The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(4)

Ari rounded the corner of a back alley near her expected sewer entry, and came to a dead stop.

Shingles littered the ground, scattered underneath a prone Dragon. Ari’s breathing quickened, her goggles flaring brightly with the Dragon’s magical presence. Slowly, she reached for the sharper of her daggers.

The Dragon’s steel blue flesh was covered in the shining glow of a corona. It looked like the scales of a sea serpent, sparkling with its own unnatural brightness, and would render even her sharpest golden dagger useless no matter how much magic she put behind it. Ari inched around the opposite wall, her eyes tracking the Dragon the entire time.

He didn’t move. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing despite being only a short peca away. Ari dared to creep forward, and luck rewarded her.

Exhausted, the Dragon’s corona flashed and disappeared as the golden bracers that sustained the protective magic cracked and fell from around his wrists. Still, the Dragon did not stir. His head and heart were intact, so no matter what state he appeared to be in, he was certainly going to wake soon. His Dragon blood was quickly pulsing through his body, healing him. When his mind caught up from the blackness his fall had created, he would be as well as if nothing had ever happened.

Ari passed the dagger hand to hand.

She didn’t have time to harvest the body properly of all its useful parts. She had to be prepared for the Dragon to wake the second she began trying—if she tried at all. Ari slid her feet over until she was standing next to him. She’d have to cut out his heart in one motion.

It was reckless to the point of idiocy. Ari’s mouth curled into a sinister smile. Florence would scold her for it later. But perhaps the tidy sum a Dragon heart could fetch would be enough to sway the girl.

Kneeling down beside the rainbow-colored eyesore, Ari raised her golden dagger. It was refined steel, and tempered to her magic and her will. It’d slow him if he woke. Ari could only imagine what a fresh Dragon heart was going to fetch in the seedy underground market of Old Dortam.

She plunged her weapon down.

In the same instant, the Dragon’s hand shot up and caught her wrist, stopping her just short of his chest. He stared at her in surprise.

Ari snarled and bore her teeth in rage. She’d been set up. It was certainly too good to be true. A prone Dragon without his corona? Never.

Ari pulled one hand from the dagger and reached for her other. She sliced at the Dragon’s wrist, cutting deep, but the blade was the duller of the two and it stuck in his hardened bones, turning into a spigot for golden blood to pour onto her knees.

The Dragon didn’t move. He held her in place and stared through her attacks and her snarls. The black slit of his yellow eyes roved over her face.

Was this a ploy by the Riders to find out what she looked like?

Ari pushed off the ground with her feet, rotating in place. The Dragon was strong and could hold the sharp point of her dagger off its mark even with all her weight above it. But it took two hands for him to do so, which meant when Ari twisted, she was able to bring her feet down, hard, onto his unprotected face.

He finally let her go and she flipped backward, landing on the balls of her feet, a dagger in each hand. The Dragon stood, contemplating the wound on his arm. It was as though he’d never been cut by anything other than unrefined steel. His broken nose was already resetting itself and would be healed well in advance of the gash in his wrist.

She had a choice. On one shoulder, there was a very sensible little version of herself reminding her that this was not her prey or her job. She’d done what she came into the land of Dragon dogs to do. She should leave and collect her handsome pay. In short, she should stick to the plan.

On the other shoulder was a different tiny version of herself. This version was screaming bloody murder. Cut out his heart! It demanded over and over. It cried for her to do what she was made to do: slay Dragons.

It wasn’t hard to pick which one to listen to. Ari darted forward. First stepping with her right foot, she drew his attention in one direction before jumping onto her left and bringing her right heel across his face.

The Dragon half-dodged, reaching out his foot to hook behind the heel of Ari’s supporting leg. She bent backwards, releasing the duller of her two daggers to tumble with one unarmed hand.

“I don’t want to fight you.” The Dragon held up his palms as though any gesture of his could be nonthreatening. Despite his words, his claws were out—wicked sharp and extending past the end of his fingers in points.

“So don’t, and let me cut out your heart.” Ari set in for another string of attacks. The Dragon dodged about half of them.

“Fenthri—” He side-stepped, narrowly missing a dagger point in his throat. “Listen to me!”

“Not a chance!” she almost sang, pushing him against the wall. His head hit hard and he was dazed a moment. “I have a very strong ‘no negotiating with the enemy’ policy.”

Ari rotated her grip on the knife to an icepick hold and pulled back. His eyes regained clarity as she once more attempted to plunge the dagger into his chest. He grabbed her wrist again, but still didn’t attack. His claws had retracted.

The magical zing of a Dragon Rider flying overhead piqued both their attentions. Fenthri and Dragon alike looked up as the Rider slowed not far from where they’d been brawling.

“I can give you something better than my heart.” The Dragon’s voice had taken on a thrumming intensity that burned with a fire Ari hadn’t heard there previously. But if her feverish attacks hadn’t inspired the change…what had?