Page 53 of Omen of ice
Mostly.
“You—I—we—” he sputters.
I can’t contain my laughter. Valen gets flustered so rarely that I’ve decided it’s my new favorite thing. “Take a breath, Valen. I’m just messing with you.”
“You, Fungus, are purely evil.”
I punch him playfully. “You know you love it.”
“I—” He freezes and tilts his head to the sky for a moment.
“What is it?” I look around and scan the horizon, but there’s nothing that alarms me.
“Damnit!” He lunges forward, and it isn’t until the reverberating roar of a beast pierces the silence that I understand the mistake I made in crossing the line.
I turn, but I’m too slow. The creature is already on top of me by the time I draw my sword. Its massive claws puncture my shoulder, and it hefts me high into the air.
Valen stands very still. “Try not to move,” he calls as he slowly flexes his shoulder. A small amount of blood seeps from the same place the claws are piercing me. His eyes dart from the creature to the line of snow behind him and back again.
The animal’s talons twitch, and I grit my teeth against the pain. Long, black nails tip a four-finger-like grip. The beast is covered in what looks like dragon scale—but I’ve never heard of one this color or without wings. Bright orange with patches of black that almost resemble stripes. It’s beautiful. Or it would be, if not dangling me four feet in the air. “What is this thing?” I whisper, afraid to anger it.
“A tragon. We drove them from the Winter Lands decades ago. I tried to warn you.” He flexes the fingers of his left arm, rotating his shoulder again with a cringe.
“Blame later. Now, tell me how to get this thing to drop me.”
He takes a small, careful step to the right, toward my discarded sword. The tragon, as if sensing his intentions, rears onto its hind legs and roars. The sound reverberates in my chest and echoes in my head.
“Let’s not enrage the dragon while it’s flinging me around like a sack of flour!”
“Tragon,” he corrects calmly. “It’s a cross between a dragon and—”
“Valen,” I snap. “Focus! Freeze it or something before it eats me.”
“They don’t eat humans. Or Fae, for that matter. It will rip you to shreds for the simple sport of it.”
I stare at him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“That depends.” He keeps his eyes on the beast, but his shit-eating grin is all for me. “Did it?”
“Valen,” I warn again. The pain in my shoulder brings an involuntary sting to my eyes as I struggle to keep my voice even.
“All right, all right.” He takes an even smaller step toward the sword. This time, the tragon watches him, silent. Encouraged, he takes another, slightly bigger, step.
That’s all the beast seems willing to stand for. It thrashes again, shaking and twisting my body, sinking its talons deeper into my shoulder. I try—and fail—to stifle the scream that builds.
Valen curses.
The tragon roars, then breaks into a sprint, moving unbelievably fast on three legs while keeping me secure with the fourth. Valen’s panic surges through our link first, followed by a spike of anger. Something tickles my skin. Like a feathery touch skimming the surface, everywhere all at once. There and gone.
A vicious snarl splits the silence behind us.
Valen.
He’s shifted.
I fumble with my belt, searching for the hidden compartment where I keep a small retractable iron blade. My fingers probe the opening, and I pull out the knife, almost dropping it as we bound along the uneven ground. With a silent prayer to the Goddess, I bury the blade just above the talon piercing my shoulder. The beast howls and thrashes. When I drag the blade through the tender flesh and straight through the middle tendon, the pressure in my shoulder releases. I slip from the beast’s grasp and crash to the ground, tumbling at breakneck speed over jagged rock and dirt.
The tragon stops short and spins with a snarl.
