A Bond in the Dark

Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11

A dragon is a large, serpent-like legendary creature that appears in the folklore of many cultures around the world. Beliefs about dragons vary drastically by region, but dragons in western cultures since the High Middle Ages have often been depicted as winged, horned, four-legged, and capable of breathing fire. Dragons in eastern cultures are usually depicted as wingless, four-legged, serpentine creatures with above-average intelligence.

(Ryan)

Faerie magic was the worst.

It was elemental— primal. Their bond with the natural world coupled with their ancient sensibilities make for a formidable combination.

Gwyllion's mist had easily ensnared him in its grip; he had lost his way in mere moments. If it hadn't been for Hope, he probably would have wandered through these godforsaken woods for the rest of his miserable existence.

Hope.

She had knocked him to the ground just before he fell into one of the many rocky pits that littered the landscape.

It seemed being tackled by a wolf was an underrated cure for faerie enchantment.

It had taken him a moment to even recognize her, coming out of his trance. She was as formidable as ever, silvery white fur offset by a luminous gaze. She was all winter, icy and sleek, except for her eyes— her eyes burned like fire.

He was lost in those eyes when she lowered her head down to lick his cheek. The sensation was jolting, if he hadn't been alert before, he certainly was then.

He barely had enough time to register what had happened before she demanded him to close his eyes. It was the loudest he had ever heard her through their bond; he felt every ounce of desperation in her plea.

He couldn't have refused her if he tried.

Then, just like that, the wolf fell away.

Somehow, feeling her transformation seemed even more intimate that watching it would have been.

He felt her emotions first, her panic was replaced by an incredible sense of urgency and energy. Her power was raw and untamed, coursing between them like electricity.

Then, the weight above him changed drastically. The crushing pressure of the wolf was replaced with something soft, warm, and distinctly female.

He swore he wasn't breathing.

Where powerful paws had pinned him to the ground, hands now gripped his shoulders. He felt her long hair fall around his face as she leaned down—

"Ryan, please don't open your eyes," she whispered in his ear.

"Hope?" he asked quietly; it was the first time he had heard her speaking voice in quite some time.

Wait, did she just call him Ryan?

For some reason, the thought caused his heart to beat sporadically in his chest.

"I don't know what happened," she said, clearly distressed. "I've never had trouble controlling my transformations before."

He began to open his eyes on instinct before a hand came down, covering them.

"I told you, do not open your eyes, Agent Clarke!"

Ah, he was Agent Clarke once more.

"I was carrying your clothes with me," he said. "I'm sure if you look around where you so gracelessly tackled me to the ground, you'll find them."