Lolita Lopez: Dead Sexy Dragon

“AARRGH!” Stig cried out in surprise and pain. Something sharp pierced his back and belly. He glanced down and spotted the tip of a similar dao blade poking through his abdomen. In a moment of horrific pain, the sword was withdrawn.

Stig fell to his knees. His insides burned. Blood poured from the wound. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder. He knew what had happened. The goon he’d thought he’d finished clearly had a little life left in him, enough to strike a final, deadly blow.

“Cora.” His whispered words would likely never reach her ears. Somewhere behind him she lay unconscious and possibly close to death herself from blood loss. There was no way she’d escaped that rollover without sustaining major injury. In a last desperate attempt to protect her, Stig hoped her passing was quick and painless, so the Knights wouldn’t be able to take her as a prisoner.

His, on the other hand, was sure to be gruesome.

Stig’s ears perked to the sound of the sword cutting through the air as it lifted for one last swing. He braced for the bite of the blade against his neck but it never came.

There was a loud snap and then a wet gurgle. Seconds later, the goon fell onto Stig’s back. Stig rolled his shoulders, sending the man’s body to the ground next to him. A harpoon impaled his chest and throat. The upward angle affirmed Stig’s suspicion—the speargun had been fired from the ground.

“Stig?” Cora’s weak voice filled him with hope and a renewed strength.

“Cora?” He turned slowly, his arm pressed to his oozing gut, and found her half crawling, half dragging herself toward him. She held a broken arm to her chest and dragged her misshapen and bloody leg. A speargun rested not far from her.

Stig was struck by the irony of the moment. He’d come to save Cora’s life and she’d saved his.

“Oh, God, Stig.” Cora wept at the sight of his mangled wing and bleeding stomach. Cringing in pain, she removed her shirt and pressed the cloth to the deep wound. She caressed his bloody face with her free hand. The change took place more slowly this time. The pain was nearly unbearable. “We have to get you to the hospital. I think their SUV is still running. I can probably drive.”

He knew she couldn’t drive in her state. She’d kill them both.

Through gritted teeth, Stig gave his final instructions. “Find your cell phone and call nine-one-one. After you make the call, you can help me into those bushes over there. I’ll hide until the ambulance leaves.”

Cora shook her head. “I’m not going to leave you here to die.”

“You have to, Cora. I can’t go to a hospital looking like this.”

“No.” She gripped his hand tightly and refused to let go. “I’m not leaving you again.” Cora pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss. “I love you.”

Her words soothed the still-raw wound of her earlier rejection. He’d seen the orientation of the vehicles. Cora had been coming back to him. He couldn’t fault her for being afraid of changing into a scaled beast. Had he been in her shoes, he might have done the same thing.

“Cora, I love you.” He swallowed a painful lump. He tasted blood and wondered how long it would take for the internal bleeding to finish him. “I love you so much. I want you to live.”

Her protest was interrupted by the unmistakable rumble of approaching dragons. Stig’s core vibrated with awareness of his kind, of his Brothers. Relief saturated his weary muscles. He’d come to their aid in situations hairier than this. Their shared senses of danger were much like those of the mate bond. He should have known they’d come for him.

The ground trembled as Madoc and Griff landed with very little finesse. In such a stressful situation, Stig wasn’t surprised they came in heavy and loud. The Welsh Reds panted noisily as they appraised the scene, the crimson scales on their chests expanding powerfully with each breath. In dragon form, it was often difficult to gauge their emotions, but when their gazes fell on Stig and Cora’s entwined bodies, the shock was evident.

Stig could only imagine how bizarre they looked. Cora, his mortal lover, held pressure on his orange and red mottled abdomen—his decidedly not dragonlike abdomen.

Cora stiffened with fear. Stig used the last of his energy to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s all right, Cora. They’re friends. They’ll take care of us.”

Certain Cora was in good hands, Stig finally relaxed. His eyelids drooped and he slipped into unconsciousness. He hoped he’d wake again to the sight of Cora’s sweet face.

Cora woke with a start. Her strained neck immediately protested the jerky movement. Wincing, she rubbed her aching muscles and glanced toward the open bedroom door for the source of the sound that woke her. There was an ungodly ruckus down in the kitchen. Apparently Griff or Madoc were trying to make lunch. Trying being the operative word.

She stretched her sore back and sat up a bit straighter. Falling asleep in the chair next to Stig’s bed had put her back and neck in a weird position. She gingerly moved her leg, the cast still heavy and unfamiliar. Her broken arm rested in a sling.

It had been four days since that nightmare of a night but she seemed to be healing surprisingly fast. The perks of becoming a dragon, she supposed. There was little pain, only infrequent bouts of throbbing when she moved too quickly or bumped into something.

Madoc and Griff, the shockingly red dragons who had come to their rescue, had taken very good care of them. They’d been whisked away to the closest Brotherhood safe house where a very scary, very intimidating dragon named Ignatius, their leader, saw to their medical care. She’d been so weak and in so much pain those first few hours were mostly a blur. She remembered snippets. Madoc starting an IV in her good arm. Griff steadying her as Ignatius worked to straighten her leg. The prickling heat of their dragon magic enhancing the human-made pharmaceuticals.

Cora had slipped into a deep sleep at some point and had woken up late the next afternoon. Stig still remained in an almost comatose state. All that regeneration to heal his extensive injuries required a lot of energy. His breathing was slow and deep, his eyelids hardly moving.

The sight of his motionless body in that bed left her aching with fear and guilt. She’d watched her grandmother slip away in a hospice bed and had been the one to ID Hector after he’d wrapped his truck around a tree. Realizing how close she’d come to losing Stig made her never want to leave his side again, not even for the briefest of moments.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. Moments later, Ignatius appeared in the doorway. He cast a glance at Stig’s motionless form. His scarred face showed no emotion. “He will wake soon.”

Cora sensed Ignatius knew the exact moment when Stig would wake. There was something about his bond with the rest of the Brotherhood that was different. He’d been the one to send Madoc and Griff, the two closest Brothers, to their rescue that night. Ignatius had felt her terror and Stig’s pain.

He lifted the lunch tray clasped in his big hands. “I brought you some lunch.”

Her hungry gaze swept over the sandwich and chips as Ignatius settled the tray over her lap. A glass of iced tea and a few celery sticks slathered with peanut butter and sprinkled with raisins rounded out the simple lunch. “Thank you.”

He allowed the tiniest of smiles to curve his mouth before moving toward Stig’s bed. Ignatius closed his right eye, his only eye, and swept his fingertips over Stig’s forehead. Could he see what Stig dreamed? After a few seconds, he removed his hand and crossed to the empty chair on the other side of Stig’s bed.