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It’s my first full day on the job, my first full day outside of the training wing where I spent two weeks watching videos and listening to lectures about all the various wildlife inside the parks. Obviously, much of the training focused on dragons and gryphons, as those are the apex predators in each of their respective parks, but the other animals were cool, too. Bear, moose, wolves, mountain sheep…
What I was not expecting for my first full day was to be sitting in the back of a ranger truck, bouncing at high speeds down a barely-there park road on an emergency call to The Vale. Apparently, there’s a dragon egg about to hatch, and it’s the wrong time of year. Go figure.
I’m squished in the back seat with a woman on my right whose dark, curly hair is piled atop her head in a very sensible updo that makes my hair, which hangs down around my shoulders, look like a liability waiting to happen. Her dark skin is beautiful beneath the forest green ranger-in-training jacket she’s wearing, the sleeves bunched to halfway up her arms. To my left is a brown-haired man who cannot stop giggling. He’s built lean and strong, but he’s laughing so much that he keeps bringing a hand to his face to try to stifle the sound. I don’t blame him for trying to hide it. The two full-fledged rangers in the front seat don’t seem like they’re willing to take any crap.
I can just make out the names of the two rangers-in-training beside me: the woman’s name tag, stitched to her ranger jacket says, “Matthias,” while the man’s says, “Gamlyn.” I glance down at my own and see “Sorrengail” written there in bold, white letters. I was so excited to get this jacket at the end of training; I only hope I can live up to the image I built around this job in my head.
We continue to bounce over what feel like giant boulders in the road, the trees we’re rushing past painted with winter’s paint brush in dazzling blues, silvers, and whites. Only the edges of green peek through the snow on the coniferous trees, their large, sturdy brown trunks a stark contrast to the glittering snow blanketing the ground.
The truck zips toward a rickety old bridge that crosses a random narrow part of the Iakobos River, which winds its way in and around the Vale—and through most of Rider National Park—and we hit it without slowing down. I swear I can hear the boards protesting as we roar over them, but they don’t give way, and I breathe a sigh of relief when we make it to the other side unscathed.
There’s a tiny opening between two towering peaks in front of us, one of the only passable passageways into The Vale, and we’re zooming toward it without slowing at all.
“We’re moving the egg,” the driver announces moments before we scream past a large bolder into the narrowest possible alleyway between the mountains. The rock on either side of us is so close that I’m certain, if I rolled down the window on either side, I could reach out and touch it. One wrong move, and this truck will roll over in a heartbeat. We’ll all be crushed. I’m terrified. But the truck doesn’t slow. The driver doesn’t seem to notice the danger lurking.
“We’re going to try to move the egg,” the other ranger says, glancing at the driver. “The dragons usually put up a fight. They’ve moved the egg out of the caves for a reason, an—”
“Not today if they know what’s good for them,” the driver growls, and I shiver. Something about his voice…does something to me.
I take in the windswept dark hair of the driver, the way the little hairs along the nape of his neck gently brush the green fabric of his coat. I look at his arms, marveling at how I can tell, even through the bulky ranger coat, that he’s strong, built. His shoulders are wide and imposing in the driver’s seat, and I wish I could see the little name tag stitched to the front of his coat. I want a name to go with the body in front of me.
I can see the “Wingleader” patch stitched onto the arm of his coat, and that makes me nervous. He’s a super high-ranking ranger then. What’s a man with that kind of power, who’s that important, doing on a bright-and-early morning emergency drive then?
Passenger Ranger doesn’t answer him, just gives him a look before he turns more fully to glare into the backseat at my still-giggling seat mate. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll find a way to stop that,” he warns.
I gulp, even though the words aren’t directed at me.
I catch a glimpse of his name tag before he turns back around. “Tavis.” I heard the name Garrick Tavis whispered among the rangers-in-training during those first two weeks, but the dark hair and chiseled jawline combined with his sharp reprimand to Gamlyn weren’t exactly what I was expecting when they talked about the teddy bear of a man who spends his time reuniting fawns and bear cubs with their mothers.
Clearly, he’s not to be crossed, either.
Beside me, Gamlyn straightens up and clears his throat in an attempt to get himself under control. “Sorry,” he sputters. “I just can’t believe I made it. A ranger! I’ve always wanted to be one. You guys seem so bad-ass.”
“You’re not one yet, and trust me, I’ve got a lot of pull in that department,” Driver Ranger announces. “Prove yourself on this one, and you’ll have a higher chance of losing the ‘in-training’ from the end of your title. Giggling the whole time isn’t going to get you very fucking far, though.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Gamlyn says, saluting him, and I hear Matthias snort next to me.
The rest of the ride is silent, but with the pace we’re traveling, it’s only a few minutes until Driver Ranger slams on the brakes, sending me lurching forward. Thankfully, I catch myself on the console before my face can collide with anything hard. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? My first trip outside the training room ending in a broken nose?
“Everybody out,” Driver Ranger commands, then growls to me, “Wear your damn seatbelt next time, ranger-in-training.” Then, he climbs out and strides towards the biggest fucking egg I’ve ever seen.
My eyes bug out of my head as I slide out after Gamlyn, watching intently as Driver Ranger and Garrick walk around the egg, probably looking for signs of hatching. Maybe making a plan for how to get the massive thing back inside before it hatches and the baby freezes to death.
“How do we know the giant baby dragon inside that egg is trying to get out?” Gamlyn whispers to me.
I stop in my tracks, shocked. “We can hear tapping before the egg cracks,” I say, giving him a hard look. “The shells are three centimeters thick. Babies tap to find the thinnest spot. Didn’t you pay attention during training?”
Gamlyn shrugs. “I kinda did? Until I heard something cool and got totally distracted thinking about how epic it was.” He gives me a goofy, endearing grin before sticking out a hand. “I’m Ridoc. Nice to meet you.”
“Violet. Likewise.”
I turn and realize Matthias has already joined the two rangers at the egg. We’re being left behind. Not a good look if we want to lose the “in-training” part of our title.
There are no dragons in sight, just an egg sitting in a giant nest in front of a series of yawning caves. It seems strange to me that there is no one around protecting the egg, guarding it. It seems too precious a thing to be left in the midst of so much snow and ice all alone. I wonder why the dragons do things like this, like abandon eggs to the cold before they hatch. Many things were postulated during training with the most likely answer being a sense of failure to thrive, but I don’t recall them mentioning things like this. It does make me wonder: how often do eggs that have been kicked out of nests prepare to hatch anyway? And how often do they come too early in the hatching season?
I take no more than two steps before a giant—a word which doesn’t even begin to describe the actual size—blue dragon lumbers out of one of the caves. It approaches the rangers and Matthias, and Driver Ranger turns on his heel quickly, but not so quickly I don’t catch sight of his name tag: Riorson.
Fuck. Me.
Everyone knows everything there is to know about Xaden Riorson, head Ranger over both Rider and Flyer National Park, first ever five-year Ranger to be promoted to Wingleader. He’s a natural, skilled and knowledgeable about everything, and he’s a commanding, brooding presence that everyone will listen to. Apparently, even gryphons and dragons. There are no shortage of stories about him, and no shortage of women who swoon over him, rangers and park guests alike.
I come to a standstill, mesmerized by Xaden putting out a hand to the dragon when it bows its head, his hand coming to rest on the blue’s snout.
Everyone knows that, occasionally, dragons will choose humans to communicate with. Whomever they deem worthy. And there’s no way of knowing who will be chosen, who they’ll form a special bond with. That’s why Rangers and visitors alike are warned never to approach a dragon. They’re friendly enough to observers, won’t blow anyone away with a heavy stream of flame if they stay at a respectful distance. But encroach on a dragon’s space, and they’ll burn you alive in under two seconds. If a dragon waits to choose you, they’ll do the approaching. Gryphons have a similar if much gentler approach to choosing who to bond. And of all the creatures in either Rider or Flyer National Park, dragons are by far the most deadly.
Xaden seems to have no fear about touching the giant blue, and I hold my breath as the two of them stand there.
“What the hell is he doing?” Ridoc asks in my ear, making me jump. “Did that dragon turn him to stone?”
“No! That’s the dragon that’s chosen to communicate with him. I’d bet you anything,” I mutter back. “That has to be Sgaeyl.” She’s a park legend, too.
Just then, Xaden turns away from the dragon, and I catch a glimpse of those eyes, dark with beautiful golden specks that shimmer in the winter sunlight. The dragon stays close, seems unaffected by his movements. Xaden eyes Garrick first, then Matthias. “They’ve agreed to let us move the egg. And we need to move. Fast. Tapping is coming quicker and quicker.” Then, his gaze finds Ridoc and me. “Get the fuck over here, you two. All hands on deck.”
And when his gaze leaves me, I find that I’m freezing. It’s fucking cold out here.
Ridoc and I approach the egg as Xaden starts to bark orders. “There is no way we can lift this egg, not with a full-grown baby inside. So, we’re going to have to roll it. Sgaeyl has spoken to the rest of the den; they’re willing to move the baby in. They’re willing to hatch it and give it a chance.”
“Why was it outside in the first place? Did Sgaeyl tell you?” Matthias asks.
“Dragons have their reasons,” Xaden says shortly. “We don’t try to understand. We do all get to work rolling this egg, though.”
“Won’t we break it by tipping it over?” Matthias again.
“No. Not if we’re careful.”
Then, Xaden moves, and to my shock and surprise, the first thing he does is come up behind me. His hands land on my wrists, and his body presses close until I can feel all of him along the length of me. He’s a lot taller than me, more than a foot, I can tell. But I don’t feel out of place there against him, not with the way my hips slot in just below his, the way his chest presses against my shoulders, a gentle pressure there, cradling me.
It’s all too much for me, too close, and it’s not helped by a zing that shoots between us, from the contact on our wrists through my entire body. I can’t help it; I shiver.
“Are you cold?” Xaden growls into my ear.
And because I don’t want to admit that he’s so close to me that it’s doing things to my body, I nod.
“Maybe obey orders next time. I told you to wear something warm! You’ll find that it pays to follow orders out here, Sorrengail.” His words are growled in my ear, and I have to fight not to shiver again.
Another flash of attraction goes to my belly this time, curling there in a delicious way that I’m not expecting and can’t explain. But I manage a “Ye-yes, sir,” which seems to satisfy him.
He nudges me closer to the egg and places my hands where he wants them before moving over to Matthias and Ridoc and doing the same thing. Then, Xaden and Garrick get into position, and we start the slow, laborious process of laying the egg on its side.
I hold my breath the entire time, praying nothing bad happens, and inch by inch, we lower the egg to the ground before we change positions, this time through a series of barked orders and no intimate touches—much to my dismay.
Then, step by single step, we move the egg toward the yawning mouth of a cave on the left, the interior dark at first until the blue dragon, Sgaeyl, opens her mouth, letting the glow of the fire burning in the back of her throat light our way.
Inside the cave, we find a nest similar to the one we took the egg from, this one protected from wind and weather. No other eggs. This one is still being left on its own. Further back, I can make out the hulking shape of another dragon, this one easily as huge as Sgaeyl, who seemed to glare at me as we walked by, massive egg rolling in front of us. The dragon in the shadows is guarding something, likely more eggs.
We get it situated, tipped up properly once more, and I watch as Xaden strides over to Sgaeyl again. The giant dragon bows her head, and Xaden’s hand comes to rest on her nose. His eyes close, and his body stiffens.
I watch, entranced, wanting to know how he does it, how he has such a connection to this dragon. But as I’m watching, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to look at Matthias.
“Hi. I’m Rhiannon,” she says. “It seems like we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well, so I thought I should introduce myself.”
“Hi. Violet,” I say. Then, I nod toward Ridoc. “That’s—”
“I know. We’ve met,” Rhi says, and I can’t read her tone, but I feel like there might be a story there.
“Let’s go,” Garrick growls to us, stalking by us and past Xaden and Sgaeyl toward the cave entrance and the truck we arrived in.
Wordlessly, the three of us rangers-in-training follow behind.
I’ve almost reached the truck when I hear, “Sorrengail,” from behind me, which stills me mid-step. I turn and look back over my shoulder.
Xaden is striding toward me, looking so good in his ranger coat, unzipped in the front, showing off the tight, form-fitting tee he wears beneath. No ranger shirt, I guess. He probably doesn’t need it; everyone knows him.
He steps up beside me then turns slightly to block any peeking eyes from the truck, looks at me deeply for a long moment. He seems uncomfortable, and I’m immediately on edge as well. He clears his throat. “Did you feel the same thing I felt?” he asks, voice little more than a whisper?
I open my mouth and then shut it again, not sure what to say. Did I feel what, exactly? Like I was going to explode having him so close to me?
“When I put my hands around your wrists? Right before we moved the egg?”
I open my mouth again, and still nothing comes out.
“The zing?”
Swallowing thickly, I nod. It’s the only thing I can do; words aren’t coming for me.
“I…” He trails off and looks away, and I can suddenly tell that he wants to tell me something but also won’t right now, not in front of everyone else. Maybe he can’t.
I wait in awkward silence, not sure how to break it. Is he waiting for me to tell him that it won’t mean anything, that I won’t pursue it? Does he want me to say we’ll keep it strictly professional? He is my boss, I guess, after all.
After a few long moments, Xaden finds his voice. “Me, too. Keep it to yourself,” he says, voice gruff. Then, he strides away toward the truck, tossing back over his shoulder, “Load up, Sorrengail.”
I feel like I’m trapped for a moment, feet rooted in place, watching his retreating form. Why do I have to keep it to myself? What does it mean? Does he know something I don’t?
It’s all confusing. I feel so lost, but I manage to get my feet moving across the snow to the truck and climb back in. Rhiannon has taken the middle seat this time, which I’m thankful for. It gives me time to stare out the window and think as we leave the canyon and bounce back over the barely-there trail, still at top speed despite no longer being en route to an emergency.
As we near Basgiath Ranger Station, something tells me to look up. I glance back at the interior of the truck, my gaze sweeping over Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Garrick until catching on the rearview mirror. The others have been talking as we’ve driven. Rhiannon has asked questions about the egg, how soon it will hatch, if we’ll need to go back and check on the dragon baby. I’ve heard bits and pieces of it all, not missing much but also not listening closely. The truck is quiet now, though, as if everyone has run out of things to say.
So, when my gaze lands on the rearview mirror, there are dark eyes with gold flecks reflecting back at me, eyes that seem to hold the world and all it’s secrets in them. I’m caught, mesmerized, and his gaze is glued on mine, too, like we’re sharing some sort of secret together.
Then, out of nowhere, I see Xaden Riorson wink at me in the rearview mirror, a hint of a smile playing at his lips before his eyes snap back to the trail and he continues to drive. “Good work, everyone,” he says. “You’re learning.”
Now my head is reeling for so many new reasons. What was that about? What could it mean? Why compliment everyone after sharing something so…private…with me. Why did Ranger and Wingleader Xaden Riorson have to show up on my first day of work and make everything so complicated? And the better question is, why am I letting him?