Chapter Seven – The Dragon’s Favorite Strays
Chapter Seven
DAKOTA
I’m shaking as I slowly creep toward my crossbow. I need my weapon back. I won’t feel safe until it’s in my hands again — not that it’s done much good against him so far.
The dragon-man nudges the meat towards us again, even as the cats rub against his legs and meow wildly, excited by the smell.
I genuinely have no idea what to do now. I’ve heard rumors that some of the dragons turn into men. I’ve also heard rumors that they can read minds and will eat you if they don’t like what you’re thinking. That they mind control entire forts full of people. I don’t know what to think of all of this, only that this doesn’t feel safe for my vulnerable daughter.
“Go inside, Rabbit,” I tell her in a shaking voice. “Slowly. Don’t run. Don’t make eye contact with the dragon. Just turn around and go.”
“He’s friendly, Mom. He’s trying to feed us like the cats,” she protests. “Maybe he’s lonely.”
“We don’t need a lonely dragon, Rabbit,” I say tightly, never taking my eyes off the big, golden-scaled man holding the haunch out to me. A particularly aggressive cat meows and rubs against his leg and he leans over to scoop it up and cuddle it against his chest. With his other hand, he’s still holding the haunch out to me. His eyes whirl in a variety of colors, changing from gold to a deeper shade, then back to gold again.
Rabbit giggles. “But he thinks we’re stray cats!”
“Owmigoh,” the dragon says, the sounds slow and mangled as they come from his mouth. He gestures at the meat in his hand. Then, as if sensing my mistrust, he carefully sets it down on the ground between us and backs away a few steps.
The cats immediately surge toward it.
As if he expected this, the big golden man calmly scoops up cats as they rush forward, turning them around and putting them back to the other meat. This one is for us, he’s telling me without words. He gestures at it again and crouches nearby, watching and waiting.
“He wants us to eat it,” Rabbit stage-whispers.
“I know! I know! Let me think!” My motherly instincts (such as they are) tell me to run for the hills. The survivor in me wants all that fresh red meat, though. How long has it been since we’ve had any sort of meat in our diet? Anything that hasn’t been canned sludge long past its expiration date? I swallow hard and then hesitantly take a step forward. The food is warring with the red alerts buzzing through my brain. What do we have left in our supplies if we leave now, I wonder. Two packets of oatmeal and an old plastic container of chicken bouillion. An old pack of spaghetti noodles. It won’t last us the week, and pickings in this area have been slim.
Pursing my lips, I take another step forward. When the dragon-man gives me another encouraging look and indicates the haunch again, I pick it up.
Or try to. It’s like lifting a bag of sand. “Jesus take the wheel,” I mutter, staggering under the weight.
The dragon jumps to his feet, surging toward me.
I yelp and drop the haunch, skittering backward.
He immediately stops, a look of chagrin on his face, and weirdly enough, I feel like an asshole. Like I hurt his feelings. He points at me. “Owmigoh?”
“Dakota,” I reply. “My name is Dakota, remember?”
“Do-tah,” he agrees, brightening. He picks up the food, carefully nudging away another cat, and then holds it out to me again. “Do-tah.”
“Mom, that’s you–”
“I know! Thank you, Rabbit!” I’m very aware of the eager look on his face. I just…don’t know what to do with it. Eight years of absolute hell has taught me that dragons are monsters. They’ll stop at nothing to raze the earth and destroy everything in their path. They can’t be reasoned with. They just destroy. Things calmed down a year or so ago, but that doesn’t mean the dragons are gone. I don’t trust the silence, the less frequent fires. It just means they’re planning something.
But this one is trying to feed us when he could kill us without a second thought…and that makes me pause. He could have destroyed us a dozen times over in the last few minutes. My crossbow won’t do shit against a dragon. The fact that he’s seemingly friendly is a blessing…but friendly for how long?
A kitten with dirty white fur wanders forward and mews plaintively up at him. He picks it up and nuzzles it, bringing the filthy, flea-covered (yet adorable) creature to his face and cuddling it.
It’s his gentleness with the kitten that makes some of the fear in me ebb. I thought he was attacking us before but…he’d just come and snatched his kitten back. Was that all he wanted then? It wasn’t him trying to chase us off?
I rub my mouth, wondering if I’m going to regret the next few words that come out of my mouth. “Okay. We’ll try and be friends. Just be on guard, Rab. Okay?”
“On guard,” my daughter replies. “Also, I don’t mean to be rude, but do…do you think we can make him put on pants?”
“I think we’re a few conversations away from that,” I admit, my face heating up. “Just pretend like it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, all right?”
My daughter giggles like the fourteen year old she is. “It’s flopping around in the wind, Mom. Gonna be hard to ignore.”
“Try!” I paste a smile on my face as the dragon-man turns his gaze to me with curiosity. I know how Rabbit feels, because it’s taking everything I have not to stare at the massive hanging dick that’s incredibly prominent while he squats. I’m not here to ogle, though. If he doesn’t understand the concept of pants, well, as long as his dick remains a limp noodle, I can ignore it.
Mostly.
I touch my chest again and give him another smile. “Dakota.” I put a hand out toward him. “Murr?”
“Murr,” he agrees, scratching the kitten’s ears. He studies my face for a moment and then bares his teeth at me in what has to be a mimic of my smile. It looks incredibly unnatural and shows his fangs, but I remind myself that if he doesn’t know what pants are, it’s a safe bet he doesn’t know other human customs, like smiling.
“Hello again, Murr,” I manage, nervous. I slowly ease my pack off my shoulder and set it on the ground. “Thank you for inviting us to dinner. Okay if we cook it?”
