Dragonfire

Chapter Thirteen: Upriver | Part 5

Thirtyx and Seerla clambered into the middle boat behind a couple of Dragonfolk. The fleeting moment of her hand in his as he helped her sent a warm, tingly feeling down his spine—a stark contrast to the shiver that rocked Seerla’s shoulders as she settled beside him.

“A little chilly on the water, isn’t it?” Thirtyx relied on atmospheric facts rather than his own disproportionate warmth, currently being stoked by his hunger for Seerla’s energy.

Seerla, however, didn’t appear to be listening. Thirtyx followed her envious gaze to the other end of the boat, where the Dragonfolk held small balls of fire in their palms. With a look that toed the line between frustration and trepidation, Seerla inhaled, hands cupped in front of her mouth. But when the breath left her lungs, it wasn’t air.

It was fire.

As the flame settled into her palms, Seerla’s body jolted with a sudden hiccup. She turned her face into her shoulder for the ensuing coughing fit. Thirtyx anxiously watched, wishing he could help. The snickering from their boat companions filled him with such righteous indignation that he wondered if Veriths could also spit fire.

Around the time he was debating whether patting Seerla’s back would help or disrupt her control of the flame, her coughing ceased, and she drew in a couple of full breaths.

The way the fire reflected off her scales and watery eyes made Thirtyx’s own breath catch. Sure, Rhea was fierce, but Seerla was fierce in a way that made Thirtyx want to grab those two snickering Dragonfolk by the throats, drown them in the freezing river, then dig graves for them with his bare fingers to get Seerla the respect she deserved.

Would all that effort earn him the slightest taste of the energy he so powerfully craved from her?

“My throat’s not as fireproof as I’d like it to be,” Seerla croaked. She let out a sudden hiss, and her left hand twitched violently, but she didn’t drop the dragonfire. “Neither are my fingers,” she continued through gritted teeth. “My dad has said for years I can build up tolerance if I practice, which I’d do more if it didn’t hurt so much—something he’ll never understand.” She bit her lip as her right hand twitched this time. 

Thirtyx imagined being a Dragonfolk never taught to use dragonfire probably felt a lot like being a Verith never taught to lie without lying. He clearly admired her attempts more than their now cackling travel companions. Seerla glared. The fire in her hands swelled and threw off sparks. She dropped it with a yelp, and it vanished into thin air.

Seerla massaged her right hand with her left, her growl of frustration barely audible over the guffawing across the boat. In one smooth motion, Thirtyx shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over Seerla’s shoulders like a cape.

She shuddered with joy as the warmth hit her skin, but her joy quickly turned to reproach. “Now you’ll be cold.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my blood is plenty toasty.” Wanting to erase that horrendous statement and the awkward chuckle that followed from his memory, he continued quickly, “What I mean is, I’m more warm-blooded than you, so you need it more than—”

The boat lurched into motion. Thirtyx planted his feet such that he barely moved, but Seerla flailed before clutching his arm. A maelstrom of his own emotions and other weird, indecipherable energies swirled in his gut. Thirtyx was grateful he’d ditched his jacket. Perhaps his warmth was why Seerla let go of him so quickly.

That, or the fact that the boat’s other occupants were now snickering and whispering about them both.