Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Yeah, you’re Jurik,” I say after a moment, deciding that yes, he is teasing me. I think I like it. It’s unexpected, that’s for sure. I gesture at myself. “Do you remember who I am?”
“Ruh-chul,” he breathes, and the word is so fervent and full of longing that my skin prickles with awareness. Oh, yeah, he remembers all right.
My stomach growls, interrupting the moment, and Jurik stiffens against me. He touches my clothing, gesturing at my stomach, and then brushes his fingers over my lips. “Ruh-chul?”
“I’m okay,” I promise, and slip out of his embrace. He immediately grabs my hand and tries to tug me against him once more. “No, no.” I keep my tone light and happy. “I’m not running away. I’m just getting food.” I gesture at my bag, discarded the moment I got off my bike. “It’s right over here.” I grab his hand in mine and squeeze it, trying to pull him along with me.
He frowns, but when he realizes I’m not running away, he follows after me, his eyes whirling that odd mixture of gold and black.
I move back to my bike, crossing the short distance on the abandoned road, and as I do, I look for a decent spot to sit and eat. The problem with a lot of the After is that…it’s ugly. There’s no lawn crews to tend to grassy medians, no one to trim bushes that grow wild. There’s no one to pick up trash or get rid of destroyed—or burned—objects. There’s a lot of wilderness in the After, but all of it tends to be overgrown, weedy, and not very pretty.
Not that it matters. I’m just happy to be alive.
I consider a nearby area, two large trees providing heavy shade near an old bus stop. The shade prevents the grass from growing too tall underneath them and birds twitter nearby, which is kind of nice. I take my bag, then link my arm with Jurik’s and tug him along. He looks down at our joined elbows, smiles another toothy dragon smile, and then lets me lead him.
We sit down, and I pull out some of my supplies. There’s no picnic blanket, of course—the fort would have way too many uses for so much cloth—but that’s okay. I sit down on the ground and cross my legs, indicating he should sit with me.
He does, sort of. Jurik hunches over, squatting deep as he possessively moves closer to me and runs his fingers through my braid again, pulling the last of my hair from its moorings. I fight back the urge to nudge him away and drink from my canteen. How long have I been out? The sun is high and I’ve lost track of all time, but I’m thirsty. Jurik must be, too. I take a sip and then offer the water to him. “Water,” I say helpfully. “Waaaah-ter.”
Jurik doesn’t repeat me. Doesn’t even try. He takes the canteen, sniffs it, then hands it back to me.
Okay, maybe dragons don’t drink much. I chug a bit more before capping the canteen off again and pulling the wrapper off of my lunch. It’s more hard cornbread sandwich and paste, so I take a small bite from a corner. It’s a really dry meal and not all that appetizing, but it’s a meal and I’ve learned to savor every single one of them. I take another tiny bite, and then grudgingly hold it out for him. “Did you eat the sandwich I dropped yesterday?” I ask. “I kind of hope so. A sandwich shouldn’t be wasted.”
His eyes light up the moment I offer him the food and he takes an absolutely massive bite, his eyes gleaming pleasure. I’m a little crestfallen at his response, because he’s devoured over half of my sandwich in one fell swoop. Even if it’s not delicious, I’m reluctant to share. There’s too many missed meals in my past.
“I guess you’re a sandwich guy, huh,” I mutter.
He chews enthusiastically, his cheeks bulging, and then his expression slowly changes to one of distaste. His chewing becomes slower, and then he looks over to the side and spits out the half-chewed sandwich on the ground.
“You son of a bitch!” I exclaim. “That was my lunch!”
He wipes at his mouth with the back of a hand and gives me a crestfallen look, as if I’ve somehow betrayed him with the taste of my sandwich. I can’t help but chuckle, setting what’s left of my meal carefully on my knee and then offering him the canteen again. This time, Jurik takes it and swigs it, grimacing again.
All right, then, dragons aren’t fond of sandwiches.
I watch as he drains the last of my water, then go back to nibbling tiny bites on my sandwich. He watches me intently as I eat, still in that weird crouch next to me, and he can’t stop touching me. I try to ignore the dance of his claws through my hair, the touches against my sleeve, the way he seems to move closer and closer with every moment. It’s like he can’t get enough of me.