Chapter 18

CHAPTER18

Blood kept spilling down Opal’s shorn-off horn, and Tristan could only stare as it dripped down the dragon’s face, mixing with the tears and dulling the shine of his scales.

Itsscales.

It wasn’t a person. It was a dragon. It was a terrible creature who killed people—that killed people—and that was wrong.

But Tristan killed people too.

Was he really any different?

Tristan hadn’t drugged anyone, though, or taken advantage of them. He’d never do something like that. Opal—damn it, the dragon—had deceived him, and despite all of its little quirks and strange ways of reacting to things, Tristan had never noticed.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d noticed, but he’d explained it all away.

He hadn’t wanted to believe that Opal could be anything but human.

Opal—the fucking dragon, who didn’t deserve the courtesy of a name because it wasn’t a fucking human—was like a more intelligent version of a wyvern, right?

It could be stripped of parts, used to power important spells like the one that had fixed the compass. This was the price. It had to come from somewhere. Didn’t it?

But to kill the dragon, to skin it and remove its admittedly beautiful scales, to pluck out its eyes, to take it apart bit by bit…

To eat its flesh so it didn’t go to waste…

Tristan rushed to the edge of the clearing and vomited everything that hadn’t already been expelled from his stomach, the sword dripping blood in its wake.

“Seriously?” Izar said, annoyed. “I thought you were a hardened knight.”

The dragon let out a pained sound. It sounded weaker than before. Did cutting off the horn rob it of some of its power? Tristan heaved again, swallowing hard to prevent more bile from rising.

“I would like to get done here before something notices all the blood and decides to make a meal of the carcass,” Izar said.

Like a wyvern? What other creature ate monsters? Tristan clung to the hilt of the sword, staring down at it as it continued to drip onto the ground. The blood was red. It wasn’t viscous, or abnormally colored. It stained the ground; it stained the… the carcass.

Oh, gods, the fucking—

He turned, staring at the dragon. “You got a horn. Do you really need the rest of it?” he asked hoarsely. But of course they had to kill it. Otherwise, it would rally up its fellow dragons and come back and kill Tristan and the rest of his family and raze cities and it would be all his fault.

Izar lifted up the horn. “This is a good start, but it would be a waste not to harvest the rest of it. I was already lucky that this dragon was stupid enough to step into my shop.”

The dragon’s eyes slid closed, and it let out a small huff, but whatever magic Izar had used to subdue it appeared to be keeping its maw shut too.

Tristan found himself wanting to hear its voice, for all that he didn’t think he could withstand much more pleading.

Gods.

“Opal,” he whispered helplessly.

Izar set the dragon horn down and approached Tristan. The hem of his robes was stained with blood, the color traveling up to create a repulsive gradient.

Izar held his hand out. “Give it here. We’ll remove the wings first, then the tail. I’ll need to see the best spot to sever the neck.”

The dragon whined again, a long, sorrowful noise.

“You… We… could just pierce its heart,” Tristan said, pulling the sword closer to himself. “There’s no need to torture it.”

Izar rolled his eyes. “No, I want the heart in one piece. And the longer I keep it alive, the more potent the magic in its parts will be.”

“That’s…”

It was cruel. It was impossibly cruel, and all Tristan could think about was Opal’s laugh, and the way his eyes sparkled when he told one of his stories, and how his hands waved around in excitement sometimes.

But there was the aphrodisiac, too. There was the lying, and the manipulation, and the—

None of that meant the dragon deserved to suffer.

“No,” Tristan said, his hand clenching tight around the handle of the sword.

“No?” Izar repeated. “What do you mean, no?”

“What the fuck does it sound like?” Tristan snarled, aware that Izar could use his magic at any second but unable to keep himself from snapping. “The dragon—Opal—doesn’t deserve that. He’s… It’s…”

He’s a romantic, Tristan wanted to say. He’s passionate.

I said I’d never, ever hurt him… even if I was a dragon.

He saved my life.

And not just in the literal sense. Tristan would have died to the swamp creature, but Opal had done more than just save him from death. Opal had saved Tristan from the constant anger and grief.

Opal made Tristan want to live again.

Izar burst out laughing. “Opal? Is that its name? No wonder. Do you know what opals are used for in spells? For deception and illusions.” Izar shook his head, then gripped one of his necklaces. “Didn’t it rape you? It forced you to take its cocks, and you never even realized what you were doing! It turned you into a mindless beast, a slave to your lusts.”

“He didn’t rape me,” Tristan said, looking at Opal’s horn, which was still sluggishly bleeding. Could he bleed out because of the horn? “If anything, I took him too roughly, without concern for his pleasure, and he still… He still cared about me.”

He hadn’t been a slave to his lust.

Had he?

Now that the heat of his anger had cooled, he couldn’t muster up the energy to hate Opal. Tristan had been the one to kiss Opal, again and again—besides the first time, and shouldn’t he still be angry about that?—and Opal had never even tried to take Tristan’s ass or force him to suck Opal’s cock. Of course, that had probably mostly been because Tristan would’ve then noticed two fucking cocks, but…

But even beyond that, Opal had always cared more about Tristan’s pleasure, and making sure Tristan felt good. Opal had been willing to forego his own desires in order to ensure he could stay with Tristan.

Opal loved him, despite all of his flaws and his faults, despite how impossible that seemed.

Izar adjusted his glasses. “By the gods. Don’t tell me you’re suddenly sympathetic toward the beast.” He sighed—and flicked one of his necklaces.

Tristan still had the instincts to dodge. It probably helped that he hadn’t had any alcohol since the previous morning, and he was thinking clearer now than he had in months.

The spell went past him and landed on the cliffside, gouging several deep lines into the rock. It would have completely torn Tristan apart if it had hit him, and Tristan grimaced.

He wasn’t going to back down, though. Opal had saved him.

Tristan had to save Opal, even though he had royally, royally fucked up by taking Opal’s horn. Opal might not ever forgive him for that, for any of this, but… He had to do it anyway.

Opal made a distressed sound and shook his head as if attempting to free himself from Izar’s spells.

Tristan charged Izar, only to find that the ground beneath him turned to sludge. He threw himself to the side and continued barreling toward the sorcerer. Lightning crackled in the air, and Tristan braced himself for the impact.

It didn’t come.

Instead, it sizzled against the sword, making it hot in his hand. He didn’t drop it, though. Tristan couldn’t drop it. He couldn’t risk losing the only weapon he had. He swiped at Izar, and he felt it slice through something he couldn’t see. There was slight resistance, but the magic sword seemed to be able to cut through whatever Izar was using to shield himself.

He wouldn’t get very far this way.

All right. He had to adapt.

Tristan couldn’t drop the sword, but he needed to get his hands on those glasses. Or those necklaces. Slicing Izar up wasn’t the way to go, not yet. He had to rob Izar of his defenses first.

Fuck.

Izar was halfway across the clearing from him now. The added distance meant it was easier to dodge and deflect oncoming spells, but Tristan had to be careful not to let Opal get caught up in the crossfire, either.

Opal hadn’t let any harm come to Tristan, even though Opal had more than enough reason to.

Even though Tristan had broken his word when he’d said he’d never let any harm come to Opal.

“You’re as much of a dragon-lover as the king of Kithage, then,” Izar said.

Maybe that was true. Maybe he was a monster-fucker. Maybe he was everything he’d heard about in stories and disdained. He didn’t know.

Before he could come up with a retort, Izar lifted another one of his necklaces. That had to be the source of his spells, then. If Tristan could simply separate Izar from them, Izar would be nothing but a mere man.

He’d be weaker than Tristan, even.

Opal roared, and out of the corner of his eye, Tristan could see Opal struggling to lift himself from the ground. Izar grimaced, and Tristan noticed the furrow of Izar’s brow and the sweat trickling down the side of his face.

This was taking a toll on him.

Tristan took a deep breath and lunged forward. Izar sent out another spell, but Tristan was prepared for it. He swung his sword, and felt the spell absorb into the blade.

Izar cursed and dashed aside, but not before Tristan’s sword sliced through part of his cloak.

The ends of the cloak sizzled and smoked, as if singed by fire… the same fire Izar had used on him.

Interesting. And useful, for fighting a dragon.

Or for fighting a sorcerer.

Izar seemed to realize the same thing, because his eyes widened in fear.

Emboldened, Tristan pressed his attack. Izar raised his hands and sent out another spell, which Tristan easily deflected.

Unfortunately, he noticed too late that there was a second spell, and this one hit him in his side. Tristan cried out at the impact, his body flying backward and landing at Opal’s side.

“Tristan!” Opal said in a strained voice. “Tristan, dip the sword in my blood.”

“Your blood?” Tristan asked, struggling to his feet. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”

“The sword will absorb the magic. You can—” Opal cried out, and his large dragon body crackled with electricity.

“None of that, beast,” Izar said, his hand raised in a fist. He made a pulling gesture, and Opal’s head was yanked to the ground once more.

“Stop fucking hurting him!” Tristan shouted, even as he scraped the blade against the bloody horn. He had to trust Opal more than he’d ever trusted anyone if he was going to survive this, and that meant doing exactly what he was told.

Because if Tristan didn’t survive, neither would Opal. Opal would be tortured to death and used for parts, and while Tristan still didn’t feel bad for the wyvern… He cared about Opal—so, so much.

The sword thrummed, and it was both heavier and lighter in his hand. It felt like it was a part of Tristan now, a natural extension of his sword arm. He ran toward Izar once more, ready to cleave the sorcerer in two if it came down to it.

Izar flung out another spell, and Tristan swung to absorb it.

Only this time, the spell was deflected, straight back at Izar.

Izar’s eyes widened just before he was hit by the brunt of the attack. His glasses cracked, and his necklaces split apart, the beads flying everywhere. A large gash appeared straight across Izar’s chest.

Izar cried out in pain and fell to the ground, his blood spreading out across the dirt.

This time, Tristan didn’t feel nauseated. He felt righteous satisfaction, just as he had with the bandits on the road. That had felt good in a way that so many other things hadn’t, and this? This, he didn’t feel guilty about at all.

He advanced on Izar, ready to take the sorcerer’s head clean off. He swung the sword down, but right as he did, the air turned thick and heavy. A heavy mist filled the air, making it impossible to see.

Howling in fury, Tristan slammed the blade into the ground where Izar had been. He anticipated blood, and a scream, and something because surely Izar couldn’t have gotten far.

The tip of the sword hit the ground, driving deep into it.

No blood.

No piercing of flesh.

Izar was fucking gone.

“Tristan!” Opal cried out. “Are you all right?”

“Me?” Tristan asked, incredulous as he scanned his surroundings with his sword still hefted in the air. “Are you all right?”

The mist slowly dissipated, revealing an empty clearing. The remnants of Izar’s necklaces were scattered around, but the glasses and the dragon horn were gone. Tristan could try to find him. Izar couldn’t have gotten far. But…

Tristan turned and went back to Opal in a rush. “I’m sorry,” he said, which was so inadequate, but he couldn’t find better words. “I’m so, so fucking sorry. Gods, Opal.”

Opal raised his head for a few seconds before lowering it back to the ground. “Tristan… you were so brave.” He opened his maw in what was surely meant to be a smile, revealing all of his sharp teeth, and Tristan had to fight not to cringe away.

“Brave?” Tristan repeated, shaking his head. He didn’t even know what to say to that. He stared at Opal’s missing horn, at the blood that coated his scales, and all he could think of was his own horror at what he’d done. “I’m not fucking brave, Opal! I helped him… I helped him hurt you!”

“You fought against him, even though it would have been easier to just kill me.” Opal’s eyes slid closed.

“I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done anything to hurt you to begin with.” Tristan’s eyes filled with tears, and he wiped them away. He didn’t deserve to cry. He’d been so, so wrong.

“I’m sorry I look like this though. I… I want to shift back, I promise, just give me a little time to recover.”

Tristan shook his head. “You look… You look…” Like a dragon. Which was uncomfortable, but it was still Opal. It didn’t hurt that Opal was the most magnificent thing that Tristan had ever seen in his life. “Take your time. Okay? You… I… What can I do to help you?”

Opal tilted his head and bumped it up against Tristan’s body. He was so large, and he could easily have snapped Tristan in two.

Tristan tentatively placed a hand on Opal’s snout, and Opal sighed happily. “I’m just tired. The magic is wearing off. I’ll rest, and eat, and then I should be fine?”

Food. Tristan could find food for Opal, at least. “What do you want? A deer? Or, uh, more wyvern?” He laughed through his tears. “No chicken.”

Opal let out a rumbling laugh too. “Chicken is barely a meal at all. I could swallow one whole.”

Tristan winced a little at that. It was an uncomfortable thought, but it explained why Opal didn’t consider chicken a proper meal, and why he’d… licked his food so strangely.

“What about… what about your horn?” Tristan asked hesitantly. He stroked the scales where the horns connected to Opal’s head, heedless of the blood on his hand. “Will it grow back?”

Opal shook his head. “Nope. I’ll live with it.” He opened his eyes, with those strange, shimmering blue irises, and looked at Tristan. “It’s just a horn, Tristan. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters. It matters so much. Every time you even think about your horns, you’ll remember…” Tristan nearly choked on a sob. “You’ll remember I cut it off. I did it.”

“I’ll remember how you rescued me. It was so dashing, and beautiful, and I was so moved. You rescued me, even though I’m… I’m…” A large tear slid out of Opal’s eye. “Thank you, Tristan.”

Tristan didn’t want Opal to thank him. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything kind or wonderful after he’d fucking cut Opal’s horn off out of rage and pain and… And there was no excuse. None. Not even a little.

“I love you,” Tristan whispered over another sob. “I’m so sorry.”

Opal smiled again, big and toothy, and it should have terrified Tristan, but he was just so grateful that Opal was well enough to smile at all. “Yours was better,” Opal said, nuzzling against Tristan.

Tristan blinked at Opal in confusion. “Mine? My what?”

“Your love confession. Much more romantic than mine was.” Opal’s warm breath washed over Tristan. “It was worth the wait.”

“Opal…” Tristan’s shoulders slumped even as he kept his hand on those bloody, dull scales. “It shouldn’t have been like this.” Tears kept spilling down his cheeks. “Gods. Here I am feeling sorry for myself, and you’re injured. I’ll go hunt something for you to eat.”

“Thank you,” Opal said again. He rubbed his snout against Tristan’s stomach. “I love you so much, Tristan.”

“I love you too,” Tristan said, feeling the need to repeat the words—then, and more, and so many times even though that would never make up for what he’d done. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. He patted the top of Opal’s head again, then turned for the wooded area around them.

He’d find a fucking deer, or something big. Something that wasn’t chicken.

Anything Opal wanted.

Tristan stopped, realizing just how true that thought was.

He would do anything for Opal.

The resolve should have scared him, but it filled him with hope.

It filled him with love.

Tristan smiled and hurried on to find Opal that meal.