Page 1 of Dragon Charmed

Chapter 1

He stumbled through the dark woods. Branches attacked his arms and face, leaving thin, bloody lines. Tree roots and wet ground threatened to send him sprawling.

Turning in a circle to get his bearings, he groaned as pain seared like liquid fire across his side and back. His heart pumped so hard he could feel it in his throat. Or was that fear he choked on?

Where am I?

He touched his side and cringed. What the hell happened? Wetness covered his palm, and he lifted it. The low light kept him from seeing the red coating it, but the telltale smell of copper hit his nose. From the amount of blood soaking through his makeshift bandages, he didn’t have much longer to find help before he collapsed—or worse.

Coming to a stop next to an upturned tree, he almost dropped against it before hesitating. If he sat down, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up again. The air he attempted to suck into his burning lungs didn’t prevent the black tunneling his vision.

I am not dying in these damn woods.

Taking a few steps, he blinked at a glimmer of light in front of him. Was it a mirage? A last-ditch effort of his mind to give him hope?

He blinked again, and the light remained, calling to him like a beacon as he swayed toward it. He lost track of time, and his steps slowed as what little energy he had left drained from him like the blood that ran down his side.

Staggering into a small clearing, he found a cabin, the beacon he saw earlier a light shining through the window. Someone had to be there. He knocked and the solid wood against his knuckles let him know he wasn’t imagining things.

A few seconds later the door opened, and he fell forward into the arms of an older man. “Hey now! What’s wrong?” The man was surprisingly strong, bearing his weight as he led him over to a chair and set him down.

“What happened to you?”

He shook his head as the man looked him over and removed the cloth wrapped around his middle. He hissed as it stuck to his wounds.

“You’ve made a mess of yourself.” The man stated it calmly as if he were looking at a skinned knee.

He walked over to a cabinet and collected some medical supplies and towels and set them on the table. “I’m Walter. I’m going to take care of you. What’s your name, son?”

Such a simple question, really, but his heart thumped louder, moving from his throat into his ears, making it difficult to hear. He frantically looked around the small cabin as if something, anything he saw might help him answer the question. Nothing did.

“I don’t know.”

Fifteen months later

Ben held the ax above his head for a moment before swinging it down in an arc. The wood split in half and fell to either side of the chopping block. He picked up another piece of wood and placed it on its end, raised the ax, and swung again. There was something soothing in the repetitive motion. Not much brought him peace, so he took it when and where he could.

It had been over a year since he collapsed on Walter’s doorstep, and he still couldn’t remember anything about himself. Where he came from, his family, his age, his history, period. Hell, Walter had been the one to tell him they were in the Appalachian Mountains in Tennessee. The older man truly lived off the land and had taken him under his wing. Ben had learned to hunt, fish, and garden.

Walter started to call him Ben when his own name refused to come back to him. What did it mean when your own identity left you high and dry? And an even scarier question that had him gripping the ax harder as his palms started to sweat: what if he was better off without it?

The cabin door opened, and Walter came outside and walked toward him. “You ready for lunch?”

Ben split another piece of wood before responding. “I could eat.”

Walter nodded. “I didn’t want to interrupt your thinking time, but I’m starting to get hungry.”

Ben turned to him. “My what?”

Walter grinned. “When you’re trying to figure something out, you come out here and chop wood. From the pile you got goin’, I’d say you’ve been thinking a lot.”

Ben set the ax down and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Tell me everything you remember about the night I showed up here.”

“I might take a seat if we’re goin’ to talk about this.” Walter moved over to the wood bench and sat. “That night I heard something outside. Thought it was a raccoon or some other critter since I don’t get guests out here. When you knocked on the door, I was surprised, and when you fell into my arms, more so.”

“You didn’t act shocked to see a bloody man.”

Walter shrugged. “I spent enough years in the military to see a bunch of bloody men. Lucky for you, I learned a few things about patchin’ people up.”