Predator [ON HOLD INDEFINIETLY]

12: The Goodbye

Hey, readers!! I finally got this chapter up. Thank you all for staying with me. Hopefully after this the story will flow better. I just wanted to give a heads up though: Because of my absence to Jale and Daemo'cch, their personalities have slightly altered in this chapter. But only in this one. There's not much room for Daemo'cch to be terrifying in his scene so if he and Jale seem too soft, I'm sorry ^^; I hope you enjoy this regardless~

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I am not looking forward to dealing with Daemo'cch. Not at all.

After I walked as fast as I dared to the dens, I immediately slowed down my pace. Now I am practically crawling at a hatchling's speed toward the elevator.

I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this.

By the time the elevator clatters into the den with a resounding boom, I'm covered in a thin layer of sweat. The dragon is at the far right side of his abode, simply reclining beside his revolting swamp, lazily licking his chops. There is no one around, which I find strange - but after a thought I realize that he must have chased them away so that he can nurse his wounds on his own.

I decide to bide my time before I have to speak with him. He hasn't opened his eyes yet and I hope he'll continue to ignore me, mistaking my presence for a den hand. I give myself ten agonizing minutes trekking over the small wasteland.

I don't want to leave him.

Even after the atrocity that took place yesterday and the emotions that flared up and caused me to nearly whip Koi to pieces - those aren't as strong as the aversion I feel now at the thought of not being near Daemo'cch. In the smallest ways - the more important ways - we belong with each other. He responds to me and I respond to his pain. The fact that the queen or the princess fail to notice this angers me. I'm quite aware that I have no reason to be; they've never met my dragon. But how could they not realize his importance? Importance to me, not just in the blasted Battle.

Daemo'cch finally graces me with the opening of one of his eyes. He stares at me blankly, a depthless black portal. I think he's too tired to do much right now and that thought makes me sad. A Black Dragon, vulnerable? I'm willing to bet 'vulnerable' isn't even a word he's ever used.

I stop a distance away. I breathe in through my nose. I hate the smell down here. Hate it.

I cut to the crux of the matter in mind.

"Queen Della has ordered me to join the Knighthood. So I'll be gone in less than three days. I won't be coming back."

Daemo'cch does nothing for a long moment. Then he slowly opens the other eye and I see wariness in his gaze. Yet another emotion that I've never seen expressed on his gruesome face. I don't say anything, not willing to repeat myself. His large head slowly rises, towering high above me so that he's staring down his muzzle and twisting jaw horns.

I shift my weight uncomfortably, face blank. I'm not used to feelings. I haven't harbored them solidly for over eleven years - and especially never in the presence of a dragon, Daemo'cch least of all.

I become rigid when he beings to transform. I want to protest, to remind him that it'll take his wounds longer to heal if he switches back and forth, but I'm energetically drained and decide to keep my mouth shut. Talking is too much of a chore.

When he's standing before me as adolescent boy, he speaks. His tongue flicks agitatedly.

"You're leaving?"

Something in my chest crumples. His voice is like it usually is: bored with a hint of seductiveness under an intimidating arrogance. But his words are what hurt something inside of me.

I can almost hear the unspoken "me" tacked on the end of his question.

Since the day I got here, not once was leaving the Yard ever in my thoughts. The notion was nonexistent. I had always known that I would live out the rest of my life here, maybe take over for Briner, and eventually breathe my last breath here. I also planned that I would find another tamer fierce enough to handle Daemo'cch before my life faded away.

But none of my bland dreams - however weak my hold and will was to actually carry them out - would ever happen. Even after the Mating Battle, nothing in my mind changed. I hadn't counted in Daemo'cch's Battle vision as an obstacle.

Who would have thought that the dream of another would disrupt mine?

I part my lips. "Yes. I didn't have a choice. Apparently the heir had a . . . dream - about me." I hesitate for a breath. "Me and a Black dragon. In a way I guess it was a vision, for it was close to how you described how our 'victory' was supposed to be like: with bodies at our feet and blood raining down."

Daemo'cch doesn't answer at first. I'm surprised that he is keeping his distance, not making any move to ambush, seduce, or intimidate me with phantom feelings. It's as if he doesn't know what to do with his body. In fact . . . he suddenly looks like the age of the body he wears. The arrogant set of his shoulders and torso are still there, as if it was simply genetic, but he seems smaller somehow.

I hate it.

"So you're leaving."

"Yes."

"When?"

"Three days."

"You're going on your own?"

I cock a brow. "Yes. Who else would come with me?"

He doesn't say anything. Then I'm suddenly on my back and he's hovering over me, seeming bigger and infuriating. There is death in his eyes and phantom eels wave about in fury and agitation, snapping at my face. My whip is practically singing with power, sensing the magical violence of a dragon. Daemo'cch is spitting and gas leaks from deep within his throat, suffocating me. I could easily subdue him - but I don't have it in me.

I hate how weak I feel.

I hate how I'm letting him dig his claws into my shoulders, how I don't care about the pain. I hate how I hardly notice the poison acid burning through my clothing and curling my hair, turning strands to ash.

Ironically, all my anger and hate is what lends me my surge of energy. In the span of five seconds I've draw my gold whip, wrapped Daemo'cch up in it, tossed him off, and stood up. I'm shaking with tension and hate. My life turned upside down all because of some spoiled royalty demands it.

I yell in frustration and Daemo'cch echoes it, his voice grating on the insides of his chest and throat, clawing its way out and bursting forth with malice and putrid acid.

We scream together. I've never felt more terrible in my life.

* * *

I am packed before dawn on the third day. I'm dressed in my worn riding breeches, faded boots, and warmest coat. It's unbearably cold in the mornings, no matter the season. I will discard the coat before nine in the morning though.

Briner and Demlyn offer to help with my few bags and belongings but I decline. I need to have my hands on this place as long as I can. I spent the good part of the night visiting all my dragons for one last time, checking the hatchlings and feeding the wyverns.

I haven't gone to see Daemo'cch since the other day.

I am all alone. All I have are the dragons. But now I must learn how to separate my very being, my singular molecules from them, never to see them again.

I can't decide if I want to leave as fast as possible or bury myself under the stable floor. Which will be less painful? Knowing that I'll be ripped away by force or walking out by my own will? I try to erase the existence of my mind for the time being. I can't think. I can't feel. I need to be a hollow shell.

Demlyn packs me a small breakfast. The castle carriage is already here to gather me so I'll have to eat on my way to the queen. I monotonously kiss her cheek. When I turn to Briner, there are tears in his eyes, tears that I do not want to see. I automatically block it from my mind. I hug him tightly and I hear him release a quiet sob as he grasps me in a steel bond.

My face stays blank. I'm a husk.

In robotic movements I unlock and untangle myself from Briner - a father figure - and climb into the carriage.

And then I'm gone.