“H-how do you feel about being petted?” Doing her best not to startle him, she slowly reached up. The closer she got, the more her hand trembled. Finally, she achieved contact.

He jerked, but he didn’t punish her or move away.

Nola rewarded him, stroking his snout. Marveling. His black-and-green scales were as smooth as glass, as hard as steel and as hot as the sun.

“Drogo,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to complain, okay, but you’re hurting my leg.” To be honest, the pain caused by his claws and crushing weight didn’t compare to the agony she’d endured again and again during flares and opioid withdrawals. “If you want me to stay here with you, I’ll stay here. You can free my leg. Okay?” she said, always stroking, hopefully easing the fiend. “Give me a chance to prove I won’t run. Please.”

When his gaze slid to her leg, she knew he’d understood her words. If she succeeded in winning Drogo over, well, what couldn’t she do? Save Vale? Surely! Save Adwaewethian hybrids? Of course! Ensure Bane’s vengeance? Without a doubt.

“Earlier, you winced. What’s hurting you?” she whispered, searching his gaze. “Maybe I can help you the way I help Bane, and order you to heal.”

He snarled. Rather than easing off her leg, he applied more pressure, watching as she panted, squirmed and wheezed. Once again, the world began to blacken.

Okay. Friendship was out, and an order to heal would be met with certain death. Got it.

Just as she’d instinctively known he’d hate her if she issued an order, she knew he’d never respect her if she begged for mercy. Too weak, too fragile? Never again!

“Well,” she squeaked. “If this is the end for me, I have one last thing to say. Congrats! You are officially as bad as the queens you’re forced to serve. They hurt others, and so do you.”

Before she passed out, he did it. He plucked his claws from her thigh and stepped back. The pressure eased, but the pain amplified as blood flooded back into her limb.

To her shock, his expression seemed to project, Go, before I change my mind and eat your head like a cake ball on a stick.

“Thank you,” she breathed. Though she’d failed to teleport only minutes ago, she closed her eyes and pictured her home in Strawberry Valley. An-n-nd yes! Without a tidal wave of panic—and perhaps a stronger link to Drogo?—her ability had worked.

She experienced extreme weightlessness. Cool night air turned warm and musty, and excitement bloomed. When she opened her eyes, she stood in her living room, dripping blood on the carpet.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Relationship blues got you down?