Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
The tail swings again, and I leap out of its path.
“I’m growing bored,” he warns in a singsong voice.
“I somehow doubt that,” I mutter as his tail continues its upward swing. He’s having a grand old time fucking with me. He thinks this is funny? Hope he realizes I’m going to fuck with him twice as hard. For the rest of my life. Once I get up there, that is.
Think. Swordtails aren’t as sharp as daggertails, but they can still cut a gryphon in half when attacked at velocity…which Aotrom doesn’t have with his stationary positioning. Hands are out, unless I want to risk losing one, and I definitely have to steer clear of the pointy tip.
His tail starts its descending arc. If I don’t get on this time, who knows what he’ll do. I’ll probably have to chase him all the way back to the quadrant.
Fuck it. I’ve got one thing on me that won’t cut as easily as my hands. Let’s do this.
I undo my leather belt, grab hold of the buckle, and whip it off my waist. Then I take an end in each hand and start running alongside his swinging tail. My heart pounds as I full-out sprint so close that my shoulder rubs against the hardened scale that forms the flat side of the swordtail as it starts to swing upward again. The second the end of the blade is at the height of my shoulder, I hook my belt over the tip of his tail and pray to Zihnal that I miss the sharpest portion.
Then I leap and hold on for dear life. The leather doesn’t have to survive the trip; it just needs to hold out long enough to give me the momentum I need.
“Naturally you’re undressing in a stressful situation.”
I half snort, half laugh, and my stomach dives as I’m swung upward, tearing my gaze from the forest floor that grows more distant with every second. There’s not much to see with Aotrom’s tail blocking most of my view, and considering the rending sound coming from just above me, this ride is almost over.
The belt snaps and falls from my hands as I’m catapulted into the branches.
This is going to hurt like a mother—
“Fuck!” I grunt as my midsection collides with a tree limb that’s about eye level with Aotrom. Not one to miss an opportunity, I wrap my arms over the branch, then haul myself up to stand on the thing. It’s more than thick enough to support my weight, thank Zihnal, and I’ve landed close enough that it only takes a few scurried steps to reach the trunk.
“Close, yet I don’t think this tree will let you ride it into battle.” Do all dragons openly mock their riders? Or just mine?
“Smart-ass.” I grab hold of the trunk with both hands to stabilize myself, then cringe at the sticky substance that courses over them. Fucking sap. I’ve stuck my hands into one of the furrows Aotrom dug with his claws.
A low grumble sounds from his chest, and I swear I can hear him laughing in my head as his gaze swivels to track me.
“I’ll be the one laughing in a second,” I promise, studying the distance to his back. This is either going to earn me his respect or really piss him off, and there’s only one way to find out.
Bending my knees, I jump forward with every ounce of strength I have. My boots make impact on top of his nose, but by the time his eyes narrow on me, I’ve already leaped again, this time aiming for his neck.
I miss my intended target by a measly twelve inches and start to fall.
Fuck. Me.
My ribs tighten and my heart thunders in my ears as I drop like a freaking stone, flailing my arms as my vision is consumed by brown scales and spikes. I land on his shoulder with an impact that jars my teeth.
“You jump like a squirrel.”
“You’re the one in the godsdamn tree,” I counter, grabbing hold of his scales with my sticky hands for balance. He’s still clinging vertically to the trunk, which means if I make one wrong step now, I’ll end up on the forest floor with a broken neck.
I wedge my boots into the gaps between his scales, then traverse over his shoulder and onto his back. My stomach churns every time I look down, but step by step, I move sideways across him until I reach the raised scales of his pommel and seat.
By Zihnal, I did it! Laughter trips out of me as I lock my hands around his scales and work my feet up until I’m in some semblance of a seat.
“You’re oddly mirthful for someone who clings to my back like a frog.”
“Consider this my point,” I tell him as my arms start to shake with the exertion of keeping myself in this position. “You may have stuck leaves to my face, but there’s a trail of sap across some very hard-to-reach places on your back. Good luck getting that off.”