Page 2 of Tempting the Tiger
Milo jumps up and down, punching his fist in the air and grinning from ear to ear. He moves away a few paces, then shifts at his usual swift speed into a dark cherry-red dragon, with the same double row of spikes down the length of his body and along his tail that I have. He bumps my nose with his then rubs his snout along my neck. I do the same to him, this form of scenting so achingly familiar.
Then he turns and breathes flames across the field, keeping them high enough to avoid setting anything on fire. When he stops, he eyes me expectantly.
He’s right that it’s an obvious next step. I was burping flames when I was six months old, so this shouldn’t be a challenge.
Unfortunately, it’s not as instinctive as I would like. When I try simply breathing fire, nothing happens. I focus on contracting the muscles in my throat to move the fuel inside me into the right area, then, when I eventually have enough in place that I won’t look like I’m trying to light a candle, I use my magic to ignite it. I breathe out the resulting flames; a simultaneous exhalation of relief that it’s worked and frustration at being denied this for so long.
The rain, which hasn’t let up, extinguishes my fire far too quickly.
For a brief moment, I’m glad Milo’s the only one seeing me like this. My sister already feels unnecessarily guilty that I got locked up. The last thing I want is for her to see how pathetic my dragon is now.
Time to get the fuck out of here. If I can shift and breathe fire, I can fly.
My first attempt to launch by pushing off with my legs results in an embarrassing little jump and not much else. I spread my wings wider, changing the direction I’m facing to better catch the wind, and try again. This time I actually manage to take off, but a sudden drop in the wind twenty feet up catches me off guard and I land in the next field with a heavy thud. Fuck.
I eye Milo, who moves closer and nods encouragingly.
Two more attempts later, I’m convincingly in the air. It takes longer than I’d like to achieve a decent height, but once I do, the feel of the wind and rain buffeting my scales gives me a kind of peace I haven’t felt in forever.
Milo catches up to me quickly, flying on my left and slightly behind as an indication that he’s letting me lead the way. We level out below the dark cloud cover; it’s lower than we prefer to fly, but I want to be able to see the ground beneath us. I need visual proof that this is real and not simply another dream.
Dragon magic is such that we’re camouflaged from humans and their technology, so as long as we avoid aircraft it’s safe to fly wherever we want. Since Wargate is in the middle of a rural part of Derbyshire, we’re almost immediately flying over rolling green hills and lakes turned grey by the bleak weather.
The feeling of freedom is immense. There are a few tiny cars below us, crawling like ants along the narrow, winding roads, but other than that, it’s just us.
I swoop low over a lake to skim my talons across the water’s surface. There’s no one out on the water in this weather, so I work my throat muscles in preparation, then breathe out a long burst of flame and fly through it. Buoyed by my success, I tuck my wings in and attempt a barrel roll.
My left wingtip clips the lake’s surface, causing me to spin out of control and land in the water with a massive splash.
Fuck.
Milo swoops back around to me as I struggle, trying not to sink to the bottom. I can’t take off like this, and Welsh dragons can’t swim due to our density, so I reluctantly shift back. My clothes are literally dripping as my brother grips me in his talons and carries me to the shore where he drops me carefully on the rocky ground.
I sit with my shoulders curled forwards and my face hot. I might feel marginally less pathetic if I could use my dragon heat to dry my sodden blue jeans and black T-shirt, but there’s no point when the bitterly cold rain hasn’t let up.
Milo lands next to me and shifts to his biped form as well. He sits opposite me, and when I refuse to look at him, nudges me with his boot. ‘We’ll do some training. Get your flying skills back.’
I scowl at the stupid lake with its stupid water, getting in the way. ‘I’m worse than a teenager. I wouldn’t even pass the Independence Exam right now.’
‘No one is going to make you take it again,’ he signs gently, his eyes full of sympathy.
The Independence Exam is a prerequisite for living and flying independently, and all fire dragons have to take it when they turn eighteen. Zara has it coming up in a few months, and as the eldest sibling I should be the one helping her prepare, teaching her all the skills she’ll need to pass. Instead, I’ve got my younger brother fishing me out of a bloody lake.
‘Don’t tell Zara about this,’ I sign firmly.
He quirks an eyebrow. ‘She’d understand.’
‘She’d feel guilty. She doesn’t need that.’
He tilts his head in acknowledgement. ‘She won’t find out from me.’
I empty my pockets, taking out my dead phone, my sodden wallet full of cancelled cards, and my keys. I remove the key to our parents’ house and hand it to Milo. He takes it without comment.
My parents, along with the rest of our dragon flight, disowned me when I was convicted. My dad sold my car and all butone of my hoard of bass guitars to pay legal fees. He’d have sold my Fender too if my brother hadn’t begged him not to.
Milo, who was only twenty and at university at the time, took over the rental agreement on my flat. I hate that he had to work three jobs to be able to pay the rent until he graduated, but he was in a shit living situation at the time and insisted it was what he wanted. Now, knowing I can go somewhere familiar? I’m grateful that he did.
I stare down at the key to the flat my brother pays rent on and the progress Pride flag keyring Zara got me four years ago. Those and my Fender are the only possessions I have of any value anymore.
