To Desire a Dragon - Amanda Milo Page 0,2

me.

We aren’t strong enough to rescue Jöran from the Qippiks.

Yet.

But once we have a trained dragon at our feet, perhaps we’ll stand a chance. In fact—

Burnt.

I tilt my head, catching the scent on the wind.

Banked fire. Yatanak told me to follow the banked fire.

I didn’t know what he meant. Half the time, I suspect he talks in riddles to sound wise but cover the fact he’s forgotten the answer to anyone’s question.

I suck in a breath, lungs punching my ribs as I smell burnt that should not be here; there are no other tribes on this mountain, not this high up.

I’m watching for a burrow, or a wee den.

I don’t expect a cave.

It’s ginormous.

My feet trip as I near the entrance. The rocks are craggy, and I’m bound to break my damn neck if I don’t keep my eyes on my feet. But I’m trying to scan the area, on the lookout for a scaly little creature to scuttle past me on its way to hide.

I compromise by moving slowly, glancing at the ground to pick the next safest step, then peering around for the shy, rare creature.

I can’t wait to start training it. Yatanak said dragons are loyal to the one who captures them. Lord knows we could use a loyal, protective creature.

Without it, we’re stuck being nearly helpless.

I grit my teeth.

Not for long.

I’m going to catch a protector.

I’m going to win us a dragon.

CHAPTER 2

Nalle

I was not prepared for traveling in darkness. This far from the cave entrance, I can barely see. I wonder if I should risk bringing out my candle, lighting the wick. Without a doubt, it will alert my quarry. Dragons are supposed to be very observant and react with the swiftness of a grass snake’s escape.

Once trained, it’s possible that they can strike with all the swiftness of a stealthy grass snake too. I silently send up a prayer that this is true. Harnessed, this will be exactly what we need: a small but fierce companion to shadow us. Like a trained wolf, but with scales.

The scrape of rock-on-rock makes my ears perk.

Excitement hits my chest like a tentpole hammer. Please be a dragon. Heart racing, I fix my eyes on the corner I think I heard the sound come from. All I see is endless black.

No, wait… I squint. There’s a little shine—

I hear a scrape, and at first, I think I’m seeing a gigantic, inky-dark snake-like creature. That’s bad enough. A rock python is a dangerous beast. But as my eyes follow the length of the thing, and triangular wedges become apparent as the thing curves up, up, up—I see the shapes are actually erupting out of the sinewy form like a crocodile.

I’m staring at a creature’s tail.

A soft glow turns on above my head, illuminating my field of vision.

My racing heart?

Stops dead.

Fear pours down my spine like icy lake water. I’m staring at a massive haunch. Scales, that’s what shined and caught my eye. Glimmery black scales.

Dragons have scales.

I’m staring at a dragon’s butt.

And immediately I know that Yatanak’s information was a little off. Dragons might be knee-high—but only when they’re fecking babies.

I’m afraid to breathe. Afraid to move. I’m afraid to close my eyes. I stare at the dragon’s ass and try to discern if I can feel my feet. Because I’m going to need to run faster than the creature can wheel around and bite.

Or blow fire. Yatanak sent me off with some size assurances—lies!—and a fishhook? The old man is bat-guano CRAZY!

The glow coming from above me shifts.

Sucking in a silent, terrified hiccup, I crane my head back and cast my gaze high, high up.

Two giant eyes shine down on me, turning everything a glowing green.

Leathery whispers signal that wings are being adjusted behind the great creature, unseen for all the black. Unseen even with the green glow because it’s me who has all the dragon’s formidable focus.

A curdled scream dies in my throat.

The dragon’s head is long with a wedge-scythe hook on the end of its snout. Its upper jaw juts out with fangs, and its teeth poke out and overlap its lips on the lower side. Behind its head are two horns, and if I’m not mistaken, the slight ruff at its throat is actually a relaxed frill.

I’m staring up at a Great Crested Merlin. A dragon of legend that none of my people have ever seen—or at least never returned home to confirm that the tales are true.

Tribes from the Steppes have all the dragon