17. Sloane

Chapter 17

Sloane

As Gorlag decides whether to make a move, a bead of sweat trickles down my cheek, but I don't dare move to wipe it away.

Could I really plunge this blade into Dexari's heart if Gorlag attacks?

I look at his face, still pale and drawn. No, I realize with a sinking certainty. I couldn't kill him, even to save myself.

But the orcs don't know that.

Good, let them wonder. Let them believe I'm capable of anything.

The silence stretches, each second feeling like an hour. I can hear my own ragged breathing, see the slight tremor in Gorlag's hand as it hovers near the hilt of his sword.

Just as I'm about to cave from the tension and surrender, a familiar chirp cuts through the air, followed by the rapid flap of wings.

Zephyr!

My tiny dragon friend swoops down from the treetops like a bolt of lightning. He darts in front of the shocked guards and, before I can even process what's happening, he opens his mouth and breathes a small jet of fire at the ground near their feet. The guards jump back, their eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

Nervous laughter bubbles up from my chest, surprising even me. The absurdity of the situation—me, holding an alien orc king hostage while a miniature dragon breathes fire at his guards—is kind of hilarious.

"Don't catch the forest on fire, Zephyr!" I call out.

He circles above us as the guards put the fire out. I allow myself to enjoy the show, which eases some of my tension.

But I know this standoff isn't over. Zephyr may have bought me some time, but I'm still in trouble with the king's guards. And Dexari is still unconscious beneath my trembling hands.

Frowning, Gorlag's eyes dart between me and Zephyr, his look becoming more confused. Watching this hulking, green warrior trying to process what he's seeing is comical.

"Do you…know this creature?" he asks.

I don't hide the smile that plays on my lips. "Yeah. He's my friend. And if you and your men don't leave, I'll have him barbecue all of you."

Gorlag's frown deepens, if that's even possible. His eyes narrow as he processes my words. "Barbecue? This does not translate."

Of course it doesn't. "It means he'll burn you to a crisp."

As if on cue, Zephyr swoops down again, coming close enough to the guards' heads that they flinch. At the last second, he pulls up, leaving them shaken.

The other guards speak in hushed, urgent tones. I'm able to make out a single, repeated word: dragalor . So, that's what Zephyr is: a dragalor! And he scares the guards shitless.

I channel every ounce of cold, threatening energy I can muster. "I suggest you get moving."

The guards exchange nervous glances while waiting for their leader to give them an order. I can see the conflict playing out on Gorlag's face, his duty to protect the king warring with his very real desire to save his men from being burned alive.

I hold my breath, silently willing him to stand down. My hand is starting to cramp from gripping the dagger.

C'mon, you big, green idiot. Make the smart choice here.

Just as Gorlag is about to speak, a soft groan cuts through the silence. I feel a subtle movement beneath my hand.

Dexari's eyes open. Clouded with pain and confusion, they lock onto mine. For a split second, I see the same surprise I feel reflected in his eyes.

Time seems to stand still as we stare at each other. The forest, the guards, even Zephyr—everything else fades away. It's just me and Dexari, locked in this moment. The connection between us sparks to life, intense and undeniable, leaving me breathless.

I should move the dagger away from his chest and say something, explain what's going on. But I'm frozen in place, trapped by Dexari's heated gaze.