloke who turned into a dragon."
"He has a human form," he mumbled to himself. Fafnir was still talking to Clawdia. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her face was drawn with pain. We needed to do something. Fast.
Suddenly, his head turned in our direction and his eyes flashed red. "Descendant, if you are here, show yourself. I am not in the mood for games."
Can he see us? Hear us? How does he know someone is here? That a descendant is here? Is Elizabeth right? Will he be able to control me?
I bit my tongue to distract myself from the panic racing through me.
Maybe going toward the ancestor that could control me wan’t a great plan.
Zaide whispered, "He thinks we are Mary. Clawdia told me she was coming to find us."
I nodded my understanding and let out a slow breath. That explained the descendant comment but it was still concerning that he could sense those of his blood.
I hope he can’t track them either.
He turned his head back to Clawdia and, with a cruel grin, kicked her in the ribs and whispered something. Her cry of pain, which echoed within me, boiled my blood.
This lizard will feel every bit of pain she does before I am finished with him,I promised.
"Little Cat," Zaide whimpered behind me, and I knew how much he wanted to charge out there, kick the fucker in the balls, and take Clawdicat away from here.
I wanted to do the same. But instead, I told him, "Don't move."
Fafnir straightened and turned toward us again. He growled, "I can sense you. Why are you testing my patience? Come here."
"Fuck," I cursed and closed my eyes.
What do we do?
My mind spun with possibilities, scenarios, plans … anything we could do to get out of this with Clawdia and the other witch alive. A distraction wouldn't help us now. He was expecting someone, and if he found out we were his enemy, he could kill them both before we got to them and then kill us.
He doesn't know we are enemies yet.
An idea sparked in my head, and I grinned manically.
"Why are you smiling?" Zaide asked, concern in his whispered tone.
"Trust me and pretend to be unconscious."
