Draconic Amnesty

Chapter 14 - Weakness

Elias did a double take. In a single leap, Wren crested the parapet, clung with her hands, and vaulted onto the roof. She landed beside him and knelt.

“Give it to me,” she whispered, her luminous eyes pleading. “I need it.”

“Not until we’re done with this mission. Clearly, you perform better without it.” He started to rise, but she grabbed his forearm, an astonishingly tight grip.

“I’m serious.” She glared at him, not releasing her hold on his arm.

“Tell me why.” After she didn’t respond, he continued. “You agreed you wouldn’t lie about your skills. When I ask you a direct question, silence is the same as lying.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Ok...then don’t.” He glanced down. “You can start by loosening up on my arm.”

“See!” She relaxed her grip, allowing his blood to flow once more. “Without the piercing, I can’t control my draconic abilities in human form.”

“Bullshit. You injected me the other night. Hit a vein on the first attempt, but only after you removed the piercing.”

“If I concentrate —”

“Then concentrate.”

“But —”

“No buts.”

She cast her eyes downward.

“What? You think it’s easy for me? I’ve got to filter out a shitload of sensory information every time I shoot up. Otherwise I end up like Cole, staring into space.

“You apparently get the same abilities for free, you’ve had twenty-two years to practice, and all you do is complain. Be yourself and stop relying on something that weakens you.”

“I’m afraid...I’ll hurt someone…”

He sighed, then crawled a short distance and returned with a smooth, plum-sized rock. “Hold it in your right hand.”

After giving him a look of confusion, she complied.

“Now grab my wrist with your left hand.” He waited. “Good. Now, squeeze with both hands.”

As soon as she began to protest, he cut her off. “No arguments. Just do it. Even if you break my wrist, which you won’t, I’ll heal. Now go.”

She inhaled deeply and squeezed. It didn’t feel good; it was far more pressure than a woman’s hand should be capable of exerting, especially one as frail-looking as hers. But his wrist wasn’t about to break. “Ok, now I want you to keep the same pressure on my wrist, but squeeze the rock as hard as you can.”

She shook her head and looked at him with glistening eyes.

“Do it or we’re cancelling this operation. I’ll know if you're faking it, so don’t even consider that.” He lied about the second part.

Her respiration quickened — short, shallow breaths — and her eyes shifted to the right. There was a slight increase in the pressure on his wrist.

Something fractured, perhaps a bone breaking. Scales erupted on her right hand and multiplied until they covered half her forearm. The rock cracked into pieces as her silvery hand closed into a fist.

She released his wrist. “I broke my hand.”

“But you didn’t hurt me.” He rubbed his sore wrist.

He hadn’t actually expected her to crush the rock. On drasp, he’d once cracked a cinder block wall with a full force punch. But unlike her, bones breaking didn’t increase his strength. Her scales, the ones she currently wore like a long glove, must impart durability and strength in addition to healing.