I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2)

be poor conversationalists. A swift clack of his fangs sent them sloping off minus the intended royal breakfast. Could they have been using this cavern? There had been no particular canine smell he could detect. Nonetheless, he was the apex predator around here. Wolves? Good riddance.
With a regal sweep of his forepaw, he said, “Playtime, Princess?”
Even eleven year-olds found that tone discourteous.
No mind. Pretending to root about in the snow while he stealthily gathered a large pawful, he said, “Snow is light, soft and very cold, Princess – want to try some?”
“Dragon. Dragon!”
He chased after her, chortling, “Snow shower for you today?”
“No!”
“Snow, did you say? Say, ‘no snow snow no no snow snow no snow’ very fast. It’s that lisp of yours.”
“I do not – Dragon!”
One freshly frosted felon. Glare!
“Don’t go wearing my name out now. I must say, you look very fetching with snow in your curls. Truly the winter Princess.”
Voicing what had to be a Skartunese war cry, she scrabbled for snow of her own. “You had better start running now, Dragon! When I catch you, you’re going to get one in the fangs, I swear …”
She had an excellent arm on her. Human snowballs were tiny, but that was hardly the point. They gambolled about until she declared her fingers were so numb they hurt. More logic that made complete sense. He had the same sensation in his paws. Since Yardi had put a kettle on for tea – most civilised, everyone agreed – they decided to have a warming herbal brew before flying on. Inzashu added herbs to stimulate blood flow. Eminently sensible.
Pity she could not simulate a desert sun, she muttered.
“Tired of the snow already?” Dragon goaded.
“Never! The toes don’t agree, however. In fact, I’m not sure how many I have left.”
“We should check her circulation,” he said at once. “Humans are susceptible to frostbite. Take off your boots, Princess, and let someone tickle your feet.”
Azania snorted, “That’s not the treatment.”
“How would you know, o Princess of baking sunshine?”
“Wicked beast, I’ll check my own toes, thank you,” Inzashu said boldly.
Dragon promptly plucked her up and hung her upside-down by her feet, despite her protests. “Wicked beast? I’ll paddle your pampered behind, I will. That’ll be good for the circulation, I promise!”
She folded her arms and glared at him. “What’s this, pick on the Princess day?”
“I am very picky about my Princesses, aye. Only the best will do. Say, have you ever been dumped headfirst in a snowdrift?”
“Dragon!”
“Just can’t stop calling my name, can you?”
Azania said, “Save it for Ariamyrielle Seaspray, will you?”
“Ooh, there’s a Dragoness in the picture?” The imp in his paw waggled her eyebrows. “Is she pretty? Is there a romantic story involved? Azania –”
“By my wings, not enough snow to dump you into. Narrow escape, Princess.”
“Tell me the story, please?”
“Do I have to?”
“Come on, Dragon, you can’t leave it like that. You know I’ll just get everything from my sister anyways. Want to get your version out first?”
Azania snorted, “When we do find a snowdrift, Dragon, dump her in it for me, would you?”
Delightfully deadly warrior Dragonesses who lived on faraway islands were clearly the stuff of dreams, in Inzashu’s opinion. Pest, she would not leave him alone until she had every salient detail, and then it was tragic, romantic, beautiful, a match made in the very heavens. There just had to be a good outcome, she announced. Fate could not possibly cut him off so cruelly.
Could it not? Ah, the innocence of youth.
Following the storm, the air was crisper than ever. The peaks stood exquisitely delineated against the crimsons and purples of the evening sky. Flying on, Dragon’s directional sense told him that Juggernaut’s lair was behind the next range of peaks, but the easterly pass he had expected was not yet apparent when he felt Yarimda surreptitiously rubbing her chest.
Her response to his query seared his ear canals.
No mind. A lifetime’s strict diet of respect for one’s elders tempered his natural draconic ire at the rebuke. The only issue was that his previous idea of always being stoic was now undermined by the ebullient fires forever ready inside his throat, and the blasted itching of his hide. Agonising! He flew onward until at last he spied the high pass to the west, shadowed now by the setting suns. Time to find another suitable place to overnight.
They needed to prepare Yarimda for the hop over the top.
“Ready to roll?” Azania asked the following morning, as Taramis set the snowfields ablaze.
“Do I look that fat?” Dragon inquired, trying to push out his lean belly.
All this flying was packing on the muscle. He was quite sure that his shoulders bulged at least a foot wider than before, and no, that was not his natural, well-developed male ego speaking. Besides, any Dragon with a hide in his condition had nothing to boast about. Flying rug. Not a good sort of rug, either. This one had been liberally chewed on in places, and was starting to hang off him like badly fitting Human clothing.
Not good. Nor pleasant.
What he wanted was a hide that fit like Azania’s trousers.
One that might earn more than a passing glance from a cobalt Dragoness, to pick no example in particular.
Bundled up in every scrap of clothing or blankets they owned, his four Riders took their positions. This time, Inzashu-N’shula took the neck seat behind Yarimda, where she could monitor her and touch her with magic if needed, while Yardi gingerly settled herself onto the seat behind Azania and buckled herself in with white-knuckled hands. The armourer still acted uncomfortable with the idea of flying Dragonback.
“All passengers aboard and strapped in?” he rumbled. “This flight is leaving in one minute. In the event of another vengeful